xt7tmp4vj71g https://nyx.uky.edu/dips/xt7tmp4vj71g/data/mets.xml Holland, Rupert Sargent, 1878-1952 1909  books b92-224-31182809 English G.W. Jacobs, : Philadelphia : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Boys. Biography Juvenile literature. Historic boyhoods  / by Rupert S. Holland. text Historic boyhoods  / by Rupert S. Holland. 1909 2002 true xt7tmp4vj71g section xt7tmp4vj71g 







Historic Boyhoods

Author of "The Count at Harvard," "Builders of
        United Italy," etc.



      Copyright, i909, by
    Plublished October, 19o9

All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A.


the dear memory
   L. B. R.


The thanks of the author are due the
Century Company for permission to re-
print certain of these stories which ap-
peared in Saint Nicholas in shorter form.



    The Boy of Genoa
    The Boy of the Medici Gardens
    The Boy of Devon
    The Boy of the Kremlin
   The Boy of Potsdam
    The Boy of the Old Dominion
    The Boy of the Frontier
    The Boy of the Atlantic
    The Boy of Salzburg
    The Boy of Versailles
   The Boy of the Channel Fleet

          The Boy of the
          The Boy of the



   .     9

   .   21



   .  59


    .  87

    .  99

    .  lo9

    .  122

    .  I36

    .  148

    .  159













6                  CONTENItS

XIV. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE      .   .   .    . 174
           The Boy of Brienne
  XV. WALTER SCOTT .     .    .   .    .   . i88
           The Boy of the Canongate
 XVI. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER                  201
           The Boy of Otsego Hall
XVII. JOHN ERICSSON .    .   .    .   .   . 214
           The Boy of the Gota Canal
XVIII. GARIBALDI     .    .   .   .    .      225
           The Boy of the Mediterranean
 XIX. ABRAHAM LINCOLN    .   .    .   .    . 238
           The Boy of the American Wilderness
  XX. CHARLES DICKENS    .                   251
           The Boy of the London Streets
 XXI. Or-o VON BISMARCK .     .   .   .    . 264
           The Boy of Gbttingen



The Fleet of Columbus Nearing America

Walter Raleigh and the Fisherman of Devon

Peter the Great

Mrs. Washington Urges George Not to Enter
    the Navy

Daniel Boone's First View of Kentucky

Paul Jones Capturing the " Serapis "

Mozart and His Sister Before Maria Theresa

Lafayette Tells of His Wish to Aid America

Nelson Boarding the " San Josef "

Robert Fulton's First Experiment with Paddle

Andrew Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans

The Snow Fort at Brienne

Napoleon as a Cadet in Paris

Street in Edinburgh Where Scott Played as a
    Boy     .     .    .   .

Birthplace of Abraham Lincoln

Charles Dickens at Eighteen  .


Facing page 38

       A a  56

   ''  ''   74

   ''   ''  96


   ''   '' 132

   ''   '' 146

   ''   '' 152

   ''   '' 172

   '' '' 1 76

       '' '  82

       '' '  92

  "C   '   244

  sC   "s 258

 This page in the original text is blank.



           Christopher Columbus
         The Boy of Genoa: 1446()-1 o6

  A PRIVATEER was leaving Genoa on a certain June
morning in I46i, and crowds of people had gathered
on the quays to see the ship sail. Dark-hued men
from the distant shores of Africa, clad in brilliant red
and yellow and blue blouses or tunics and hose, with
dozens of glittering gilded chains about their necks,
and rings in their ears, jostled sun-browned sailors and
merchants from the east, and the fairer-skinned men
and women of the north.
  Genoa was a great seaport in those days, one of the
greatest ports of the known world, and her fleets sailed
forth to trade with Spain and Portugal, France and
England, and even with the countries to the north of
Europe. The sea had made Genoa rich, had given
fortunes to the nobles who lived in the great white
marble palaces that shone in the sun, had placed her
on an equal footing with that other great Italian sea
city, Venice, with whom she was continually at war.
  But all the ships that left her harbor were not trading
vessels. Genoa the Superb had many enemies always
on the alert to swoop down upon her trade. So she
had to maintain a great war-fleet. In addition to this
danger, the Mediterranean was then the home of roving


