No More Learning

In lieu of Pastrengo, Petrarch found a respectable old abbot, and
several others who were capable of being agreeable, and from their
experience, useful companions to him on the road. In the middle of
October, 1350, they departed from Florence for Rome, to attend the
jubilee. On his way between Bolsena and Viterbo, he met with an accident
which threatened dangerous consequences, and which he relates in a
letter to Boccaccio.

"On the 15th of October," he says, "we left Bolsena, a little town
scarcely known at present; but interesting from having been anciently
one of the principal places in Etruria. Occupied with the hopes of
seeing Rome in five days, I reflected on the changes in our modes of
thinking which are made by the course of years. Fourteen years ago I
repaired to the great city from sheer curiosity to see its wonders. The
second time I came was to receive the laurel. My third and fourth
journey had no object but to render services to my persecuted friends.
My present visit ought to be more happy, since its only object is my
eternal salvation. " It appears, however, that the horses of the
travellers had no such devotional feelings; "for," he continues, "whilst
my mind was full of these thoughts, the horse of the old abbot, which
was walking upon my left, kicking at my horse, struck me upon the leg,
just below the knee. The blow was so violent that it sounded as if a
bone was broken. My attendants came up. I felt an acute pain, which made
me, at first, desirous of stopping; but, fearing the dangerousness of
the place, I made a virtue of necessity, and went on to Viterbo, where
we arrived very late on the 16th of October. Three days afterwards they
dragged me to Rome with much trouble. As soon as I arrived at Rome, I
called for doctors, who found the bone laid bare. It was not, however,
thought to be broken; though the shoe of the horse had left its
impression. "

However impatient Petrarch might be to look once more on the beauties of
Rome, and to join in the jubilee, he was obliged to keep his bed for
many days.

The concourse of pilgrims to this jubilee was immense. One can scarcely
credit the common account that there were about a million pilgrims at
one time assembled in the great city. "We do not perceive," says
Petrarch, "that the plague has depopulated the world. " And, indeed, if
this computation of the congregated pilgrims approaches the truth, we
cannot but suspect that the alleged depopulation of Europe, already
mentioned, must have been exaggerated. "The crowds," he continues,
"diminished a little during summer and the gathering-in of the harvest;
but recommenced towards the end of the year. The great nobles and ladies
from beyond the Alps came the last. "

[Illustration: BRIDGE OF SIGHS,--VENICE. ]

Many of the female pilgrims arrived by way of the marshes of Ancona,
where Bernardino di Roberto, Lord of Ravenna, waited for them, and
scandal whispered that his assiduities and those of his suite were but
too successful in seducing them. A contemporary author, in allusion to
the circumstance, remarks that journeys and indulgences are not good for
young persons, and that the fair ones had better have remained at home,
since the vessel that stays in port is never shipwrecked.

The strangers, who came from all countries, were for the most part
unacquainted with the Italian language, and were obliged to employ
interpreters in making their confession, for the sake of obtaining
absolution. It was found that many of the pretended interpreters were
either imperfectly acquainted with the language of the foreigners, or
were knaves in collusion with the priestly confessors, who made the poor
pilgrims confess whatever they chose, and pay for their sins
accordingly. A better subject for a scene in comedy could scarcely be
imagined. But, to remedy this abuse, penitentiaries were established at
Rome, in which the confessors understood foreign languages.

The number of days fixed for the Roman pilgrims to visit the churches
was thirty; and fifteen or ten for the Italians and other strangers,
according to the distance of the places from which they came.

Petrarch says that it is inconceivable how the city of Rome, whose
adjacent fields were untilled, and whose vineyards had been frozen the
year before, could for twelve months support such a confluence of
people. He extols the hospitality of the citizens, and the abundance of
food which prevailed; but Villani and others give us more disagreeable
accounts--namely, that the Roman citizens became hotel-keepers, and
charged exorbitantly for lodgings, and for whatever they sold. Numbers
of pilgrims were thus necessitated to live poorly; and this, added to
their fatigue and the heats of summer, produced a great mortality.

As soon as Petrarch, relieved by surgical skill from the wound in his
leg, was allowed to go out, he visited all the churches.

After having performed his duties at the jubilee, Petrarch returned to
Padua, taking the road by Arezzo, the town which had the honour of his
birth. Leonardo Aretino says that his fellow-townsmen crowded around
him with delight, and received him with such honours as could have been
paid only to a king.

In the same month of December, 1350, he discovered a treasure which made
him happier than a king. Perhaps a royal head might not have equally
valued it. It was a copy of Quintilian's work "De Institutione
Oratoria," which, till then, had escaped all his researches. On the very
day of the discovery he wrote a letter to Quintilian, according to his
fantastic custom of epistolizing the ancients. Some days afterwards, he
left Arezzo to pursue his journey. The principal persons of the town
took leave of him publicly at his departure, after pointing out to him
the house in which he was born. "It was a small house," says Petrarch,
"befitting an exile, as my father was. " They told him that the
proprietors would have made some alterations in it; but the town had
interposed and prevented them, determined that the place should remain
the same as when it was first consecrated by his birth. The poet related
what had been mentioned to a young man who wrote to him expressly to ask
whether Arezzo could really boast of being his birthplace. Petrarch
added, that Arezzo had done more for him as a stranger than Florence as
a citizen. In truth, his family was of Florence; and it was only by
accident that he was born at Arezzo. He then went to Florence, where he
made but a short stay. There he found his friends still alarmed about
the accident which had befallen him in his journey to Rome, the news of
which he had communicated to Boccaccio.

