Beacon Lights of History, Volume 03, part 2 | Page 7

he was precocious, like
Cicero and Pascal; that he early made great attainments, giving
utterance to living thoughts and feelings, like Bacon, among boyish
companions; lisping in numbers, like Pope, before he could write prose;
different from all other boys, since no time can be fixed when he did
not think and feel like a person of maturer years. Born in Florence, of
the noble family of the Alighieri, in the year 1265, his early education
devolved upon his mother, his father having died while the boy was
very young. His mother's friend, Brunetto Latini, famous as statesman
and scholarly poet, was of great assistance in directing his tastes and
studies. As a mere youth he wrote sonnets, such as Sordello the
Troubadour would not disdain to own. He delights, as a boy, in those
inquiries which gave fame to Bonaventura. He has an intuitive
contempt for all quacks and pretenders. At Paris he maintains fourteen
different theses, propounded by learned men, on different subjects, and
gains universal admiration. He is early selected by his native city for
important offices, which he fills with honor. In wit he encounters no
superiors. He scorches courts by sarcasms which he can not restrain. He
offends the great by a superiority which he does not attempt to veil. He
affects no humility, for his nature is doubtless proud; he is even
offensively conscious and arrogant. When Florence is deliberating
about the choice of an ambassador to Rome, he playfully, yet still
arrogantly, exclaims: "If I remain behind, who goes? and if I go, who
remains behind?" His countenance, so austere and thoughtful,
impresses all beholders with a sort of inborn greatness; his lip, in
Giotto's portrait, is curled disdainfully, as if he lived among fools or
knaves. He is given to no youthful excesses; he lives simply and
frugally. He rarely speaks unless spoken to; he is absorbed apparently

in thought. Without a commanding physical person, he is a marked
man to everybody, even when he deems himself a stranger. Women
gaze at him with wonder and admiration, though he disdains their
praises and avoids their flatteries. Men make way for him as he passes
them, unconsciously. "Behold," said a group of ladies, as he walked
slowly by them, "there is a man who has visited hell!" To the close of
his life he was a great devourer of books, and digested their contents.
His studies were as various as they were profound. He was familiar
with the ancient poets and historians and philosophers; he was still
better acquainted with the abstruse speculations of the schoolmen. He
delighted in universities and scholastic retreats; from the cares and
duties of public life he would retire to solitary labors, and dignify his
retirement by improving studies. He did not live in a cell, like Jerome,
or a cave, like Mohammed; but no man was ever more indebted to
solitude and meditation than he for that insight and inspiration which
communion with God and great ideas alone can give.
And yet, though recluse and student, he had great experiences with life.
He was born among the higher ranks of society. He inherited an ample
patrimony. He did not shrink from public affairs. He was intensely
patriotic, like Michael Angelo; he gave himself up to the good of his
country, like Savonarola. Florence was small, but it was important; it
was already a capital, and a centre of industry. He represented its
interests in various courts. He lived with princes and nobles. He took an
active part in all public matters and disputations; he was even familiar
with the intrigues of parties; he was a politician as well as scholar. He
entered into the contests between Popes and Emperors respecting the
independence of Italy. He was not conversant with art, for the great
sculptors and painters had not then arisen. The age was still dark; the
mariner's compass had not been invented, chimneys had not been
introduced, the comforts of life were few. Dames of highest rank still
spent their days over the distaff or in combing flax. There were no
grand structures but cathedral churches. Life was laborious, dismal, and
turbulent. Law and order did not reign in cities or villages. The poor
were oppressed by nobles. Commerce was small and manufactures
scarce. Men lived in dreary houses, without luxuries, on coarse bread
and fruit and vegetables. The crusades had not come to an end. It was
the age of quarrelsome popes and cruel nobles, and lazy monks and

haughty bishops, and ignorant people, steeped in gloomy superstitions,
two hundred years before America was discovered, and two hundred
and fifty years before Michael Angelo erected the dome of St. Peter's.
But there was faith in the world, and rough virtues, sincerity, and
earnestness of character, though life was