pirates, ready to seize any vessel, without regard to its
flag, which promised to yield them booty.
  The life of a Genoese boy in those days was packed
full of adventures. Most of the boys went to sea as
soon as they were old enough to hold an oar or to pull
a rope, and they had to be ready at any moment to
drop the oar or rope and seize a sword or a pike to re-
pel pirates or other enemies. There was always the
chance of a sudden chase or a secret attack on a Chris-
tian boat by savage Mussulmen, and so bitter was the
endless war of the two religions that in such cases the
victors rarely spared the lives of the vanquished, or,
if they did, sold them in port as slaves. Moreover
the ships were frail, and the Mediterranean storms
severe, and many barks that contrived to escape the
pirates fell victims to the fury of head winds. The life
of a Genoese sailor was about as dangerous a life as
could well be imagined.
  On this June morning a large privateer was to set
sail from the port, and the families of the men and boys
who were outward bound had come down to say good-
bye. The centre of one little group was a boy about
fifteen, strong and broad for his years, though not very
tall, with warm olive skin, bright black eyes, and fair
hair that fell to his ears. His name was Christopher
Colombo, and he was going to sail with a relative
called Colombo the Younger who commanded a ship
in the service of Genoa.
  The young Christopher had always loved to be
upon the sea. Among the first sights that he remem-
bered were glimpses of the Mediterranean in fair and




stormy weather, the first tales he had heard were stories
of strange adventures that had befallen sailors. His
home had sprung from the waves, its glory had been
drawn from the inland sea, the great chain of high
mountains at its back cut it off from the land and the
pursuits of other cities. Christopher thought of the sea
by day, and dreamed of it by night, and was already
planning when he grew up to go in search of some of
those strange adventures the old bronzed mariners were
so fond of describing.
  The boy's mother and father kissed him good-bye,
and his younger brothers and sister looked at him
enviously as he left them with a wave of his hand and
went on board the ship. The latter was very clumsy,
according to our ideas. She rode high in the water,
with a great deck at the stern set like a small house up
in the air, and with a great bow that bore the figure-
head of the patron saint of the sea, Saint Christopher.
Her sails were hung flat against the masts and were
painted in broad stripes of red and yellow. She was
very magnificent to look upon, but not very seaworthy.
  The marble of Genoa's palaces dropped astern. The
ship was sailing south, and under favoring breezes
soon lost sight of land. Constant watch was kept for
other vessels; any that might appear was more apt to
be an enemy than a friend, because Genoa was at war
then with many rivals, chief among them Naples and
Aragon. Ships had been sailing constantly of late
from Genoa to prey upon the commerce of Naples,
in revenge for what the Neapolitans had once done to




  Colombo the captain was fond of his young kins-
man Christopher, and at the start of the voyage had
him in his cabin and told him some of his plans. The
captain said he had orders to sail to Tunis to capture
the Spanish galley Fernandina. The galley was richly
laden, and each sailor would have a large share of
booty. The boy listened with sparkling eyes; this
would be his first chance to have a hand in a fight at
  The winds of June were favoring, and Colombo's
ship soon reached the island of San Pietro off Sardinia.
Here the captain went ashore to try and learn news of
the Fernandi'na. He found friendly merchants who
had word from all the Mediterranean ports, and they
told him that the galley was not alone, but accompanied
by two other Spanish ships. Colombo was a born
fighter, and this news did not frighten him. The more
ships he might capture the greater would be his own
share of glory and of prize money.
  When the captain told his news to the sailors on his
return from shore, there was great consternation. The
men had no liking to attack two fighting ships be-
sides the galley. At first they simply murmured
among themselves, but the longer they discussed the
desperate nature of the plan the more alarmed they
grew. By the time that the ship was ready to sail
southward from Sardinia they had determined to go no
farther, and sent three of their leaders to speak to
  The captain was with Christopher studying a map
of the Mediterranean when the men came before him.