Petrarch went on to Padua. On approaching it, he perceived a universal
mourning. He soon learned the foul catastrophe which had deprived the
city of one of its best masters.

Jacopo di Carrara had received into his house his cousin Guglielmo.
Though the latter was known to be an evil-disposed person, he was
treated with kindness by Jacopo, and ate at his table. On the 21st of
December, whilst Jacopo was sitting at supper, in the midst of his
friends, his people and his guards, the monster Guglielmo plunged a
dagger into his breast with such celerity, that even those who were
nearest could not ward off the blow. Horror-struck, they lifted him up,
whilst others put the assassin to instant death.

The fate of Jacopo Carrara gave Petrarch a dislike for Padua, and his
recollections of Vaucluse bent his unsettled mind to return to its
solitude; but he tarried at Padua during the winter. Here he spent a
great deal of his time with Ildebrando Conti, bishop of that city, a man
of rank and merit. One day, as he was dining at the Bishop's palace, two
Carthusian monks were announced: they were well received by the Bishop,
as he was partial to their order. He asked them what brought them to
Padua. "We are going," they said, "to Treviso, by the direction of our
general, there to remain and establish a monastery. " Ildebrando asked
if they knew Father Gherardo, Petrarch's brother. The two monks, who did
not know the poet, gave the most pleasing accounts of his brother.

The plague, they said, having got into the convent of Montrieux, the
prior, a pious but timorous man, told his monks that flight was the only
course which they could take: Gherardo answered with courage, "Go
whither you please! As for myself I will remain in the situation in
which Heaven has placed me. " The prior fled to his own country, where
death soon overtook him. Gherardo remained in the convent, where the
plague spared him, and left him alone, after having destroyed, within a
few days, thirty-four of the brethren who had continued with him. He
paid them every service, received their last sighs, and buried them when
death had taken off those to whom that office belonged. With only a dog
left for his companion, Gherardo watched at night to guard the house,
and took his repose by day. When the summer was over, he went to a
neighbouring monastery of the Carthusians, who enabled him to restore
his convent.

While the Carthusians were making this honourable mention of Father
Gherardo, the prelate cast his eyes from time to time upon Petrarch. "I
know not," says the poet, "whether my eyes were filled with tears, but
my heart was tenderly touched. " The Carthusians, at last discovering who
Petrarch was, saluted him with congratulations. Petrarch gives an
account of this interview in a letter to his brother himself.

Padua was too near to Venice for Petrarch not to visit now and then that
city which he called the wonder of the world. He there made acquaintance
with Andrea Dandolo, who was made Doge in 1343, though he was only
thirty-six years of age, an extraordinary elevation for so young a man;
but he possessed extraordinary merit. His mind was cultivated; he loved
literature, and easily became, as far as mutual demonstrations went, the
personal friend of Petrarch; though the Doge, as we shall see, excluded
this personal friendship from all influence on his political conduct.

The commerce of the Venetians made great progress under the Dogeship of
Andrea Dandolo. It was then that they began to trade with Egypt and
Syria, whence they brought silk, pearls, the spices, and other products
of the East. This prosperity excited the jealousy of the Genoese, as it
interfered with a commerce which they had hitherto monopolized. When the
Venetians had been chased from Constantinople by the Emperor Michael
Paleologus, they retained several fortresses in the Black Sea, which
enabled them to continue their trade with the Tartars in that sea, and
to frequent the fair of Tana. The Genoese, who were masters of Pera, a
suburb of Constantinople, would willingly have joined the Greeks in
expelling their Italian rivals altogether from the Black Sea; and
privateering hostilities actually commenced between the two republics,
which, in 1350, extended to the serious aspect of a national war.

The winter of that year was passed on both sides in preparations. The
Venetians sent ambassadors to the King of Arragon, who had some
differences with the Genoese about the Island of Sardinia, and to the
Emperor of Constantinople, who saw with any sensation in the world but
delight the flag of Genoa flying over the walls of Pera. A league
between those three powers was quickly concluded, and their grand,
common object was to destroy the city of Genoa.

It was impossible that these great movements of Venice should be unknown
at Padua. Petrarch, ever zealous for the common good of Italy, saw with
pain the kindling of a war which could not but be fatal to her, and
thought it his duty to open his heart to the Doge of Venice, who had
shown him so much friendship. He addressed to him, therefore, the
following letter from Padua, on the 14th of March, 1351:--

"My love for my country forces me to break silence; the goodness of your
character encourages me. Can I hold my peace whilst I hear the symptoms
of a coming storm that menaces my beloved country? Two puissant people
are flying to arms; two flourishing cities are agitated by the approach
of war. These cities are placed by nature like the two eyes of Italy;
the one in the south and west, and the other in the east and north, to
dominate over the two seas that surround them; so that, even after the
destruction of the Roman empire, this beautiful country was still
regarded as the queen of the world. I know that proud nations denied her
the empire of the land, but who dared ever to dispute with her the
empire of the sea?

