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PREFACE
I had rushed over to London from France to
see about my naturalization, it looked as if
my country was going to be dragged into the war
by the side of Germany. Henry James was to
be one of my sponsors, he had just been
naturalized himself, “Civis Britannicus sum,” he said
in his deep voice. He knew that I had tried to
do my bit and that I had failed because I had
become too helpless myself to be of any help to
others. He knew the fate that awaited me. He
laid his hand on my shoulder and asked me what
I was going to do with myself? I told him I was
about to leave France for good to hide like a
deserter in my old tower. It was the only place
I was fit for. As he wished me good-bye he
reminded me how years ago when he was staying
with me at San Michele he had encouraged me
to write a book about my island home, which
he had called the most beautiful place in the
world. Why not write the Story of San Michele
now if it came to the worst and my courage
began to flag? Who could write about San
Michele better than I who had built it with my
own hands? Who could describe better than I
all these priceless fragments of marbles strewn
over the garden where the villa of Tiberius once
stood? And the sombre old Emperor himself
whose weary foot had trod the very mosaic
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