They told him that they positively refused to sail south
and insisted that he put in at Marseilles for more ships
and men. Colombo saw that he could not force them
to sail farther, so, with what grace he could, he gave
his consent to alter the course.
  The men left the cabin, and after a few minutes'
thought the captain spoke to the boy. " Christopher,"
said he, " bring me the great compass from its box near
the helmsman's stand. Bring it secretly. The men
should all be on the lower deck making ready to sail.
Let no one see thee with it."
  The boy left the cabin and climbed the ladder to the
great poop-deck at the stern where the helmsman had
a view far over the sea. He waited until no one was
about, and then quickly took the compass from its box,
and hiding it under the loose folds of his cloak, brought
it to the captain. He placed it on the table. Then he
fastened the door so that none might enter.
  Colombo opened the compass-case, and drew a pot
of paint and a brush toward him. The boy watched
breathlessly while the captain painted over the marks
of the compass with thick white paint, and then on top
of that drew in new lines and figures in black. He
was changing the compass completely.
  When the work was done Christopher bore the case
back to its box as secretly as he had taken it. Then
Colombo went out to the sailors and gave them orders
to spread sail. It was rapidly growing dark as they
left the coast of Sardinia.
  At sunrise, when Christopher came on deck to stand
his watch, he knew that their ship must be off the city

I 3



of Carthagena, although all the crew supposed they
were well on their way to Marseilles. Not long after,
as they were drawing nearer to the shore, the lookout
signaled a vessel. She was soon seen to be flying the
flag of Naples. Fortunately this ship was alone at the
time, and the sailors were not afraid to attack her.
  Orders were quickly given to sail as close to her as
possible, and preparations were made to board her.
The other ship seemed no less eager to engage in bat-
tle, and in a very short time grappling-irons were
thrown out and the ships were fastened close together.
Then a fierce combat followed between the two crews
as each in turn tried to scale the sides of the other
  A sea-fight in the fifteenth century was fought hand
to hand, each ship being like a fort from which small
attacking parties rushed out to climb the other's battle-
ments. When men met on the decks they used sword
and pike and dagger just as they would have on shore.
Fire was thrown from one ship into the rigging and
sails of the other, and flames soon Caught and greedily
devoured the woodwork of the boats. It was wild
work; the blazing sails, the broken cheers of the men,
the fierce struggle over the two decks.
  Christopher fought bravely whenever chance offered,
but the captain kept him close to his hand to carry
messages. It soon appeared that the enemy were the
stronger, and they bore the Genoese back and back
farther from their bulwarks and across their decks. As
the enemy gained a foothold they held torches to every-
thing that would burn, and soon Colombo's ship was



           CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS                  I5

wrapped in fire and the only choice seemed to be be-
tween surrender and jumping into the sea.
  A burning rope fell from a mast and set fire to
Christopher's cloak. He tore the cloak from him. He
saw that the Neapolitans must win and he had no de-
sire to be carried off to Naples as a prisoner. The
flames were gaining fast as he leaped to the rail on the
free side of the ship, and dove overboard. He came
up free from the wreckage and found a long sweep-oar
floating near him. With that support he struck out
for the shore of Africa, only a short distance away.
1-is first sea-fight had nearly proved his last.
  Self-reliance was the corner-stone of this young
mariner's character. He could take care of himself on
whatever shore he was thrown. He landed on the
beach of Carthagena and told the story of his adven-
tures to the group of sailors who crowded about him
on the sands. There is a strong sense of comradeship
among seamen, and so, although none of the men who
heard the boy's tale were from Genoa, they fitted him
out with dry clothes and found enough money to keep
him in food and shelter.
  There he stayed for some time, waiting until some
Genoese bark should put into port. Meanwhile he
was very much interested in the stories the seafarers of
all lands told to people who would listen to them.
Again and again he heard mariners wondering whether
there might not be a shorter passage to the rich Indies
of the East than the long overland route through
China. The question interested him, and he took to
studying it with care.