"I shudder to think of our prospects. If Venice and Genoa turn their
victorious arms against each other, it is all over with us; we lose our
glory and the command of the sea. In this calamity we shall have a
consolation which we have ever had, namely, that if our enemies rejoice
in our calamities, they cannot at least derive any glory from them.

"In great affairs I have always dreaded the counsels of the young.
Youthful ignorance and inexperience have been the ruin of many empires.
I, therefore, learn with pleasure that you have named a council of
elders, to whom you have confided this affair. I expected no less than
this from your wisdom, which is far beyond your years.

"The state of your republic distresses me. I know the difference that
there is between the tumult of arms and the tranquillity of Parnassus. I
know that the sounds of Apollo's lyre accord but ill with the trumpets
of Mars; but if you have abandoned Parnassus, it has been only to fulfil
the duties of a good citizen and of a vigilant chief. I am persuaded, at
the same time, that in the midst of arms you think of peace; that you
would regard it as a triumph for yourself, and the greatest blessing you
could procure for your country. Did not Hannibal himself say that a sure
peace was more valuable than a hoped-for victory! If truth has extorted
this confession from the most warlike man that ever lived, is it not
plain that a pacific man ought to prefer peace even to a certain
victory? Who does not know that peace is the greatest of blessings, and
that war is the source of all evils?

"Do not deceive yourself; you have to deal with a keen people who know
not what it is to be conquered. Would it not be better to transfer the
war to Damascus, to Susa, or to Memphis? Think besides, that those whom
you are going to attack are your brothers. At Thebes, of old, two
brothers fought to their mutual destruction. Must Italy renew, in our
days, so atrocious a spectacle?

"Let us examine what may be the results of this war. Whether you are
conqueror or are conquered, one of the eyes of Italy will necessarily be
blinded, and the other much weakened; for it would be folly to flatter
yourself with the hopes of conquering so strong an enemy without much
effusion of blood.

"Brave men, powerful people! (I speak here to both of you) what is your
object--to what do you aspire? What will be the end of your dissensions?
It is not the blood of the Carthaginians or the Numantians that you are
about to spill, but it is Italian blood; the blood of a people who would
be the first to start up and offer to expend their blood, if any
barbarous nation were to attempt a new irruption among us. In that
event, their bodies would be the bucklers and ramparts of our common
country; they would live, or they would die with us. Ought the pleasure
of avenging a slight offence to carry more weight with you than the
public good and your own safety? Let revenge be the delight of women. Is
it not more glorious for men to forget an injury than to avenge it? to
pardon an enemy than to destroy him?

"If my feeble voice could make itself heard among those grave men who
compose your council, I am persuaded that you would not only _not_
reject the peace which is offered to you, but go to meet and embrace it
closely, so that it might not escape you. Consult your wise old men who
love the republic; they will speak the same language to you that I do.

"You, my lord, who are at the head of the council, and who govern your
republic, ought to recollect that the glory or the shame of these events
will fall principally on you. Raise yourself above yourself; look into,
examine everything with attention. Compare the success of the war with
the evils which it brings in its train. Weigh in a balance the good
effects and the evil, and you will say with Hannibal, that an hour is
sufficient to destroy the work of many years.

"The renown of your country is more ancient than is generally believed.
Several ages before the city of Venice was built, I find not only the
name of the Venetians famous, but also that of one of their dukes. Would
you submit to the caprices of fortune a glory acquired for so long a
time, and at so great a cost? You will render a great service to your
republic, if, preferring her safety to her glory, you give her incensed
and insane populace prudent and useful counsels, instead of offering
them brilliant and specious projects. The wise say that we cannot
purchase a virtue more precious than what is bought at the expense of
glory. If you adopt this axiom, your character will be handed down to
posterity, like that of the Duke of the Venetians, to whom I have
alluded. All the world will admire and love you.

[Illustration: VICENZA. ]

"To conceal nothing from you, I confess that I have heard with grief of
your league with the King of Arragon. What! shall Italians go and
implore succour of barbarous kings to destroy Italians? You will say,
perhaps, that your enemies have set you the example. My answer is, that
they are equally culpable. According to report, Venice, in order to
satiate her rage, calls to her aid tyrants of the west; whilst Genoa
brings in those of the east. This is the source of our calamities.
Carried away by the admiration of strange things, despising, I know not
why, the good things which we find in our own climate, we sacrifice
sound Italian faith to barbarian perfidy. Madmen that we are, we seek
among venal souls that which we could find among our own brethren.

"Nature has given us for barriers the Alps and the two seas. Avarice,
envy, and pride, have opened these natural defences to the Cimbri, the
Huns, the Goths, the Gauls, and the Spaniards. How often have we recited
the words of Virgil:--

"'Impius haec tam culta novalia miles habebit,
Barbarus has segetes. '

"Athens and Lacedemon had between them a species of rivalship similar to
yours: but their forces were not by any means so nearly balanced.
Lacedemon had an advantage over Athens, which put it in the power of the
former to destroy her rival, if she had wished it; but she replied, 'God
forbid that I should pull out one of the eyes of Greece! ' If this
beautiful sentiment came from a people whom Plato reproaches with their
avidity for conquest and dominion, what still softer reply ought we not
to expect from the most modest of nations!

