No More Learning

However, _he did_ return
to take possession of his canonicate at Lombes, and to lose possession
of his peace of mind.

In the April of the following year, 1336, he made an excursion, in
company with his brother Gherardo, to the top of Mount Ventoux, in the
neighbourhood of Avignon; a full description of which he sent in a
letter to Dionisio dal Borgo a San Sepolcro; but there is nothing
peculiarly interesting in this occurrence.

A more important event in his life took place during the following year,
1337--namely, that he had a son born to him, whom he christened by the
name of John, and to whom he acknowledged his relationship of paternity.
With all his philosophy and platonic raptures about Laura, Petrarch was
still subject to the passions of ordinary men, and had a mistress at
Avignon who was kinder to him than Laura. Her name and history have been
consigned to inscrutable obscurity: the same woman afterwards bore him a
daughter, whose name was Francesca, and who proved a great solace to him
in his old age. His biographers extol the magnanimity of Laura for
displaying no anger at our poet for what they choose to call this
discovery of his infidelity to her; but, as we have no reason to suppose
that Laura ever bestowed one favour on Petrarch beyond a pleasant look,
it is difficult to perceive her right to command his unspotted faith. At
all events, she would have done no good to her own reputation if she had
stormed at the lapse of her lover's virtue.

In a small city like Avignon, the scandal of his intrigue would
naturally be a matter of regret to his friends and of triumph to his
enemies. Petrarch felt his situation, and, unable to calm his mind
either by the advice of his friend Dionisio dal Borgo, or by the perusal
of his favourite author, St. Augustine, he resolved to seek a rural
retreat, where he might at least hide his tears and his mortification.
Unhappily he chose a spot not far enough from Laura--namely, Vaucluse,
which is fifteen Italian, or about fourteen English, miles from Avignon.

Vaucluse, or Vallis Clausa, the shut-up valley, is a most beautiful
spot, watered by the windings of the Sorgue. Along the river there are
on one side most verdant plains and meadows, here and there shadowed by
trees. On the other side are hills covered with corn and vineyards.
Where the Sorgue rises, the view terminates in the cloud-capt ridges of
the mountains Luberoux and Ventoux. This was the place which Petrarch
had visited with such delight when he was a schoolboy, and at the sight
of which he exclaimed "that he would prefer it as a residence to the
most splendid city. "

It is, indeed, one of the loveliest seclusions in the world. It
terminates in a semicircle of rocks of stupendous height, that seem to
have been hewn down perpendicularly. At the head and centre of the vast
amphitheatre, and at the foot of one of its enormous rocks, there is a
cavern of proportional size, hollowed out by the hand of nature. Its
opening is an arch sixty feet high; but it is a double cavern, there
being an interior one with an entrance thirty feet high. In the midst of
these there is an oval basin, having eighteen fathoms for its longest
diameter, and from this basin rises the copious stream which forms the
Sorgue. The surface of the fountain is black, an appearance produced by
its depth, from the darkness of the rocks, and the obscurity of the
cavern; for, on being brought to light, nothing can be clearer than its
water. Though beautiful to the eye, it is harsh to the taste, but is
excellent for tanning and dyeing; and it is said to promote the growth
of a plant which fattens oxen and is good for hens during incubation.
Strabo and Pliny the naturalist both speak of its possessing this
property.

The river Sorgue, which issues from this cavern, divides in its progress
into various branches; it waters many parts of Provence, receives
several tributary streams, and, after reuniting its branches, falls into
the Rhone near Avignon.

Resolving to fix his residence here, Petrarch bought a little cottage
and an adjoining field, and repaired to Vaucluse with no other
companions than his books. To this day the ruins of a small house are
shown at Vaucluse, which tradition says was his habitation.

If his object was to forget Laura, the composition of sonnets upon her
in this hermitage was unlikely to be an antidote to his recollections.
It would seem as if he meant to cherish rather than to get rid of his
love. But, if he nursed his passion, it was a dry-nursing; for he led a
lonely, ascetic, and, if it were not for his studies, we might say a
savage life. In one of his letters, written not long after his settling
at Vaucluse, he says, "Here I make war upon my senses, and treat them as
my enemies. My eyes, which have drawn me into a thousand difficulties,
see no longer either gold, or precious stones, or ivory, or purple; they
behold nothing save the water, the firmament, and the rocks. The only
female who comes within their sight is a swarthy old woman, dry and
parched as the Lybian deserts. My ears are no longer courted by those
harmonious instruments and voices which have so often transported my
soul: they hear nothing but the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep,
the warbling of birds, and the murmurs of the river.

