the story of mankind-第40章

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that　they　had　been　kind　to　a　poet　in　his　misery。　During　the

many　years　of　exile；　Dante　felt　compelled　to　justify　himself

and　his　actions　when　he　had　been　a　political　leader　in　his

home…town；　and　when　he　had　spent　his　days　walking　along

the　banks　of　the　Arno　that　he　might　catch　a　glimpse　of　the

lovely　Beatrice　Portinari；　who　died　the　wife　of　another　man；　a

dozen　years　before　the　Ghibelline　disaster。



He　had　failed　in　the　ambitions　of　his　career。　He　had

faithfully　served　the　town　of　is　birth　and　before　a　corrupt

court　he　had　been　accused　of　stealing　the　public　funds　and

had　been　condemned　to　be　burned　alive　should　he　venture

back　within　the　realm　of　the　city　of　Florence。　To　clear

himself　before　his　own　conscience　and　before　his　contemporaries；

Dante　then　created　an　Imaginary　World　and　with　great

detail　he　described　the　circumstances　which　had　led　to

his　defeat　and　depicted　the　hopeless　condition　of　greed　and　lust

and　hatred　which　had　turned　his　fair　and　beloved　Italy　into　a

battlefield　for　the　pitiless　mercenaries　of　wicked　and　selfish

tyrants。



He　tells　us　how　on　the　Thursday　before　Easter　of　the　year

1300　he　had　lost　his　way　in　a　dense　forest　and　how　he　found

his　path　barred　by　a　leopard　and　a　lion　and　a　wolf。　He　gave

himself　up　for　lost　when　a　white　figure　appeared　amidst　the

trees。　It　was　Virgil；　the　Roman　poet　and　philosopher；　sent

upon　his　errand　of　mercy　by　the　Blessed　Virgin　and　by　Beatrice；

who　from　high　Heaven　watched　over　the　fate　of　her

true　lover。　Virgil　then　takes　Dante　through　Purgatory　and

through　Hell。　Deeper　and　deeper　the　path　leads　them　until

they　reach　the　lowest　pit　where　Lucifer　himself　stands　frozen

into　the　eternal　ice　surrounded　by　the　most　terrible　of　sinners；

traitors　and　liars　and　those　who　have　achieved　fame　and

success　by　lies　and　by　deceit。　But　before　the　two　wanderers

have　reached　this　terrible　spot；　Dante　has　met　all　those　who

in　some　way　or　other　have　played　a　role　in　the　history　of　his

beloved　city。　Emperors　and　Popes；　dashing　knights　and

whining　usurers；　they　are　all　there；　doomed　to　eternal　punishment

or　awaiting　the　day　of　deliverance；　when　they　shall

leave　Purgatory　for　Heaven。



It　is　a　curious　story。　It　is　a　handbook　of　everything　the

people　of　the　thirteenth　century　did　and　felt　and　feared　and

prayed　for。　Through　it　all　moves　the　figure　of　the　lonely

Florentine　exile；　forever　followed　by　the　shadow　of　his　own

despair。



And　behold！　when　the　gates　of　death　were　closing　upon

the　sad　poet　of　the　Middle　Ages；　the　portals　of　life　swung

open　to　the　child　who　was　to　be　the　first　of　the　men　of　the

Renaissance。　That　was　Francesco　Petrarca；　the　son　of　the

notary　public　of　the　little　town　of　Arezzo。



Francesco's　father　had　belonged　to　the　same　political　party

as　Dante。　He　too　had　been　exiled　and　thus　it　happened　that

Petrarca　（or　Petrarch；　as　we　call　him）　was　born　away　from

Florence。　At　the　age　of　fifteen　he　was　sent　to　Montpellier

in　France　that　he　might　become　a　lawyer　like　his　father。　But

the　boy　did　not　want　to　be　a　jurist。　He　hated　the　law。　He

wanted　to　be　a　scholar　and　a　poetand　because　he　wanted　to

be　a　scholar　and　a　poet　beyond　everything　else；　he　became　one；

as　people　of　a　strong　will　are　apt　to　do。　He　made　long

voyages；　copying　manuscripts　in　Flanders　and　in　the　cloisters

along　the　Rhine　and　in　Paris　and　Liege　and　finally　in　Rome。

Then　he　went　to　live　in　a　lonely　valley　of　the　wild　mountains

of　Vaucluse；　and　there　he　studied　and　wrote　and　soon　he　had

become　so　famous　for　his　verse　and　for　his　learning　that　both

the　University　of　Paris　and　the　king　of　Naples　invited　him

to　come　and　teach　their　students　and　subjects。　On　the　way

to　his　new　job；　he　was　obliged　to　pass　through　Rome。　The

people　had　heard　of　his　fame　as　an　editor　of　half…forgotten

Roman　authors。　They　decided　to　honour　him　and　in　the

ancient　forum　of　the　Imperial　City；　Petrarch　was　crowned　with

the　laurel　wreath　of　the　Poet。



