In my prime I was blessed with a quick and active body, although not exceptionally strong; and while I do Physical appearance not lay claim to remarkable personal beauty, I was comely enough in my best days. I was possessed of a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for long years a keen vision, which, however, deserted me, contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance, to resort to glasses.[626] Although I had previously enjoyed perfect health, old age brought with it the usual array of discomforts.
My parents were honorable folk, Florentine in their origin, of medium fortune, or, I may as well admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty. They had been expelled from their native city,[627] and consequently I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in the year 1304 of this latter age, which begins with Christ's birth, July the 20th, on a Monday, at dawn. I have always possessed an extreme contempt for wealth; not that riches are not desirable in themselves, but because I hate the anxiety and care which are invariably associated with them. I certainly do not long to be able to give gorgeous banquets. I have, on the contrary, led a Preference for plain and sensible living happier existence with plain living and ordinary fare than all the followers of Apicius,[628] with their elaborate dainties. So-called convivia, which are but vulgar bouts, sinning against sobriety and good manners, have always been repugnant to me. I have ever felt that it was irksome and profitless to invite others to such affairs, and not less so to be bidden to them myself. On the other hand, the pleasure of dining with one's friends is so great that nothing has ever given me more delight than their unexpected arrival, nor have I ever willingly sat down to table without a companion. Nothing displeases me more than display, for not only is it bad in itself and opposed to humility, but it is troublesome and distracting.
In my familiar associations with kings and princes, and in my friendship with noble personages, my good fortune has been such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel fate of those who Intimacy with renowned men are growing old that they can commonly only weep for friends who have passed away. The greatest kings of this age have loved and courted me. They may know why; I certainly do not. With some of them I was on such terms that they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embarrassing me, but, on the contrary, bringing with it many advantages. I fled, however, from many of those to whom I was greatly attached; and such was my innate longing for liberty that I studiously avoided those whose very name seemed incompatible with the freedom that I loved.
I possessed a well-balanced rather than a keen intellect—one prone to all kinds of good and wholesome study, but especially inclined to moral philosophy and the art of poetry. The latter, indeed, I neglected as time went on, and took delight in sacred literature. Finding in that a hidden sweetness which I had once esteemed but lightly, I came to regard the works of the poets as only amenities.
Among the many subjects that interested me, I dwelt especially upon antiquity, for our own age has always repelled me, Admiration for antiquity so that, had it not been for the love of those dear to me, I should have preferred to have been born in any other period than our own. In order to forget my own time, I have constantly striven to place myself in spirit in other ages, and consequently I delighted in history. The conflicting statements troubled me, but when in doubt I accepted what appeared most probable, or yielded to the authority of the writer.
My style, as many claimed, was clear and forcible; but to me it seemed weak and obscure. In ordinary conversation with friends, or with those about me, I never gave thought to my language, and I have always wondered that Augustus Cæsar should Attitude toward literary style have taken such pains in this respect. When, however, the subject itself, or the place or the listener, seemed to demand it, I gave some attention to style, with what success I cannot pretend to say; let them judge in whose presence I spoke. If only I have lived well, it matters little to me how I talked. Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown....
CHAPTER XXVII.
FORESHADOWINGS OF THE REFORMATION
83. The Reply of Wyclif to the Summons of Pope Urban VI. (1384)
The fourteenth century was an era of religious decline in England, as indeed more or less generally throughout western Europe. The papacy was at its lowest ebb, unable to command either respect or obedience, except among the clergy and certain of the common people; bishops and abbots had grown wealthy and worldly and were often utterly neglectful of their religious obligations; and among the masses the services of worship had frequently become mere hollow formalities. There were still many good men in the Church, men who in an unpretentious way sought to do their duty faithfully; but of large numbers—possibly the majority—of both the higher and lower clergy this could not be said. The dissatisfaction of the people with industrial conditions which prompted the uprising of 1381 was accompanied by an almost equal discontent with the shortcomings of the selfish and avaricious clergy. It was harder, of course, to arouse men to an active hostility to the existing ecclesiastical system than to the industrial régime, because the Church still maintained a very close hold upon the sentiments and attachments of the average individual. Still, there were people here and there who were outspoken for reform, and chief among these was John Wyclif.