"Amidst the movements which agitate you, it is impossible for me to be
tranquil. When I see one party cutting down trees to construct vessels,
and others sharpening their swords and darts, I should think myself
guilty if I did not seize my pen, which is my only weapon, to counsel
peace. I am aware with what circumspection we ought to speak to our
superiors; but the love of our country has no superior. If it should
carry me beyond bounds, it will serve as my excuse before you, and
oblige you to pardon me.

"Throwing myself at the feet of the chiefs of two nations who are going
to war, I say to them, with tears in my eyes, 'Throw away your arms;
give one another the embrace of peace! unite your hearts and your
colours. By this means the ocean and the Euxine shall be open to you.
Your ships will arrive in safety at Taprobane, at the Fortunate Isles,
at Thule, and even at the poles. The kings and their people will meet
you with respect; the Indian, the Englishman, the AEthiopian, will dread
you. May peace reign among you, and may you have nothing to fear! '
Adieu! greatest of dukes, and best of men! "

This letter produced no effect. Andrea Dandolo, in his answer to it,
alleges the thousand and one affronts and outrages which Venice had
suffered from Genoa. At the same time he pays a high compliment to the
eloquence of Petrarch's epistle, and says that it is a production which
could emanate only from a mind inspired by the divine Spirit.

During the spring of this year, 1351, Petrarch put his last finish to a
canzone, on the subject still nearest to his heart, the death of his
Laura, and to a sonnet on the same subject. In April, his attention was
recalled from visionary things by the arrival of Boccaccio, who was sent
by the republic of Florence to announce to him the recall of his family
to their native land, and the restoration of his family fortune, as well
as to invite him to the home of his ancestors, in the name of the
Florentine republic. The invitation was conveyed in a long and
flattering letter; but it appeared, from the very contents of this
epistle, that the Florentines wished our poet's acceptance of their
offer to be as advantageous to themselves as to him. They were
establishing a University, and they wished to put Petrarch at the head
of it. Petrarch replied in a letter apparently full of gratitude and
satisfaction, but in which he by no means pledged himself to be the
gymnasiarch of their new college; and, agreeably to his original
intention, he set out from Padua on the 3rd of May, 1351, for Provence.

Petrarch took the road to Vicenza, where he arrived at sunset. He
hesitated whether he should stop there, or take advantage of the
remainder of the day and go farther. But, meeting with some interesting
persons whose conversation beguiled him, night came on before he was
aware how late it was. Their conversation, in the course of the evening,
ran upon Cicero. Many were the eulogies passed on the great old Roman;
but Petrarch, after having lauded his divine genius and eloquence, said
something about his inconsistency. Every one was astonished at our
poet's boldness, but particularly a man, venerable for his age and
knowledge, who was an idolater of Cicero. Petrarch argued pretty freely
against the political character of the ancient orator. The same opinion
as to Cicero's weakness seems rather to have gained ground in later
ages. At least, it is now agreed that Cicero's political life will not
bear throughout an uncharitable investigation, though the political
difficulties of his time demand abundant allowance.

Petrarch departed next morning for Verona, where he reckoned on
remaining only for a few days; but it was impossible for him to resist
the importunities of Azzo Correggio, Guglielmo di Pastrengo, and his
other friends. By them he was detained during the remainder of the
month. "The requests of a friend," he said, on this occasion, "are
always chains upon me. "

Petrarch arrived, for the sixth time, at Vaucluse on the 27th of June,
1351. He first announced himself to Philip of Cabassoles, Bishop of
Cavaillon, to whom he had already sent, during his journey, some Latin
verses, in which he speaks of Vaucluse as the most charming place in the
universe. "When a child," he says, "I visited it, and it nourished my
youth in its sunny bosom. When grown to manhood, I passed some of the
pleasantest years of my life in the shut-up valley. Grown old, I wish to
pass in it my last years. "

The sight of his romantic hermitage, of the capacious grotto which had
listened to his sighs for Laura, of his garden, and of his library, was,
undoubtedly, sweet to Petrarch; and, though he had promised Boccaccio to
come back to Italy, he had not the fortitude to determine on a sudden
return. He writes to one of his Italian friends, "When I left my native
country, I promised to return to it in the autumn; but time, place, and
circumstances, often oblige us to change our resolutions. As far as I
can judge, it will be necessary for me to remain here for two years. My
friends in Italy, I trust, will pardon me if I do not keep my promise to
them. The inconstancy of the human mind must serve as my excuse. I have
now experienced that change of place is the only thing which can long
keep from us the _ennui_ that is inseparable from a sedentary life. "

At the same time, whilst Vaucluse threw recollections tender, though
melancholy, over Petrarch's mind, it does not appear that Avignon had
assumed any new charm in his absence: on the contrary, he found it
plunged more than ever in luxury, wantonness, and gluttony. Clement VI.
had replenished the church, at the request of the French king, with
numbers of cardinals, many of whom were so young and licentious, that
the most scandalous abominations prevailed amongst them. "At this time,"
says Matthew Villani, "no regard was paid either to learning or virtue;
and a man needed not to blush for anything, if he could cover his head
with a red hat. Pietro Ruggiero, one of those exemplary new cardinals,
was only eighteen years of age.
" Petrarch vented his indignation on this
occasion in his seventh eclogue, which is a satire upon the Pontiff and
his cardinals, the interlocutors being Micione, or Clement himself, and
Epi, or the city of Avignon. The poem, if it can be so called, is
clouded with allegory, and denaturalized with pastoral conceits; yet it
is worth being explored by any one anxious to trace the first fountains
of reform among Catholics, as a proof of church abuses having been
exposed, two centuries before the Reformation, by a Catholic and a
churchman.