"I keep silence from noon till night. There is no one to converse with;
for the good people, employed in spreading their nets, or tending their
vines and orchards, are no great adepts at conversation. I often content
myself with the brown bread of the fisherman, and even eat it with
pleasure. Nay, I almost prefer it to white bread. This old fisherman,
who is as hard as iron, earnestly remonstrates against my manner of
life; and assures me that I cannot long hold out. I am, on the
contrary, convinced that it is easier to accustom one's self to a plain
diet than to the luxuries of a feast. But still I have my
luxuries--figs, raisins, nuts and almonds. I am fond of the fish with
which this stream abounds, and I sometimes amuse myself with spreading
the nets. As to my dress, there is an entire change; you would take me
for a labourer or a shepherd.

"My mansion resembles that of Cato or Fabricius. My whole
house-establishment consists of myself, my old fisherman and his wife,
and a dog. My fisherman's cottage is contiguous to mine; when I want him
I call; when I no longer need him, he returns to his cottage.

"I have made two gardens that please me wonderfully. I do not think they
are to be equalled in all the world. And I must confess to you a more
than female weakness with which I am haunted. I am positively angry that
there is anything so beautiful out of Italy.

"One of these gardens is shady, formed for contemplation, and sacred to
Apollo. It overhangs the source of the river, and is terminated by
rocks, and by places accessible only to birds. The other is nearer my
cottage, of an aspect less severe, and devoted to Bacchus; and what is
extremely singular, it is in the midst of a rapid river. The approach to
it is over a bridge of rocks; and there is a natural grotto under the
rocks, which gives them the appearance of a rustic bridge. Into this
grotto the rays of the sun never penetrate. I am confident that it much
resembles the place where Cicero went to declaim. It invites to study.
Hither I retreat during the noontide hours; my mornings are engaged upon
the hills, or in the garden sacred to Apollo. Here I would most
willingly pass my days, were I not too near Avignon, and too far from
Italy. For why should I conceal this weakness of my soul? I love Italy,
and I hate Avignon. The pestilential influence of this horrid place
empoisons the pure air of Vaucluse, and will compel me to quit my
retirement. "

It is clear that he was not supremely contented in his solitude with his
self-drawn mental resources. His friends at Avignon came seldom to see
him. Travelling even short distances was difficult in those days. Even
we, in the present day, can remember when the distance of fourteen miles
presented a troublesome journey. The few guests who came, to him could
not expect very exquisite dinners, cooked by the brown old woman and her
husband the fisherman; and, though our poet had a garden consecrated to
Bacchus, he had no cellar devoted to the same deity. His few friends,
therefore, who visited him, thought their angel visits acts of charity.
If he saw his friends seldom, however, he had frequent visitants in
strangers who came to Vaucluse, as a place long celebrated for its
natural beauties, and now made illustrious by the character and
compositions of our poet. Among these there were persons distinguished
for their rank or learning, who came from the farthest parts of France
and from Italy, to see and converse with Petrarch. Some of them even
sent before them considerable presents, which, though kindly meant, were
not acceptable.

Vaucluse is in the diocese of Cavaillon, a small city about two miles
distant from our poet's retreat. Philip de Cabassoles was the bishop, a
man of high rank and noble family. His disposition, according to
Petrarch's usual praise of his friends, was highly benevolent and
humane; he was well versed in literature, and had distinguished
abilities. No sooner was the poet settled in his retirement, than he
visited the Bishop at his palace near Vaucluse. The latter gave him a
friendly reception, and returned his visits frequently. Another much
estimated, his friend since their childhood, Guido Sette, also repaired
at times to his humble mansion, and relieved his solitude in the shut-up
valley. [G]

Without some daily and constant occupation even the bright mind of
Petrarch would have rusted, like the finest steel when it is left
unscoured. But he continued his studies with an ardour that commands our
wonder and respect; and it was at Vaucluse that he either meditated or
wrote his most important compositions. Here he undertook a history of
Rome, from Romulus down to Titus Vespasian. This Herculean task he never
finished; but there remain two fragments of it, namely, four books, De
Rebus Memorandis, and another tract entitled Vitarum Virorum Illustrium
Epitome, being sketches of illustrious men from the founder of Rome down
to Fabricius.

About his poem, Africa, I shall only say for the present that he began
this Latin epic at Vaucluse, that its hero is his idolized Roman, Scipio
Africanus, that it gained him a reputation over Europe, and that he was
much pleased with it himself, but that his admiration of it in time
cooled down so much, that at last he was annoyed when it was mentioned
to him, and turned the conversation, if he could, to a different
subject. Nay, it is probable, that if it had not been for Boccaccio and
Coluccio Salutati, who, long after he had left Vaucluse, importuned him
to finish and publish it, his Africa would not have come down to
posterity.

