It was in his wanderings from court to court and castle to castle and convent to convent and university to university, that he acquired that profound experience with men and the world which fitted him for his great task.  “Not as victorious knight on the field of Campaldino, not as leader of the Guelph aristocracy at Florence, not as prior, not as ambassador,” but as a wanderer did he acquire his moral wisdom.  He was a striking example of the severe experiences to which nearly all great benefactors have been subjected,—­Abraham the exile, in the wilderness, in Egypt, among Philistines, among robbers and barbaric chieftains; the Prince Siddartha, who founded Buddhism, in his wanderings among the various Indian nations who bowed down to Brahma; and, still greater, the Apostle Paul, in his protracted martyrdom among Pagan idolaters and boastful philosophers, in Asia and in Europe.  These and others may be cited, who led a life of self-denial and reproach in order to spread the truths which save mankind.  We naturally call their lot hard, even though they chose it; but it is the school of greatness.  It was sad to see the wisest and best man of his day,—­a man of family, of culture, of wealth, of learning, loving leisure, attached to his home and country, accustomed to honor and independence,—­doomed to exile, poverty, neglect, and hatred, without those compensations which men of genius in our time secure.  But I would not attempt to excite pity for an outward condition which developed the higher virtues,—­for a thorny path which led to the regions of eternal light.  Dante may have walked in bitter tears to Paradise, but after the fashion of saints and martyrs in all ages of our world.  He need but cast his eyes on that emblem which was erected on every pinnacle of Mediaeval churches to symbolize passing suffering with salvation infinite,—­the great and august creed of the age in which he lived, though now buried amid the triumphs of an imposing material civilization whose end is the adoration of the majesty of man rather than the majesty of God, the wonders of creation rather than the greatness of the Creator.

But something more was required in order to write an immortal poem than even native genius, great learning, and profound experience.  The soul must be stimulated to the work by an absorbing and ennobling passion.  This passion Dante had; and it is as memorable as the mortal loves of Abelard and Heloise, and infinitely more exalting, since it was spiritual and immortal,—­even the adoration of his lamented and departed Beatrice.

I wish to dwell for a moment, perhaps longer than to some may seem dignified, on this ideal or sentimental love.  It may seem trivial and unimportant to the eye of youth, or a man of the world, or a woman of sensual nature, or to unthinking fools and butterflies; but it is invested with dignity to one who meditates on the mysteries of the soul, the wonders of our higher nature,—­one of the things which arrest the attention of philosophers.