occurred to me. In my way hither, I had resolved to make the study of
the language of this book, and the translation of its contents into
English, the business and solace of my leisure. Now this resolution was
revived with new force.

My project was perhaps singular. The ancient language of Italy possessed
a strong affinity with the modern. My knowledge of the former was my
only means of gaining the latter. I had no grammar or vocabulary to
explain how far the meanings and inflections of Tuscan words varied
from the Roman dialect. I was to ponder on each sentence and phrase; to
select among different conjectures the most plausible, and to ascertain
the true by patient and repeated scrutiny.

This undertaking, fantastic and impracticable as it may seem, proved,
upon experiment, to be within the compass of my powers. The detail of my
progress would be curious and instructive. What impediments, in the
attainment of a darling purpose, human ingenuity and patience are able
to surmount; how much may be done by strenuous and solitary efforts; how
the mind, unassisted, may draw forth the principles of inflection and
arrangement; may profit by remote, analogous, and latent similitudes,
would be forcibly illustrated by my example; but the theme, however
attractive, must, for the present, be omitted.

My progress was slow; but the perception of hourly improvement afforded
me unspeakable pleasure. Having arrived near the last pages, I was able
to pursue, with little interruption, the thread of an eloquent
narration. The triumph of a leader of outlaws over the popular
enthusiasm of the Milanese and the claims of neighbouring potentates was
about to be depicted. The _Condottiero_ Sforza had taken refuge from his
enemies in a tomb, accidentally discovered amidst the ruins of a Roman