the story of mankind-第33部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



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。　He　had　fought　the

battle　of　a　time　that　was　dead　and　gone。　The　Pope　in　Rome

never　moved　a　finger　to　save　him。　On　the　contrary；　he　approved

of　his　‘‘faithful　Florentines''　when　they　dragged　Savonarola

to　the　gallows；　hanged　him　and　burned　his　body　amidst

the　cheerful　howling　and　yelling　of　the　mob。



It　was　a　sad　ending；　but　quite　inevitable。　Savonarola

would　have　been　a　great　man　in　the　eleventh　century。　In　the

fifteenth　century　he　was　merely　the　leader　of　a　lost　cause。

For　better　or　worse；　the　Middle　Ages　had　come　to　an　end　when

the　Pope　had　turned　humanist　and　when　the　Vatican　became

the　most　important　museum　of　Roman　and　Greek　antiquities。







THE　AGE　OF　EXPRESSION



THE　PEOPLE　BEGAN　TO　FEEL　THE　NEED　OF

GIVING　EXPRESSION　TO　THEIR　NEWLY

DISCOVERED　JOY　OF　LIVING。　THEY　EXPRESSED

THEIR　HAPPINESS　IN　POETRY

AND　IN　SCULPTURE　AND　IN　ARCHITECTURE

AND　IN　PAINTING　AND　IN　THE

BOOKS　THEY　PRINTED





IN　the　year　1471　there　died　a　pious　old　man　who　had　spent

seventy…two　of　his　ninety…one　years　behind　the　sheltering　walls

of　the　cloister　of　Mount　St。　Agnes　near　the　good　town　of

Zwolle；　the　old　Dutch　Hanseatic　city　on　the　river　Ysel。　He

was　known　as　Brother　Thomas　and　because　he　had　been　born

in　the　village　of　Kempen；　he　was　called　Thomas　a　Kempis。

At　the　age　of　twelve　he　had　been　sent　to　Deventer；　where

Gerhard　Groot；　a　brilliant　graduate　of　the　universities　of

Paris；　Cologne　and　Prague；　and　famous　as　a　wandering

preacher；　had　founded　the　Society　of　the　Brothers　of　the

Common　Life。　The　good　brothers　were　humble　laymen　who

tried　to　live　the　simple　life　of　the　early　Apostles　of　Christ

while　working　at　their　regular　jobs　as　carpenters　and　house…

painters　and　stone　masons。　They　maintained　an　excellent

school；　that　deserving　boys　of　poor　parents　might　be　taught

the　wisdom　of　the　Fathers　of　the　church。　At　this　school；

little　Thomas　had　learned　how　to　conjugate　Latin　verbs　and

how　to　copy　manuscripts。　Then　he　had　taken　his　vows；　had

put　his　little　bundle　of　books　upon　his　back；　had　wandered　to

Zwolle　and　with　a　sigh　of　relief　he　had　closed　the　door　upon　a

turbulent　world　which　did　not　attract　him。



Thomas　lived　in　an　age　of　turmoil；　pestilence　and　sudden

death。　In　central　Europe；　in　Bohemia；　the　devoted　disciples　of

Johannus　Huss；　the　friend　and　follower　of　John　Wycliffe；　the

English　reformer；　were　avenging　with　a　terrible　warfare　the　death

of　their　beloved　leader　who　had　been　burned　at　the　stake　by　order　of

that　same　Council　of　Constance；　which　had　promised　him　a　safe…conduct

if　he　would　come　to　Switzerland　and　explain　his　doctrines　to　the　Pope；

the　Emperor；　twenty…three　cardinals；　thirty…three　archbishops　and　bishops；

one　hundred　and　fifty　abbots　and　more　than　a　hundred　princes　and

dukes　who　had　gathered　together　to　reform　their　church。



In　the　west；　France　had　been　fighting　for　a　hundred　years　that

she　might　drive　the　English　from　her　territories　and　just　then　was

saved　from　utter　defeat　by　the　fortunate　appearance　of　Joan　of　Arc。

And　no　sooner　had　this　struggle　come　to　an　end　than　France　and　Burgundy

were　at　each　other's　throats；　engaged　upon　a　struggle　of　life　and　death

for　the　supremacy　of　western　Europe。



In　the　south；　a　Pope　at　Rome　was　calling　the　curses　of

Heaven　down　upon　a　second　Pope　who　resided　at　Avignon；

in　southern　France；　and　who　retaliated　in　kind。　In　the

far　east　the　Turks　were　destroying　the　last　remnants　of　the

Roman　Empire　and　the　Russians　had　started　upon　a　final

crusade　to　crush　the　power　of　their　Tartar　masters。



But　of　all　this；　Brother　Thomas　in　his　quiet　cell　never

heard。　He　had　his　manuscripts　and　his　own　thoughts　and

he　was　contented。　He　poured　his　love　of　God　into　a　little

volume。　He　called　it　the　Imitation　of　Christ。　It　has　since

been　translated　into　more　languages　than　any　other　book

save　the　Bible。　It　has　been　read　by　quite　as　many　people

as　ever　studied　the　Holy　Scriptures。　It　has　influenced　the

lives　of　countless　millions。　And　it　was　the　work　of　a　man

whose　highest　ideal　of　existence　was　expressed　in　the　simple

wish　that　‘‘he　might　quietly　spend　his　days　sitting　in　a　little

corner　with　a　little　book。''



Good　Brother　Thomas　represented　the　purest　ideals　of　the

Middle　Ages。　Surrounded　on　all　sides　by　the　forces　of　the

victorious　Renaissance；　with　the　humanists　loudly　proclaiming

the　coming　of　modern　times；　the　Middle　Ages　gathered

strength　for　a　last　sally。　Monasteries　were　reformed。　Monks

gave　up　the　habits　of　riches　and　vice。　Simple；　straightforward

and　honest　men；　by　the　example　of　their　blameless

and　devout　lives；　tried　to　bring　the　people　back　to　the　ways　of

righteousness　and　humble　resignation　to　the　will　of　God。　But

all　to　no　avail。　The　new　world　rushed　past　these　good　people。

The　days　of　quiet　meditation　were　gone。　The　great　era　of

‘‘expression''　had　begun。



Here　and　now　let　me　say　that　I　am　sorry　that　I　must　use

so　many　‘‘big　words。''　I　wish　that　I　could　write　this　history　in

words　of　one　syllable。　But　it　cannot　be　done。　You　cannot

write　a　text…book　of　geometry　without　reference　to　a　hypotenuse

and　triangles　and　a　rectangular　parallelopiped。　You

simply　have　to　learn　what　those　words　mean　or　do　without

mathematics。　In　history　（and　in　all　life）　you　will　eventually

be　obliged　to　learn　the　meaning　of　many　strange　words　of

Latin　and　Greek　origin。　Why　not　do　it　now？



When　I　say　that　the　Renaissance　was　an　era　of　expression；

I　mean　this：　People　were　no　longer　contented　to　be　the

audience　and　sit　still　while　the　emperor　and　the　pope　told

them　what　to　do　and　what　to　think。　They　wanted　to　be　actors

upon　the　stage　of　life。　They　insisted　upon　giving　‘‘expression''

to　their　own　individual　ideas。　If　a　man　happened　to　be　interested

in　statesmanship　like　the　Florentine　historian；　Niccolo

Macchiavelli；　then　he　‘‘expressed''　himself　in　his　books　which

revealed　his　own　idea　of　a　successful　state　and　an　efficient

rule