At this crisis, the Court of Avignon, which, in fact, had not known very
well what to do about the affairs of Rome, were now anxious to inquire
what sort of government would be the most advisable, after the fall of
Rienzo. Since that event, the Cardinal Legate had re-established the
ancient government, having created two senators, the one from the house
of Colonna, the other from that of the Orsini. But, very soon, those
houses were divided by discord, and the city was plunged into all the
evils which it had suffered before the existence of the Tribuneship.
"The community at large," says Matthew Villani, "returned to such
condition, that strangers and travellers found themselves like sheep
among wolves. " Clement VI. was weary of seeing the metropolis of
Christianity a prey to anarchy. He therefore chose four cardinals, whose
united deliberations might appease these troubles, and he imagined that
he could establish in Rome a form of government that should be durable.
The cardinals requested Petrarch to give his opinion on this important
affair. Petrarch wrote to them a most eloquent epistle, full of
enthusiastic ideas of the grandeur of Rome. It is not exactly known what
effect he produced by his writing on this subject; but on that account
we are not to conclude that he wrote in vain.

Petrarch had brought to Avignon his son John, who was still very young.
He had obtained for him a canonicate at Verona. Thither he immediately
despatched him, with letters to Guglielmo di Pastrengo and Rinaldo di
Villa Franca, charging the former of these friends to superintend his
son's general character and manners, and the other to cultivate his
understanding. Petrarch, in his letter to Rinaldo, gives a description
of John, which is neither very flattering to the youth, nor calculated
to give us a favourable opinion of his father's mode of managing his
education. By his own account, it appears that he had never brought the
boy to confide in him. This was a capital fault, for the young are
naturally ingenuous; so that the acquisition of their confidence is the
very first step towards their docility; and, for maintaining parental
authority, there is no need to overawe them. "As far as I can judge of
my son," says Petrarch, "he has a tolerable understanding; but I am not
certain of this, for I do not sufficiently know him. When he is with me
he always keeps silence; whether my presence is irksome and confusing to
him, or whether shame for his ignorance closes his lips. I suspect it is
the latter, for I perceive too clearly his antipathy to letters. I
never saw it stronger in any one; he dreads and detests nothing so much
as a book; yet he was brought up at Parma, Verona, and Padua. I
sometimes direct a few sharp pleasantries at this disposition. 'Take
care,' I say, 'lest you should eclipse your neighbour, Virgil. ' When I
talk in this manner, he looks down and blushes. On this behaviour alone
I build my hope. He is modest, and has a docility which renders him
susceptible of every impression. " This is a melancholy confession, on
the part of Petrarch, of his own incompetence to make the most of his
son's mind, and a confession the more convincing that it is made
unconsciously.

In the summer of 1352, the people of Avignon witnessed the impressive
spectacle of the far-famed Tribune Rienzo entering their city, but in a
style very different from the pomp of his late processions in Rome. He
had now for his attendants only two archers, between whom he walked as a
prisoner. It is necessary to say a few words about the circumstances
which befell Rienzo after his fall, and which brought him now to the
Pope's tribunal at Avignon.

Petrarch says of him at this period, "The Tribune, formerly so powerful
and dreaded, but now the most unhappy of men, has been brought hither as
a prisoner. I praised and I adored him. I loved his virtue, and I
admired his courage. I thought that Rome was about to resume, under him,
the empire she formerly held. Ah! had he continued as he began, he would
have been praised and admired by the world and by posterity. On entering
the city," Petrarch continues, "he inquired if I was there. I knew not
whether he hoped for succour from me, or what I could do to serve him.
In the process against him they accuse him of nothing criminal. They
cannot impute to him having joined with bad men. All that they charge
him with is an attempt to give freedom to the republic, and to make Rome
the centre of its government. And is this a crime worthy of the wheel or
the gibbet? A Roman citizen afflicted to see his country, which is by
right the mistress of the world, the slave of the vilest of men! "

Clement was glad to have Rienzo in his power, and ordered him into his
presence. Thither the Tribune came, not in the least disconcerted. He
denied the accusation of heresy, and insisted that his cause should be
re-examined with more equity. The Pope made him no reply, but imprisoned
him in a high tower, in which he was chained by the leg to the floor of
his apartment. In other respects he was treated mildly, allowed books to
read, and supplied with dishes from the Pope's kitchen.

Rienzo begged to be allowed an advocate to defend him; his request was
refused. This refusal enraged Petrarch, who wrote, according to De Sade
and others, on this occasion, that mysterious letter, which is found in
his "Epistles without a title. " It is an appeal to the Romans in behalf
of their Tribune. I must confess that even the authority of De Sade does
not entirely eradicate from my mind a suspicion as to the spuriousness
of this inflammatory letter, from the consequences of which Petrarch
could hardly have escaped with impunity.