Petrarch alludes in one of his letters to an excursion which he made in
1338, in company with a man whose rank was above his wisdom. He does not
name him, but it seems clearly to have been Humbert II. , Dauphin of the
Viennois. The Cardinal Colonna forced our poet into this pilgrimage to
Baume, famous for its adjacent cavern, where, according to the tradition
of the country, Mary Magdalen passed thirty years of repentance. In
that holy but horrible cavern, as Petrarch calls it, they remained three
days and three nights, though Petrarch sometimes gave his comrades the
slip, and indulged in rambles among the hills and forests; he composed a
short poem, however, on St. Mary Magdalen, which is as dull as the cave
itself. The Dauphin Humbert was not a bright man; but he seems to have
contracted a friendly familiarity with our poet, if we may judge by a
letter which Petrarch indited to him about this time, frankly
reproaching him with his political neutrality in the affairs of Europe.
It was supposed that the Cardinal Colonna incited him to write it. A
struggle that was now impending between France and England engaged all
Europe on one side or other. The Emperor Lewis had intimated to Humbert
that he must follow him in this war, he, the Dauphin, being
arch-seneschal of Arles and Vienne. Next year, the arch-seneschal
received an invitation from Philip of Valois to join him with his troops
at Amiens as vassal of France. The Dauphin tried to back out of the
dilemma between his two suitors by frivolous excuses to both, all the
time determining to assist neither. In 1338 he came to Avignon, and the
Pope gave him his palace at the bridge of the Sorgue for his habitation.
Here the poor craven, beset on one side by threatening letters from
Philip of Valois, and on the other by importunities from the French
party at the papal court, remained in Avignon till July, 1339, after
Petrarch had let loose upon him his epistolary eloquence.

This letter, dated April, 1339, is, according to De Sade's opinion, full
of powerful persuasion. I cannot say that it strikes me as such. After
calling Christ to witness that he writes to the Dauphin in the spirit of
friendship, he reminds him that Europe had never exhibited so mighty and
interesting a war as that which had now sprung up between the kings of
France and England, nor one that opened so vast a field of glory for the
brave. "All the princes and their people," he says, "are anxious about
its issue, especially those between the Alps and the ocean, who take
arms at the crash of the neighbouring tumult; whilst you alone go to
sleep amidst the clouds of the coming storm. To say the truth, if there
was nothing more than shame to awaken you, it ought to rouse you from
this lethargy. I had thought you," he continues, "a man desirous of
glory. You are young and in the strength of life. What, then, in the
name of God, keeps you inactive? Do you fear fatigue? Remember what
Sallust says--'Idle enjoyments were made for women, fatigue was made for
men. ' Do you fear death? Death is the last debt we owe to nature, and
man ought not to fear it; certainly he ought not to fear it more than
sleep and sluggishness. Aristotle, it is true, calls death the last of
horrible things; but, mind, he does not call it the most horrible of
things. " In this manner, our poet goes on moralizing on the blessings of
an early death, and the great advantage that it would have afforded to
some excellent Roman heroes if they had met with it sooner. The only
thing like a sensible argument that he urges is, that Humbert could not
expect to save himself even by neutrality, but must ultimately become
the prey of the victor, and be punished like the Alban Metius, whom
Tullus Hostilius caused to be torn asunder by horses that pulled his
limbs in different directions. The pedantic epistle had no effect on
Humbert.

Meanwhile, Italy had no repose more than the rest of Europe, but its
troubles gave a happy occasion to Petrarch to see once more his friend,
Guglielmo Pastrengo, who, in 1338, came to Avignon, from Mastino della
Scala, lord of Verona.

The moment Petrarch heard of his friend's arrival he left his hermitage
to welcome him; but scarcely had he reached the fatal city when he saw
the danger of so near an approach to the woman he so madly loved, and
was aware that he had no escape from the eyes of Laura but by flight. He
returned, therefore, all of a sudden to Vaucluse, without waiting for a
sight of Pastrengo. Shortly after he had quitted the house of Laelius,
where he usually lodged when he went to Avignon, Guglielmo, expecting to
find him there, knocked at the door, but no one opened it--called out,
but no one answered him. He therefore wrote him a little billet, saying,
"My dear Petrarch, where have you hid yourself, and whither have you
vanished? What is the meaning of all this? " The poet received this note
at Vaucluse, and sent an explanation of his flight, sincere indeed as to
good feelings, but prolix as usual in the expression of them. Pastrengo
sent him a kind reply, and soon afterwards did him the still greater
favour of visiting him at Vaucluse, and helping him to cultivate his
garden.

Petrarch's flame for Laura was in reality unabated. One day he met her
in the streets of Avignon; for he had not always resolution enough to
keep out of the western Babylon. Laura cast a kind look upon him, and
said, "Petrarch, you are tired of loving me. " This incident produced one
of the finest sonnets, beginning--

_Io non fut d' amar voi lassato unquanco. _

Tired, did you say, of loving you? Oh, no!
I ne'er shall tire of the unwearying flame.
But I am weary, kind and cruel dame,
With tears that uselessly and ceaseless flow,
Scorning myself, and scorn'd by you. I long
For death: but let no gravestone hold in view
Our names conjoin'd: nor tell my passion strong
Upon the dust that glow'd through life for you.
And yet this heart of amorous faith demands,
Deserves, a better boon; but cruel, hard
As is my fortune, I will bless Love's bands
For ever, if you give me this reward.

