How well one can imagine the young men--in loose blouses confined at
the waist, or in buff jerkins and close-fitting hose, with jaunty
cloaks or doublets, and little red or black caps, set on flowing locks
cut square in front--passing beneath the shadows of the arches among
the dim statues, or crossing the garden in the sunshine amid the
orange-trees, under the splendid blue Italian skies.
We can see them painting, modelling, or drawing large cartoons in
charcoal, while old Bertoldo passes from easel to easel, criticising
and fault-finding, detailing for the hundredth time Donatello's maxims,
and moving on, heedless or deaf to the irreverent jokes of his
ungrateful pupils.
Then, like a vision of power and grandeur, Lorenzo il Magnifico enters
with a group of his classic friends. Politian and the brothers Pulci
admire again the ancient sculptures which are to them as illustrations
of their readings, and Lorenzo notes the works of all the students who
were destined to contribute to the glory of the many Medicean palaces.
How the burly Torrigiano's heart burns within him when the Duke praises
his compeer's works!
Sometimes Madonna Alfonsina, the mother of Lorenzo, and widow of Piero,
walked here, and she also took an interest in the studies of the
youths.
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