One of the circumstances that detained Petrarch at Avignon was the
illness of the Pope, which retarded his decision on several important
affairs. Clement VI. was fast approaching to his end, and Petrarch had
little hope of his convalescence, at least in the hands of doctors. A
message from the Pope produced an imprudent letter from the poet, in
which he says, "Holy father! I shudder at the account of your fever;
but, believe me, I am not a flatterer. I tremble to see your bed always
surrounded with physicians, who are never agreed, because it would be a
reproach to the second to think like the first. 'It is not to be
doubted,' as Pliny says, 'that physicians, desiring to raise a name by
their discoveries, make experiments upon us, and thus barter away our
lives. There is no law for punishing their extreme ignorance. They learn
their trade at our expense, they make some progress in the art of
curing; and they alone are permitted to murder with impunity. ' Holy
father! consider as your enemies the crowd of physicians who beset you.
It is in our age that we behold verified the prediction of the elder
Cato, who declared that corruption would be general when the Greeks
should have transmitted the sciences to Rome, and, above all, the
science of healing. Whole nations have done without this art. The Roman
republic, according to Pliny, was without physicians for six hundred
years, and was never in a more flourishing condition. "

The Pope, a poor dying old man, communicated Petrarch's letter
immediately to his physicians, and it kindled in the whole faculty a
flame of indignation, worthy of being described by Moliere. Petrarch
made a general enemy of the physicians, though, of course, the weakest
and the worst of them were the first to attack him. One of them told
him, "You are a foolhardy man, who, contemning the physicians, have no
fear either of the fever or of the malaria. " Petrarch replied, "I
certainly have no assurance of being free from the attacks of either;
but, if I were attacked by either, I should not think of calling in
physicians. "

His first assailant was one of Clement's own physicians, who loaded him
with scurrility in a formal letter. These circumstances brought forth
our poet's "Four Books of Invectives against Physicians," a work in
which he undoubtedly exposes a great deal of contemporary quackery, but
which, at the same time, scarcely leaves the physician-hunter on higher
ground than his antagonists.

In the last year of his life, Clement VI. wished to attach our poet
permanently to his court by making him his secretary, and Petrarch,
after much coy refusal, was at last induced, by the solicitations of
his friends, to accept the office. But before he could enter upon it, an
objection to his filling it was unexpectedly started. It was discovered
that his style was too lofty to suit the humility of the Roman Church.
The elevation of Petrarch's style might be obvious, but certainly the
humility of the Church was a bright discovery. Petrarch, according to
his own account, so far from promising to bring down his magniloquence
to a level with church humility, seized the objection as an excuse for
declining the secretaryship. He compares his joy on this occasion to
that of a prisoner finding the gates of his prison thrown open. He
returned to Vaucluse, where he waited impatiently for the autumn, when
he meant to return to Italy. He thus describes, in a letter to his dear
Simonides, the manner of life which he there led:--

"I make war upon my body, which I regard as my enemy. My eyes, that have
made me commit so many follies, are well fixed on a safe object. They
look only on a woman who is withered, dark, and sunburnt. Her soul,
however, is as white as her complexion is black, and she has the air of
being so little conscious of her own appearance, that her homeliness may
be said to become her. She passes whole days in the open fields, when
the grasshoppers can scarcely endure the sun. Her tanned hide braves the
heats of the dog-star, and, in the evening, she arrives as fresh as if
she had just risen from bed. She does all the work of my house, besides
taking care of her husband and children and attending my guests. She
seems occupied with everybody but herself. At night she sleeps on
vine-branches; she eats only black bread and roots, and drinks water and
vinegar. If you were to give her anything more delicate, she would be
the worse for it: such is the force of habit.

"Though I have still two fine suits of clothes, I never wear them. If
you saw me, you would take me for a labourer or a shepherd, though I was
once so tasteful in my dress. The times are changed; the eyes which I
wished to please are now shut; and, perhaps, even if they were opened,
they would not _now_ have the same empire over me. "

In another letter from Vaucluse, he says: "I rise at midnight; I go out
at break of day; I study in the fields as in my library; I read, I
write, I dream; I struggle against indolence, luxury, and pleasure. I
wander all day among the arid mountains, the fresh valleys, and the deep
caverns. I walk much on the banks of the Sorgue, where I meet no one to
distract me. I recall the past. I deliberate on the future; and, in this
contemplation, I find a resource against my solitude. " In the same
letter he avows that he could accustom himself to any habitation in the
world, except Avignon. At this time he was meditating to recross the
Alps.

Early in September, 1352, the Cardinal of Boulogne departed for Paris,
in order to negotiate a peace between the Kings of France and England.
Petrarch went to take his leave of him, and asked if he had any orders
for Italy, for which he expected soon to set out. The Cardinal told him
that he should be only a month upon his journey, and that he hoped to
see him at Avignon on his return. He had, in fact, kind views with
regard to Petrarch. He wished to procure for him some good establishment
in France, and wrote to him upon his route, "Pray do not depart yet.
Wait until I return, or, at least, until I write to you on an important
affair that concerns yourself. " This letter, which, by the way, evinces
that our poet's circumstances were not independent of church promotion,
changed the plans of Petrarch, who remained at Avignon nearly the whole
of the months of September and October.