In 1339, he composed among other sonnets, those three, the lxii. ,
lxxiv. , and lxxv. , which are confessedly master-pieces of their kind, as
well as three canzoni to the eyes of Laura, which the Italians call the
three sister Graces, and worship as divine. [H] The critic Tassoni
himself could not censure them, and called them the queens of song. At
this period, however seldom he may have visited Avignon, he evidently
sought rather to cherish than subdue his fatal attachment. A celebrated
painter, Simone Martini of Siena, came to Avignon. He was the pupil of
Giotto, not exquisite in drawing, but famous for taking spirited
likenesses.

Petrarch persuaded Simone to favour him with a miniature likeness of
Laura; and this treasure the poet for ever carried about with him. In
gratitude he addressed two sonnets to the artist, whose fame, great as
it was, was heightened by the poetical reward. Vasari tells us that
Simone also painted the pictures of both lovers in the chapel of St.
Maria Novella at Florence; that Simone was a sculptor as well as a
painter, and that he copied those pictures in marbles which, according
to Baldelli, are still extant in the house of the Signore Pruzzi.

An anecdote relating to this period of Petrarch's life is given by De
Sade, which, if accepted with entire credence, must inspire us with
astonishment at the poet's devotion to his literary pursuits. He had
now, in 1339, put the first hand to his epic poem, the Scipiade; and one
of his friends, De Sade believes that it was the Bishop of Lombes,
fearing lest he might injure his health by overzealous application, went
to ask him for the key of his library, which the poet gave up. The
Bishop then locked up his books and papers, and commanded him to abstain
from reading and writing for ten days. Petrarch obeyed; but on the first
day of this literary Ramazan, he was seized with ennui, on the second
with a severe headache, and on the third with symptoms of fever; the
Bishop relented, and permitted the student to return to his books and
papers.

Petrarch was at this time delighted, in his solitude of Vaucluse, to
hear of the arrival at Avignon of one of his dearest friends. This was
Dionisio dal Borgo a San Sepolcro, who, being now advanced in years, had
resigned his pulpit in the University of Paris, in order to return to
his native country, and came to Avignon with the intention of going by
sea to Florence. Petrarch pressed him strongly to visit him at Vaucluse,
interspersing his persuasion with many compliments to King Robert of
Naples, to whom he knew that Dionisio was much attached; nor was he
without hopes that his friend would speak favourably of him to his
Neapolitan Majesty. In a letter from Vaucluse he says:--"Can nothing
induce you to come to my solitude? Will not my ardent request, and the
pity you must have for my condition, bring you to pass some days with
your old disciple? If these motives are not sufficient, permit me to
suggest another inducement. There is in this place a poplar-tree of so
immense a size that it covers with its shade not only the river and its
banks, but also a considerable extent beyond them. They tell us that
King Robert of Naples, invited by the beauty of this spot, came hither
to unburthen his mind from the weight of public affairs, and to enjoy
himself in the shady retreat. " The poet added many eulogies on his
Majesty of Naples, which, as he anticipated, reached the royal ear. It
seems not to be clear that Father Dionisio ever visited the poet at
Vaucluse; though they certainly had an interview at Avignon. To
Petrarch's misfortune, his friend's stay in that city was very short.
The monk proceeded to Florence, but he found there no shady retreat like
that of the poplar at Vaucluse. Florence was more than ever agitated by
internal commotions, and was this year afflicted by plague and famine.
This dismal state of the city determined Dionisio to accept an
invitation from King Robert to spend the remainder of his days at his
court.

This monarch had the happiness of giving additional publicity to
Petrarch's reputation. That the poet sought his patronage need not be
concealed; and if he used a little flattery in doing so, we must make
allowance for the adulatory instinct of the tuneful tribe. We cannot
live without bread upon bare reputation, or on the prospect of having
tombstones put over our bones, prematurely hurried to the grave by
hunger, when they shall be as insensible to praise as the stones
themselves. To speak seriously, I think that a poet sacrifices his
usefulness to himself and others, and an importance in society which may
be turned to public good, if he shuns the patronage that can be obtained
by unparasitical means.