From　that　moment　on；　his　life　was　an　endless　career　of

honour　and　appreciation。　He　wrote　the　things　which　people

wanted　most　to　hear。　They　were　tired　of　theological

disputations。　Poor　Dante　could　wander　through　hell　as　much　as

he　wanted。　But　Petrarch　wrote　of　love　and　of　nature　and　the

sun　and　never　mentioned　those　gloomy　things　which　seemed

to　have　been　the　stock　in　trade　of　the　last　generation。　And

when　Petrarch　came　to　a　city；　all　the　people　flocked　out　to

meet　him　and　he　was　received　like　a　conquering　hero。　If　he

happened　to　bring　his　young　friend　Boccaccio；　the　story　teller；

with　him；　so　much　the　better。　They　were　both　men　of　their

time；　full　of　curiosity；　willing　to　read　everything　once；　digging

in　forgotten　and　musty　libraries　that　they　might　find　still　another

manuscript　of　Virgil　or　Ovid　or　Lucrece　or　any　of　the

other　old　Latin　poets。　They　were　good　Christians。　Of　course

they　were！　Everyone　was。　But　no　need　of　going　around　with

a　long　face　and　wearing　a　dirty　coat　just　because　some　day

or　other　you　were　going　to　die。　Life　was　good。　People　were

meant　to　be　happy。　You　desired　proof　of　this？　Very　well。

Take　a　spade　and　dig　into　the　soil。　What　did　you　find？

Beautiful　old　statues。　Beautiful　old　vases。　Ruins　of　ancient

buildings。　All　these　things　were　made　by　the　people　of　the

greatest　empire　that　ever　existed。　They　ruled　all　the　world

for　a　thousand　years。　They　were　strong　and　rich　and　handsome

（just　look　at　that　bust　of　the　Emperor　Augustus！）。　Of

course；　they　were　not　Christians　and　they　would　never　be

able　to　enter　Heaven。　At　best　they　would　spend　their　days

in　purgatory；　where　Dante　had　just　paid　them　a　visit。



But　who　cared？　To　have　lived　in　a　world　like　that　of

ancient　Rome　was　heaven　enough　for　any　mortal　being。　And

anyway；　we　live　but　once。　Let　us　be　happy　and　cheerful　for

the　mere　joy　of　existence。



Such；　in　short；　was　the　spirit　that　had　begun　to　fill　the

narrow　and　crooked　streets　of　the　many　little　Italian　cities。



You　know　what　we　mean　by　the　‘‘bicycle　craze''　or　the

‘‘automobile　craze。''　Some　one　invents　a　bicycle。　People　who

for　hundreds　of　thousands　of　years　have　moved　slowly　and

painfully　from　one　place　to　another　go　‘‘crazy''　over　the　prospect

of　rolling　rapidly　and　easily　over　hill　and　dale。　Then

a　clever　mechanic　makes　the　first　automobile。　No　longer　is　it

necessary　to　pedal　and　pedal　and　pedal。　You　just　sit　and

let　little　drops　of　gasoline　do　the　work　for　you。　Then　everybody

wants　an　automobile。　Everybody　talks　about　Rolls…

Royces　and　Flivvers　and　carburetors　and　mileage　and　oil。　Explorers

penetrate　into　the　hearts　of　unknown　countries　that

they　may　find　new　supplies　of　gas。　Forests　arise　in　Sumatra

and　in　the　Congo　to　supply　us　with　rubber。　Rubber　and　oil

become　so　valuable　that　people　fight　wars　for　their　possession。

The　whole　world　is　‘‘automobile　mad''　and　little　children　can

say　‘‘car''　before　they　learn　to　whisper　‘‘papa''　and　‘‘mamma。''



In　the　fourteenth　century；　the　Italian　people　went　crazy

about　the　newly　discovered　beauties　of　the　buried　world　of

Rome。　Soon　their　enthusiasm　was　shared　by　all　the　people　of

western　Europe。　The　finding　of　an　unknown　manuscript　became

the　excuse　for　a　civic　holiday。　The　man　who　wrote　a

grammar　became　as　popular　as　the　fellow　who　nowadays　invents

a　new　spark…plug。　The　humanist；　the　scholar　who　devoted　his

time　and　his　energies　to　a　study　of　‘‘homo''　or　mankind　（instead

of　wasting　his　hours　upon　fruitless　theological　investigations）；

that　man　was　regarded　with　greater　honour　and　a　deeper　respect

than　was　ever　bestowed　upon　a　hero　who　had　just　conquered

all　the　Cannibal　Islands。



In　the　midst　of　this　intellectual　upheaval；　an　event　occurred

which　greatly　favoured　the　study　of　the　ancient　philosophers

and　authors。　The　Turks　were　renewing　their　attacks　upon

Europe。　Constantinople；　capital　of　the　last　remnant　of　the

original　Roman　Empire；　was　hard　pressed。　In　the　year　1393

the　Emperor；　Manuel　Paleologue；　sent　Emmanuel　Chrys