During this delay, he heard constant reports of the war that was going
on between the Genoese and the Venetians. In the spring of the year
1352, their fleets met in the Propontis, and had a conflict almost
unexampled, which lasted during two days and a tempestuous night. The
Genoese, upon the whole, had the advantage, and, in revenge for the
Greeks having aided the Venetians, they made a league with the Turks.
The Pope, who had it earnestly at heart to put a stop to this fatal war,
engaged the belligerents to send their ambassadors to Avignon, and there
to treat for peace. The ambassadors came; but a whole month was spent in
negotiations which ended in nothing. Petrarch in vain employed his
eloquence, and the Pope his conciliating talents. In these
circumstances, Petrarch wrote a letter to the Genoese government, which
does infinite credit to his head and his heart. He used every argument
that common sense or humanity could suggest to show the folly of the
war, but his arguments were thrown away on spirits too fierce for
reasoning.

A few days after writing this letter, as the Cardinal of Boulogne had
not kept his word about returning to Avignon, and as he heard no news of
him, Petrarch determined to set out for Italy. He accordingly started on
the 16th of November, 1352; but scarcely had he left his own house, with
all his papers, when he was overtaken by heavy falls of rain. At first
he thought of going back immediately; but he changed his purpose, and
proceeded as far as Cavaillon, which is two leagues from Vaucluse, in
order to take leave of his friend, the Bishop of Cabassole. His good
friend was very unwell, but received him with joy, and pressed him to
pass the night under his roof. That night and all the next day it rained
so heavily that Petrarch, more from fear of his books and papers being
damaged than from anxiety about his own health, gave up his Italian
journey for the present, and, returning to Vaucluse, spent there the
rest of November and the whole of December, 1352.

Early in December, Petrarch heard of the death of Clement VI. , and this
event gave him occasion for more epistles, both against the Roman court
and his enemies, the physicians. Clement's death was ascribed to
different causes. Petrarch, of course, imputed it to his doctors.
Villani's opinion is the most probable, that he died of a protracted
fever. He was buried with great pomp in the church of Notre Dame at
Avignon; but his remains, after some time, were removed to the abbey of
Chaise Dieu, in Auvergne, where his tomb was violated by the Huguenots
in 1562. Scandal says that they made a football of his head, and that
the Marquis de Courton afterwards converted his skull into a
drinking-cup.

It need not surprise us that his Holiness never stood high in the good
graces of Petrarch. He was a Limousin, who never loved Italy go much as
Gascony, and, in place of re-establishing the holy seat at Rome, he
completed the building of the papal palace at Avignon, which his
predecessor had begun. These were faults that eclipsed all the good
qualities of Clement VI. in the eyes of Petrarch, and, in the sixth of
his eclogues, the poet has drawn the character of Clement in odious
colours, and, with equal freedom, has described most of the cardinals of
his court. Whether there was perfect consistency between this hatred to
the Pope and his thinking, as he certainly did for a time, of becoming
his secretary, may admit of a doubt. I am not, however, disposed to deny
some allowance to Petrarch for his dislike of Clement, who was a
voluptuary in private life, and a corrupted ruler of the Church.

Early in May, 1353, Petrarch departed for Italy, and we find him very
soon afterwards at the palace of John Visconti of Milan, whom he used to
call the greatest man in Italy. This prince, uniting the sacerdotal with
the civil power, reigned absolute in Milan. He was master of Lombardy,
and made all Italy tremble at his hostility. Yet, in spite of his
despotism, John Visconti was a lover of letters, and fond of having
literary men at his court. He exercised a cunning influence over our
poet, and detained him. Petrarch, knowing that Milan was a troubled city
and a stormy court, told the Prince that, being a priest, his vocation
did not permit him to live in a princely court, and in the midst of
arms. "For that matter," replied the Archbishop, "I am myself an
ecclesiastic; I wish to press no employment upon you, but only to
request you to remain as an ornament of my court. " Petrarch, taken by
surprise, had not fortitude to resist his importunities. All that he
bargained for was, that he should have a habitation sufficiently distant
from the city, and that he should not be obliged to make any change in
his ordinary mode of living. The Archbishop was too happy to possess him
on these terms.

Petrarch, accordingly, took up his habitation in the western part of the
city, near the Vercellina gate, and the church of St. Ambrosio. His
house was flanked with two towers, stood behind the city wall, and
looked out upon a rich and beautiful country, as far as the Alps, the
tops of which, although it was summer, were still covered with snow.
Great was the joy of Petrarch when he found himself in a house near the
church of that Saint Ambrosio, for whom he had always cherished a
peculiar reverence. He himself tells us that he never entered that
temple without experiencing rekindled devotion. He visited the statue of
the saint, which was niched in one of the walls, and the stone figure
seemed to him to breathe, such was the majesty and tranquillity of the
sculpture. Near the church arose the chapel, where St. Augustin, after
his victory over his refractory passions, was bathed in the sacred
fountain of St. Ambrosio, and absolved from penance for his past life.

