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　Chrysoloras
  to　western　Europe　to　explain　the　desperate　state　of　old　Byzantium
  and　to　ask　for　aid。　This　aid　never　came。　The　Roman
  Catholic　world　was　more　than　willing　to　see　the　Greek　Catholic
  world　go　to　the　punishment　that　awaited　such　wicked　heretics。
  But　however　indifferent　western　Europe　might　be　to　the　fate
  of　the　Byzantines；　they　were　greatly　interested　in　the　ancient
  Greeks　whose　colonists　had　founded　the　city　on　the　Bosphorus
  ten　centuries　after　the　Trojan　war。　They　wanted　to　learn
  Greek　that　they　might　read　Aristotle　and　Homer　and　Plato。
  They　wanted　to　learn　it　very　badly；　but　they　had　no　books　and
  no　grammars　and　no　teachers。　The　magistrates　of　Florence
  heard　of　the　visit　of　Chrysoloras。　The　people　of　their　city
  were　‘‘crazy　to　learn　Greek。''　Would　he　please　come　and
  teach　them？　He　would；　and　behold！　the　first　professor　of
  Greek　teaching　alpha；　beta；　gamma　to　hundreds　of　eager　young
  men；　begging　their　way　to　the　city　of　the　Arno；　living　in　stables
  and　in　dingy　attics　that　they　night　learn　how　to　decline　the　verb
  and　enter　into　the　companionship　of
  Sophocles　and　Homer。
  Meanwhile　in　the　universities；　the　old　schoolmen；　teaching
  their　ancient　theology　and　their　antiquated　logic；　explaining
  the　hidden　mysteries　of　the　old　Testament　and　discussing　the
  strange　science　of　their　Greek…Arabic…Spanish…Latin　edition　of
  Aristotle；　looked　on　in　dismay　and　horror。　Next；　they　turned
  angry。　This　thing　was　going　too　far。　The　young　men　were
  deserting　the　lecture　halls　of　the　established　universities　to
  go　and　listen　to　some　wild…eyed　‘‘humanist''　with　his　newfangled
  notions　about　a　‘‘reborn　civilization。''
  They　went　to　the　authorities。　They　complained。　But　one
  cannot　force　an　unwilling　horse　to　drink　and　one　cannot
  make　unwilling　ears　listen　to　something　which　does　not　really
  interest　them。　The　schoolmen　were　losing　ground　rapidly。　Here
  and　there　they　scored　a　short　victory。　They　combined　forces
  with　those　fanatics　who　hated　to　see　other　people　enjoy　a
  happiness　which　was　foreign　to　their　own　souls。　In　Florence；
  the　centre　of　the　Great　Rebirth；　a　terrible　fight　was　fought
  between　the　old　order　and　the　new。　A　Dominican　monk；　sour
  of　face　and　bitter　in　his　hatred　of　beauty；　was　the　leader　of
  the　mediaeval　rear…guard。　He　fought　a　valiant　battle。　Day
  after　day　he　thundered　his　warnings　of　God's　holy　wrath
  through　the　wide　halls　of　Santa　Maria　del　Fiore。　‘‘Repent；''
  he　cried；　‘‘repent　of　your　godlessness；　of　your　joy　in　things
  that　are　not　holy！''　He　began　to　hear　voices　and　to　see　flaming
  swords　that　flashed　through　the　sky。　He　preached　to　the
  little　children　that　they　might　not　fall　into　the　errors　of　these
  ways　which　were　leading　their　fathers　to　perdition。　He　organised
  companies　of　boy…scouts；　devoted　to　the　service　of　the
  great　God　whose　prophet　he　claimed　to　be。　In　a　sudden　moment
  of　frenzy；　the　frightened　people　promised　to　do　penance
  for　their　wicked　love　of　beauty　and　pleasure。　They　carried
  their　books　and　their　statues　and　their　paintings　to　the　market
  place　and　celebrated　a　wild　‘‘carnival　of　the　vanities''　with　holy
  singing　and　most　unholy　dancing；　while　Savonarola　applied　his
  torch　to　the　accumulated　treasures。
  But　when　the　ashes　cooled　down；　the　people　began　to　realise
  what　they　had　lost。　This　terrible　fanatic　had　made　them　destroy
  that　which　they　had　come　to　love　above　all　things。　They
  turned　against　him；　Savonarola　was　thrown　into　jail。　He　was
  tortured。　But　he　refused　to　repent　for　anything　he　had　done。
  He　was　an　honest　man。　He　had　tried　to　live　a　holy　life。　He
  had　willingly　destroyed　those　who　deliberately　refused　to
  share　his　own　point　of　view。　It　had　been　his　duty　to　eradicate
  evil　wherever　he　found　it。　A　love　of　heathenish　books　and
  heathenish　beauty　in　the　eyes　of　this　faithful　son　of　the　Church；
  had　been　an　evil。　But　he　stood　alone。