  One day an old sailor on the beach told him of his
voyages in the western ocean, and how once his ship
had come so close to the edge of the world that but for
the miracle of a sudden change in the wind they must
certainly have been carried over the side. The same
bearded seaman told Christopher many other curious
things; how he had himself seen beautiful pieces of
carved wood, cut in some strange fashion, floating on
the western sea, and had picked up one day a small
boat which seemed to be made of the bark of a tree,
but of a pattern none had ever seen before.
  Then, and here his voice would sink and his eyes
grow large with wonder, he told Christopher how men
who were explorers were certain that somewhere in
that unsailed western sea, just before one came to the
edge, was an island rich in gold and gems and rare,
delicious fruits, where men need never work if they
chose to stay there, or if they came home might bring
such treasures with them as would put to shame the
richest princes of all Europe. It was said that there
one caught fish already cooked, and that there people
of great beauty lived, with dark red skins and wearing
feathers in their hair.
  " And is no one certain of this " asked Christopher,
his eves wide with excitement. "Not even the men
who have found the African coast and the isle of
Flores  "
  The old sailor shook his head. "Nay, nay, boy.
The wonderful island lies so close to the world's edge
that 'tis a perilous thing to try to find it."
  " Still," said Christopher, "'twould be well worth



the finding, and some time when I'm a man and
can win a ship of my own I'm going to make the
  But the sailor shook his head. " Better leave the un-
known sea to itself, lad," said he. " A whole skin is
worth more to a man than all the gold of King Solo-
mon's mines."
  " Is it true," asked the boy after a time, " that there
are terrible monsters in the Dark Sea " That was the
name given in those days to the ocean that stretched
indefinitely to the west. " I've seen pictures of strange
creatures on ships' maps, but never saw the like of any
of them."
  " No, nor would you be likely to, lad," said the sailor,
"for such as see those monsters don't come back. But
true they are. A great captain told me once that part
of the Dark Sea was black as pitch, and that great
birds flew over it looking for ships. You've heard of
the giant Roc that flies through the air there, so strong
that it can pick up the biggest ship that ever sailed in
its beak, and carry it to the clouds  There it crushes
ship and men in its talons, and drops men's limbs,
armor, timber, all that's left, down to the Dark Sea
monsters who wait to devour the wreckage in their
huge jaws. Ugh, 'tis an ugly thought, and enough to
keep any man safe this side the world."
  " In some places fair, in some dark," mused Chris-
topher. "It would be worth sailing out there to find
which was the truth."
  "Where would be the good of finding that if you
never came back, boy"




  Christopher shrugged his shoulders. "Just for the
fun of finding out, perhaps," he said.

  A month later Christopher saw a galley flying the
flag of Genoa enter the harbor. When the captain
came on shore the boy went to him, and telling him
who he was, asked for a chance to go as sailor back
to Genoa. The captain knew the boy's father, Domen-
ico Colombo, and gave Christopher a place on the
galley. She was sailing north, homeward bound, and
a few days later, having safely avoided all hostile ships
and storms, the galley came into sight of the beautiful
white city in its nest against the hills.
  It was a happy day when the young sailor landed
and surprised his father and mother by walking in upon
them. News of Colombo's defeat by the ship of Naples
had come to Genoa, and Christopher's family had
given him up as lost.
  But narrow as his escape on that voyage had been,
such chances were part of the sailor's life in that age,
and Christopher was quite ready to take his share of
privation and danger with his mates. It was only by
weathering such storms that he could ever hope to be
put in charge of rich merchantmen or to command his
own vessel in his city's defense. So he sailed again
soon after, and in a year or two had come to know the
Mediterranean Sea as well as the back of his hand.
  Captains found he was good at making maps, and
paid him to draw them, and when he was on shore he
spent all his time studying charts and plans, and soon
became so expert that he could support himself by pre-




