But the cream and glory of the ancient writers I had yet to taste. My
first acquaintance with the poets came from the translation of Virgil upon
which Messer Caro was at the time engaged. He had definitely taken up his
residence in Piacenza, whither it was said that Farnese, his master, who
was to be made our Duke, would shortly come. And in the interval of
labouring for Farnese, as Caro was doing, he would toil at his translation,
and from time to time he would bring sheaves of his manuscript to the
doctor's house, to read what he had accomplished.
He came, I remember, one languid afternoon in August, when I had been with
Messer Fifanti for close upon three months, during which time my mind had
gradually, yet swiftly, been opening out like a bud under the sunlight of
much new learning. We sat in the fine garden behind the house, on the
lawn, in the shade of mulberry trees laden with yellow translucent fruit,
by a pond that was all afloat with water-lilies.
There was a crescent-shaped seat of hewn marble, over which Messer Gambara,
who was with us, had thrown his scarlet cardinal's cloak, the day being
oppressively hot. He was as usual in plain, walking clothes, and save for
the ring on his finger and the cross on his breast, you had never conceived
him an ecclesiastic.
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