Father Dionisio, upon his arrival at Naples, impressed the King with so
favourable an opinion of Petrarch that Robert wrote a letter to our
poet, enclosing an epitaph of his Majesty's own composition, on the
death of his niece Clementina. This letter is unhappily lost; but the
answer to it is preserved, in which Petrarch tells the monarch that his
epitaph rendered his niece an object rather of envy than of lamentation.
"O happy Clementina! " says the poet, "after passing through a transitory
life, you have attained a double immortality, one in heaven, and another
on earth. " He then compares the posthumous good fortune of the princess
to that of Achilles, who had been immortalized by Homer. It is possible
that King Robert's letter to Petrarch was so laudatory as to require a
flattering answer. But this reverberated praise is rather overstrained.

Petrarch was now intent on obtaining the honour of Poet Laureate. His
wishes were at length gratified, and in a manner that made the offer
more flattering than the crown itself.

Whilst he still remained at Vaucluse, at nine o'clock in the morning of
the 1st of September, 1340, he received a letter from the Roman Senate,
pressingly inviting him to come and receive the crown of Poet Laureate
at Rome. He must have little notion of a poet's pride and vanity, who
cannot imagine the flushed countenance, the dilated eyes, and the
joyously-throbbing heart of Petrarch, whilst he read this letter. To be
invited by the Senate of Rome to such an honour might excuse him for
forgetting that Rome was not now what she had once been, and that the
substantial glory of his appointment was small in comparison with the
classic associations which formed its halo.

As if to keep up the fever of his joy, he received the same day, in the
afternoon, at four o'clock, another letter with the same offer, from
Roberto Bardi, Chancellor of the University of Paris, in which he
importuned him to be crowned as Poet Laureate at Paris. When we consider
the poet's veneration for Rome, we may easily anticipate that he would
give the preference to that city. That he might not, however, offend his
friend Roberto Bardi and the University of Paris, he despatched a
messenger to Cardinal Colonna, asking his advice upon the subject,
pretty well knowing that his patron's opinion would coincide with his
own wishes. The Colonna advised him to be crowned at Rome.

The custom of conferring this honour had, for a long time, been
obsolete. In the earliest classical ages, garlands were given as a
reward to valour and genius. Virgil exhibits his conquerors adorned with
them. The Romans adopted the custom from Greece, where leafy honours
were bestowed on victors at public games. This coronation of poets, it
is said, ceased under the reign of the Emperor Theodosius. After his
death, during the long subsequent barbarism of Europe, when literature
produced only rhyming monks, and when there were no more poets to crown,
the discontinuance of the practice was a natural consequence.

At the commencement of the thirteenth century, according to the Abbe
Resnel, the universities of Europe began to dispense laurels, not to
poets, but to students distinguished by their learning. The doctors in
medicine, at the famous university of Salerno, established by the
Emperor Frederic II. , had crowns of laurel put upon their heads. The
bachelors also had their laurels, and derived their name from a baculus,
or stick, which they carried.

Cardinal Colonna, as we have said, advised him, "_nothing loth_," to
enjoy his coronation at Rome. Thither accordingly he repaired early in
the year 1341. He embarked at Marseilles for Naples, wishing previously
to his coronation to visit King Robert, by whom he was received with all
possible hospitality and distinction.

Though he had accepted the laurel amidst the general applause of his
contemporaries, Petrarch was not satisfied that he should enjoy this
honour without passing through an ordeal as to his learning, for laurels
and learning had been for one hundred years habitually associated in
men's minds. The person whom Petrarch selected for his examiner in
erudition was the King of Naples. Robert _the Good_, as he was in some
respects deservedly called, was, for his age, a well-instructed man,
and, for a king, a prodigy. He had also some common sense, but in
classical knowledge he was more fit to be the scholar of Petrarch than
his examiner. If Petrarch, however, learned nothing from the King, the
King learned something from Petrarch. Among the other requisites for
examining a Poet Laureate which Robert possessed, was _an utter
ignorance of poetry_.
But Petrarch couched his blindness on the subject,
so that Robert saw, or believed he saw, something useful in the divine
art. He had heard of the epic poem, Africa, and requested its author to
recite to him some part of it. The King was charmed with the recitation,
and requested that the work might be dedicated to him. Petrarch
assented, but the poem was not finished or published till after King
Robert's death.

His Neapolitan Majesty, after pronouncing a warm eulogy on our poet,
declared that he merited the laurel, and had letters patent drawn up, by
which he certified that, after a _severe_ examination (it lasted three
days), Petrarch was judged worthy to receive that honour in the Capitol.
Robert wished him to be crowned at Naples; but our poet represented that
he was desirous of being distinguished on the same theatre where Virgil
and Horace had shone. The King accorded with his wishes; and, to
complete his kindness, regretted that his advanced age would not permit
him to go to Rome, and crown Petrarch himself. He named, however, one of
his most eminent courtiers, Barrilli, to be his proxy. Boccaccio speaks
of Barrilli as a good poet; and Petrarch, with exaggerated politeness,
compares him to Ovid.