paring new charts. Yet, in spite of all his study, he
found that the maps covered only a small part of the
sea, and gave him no knowledge of the waters to the
west. There he now began to believethe long-looked-
for sea passage to the East Indies must lie.
  Christopher grew to manhood, and then a chance
shipwreck threw him in Lisbon, the capital of Portugal.
The Portuguese were the great sailors of the age, and
the young man met many famous captains who were
planning trips to the western coast of Africa and about
the Cape of Good Hope.
  Some of the captains took an interest in the sailor
who made such splendid maps and was so eager to go
on dangerous exploring trips, and they brought him to
the notice of the King of Portugal. One of them, Tos-
canelli, wrote of the young Christopher's " great and
noble desire to pass to where the spices grow," and
listened with interest to his plans to reach those rich
spice lands by sailing west.
  The ideas of Columbus seemed too visionary to most
princes, and it was years before he was able to persuade
the Spanish sovereigns, Ferdinand and Isabella, to
grant him three small ships and enough men to start
upon his voyage. But on August 3, 1492, he finally
set sail from Palos, in Spain.
  All the world knows the history of that great voyage,
of the tremendous difficulties that beset Columbus, how
his men grew fearful and would have turned back, how
he had to change the ship's reckoning as he had seen his
cousin change the compass, how he had sometimes to
plead with his men and sometimes to threaten them.




  In time he found boughs with fresh leaves and ber-
ries floating on the sea, and caught the odor of spices
from the west. Then he knew he was nearing that
magic land of riches sailors dreamt of, and thought he
had found the shortest passage to the East Indies and
Cathay. That would have been a wonderful discovery,
but the one he was actually making was infinitely
greater. Instead of a new sea passage he was reach-
ing a new continent, and adding a hemisphere to the
known world.
  Such was the result of the dreams and ambitions of
the boy born and bred in the old seaport of Genoa.



               Michael Angelo
   The Boy of the Medici Gardens: 1475-1564

   THE Italian city of Florence was entering on the
Golden Age of its history toward the end of the fif-
teenth century. Lorenzo, called the Magnificent, was
head of the house of Medici, and first citizen of the
proud Republic. He was himself an artist, a poet, and
a philosopher; he loved the beautiful things of life, and
had gathered about him a little court of men of genius.
  Florence at that time was also a great business city,
and among the prominent merchant families was that
of the Buonarotti. Ludovico Buonarotti had several
sons, and he had named his second child Michael An-
gelo, and had planned that he should follow him in
trade. Fortunately for the world, however, the boy
had a will of his own.
  Even while he was still in charge of a nurse, and
was just beginning to learn to use his hands, he would
draw simple pictures and paint them whenever he had
the chance. His father had little use for a painter, and
sent the boy to the grammar school of Francesco d'Ur-
bino, in Florence, thinking to make a scholar of him.
There were, however, many studios in the neighbor-
hood of the school, and many artists at work in them,
and the boy would neglect his studies to haunt the



places where he might see how grown men drew and
  Watching the artists, young Michael Angelo soon
formed a lasting friendship with a boy of great talent a
few years older than himself, by name Francesco Gra-
nacci. This boy was a pupil of Domenico Ghirlandajo,
a very great painter. The more Michael Angelo saw
Granacci and his work in the studio the more he
longed for a chance to study painting. He could think
of nothing else; he begged his father and uncles to let
him be an artist instead of a merchant or a scholar.
But the father and uncles, coming from a long line of
successful merchants, treated the boy's requests with
  Michael Angelo was determined to be an artist, how-
ever, and finally, though with the greatest reluctance,
his father signed a contract with Ghirlandajo by which
the boy was to study drawing and painting in his
studio and do whatever other work the master might
desire. The master was to pay the boy six gold florins
for the first year's work, eight for the second, and ten
for the third.
  The young Buonarotti found plenty of work to be
done in his master's studio. Besides the regular day's
work he was constantly painting sketches of his own,
and trying his hand at a dozen different things. His
eye and hand were most surprisingly true. Time and
again the master or some of the older students, coming
across the boy at work, would be held spellbound by
his skill.
  One day when the men had left work the boy drew




