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THE GARDENS OF ITALY. 
of all the honours paid him, he remained simple and unpretending, loving a quiet life, often 
melancholy, though with those he loved he was cheerful and sympathetic. In his later years 
he was a constant visitor to Lorenzo at one or other of his villas, and to his last hour Lorenzo 
remained greatly attached to him, describing him as “ Marsilio, whom heaven has filled with 
its own especial grace.” 
The second was the man who stood in the closest relation to Lorenzo, Angelo Poliziano, 
whose name is so connected with Villa Medici. He was commended to Lorenzo, w'hile still 
young, as the translator of the Iliad. The young head of the house became his friend, and 
through all changes Poliziano loved him till he stood by his death-bed. A great poet, his verses, 
the “ Stanzas,” the “ Sylvte,” and “ Rusticus,” are counted among the gems of the Italian language. 
The third of this delightful trio was Pico della Mirandola. Younger than the others, 
though he has left but little finished work behind him, dying at the age of two-and-thirty, yet 
his is the impress of a personality that has defied time, that of the most brilliant figure in all 
that brilliant circle. We are familiar with the description of his tall, slender, well knit form, 
and of the handsome face “ from w'hich something divine seemed to shine.” We are told of his 
costly dress and abstruse learning, and of the simplicity and sweetness of character by which 
he drew all hearts to himself. 
Those who climb to the fresh air of Villa Medici will think with interest of Poliziano’s 
letter, written after Lorenzo had installed him there, to Marsilio Ficino : “ When Careggi 
becomes too hot in . 4 ,ugust I hope you may not think this our rustic dwelling of Fiesole 
beneath your notice. We have plenty of w'ater here, and, as w'e are in a valley, but little sun, 
and never without a cooling breeze. The villa itself, lying off the road and almost hidden in the 
midst of a wood, yet commands a view of the whole of Florence, and although in a densely 
populated district, yet I have perfect solitude such as is loved by him who leaves the town. 
But I will tempt thee with yet another attraction. Pico sometimes wanders beyond the limit 
of his own grounds, breaks in unexpectedly on my solitude and carries me away from my 
shady garden to his evening meal.” 
In the autumn of 1478, the year of the Pazzi conspiracy, Lorenzo sent Poliziano to 
Fiesole wdth his wife and children. Clarice di Medici was a good and careful mother, and 
Poliziano seems to have been a devoted tutor, but the two did not get on. Poliziano w’as bored 
with her, and longing to be again wdth Lorenzo. “ We get on as well as we can,” he writes, 
after a time, “ but I cannot escape a few collisions.” Presently matters came to an open 
breach ; they had moved to Careggi, where it rained every day. Poliziano sat by the fire 
in dressing-gown and slippers, a prey to melancholy, and only rousing himself to quarrel 
with his employer’s wife, who, not unnaturally, wished to have a voice in teaching her children. 
So Lorenzo sent him back to Fiesole, where he wrote Latin verses on the view and the 
winding Arno. 
He was a great believer in witches, and in an address to his students he says, “In the 
neighbourhood of my little villa at Fiesole there is a little brook, hidden by the shadow of the 
hillside, and the wmmen of the place say that it is a place of meeting for the witches.” In the 
neighbourhood of Villa Medici there are even yet traces of the witch traditions of the Middle 
Ages ; on the northern slope of the hill the subterranean chambers of the Roman theatre are 
still called by the country people the Witches’ Caves (Bocche delle Fate). 
.Among such friends Lorenzo passed perhaps his happiest hours, discussing philosophy 
and politics, and writing verses and sonnets. Poliziano speaks of these visits in his poem 
“ Rusticus ” ; 
Such was my song, with idie thought 
In Fiesole’s cool grottoes wrought. 
Where from the Medici’s retreat 
On that famed mount, beneath my feet 
Tiie Tuscan city I surv'ey, 
.\nd winding Amu, far away. 
Here sometime at happy leisure, 
Bounteous Lorenzo takes his pleasure 
His friends to entertain and feast 
(Of Phcebus' sons, himself not least). 
Offering a haven, safe and free, 
To stfinn-tossed ships of Poesy. 