When Petrarch went to take leave of King Robert, the sovereign, after
engaging his promise that he would visit him again very soon, took off
the robe which he wore that day, and, begging Petrarch's acceptance of
it, desired that he might wear it on the day of his coronation. He also
bestowed on him the place of his almoner-general, an office for which
great interest was always made, on account of the privileges attached to
it, the principal of which were an exemption from paying the tithes of
benefices to the King, and a dispensation from residence.

Petrarch proceeded to Rome, where he arrived on the 6th of April, 1341,
accompanied by only one attendant from the court of Naples, for Barrilli
had taken another route, upon some important business, promising,
however, to be at Rome before the time appointed. But as he had not
arrived on the 7th, Petrarch despatched a messenger in search of him,
who returned without any information. The poet was desirous to wait for
his arrival; but Orso, Count of Anguillara, would not suffer the
ceremony to be deferred. Orso was joint senator of Rome with Giordano
degli Orsini; and, his office expiring on the 8th of April, he was
unwilling to resign to his successor the pleasure of crowning so great a
man.

[Illustration: NAPLES. ]

Petrarch was afterwards informed that Barrilli, hastening towards Rome,
had been beset near Anaguia by robbers, from whom he escaped with
difficulty, and that he was obliged for safety to return to Naples. In
leaving that city, Petrarch passed the tomb traditionally said to be
that of Virgil. His coronation took place without delay after his
arrival at Rome.

The morning of the 8th of April, 1341, was ushered in by the sound of
trumpets; and the people, ever fond of a show, came from all quarters to
see the ceremony. Twelve youths selected from the best families of Rome,
and clothed in scarlet, opened the procession, repeating as they went
some verses, composed by the poet, in honour of the Roman people. They
were followed by six citizens of Rome, clothed in green, and bearing
crowns wreathed with different flowers. Petrarch walked in the midst of
them; after him came the senator, accompanied by the first men of the
council. The streets were strewed with flowers, and the windows filled
with ladies, dressed in the most splendid manner, who showered perfumed
waters profusely on the poet[I]. He all the time wore the robe that had
been presented to him by the King of Naples. When they reached the
Capitol, the trumpets were silent, and Petrarch, having made a short
speech, in which he quoted a verse from Virgil, cried out three times,
"Long live the Roman people! long live the Senators! may God preserve
their liberty! " At the conclusion of these words, he knelt before the
senator Orso, who, taking a crown of laurel from his own head, placed it
on that of Petrarch, saying, "This crown is the reward of virtue. " The
poet then repeated a sonnet in praise of the ancient Romans. The people
testified their approbation by shouts of applause, crying, "Long
flourish the Capitol and the poet! " The friends of Petrarch shed tears
of joy, and Stefano Colonna, his favourite hero, addressed the assembly
in his honour.

The ceremony having been finished at the Capitol, the procession, amidst
the sound of trumpets and the acclamations of the people, repaired
thence to the church of St. Peter, where Petrarch offered up his crown
of laurel before the altar. The same day the Count of Anguillara caused
letters patent to be delivered to Petrarch, in which the senators, after
a flattering preamble, declared that he had merited the title of a great
poet and historian; that, to mark his distinction, they had put upon his
head a laurel crown, not only by the authority of Kong Robert, but by
that of the Roman Senate and people; and that they gave him, at Rome and
elsewhere, the privilege to read, to dispute, to explain ancient books,
to make new ones, to compose poems, and to wear a crown according to his
choice, either of laurel, beech, or myrtle, as well as the poetic
habit. At that time a particular dress was affected by the poets. Dante
was buried in this costume.

Petrarch continued only a few days at Rome after his coronation; but he
had scarcely departed when he found that there were banditti on the road
waiting for him, and anxious to relieve him of any superfluous wealth
which he might have about him. He was thus obliged to return to Rome
with all expedition; but he set out the following day, attended by a
guard of armed men, and arrived at Pisa on the 20th of April.

From Pisa he went to Parma, to see his friend Azzo Correggio, and soon
after his arrival he was witness to a revolution in that city of which
Azzo had the principal direction. The Scalas, who held the sovereignty
of Parma, had for some time oppressed the inhabitants with exorbitant
taxes, which excited murmurs and seditions. The Correggios, to whom the
city was entrusted in the absence of Mastino della Scala, profited by
the public discontent, hoisted the flag of liberty, and, on the 22nd of
May, 1341, drove out the garrison, and made themselves lords of the
commonwealth. On this occasion, Azzo has been accused of the worst
ingratitude to his nephews, Alberto and Mastino. But, if the people were
oppressed, he was surely justified in rescuing them from misgovernment.
To a great degree, also, the conduct of the Correggios sanctioned the
revolution. They introduced into Parma such a mild and equitable
administration as the city had never before experienced. Some
exceptionable acts they undoubtedly committed; and when Petrarch extols
Azzo as another Cato, it is to be hoped that he did so with some mental
reservation. Petrarch had proposed to cross the Alps immediately, and
proceed to Avignon; but he was prevailed upon by the solicitations of
Azzo to remain some time at Parma. He was consulted by the Correggios on
their most important affairs, and was admitted to their secret councils.
In the present instance, this confidence was peculiarly agreeable to
him; as the four brothers were, at that time, unanimous in their
opinions; and their designs were all calculated to promote the welfare
of their subjects.