a picture of the scaffolding on which they had been
standing and sketched in portraits of the men so per-
fectly that when his master found the drawing he cried
to a friend in amazement, "The boy understands this
better than I do myself I "
  There was little in the world about him that this boy
failed to see. He soon painted his first real picture,
choosing a subject that was popular in those days, the
temptation of St. Antony. All kinds of queer animals
figured in the picture, and that he might get the colors
of their shilning backs and scales just right he spent
days in the market eagerly studying the fish there
for sale. Again the master was amazed at his pupil's
work, and now for the first time began to feel a certain
envy of him.
  This feeling rapidly increased. The scholars were
often given some of Ghirlandajo's own studies to copy,
and one day Michael Angelo brought the artist one of
the studies which he had himself corrected by adding
a few thick lines. Beyond all doubt the picture was
improved. It was hard, however, for the master to be
corrected by his own apprentice, and soon after that
the boy's stay in the studio came to an end. Fortu-
natelv his friend Granacci had already interested the
great patron, Lorenzo de' Medici, in the young Buona-
rotti and he was now invited to join the band of youths
of talent who made the Medici's palace their home.
  In Lorenzo's palace young Michael Angelo was very
happy. He was fond of the Medici's sons, boys nearly
his own age; like almost all the rest of Florence he
worshiped the citizen-prince whose one desire seemed




to be that Florence should be beautiful; and he was
happiest of all in the chance to study his own beloved art.
  In May of each year Lorenzo gave a pageant, and
the spring in which Michael Angelo came to the palace
Lorenzo placed the carnival in charge of the boy's
friend, Francesco Granacci. Day by day the boys
planned for the great procession. At noon they were
free from their teachers, and then they would scatter
to the gardens.
  One such May noon, when the sun was hot, a group
of them ran out from the palace, and threw themselves
on the grass in the shade of a row of poplars. They
were all absorbed in the one subject; their tongues
could scarcely keep pace with their nimble fancies.
  "What shalt thou go as, Paolo" said one. "I
heard Messer Lorenzo say that thou shouldst be some-
thing marvelously fine; but what can be so fine as
Romulus in a Roman triumph"
  "I am to be the thrice-gifted Apollo, dressed as
your Athenians saw him, with harp and bow, and the
crown of laurel on my head. That will be a sight for
thee, Ludovico mio, and for the pretty eyes of thy
Bianca also." Paolo laughed as one who well knew
the value of his yellow locks and blue eyes in a land
of brown and black. "What art thou to be in Messer
Lorenzo's coming pageant, Michael "
  The young Michael, a slim, black-haired youth, was
lying on his back, his head resting in his hands, his
eyes watching the circling flight of some pigeons.
  "I" he said dreamily. "Oh, I have given little
thought to that. I shall be whatever Francesco




wishes; he knows what is needed better than any one
  As he spoke a tall youth came into the garden and
sat down in the middle of the group. He had curious,
smiling eyes, and hands that were fine and pointed
like a woman's. He answered all questions easily, tell-
ing each what part he was to play in the triumphal
procession of Paulus iFmilius that was to dazzle the
good people of Florence on the morrow. He had be-
come chief favorite in the little court of young people
that the Medici loved to have about him, and his re-
markable talent for detail had made him the leader in
all entertainments.
  The boy Michael listened for a time to the flowing
words of young Granacci, then rose and wandered to
where some stone-masons had lately been at work. He
stopped in front of a block of marble that was gradually
taking the form of the mask of a faun.
  Near the block stood an antique mask, a garden
ornament, and this the boy studied for a few moments
before he picked up one of the mason's deserted tools
and began to cut the stone himself.
  The gay chatter under the poplars went on, but the
boy with the chisel, lost in thought, his heavy brows
bent into a bow, chipped and cut, forgetful of every-
thing else. A half hour passed, and a long shadow
fell across the marble. Michael looked up to see
his patron, Lorenzo, standing beside him. The
boy glanced from the fine, keen face of the
Medici to the marble mask of the old faun in front or




