Several of his biographers state, that after this consummation of his ruin,--a third decree having been passed against him at Florence,--the poet retired into France, and strove to reconcile his unsubdued spirit to his fate, or to forget both it and himself in those fashionable theological controversies, for which he was, perhaps, better qualified than either for the council-chamber or the battle-field. This, however, is doubtful, and, in fact, very improbable, when we recollect that, next to the malice of the Neri, he was indebted for his misfortunes to Charles of Valois, their patron, who was brother to Philip the Fair, king of France. Be this as it may, the remainder of Dante's life was spent in wandering from one petty court to another, in exile and poverty, accepting the means of subsistence, almost as alms, from lukewarm friends, from hospitable strangers, and even from generous adversaries. Hence we trace him, at uncertain periods, through Lombardy, Tuscany, and Romagna, as an admitted, welcomed, admired, or merely a tolerated guest, according to the liberality or caprice of his patrons for the time being. Little more can be recorded of these "evil days" and "years," of which he was compelled to say, "I have no pleasure in them," than a few questionable anecdotes of his caustic humour, and the names of some of those who showed him kindness in his affliction. Among the latter may be honourably mentioned Busone da Gubbio, who first afforded him shelter at Arezzo, whither he himself had been banished from Florence as an incorrigible Ghibelline; but being a brother poet, he was too noble to let political prejudice (Dante was at that time a Guelf) interfere either with his compassion towards an illustrious fugitive, or his veneration for those rare talents which ought every where to have raised the unhappy possessor above contempt, though, in some instances, they seem to have exposed him to it. Yet he knew well how to resent indignity. While residing at Verona with Can' Grande de la Scala (one of his most distinguished protectors), it happened one day, according to the rude usages of those times, that the prince's jester, or some casual buffoon about the palace, was introduced at table, to divert the high-born company there with his waggeries. In this the arch fellow succeeded so egregiously, that Dante, from scorn or mortification, showed signs of chagrin, whereupon Can'Grande sarcastically asked,--"How comes it, Dante, that you, with all your learning and genius, cannot delight me and my friends half so much as this fool does with his ribaldry and grimaces?"--"Because _like loves like_," was the pithy retort of the poet, in the phrase of the proverb. Another story of the kind is told by Cinthio Geraldi.--On occasion of a jovial entertainment, Can' Grande, or his jester, had placed a little boy under the table, to gather all the bones that were thrown down upon the floor by the guests, and lay them about the feet of Dante. After