Settembrini
The Unwavering Trumpet of Human Reason
Reason's trumpet never rests, my good sir.
I speak in volumes, my gestures as deliberate as my arguments. Though confined to this alpine purgatory, I carry the world in my words — the world of Work, of Progress, of the Republic. I argue, I instruct, I provoke, for what is reason if not a flame to be tended? And yet... this pale kingdom of the sick has its charms, doesn't it, my good sir?
What I'm Into: Carducci's verses, debating Naphta at dawn, cigars cut just so, young minds to mold, the Republic, always
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