  " Well, sirrah," said Lorenzo, half seriously, half in
jest, " what wilt thou be up to next  "
  "Jacop6, one of the builders, gave me a stone," an-
swered the boy, " and told me I might do what I would
with it. Yonder is my copy, the old figure there."
  " But," said Lorenzo, critically, " your faun is old, and
yet you have given him all his teeth; you should have
known in a face as aged as that some of the teeth are
  " True," said the young sculptor, and taking his
chisel, with a few strokes he made such a gap in the
mouth as no master could have improved.
  The Medici watched, and when the change was
made, broke into laughter. " Right, boy ! " he cried.
"'Tis perfect; Praxiteles himself could not have bet-
tered that I " Then, with a quizzical smile, he looked
the youth over. "I knew thou wert a painter; and
now a sculptor; what will thy clever hand be doing next"
  " Bearing arms in your worship's cause, an' the saints
be good I " exclaimed the boy, his deep eyes, full of ad-
miration, on his patron's face.
  "Ah," said Lorenzo, "so Well, perhaps the day
will come. Florence is like a rose-bed, but I cannot
cure the city as I would of thorns." He fell into
thought, then  roused again.  "But thou, young
Michael Angelo, dost know what a time I had to make
thy father let thee be a painter, and now thou addest
to thy sins and cuttest in marble. Where will be the
end of thy infamy"
  The boy caught the gleam in his friend's eyes, and
his serious face broke into smiles.




  " In Rome, Signor Lorenzo, in the Holy Father's
house. There I shall go some day."
  "And why to Rome"
  " Every one goes to Rome; thy marvelous pageants
are Roman; art lives there."
  "Yes," mused Lorenzo, "Rome on its hills is still
the Eternal City. And yet in those far days to come I
doubt if thou wilt be as happy as in Lorenzo's gardens.
How sayest thou, boy"
  " I know not," was the answer. " Only I know that
I shall go."
  The laughter of the other boys came to their ears,
and Lorenzo turned. "Thy faun is done; to-morrow
will I speak with Poliziano of our new sculptor. What
is Granacci saying over there Come with me and
listen." So, the prince's arm resting affectionately on
the boy's shoulder, they crossed the garden to the noisy
  Life was gay then in Florence. Lorenzo de' Medici
was ruling the turbulent city by keeping it occupied
with merrymaking, by beautifying its squares with
priceless treasures, by helping its poor but ambitious
children to win their heart's desires, by mingling with
the citizens at all times, and writing them ballads to
sing, and giving them masques to act. His house was
open to the great men of Italy; on his entertainments
he lavished his wealth, set no bounds to the means he
gave Granacci and the others to make the pageants
gorgeous, and superintended everything with his own
wonderfully keen eye for beauty.
  The triumphal procession of Paulus iFmilius on the




morrow after the little scene in the gardens was an all-
day revel. The good folk of Florence left their shops
and homes and lined the streets, and for hours floats
drawn by prancing horses and picturing great scenes
in Roman history passed before the delighted people's
eyes. Among the warriors, the heroes, the nymphs
and fauns, they recognized their neighbors' children or
their own sons and daughters; they were all parcel of
it; it was their own triumph as well as Rome's. Girls
sang and danced and smiled, boys posed and cheered
and played heroic parts, the whole youth of the city
spent the day in fairy-land.
  Chief among the boys was the little group of artists
who were studying in Lorenzo's mansion, and chief
among these Granacci, who was Master of the Revels,
Paolo Tornabuoni, who made a wonderful Apollo,
seated on a golden globe playing upon a lyre, and the
dark-browed Michael Angelo, clad\ in a tunic, one of
the noble youth of early Rome. His father, Ludovico
Buonarotti, and hi