“When you are the basket, sir captain, shall anyone blame the women?” she countered with her lazy insolence.
“Body of God!” cried the Cardinal, and laughed wholeheartedly, whilst my cousin scowled. “There you have the truth, Cosimo, and the truth is better than proverbs.”
“It is unlucky to speak of the dead at table,” put in Caro.
“And who spoke of the dead, Messer Annibale?” quoth Leocadia.
“Did not my Lord Cardinal mention Truth?” answered the brutal poet.
“You are a derider--a gross sinner,” said the Cardinal languidly. “Stick to your verses, man, and leave Truth alone.”
“Agreed--if your excellency will stick to Truth and quit writing verses. I offer the compact in the interest of humanity, which will be the gainer.”
The company shook with laughter at this direct and offensive hit. But my Lord Gambara seemed nowise incensed. Indeed, I was beginning to conclude that the man had a sweetness and tolerance of nature that bordered on the saintly.
He sipped his wine thoughtfully, and held it up to the light so that the deep ruby of it sparkled in the Venetian crystal.
“You remind me that I have written a new song,” said he.
“Then have I sinned indeed,” groaned Caro.
But Gambara, disregarding the interruption, his glass still raised, his mild eyes upon the wine, began to recite:
“Bacchus saepe visitans Mulierum genus Facit eas subditas Tibi, O tu Venus!”
Without completely understanding it, yet scandalized beyond measure at as much as I understood, to hear such sentiments upon his priestly lips, I stared at him in candid horror.
But he got no farther. Caro smote the table with his fist.
“When wrote you that, my lord?” he cried.
“When?” quoth the Cardinal, frowning at the interruption. “Why, yestereve.”
“Ha!” It was something between a bark and a laugh from Messer Caro. “In that case, my lord, memory usurped the place of invention. That song was sung at Pavia when I was a student--which is more years ago than I care to think of.”
The Cardinal smiled upon him, unabashed. “And what then, pray? Can we avoid these things? Why, the very Virgil whom you plagiarize so freely was himself a plagiarist.”
Now this, as you may well conceive, provoked a discussion about the board, in which all joined, not excepting Fifanti's lady and Donna Leocadia.