Soon after his arrival at Parma, he received one of those tokens, of his
popularity which are exceedingly expressive, though they come from a
humble admirer. A blind old man, who had been a grammar-school master at
Pontremoli, came to Parma, in order to pay his devotions to the
laureate. The poor man had already walked to Naples, guided in his
blindness by his only son, for the purpose of finding Petrarch. The poet
had left that city; but King Robert, pleased with his enthusiasm, made
him a present of some money. The aged pilgrim returned to Pontremoti,
where, being informed that Petrarch was at Parma, he crossed the
Apennines, in spite of the severity of the weather, and travelled
thither, having sent before him a tolerable copy of verses. He was
presented to Petrarch, whose hand he kissed with devotion and
exclamations of joy. One day, before many spectators, the blind man said
to Petrarch, "Sir, I have come far to see you. " The bystanders laughed,
on which the old man replied, "I appeal to you, Petrarch, whether I do
not see you more clearly and distinctly than these men who have their
eyesight. " Petrarch gave him a kind reception, and dismissed him with a
considerable present.

The pleasure which Petrarch had in retirement, reading, and reflection,
induced him to hire a house on the outskirts of the city of Parma, with
a garden, beautifully watered by a stream, a _rus in urbe_, as he calls
it; and he was so pleased with this locality, that he purchased and
embellished it.

His happiness, however, he tells us, was here embittered by the loss of
some friends who shared the first place in his affections. One of these
was Tommaso da Messina, with whom he had formed a friendship when they
were fellow-students at Bologna, and ever since kept up a familiar
correspondence. They were of the same age, addicted to the same
pursuits, and imbued with similar sentiments. Tommaso wrote a volume of
Latin poems, several of which were published after the invention of
printing. Petrarch, in his Triumphs of Love, reckons him an excellent
poet.

This loss was followed by another which affected Petrarch still more
strongly. Having received frequent invitations to Lombes from the
Bishop, who had resided some time in his diocese, Petrarch looked
forward with pleasure to the time when he should revisit him. But he
received accounts that the Bishop was taken dangerously ill. Whilst his
mind was agitated by this news, he had the following dream, which he has
himself related. "Methought I saw the Bishop crossing the rivulet of my
garden alone. I was astonished at this meeting, and asked him whence he
came, whither he was going in such haste, and why he was alone. He
smiled upon me with his usual complacency, and said, 'Remember that when
you were in Gascony the tempestuous climate was insupportable to you. I
also am tired of it. I have quitted Gascony, never to return, and I am
going to Rome. ' At the conclusion of these words, he had reached the end
of the garden, and, as I endeavoured to accompany him, he in the kindest
and gentlest manner waved his hand; but, upon my persevering, he cried
out in a more peremptory manner, 'Stay! you must not at present attend
me. ' Whilst he spoke these words, I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw the
paleness of death upon his countenance. Seized with horror, I uttered a
loud cry, which awoke me. I took notice of the time. I told the
circumstance to all my friends; and, at the expiration of
five-and-twenty days, I received accounts of his death, which happened
in the very same night in winch he had appeared to me. "

On a little reflection, this incident will not appear to be
supernatural. That Petrarch, oppressed as he was with anxiety about his
friend, should fall into fanciful reveries during his sleep, and imagine
that he saw him in the paleness of death, was nothing wonderful--nay,
that he should frame this allegory in his dream is equally conceivable.
The sleeper's imagination is often a great improvisatore. It forms
scenes and stories; it puts questions, and answers them itself, all the
time believing that the responses come from those whom it interrogates.

Petrarch, deeply attached to Azzo da Correggio, now began to consider
himself as settled at Parma, where he enjoyed literary retirement in the
bosom of his beloved Italy. But he had not resided there a year, when he
was summoned to Avignon by orders he considered that he could not
disobey. Tiraboschi, and after him Baldelli, ascribe his return to
Avignon to the commission which he received in 1342, to go as advocate
of the Roman people to the new Pope, Clement VI. , who had succeeded to
the tiara on the death of Benedict XII. , and Petrarch's own words
coincide with what they say. The feelings of joy with which Petrarch
revisited Avignon, though to appearance he had weaned himself from
Laura, may be imagined. He had friendship, however, if he had not love,
to welcome him. Here he met, with reciprocal gladness, his friends
Socrates and Laelius, who had established themselves at the court of the
Cardinal Colonna. "Socrates," says De Sade, "devoted himself entirely to
Petrarch, and even went with him to Vaucluse. " It thus appears that
Petrarch had not given up his peculium on the Sorgue, nor had any one
rented the field and cottage in his absence.