All this time, whilst Petrarch was so well pleased with his new abode,
his friends were astonished, and even grieved, at his fixing himself at
Milan. At Avignon, Socrates, Guido Settimo, and the Bishop of Cavaillon,
said among themselves, "What! this proud republican, who breathed
nothing but independence, who scorned an office in the papal court as a
gilded yoke, has gone and thrown himself into the chains of the tyrant
of Italy; this misanthrope, who delighted only in the silence of fields,
and perpetually praised a secluded life, now inhabits the most bustling
of cities! " At Florence, his friends entertained the same sentiments,
and wrote to him reproachfully on the subject. "I would wish to be
silent," says Boccaccio, "but I cannot hold my peace. My reverence for
you would incline me to hold silence, but my indignation obliges me to
speak out. How has Silvanus acted? " (Under the name of Silvanus he
couches that of Petrarch, in allusion to his love of rural retirement. )
"He has forgotten his dignity; he has forgotten all the language he used
to hold respecting the state of Italy, his hatred of the Archbishop, and
his love of liberty; and he would imprison the Muses in that court. To
whom can we now give our faith, when Silvanus, who formerly pronounced
the Visconti a cruel tyrant, has now bowed himself to the yoke which he
once so boldly condemned? How has the Visconti obtained this truckling,
which neither King Robert, nor the Pope, nor the Emperor, could ever
obtain? You will say, perhaps, that you have been ill-used by your
fellow-citizens, who have withheld from you your paternal property. I
disapprove not your just indignation; but Heaven forbid I should believe
that, righteously and honestly, any injury, from whomsoever we may
receive it, can justify our taking part against our country. It is in
vain for you to allege that you have not incited him to war against our
country, nor lent him either your arm or advice. How can you be happy
with him, whilst you are hearing of the ruins, the conflagrations, the
imprisonments, the deaths, and the rapines, that he spreads around him? "

Petrarch's answers to these and other reproaches which his friends sent
to him were cold, vague, and unsatisfactory. He denied that he had
sacrificed his liberty; and told Boccaccio that, after all, it was less
humiliating to be subservient to a single tyrant than to be, as he,
Boccaccio, was, subservient to a whole tyrannical people. This was an
unwise, implied confession on the part of Petrarch that he was the slave
of Visconti. Sismondi may be rather harsh in pronouncing Petrarch to
have been all his life a Troubadour; but there is something in his
friendship with the Lord of Milan that palliates the accusation. In
spite of this severe letter from Boccaccio, it is strange, and yet,
methinks, honourable to both, that their friendship was never broken.

Levati, in his "_Viaggi di Petrarca_," ascribes the poet's settlement at
Milan to his desire of accumulating a little money, not for himself, but
for his natural children; and in some of Petrarch's letters, subsequent
to this period, there are allusions to his own circumstances which give
countenance to this suspicion.

However this may be, Petrarch deceived himself if he expected to have
long tranquillity in such a court as that of Milan. He was perpetually
obliged to visit the Viscontis, and to be present at every feast that
they gave to honour the arrival of any illustrious stranger. A more than
usually important visitant soon came to Milan, in the person of Cardinal
Egidio Albornoz, who arrived at the head of an army, with a view to
restore to the Church large portions of its territory which had been
seized by some powerful families. The Cardinal entered Milan on the 14th
of September, 1353. John Visconti, though far from being delighted at
his arrival, gave him an honourable reception, defrayed all the expenses
of his numerous retinue, and treated him magnificently. He went out
himself to meet him, two miles from the city, accompanied by his nephews
and his courtiers, including Petrarch. Our poet joined the suite of
Galeazzo Visconti, and rode near him. The Legate and his retinue rode
also on horseback. When the two parties met, the dust, that rose in
clouds from the feet of the horses, prevented them from discerning each
other. Petrarch, who had advanced beyond the rest, found himself, he
knew not how, in the midst of the Legate's train, and very near to him.
Salutations passed on either side, but with very little speaking, for
the dust had dried their throats.

Petrarch made a backward movement, to regain his place among his
company. His horse, in backing, slipped with his hind-legs into a ditch
on the side of the road, but, by a sort of miracle, the animal kept his
fore-feet for some time on the top of the ditch. If he had fallen back,
he must have crushed his rider. Petrarch was not afraid, for he was not
aware of his danger; but Galeazzo Visconti and his people dismounted to
rescue the poet, who escaped without injury.

The Legate treated Petrarch, who little expected it, with the utmost
kindness and distinction, and, granting all that he asked for his
friends, pressed him to mention something worthy of his own acceptance.
Petrarch replied: "When I ask for my friends, is it not the same as for
myself? Have I not the highest satisfaction in receiving favours for
them? I have long put a rein on my own desires. Of what, then, can I
stand in need? "

After the departure of the Legate, Petrarch retired to his _rus in
urbe_. In a letter dated thence to his friend the Prior of the Holy
Apostles, we find him acknowledging feelings that were far distant from
settled contentment. "You have heard," he says, "how much my peace has
been disturbed, and my leisure broken in upon, by an importunate crowd
and by unforeseen occupations. The Legate has left Milan. He was
received at Florence with unbounded applause: as for poor me, I am again
in my retreat. I have been long free, happy, and master of my time; but
I feel, at present, that liberty and leisure are only for souls of
consummate virtue. When we are not of that class of beings, nothing is
more dangerous for a heart subject to the passions than to be free,
idle, and alone.