Benedict's successor, Clement VI. , was conversant with the world, and
accustomed to the splendour of courts. Quite a contrast to the plain
rigidity of Benedict, he was courteous and munificent, but withal a
voluptuary; and his luxury and profusion gave rise to extortions, to
rapine, and to boundless simony. His artful and arrogant mistress, the
Countess of Turenne, ruled him so absolutely, that all places in his
gift, which had escaped the grasp of his relations, were disposed of
through her interest; and she amassed great wealth by the sale of
benefices.

The Romans applied to Clement VI. , as they had applied to Benedict XII. ,
imploring him to bring back the sacred seat to their capital; and they
selected Petrarch to be among those who should present their
supplication. Our poet appealed to his Holiness on this subject, both in
prose and verse. The Pope received him with smiles, complimented him on
his eloquence, bestowed on him the priory of Migliorino, but, for the
present, consigned his remonstrance to oblivion.

In this mission to Clement at Avignon there was joined with Petrarch the
famous Nicola Gabrino, better known by the name Cola di Rienzo, who,
very soon afterwards, attached the history of Rome to his biography. He
was for the present comparatively little known; but Petrarch, thus
coming into connection with this extraordinary person, was captivated
with his eloquence, whilst Clement complimented Rienzo, admitted him
daily to his presence, and conversed with him on the wretched state of
Rome, the tyranny of the nobles, and the sufferings of the people.

Cola and Petrarch were the two chiefs of this Roman embassy to the Pope;
and it appears that the poet gave precedency to the future tribune on
this occasion. They both elaborately exposed the three demands of the
Roman people, namely, that the Pope, already the acknowledged patron of
Rome, should assume the title and functions of its senator, in order to
extinguish the civil wars kindled by the Roman barons; that he should
return to his pontifical chair on the banks of the Tiber; and that he
should grant permission for the jubilee, instituted by Boniface VIII. ,
to be held every fifty years, and not at the end of a century, as its
extension to the latter period went far beyond the ordinary duration of
human life, and cut off the greater part of the faithful from enjoying
the institution.

Clement praised both orators, and conceded that the Romans should have a
jubilee every fifty years; but he excused himself from going to Rome,
alleging that he was prevented by the disputes between France and
England. "Holy Father," said Petrarch, "how much it were to be wished
that you had known Italy before you knew France. " "I wish I had," said
the Pontiff, very coldly.

Petrarch gave vent to his indignation at the papal court in a writing,
entitled, "A Book of Letters without a Title," and in several severe
sonnets. The "Liber Epistolarum sine Titulo" contains, as it is printed
in his works (Basle edit. , 1581), eighteen letters, fulminating as
freely against papal luxury and corruption as if they had been penned by
Luther or John Knox. From their contents, we might set down Petrarch as
the earliest preacher of the Reformation, if there were not, in the
writings of Dante, some passages of the same stamp. If these epistles
were really circulated at the time when they were written, it is matter
of astonishment that Petrarch never suffered from any other flames than
those of love; for many honest reformers, who have been roasted alive,
have uttered less anti-papal vituperation than our poet; nor, although
Petrarch would have been startled at a revolution in the hierarchy, can
it be doubted that his writings contributed to the Reformation.

It must be remembered, at the same time, that he wrote against the
church government of Avignon, and not that of Rome. He compares Avignon
with the Assyrian Babylon, with Egypt under the mad tyranny of Cambyses;
or rather, denies that the latter empires can be held as parallels of
guilt to the western Babylon; nay, he tells us that neither Avernus nor
Tartarus can be confronted with this infernal place.

"The successors of a troop of fishermen," he says, "have forgotten their
origin. They are not contented, like the first followers of Christ, who
gained their livelihood by the Lake of Gennesareth, with modest
habitations, but they must build themselves splendid palaces, and go
about covered with gold and purple. They are fishers of men, who catch a
credulous multitude, and devour them for their prey. " This "Liber
Epistolarum" includes some descriptions of the debaucheries of the
churchmen, which are too scandalous for translation. They are
nevertheless curious relics of history.

In this year, Gherardo, the brother of our poet, retired, by his advice,
to the Carthusian monastery of Montrieux, which they had both visited in
the pilgrimage to Baume three years before. Gherardo had been struck
down with affliction by the death of a beautiful woman at Avignon, to
whom he was devoted. Her name and history are quite unknown, but it may
be hoped, if not conjectured, that she was not married, and could be
more liberal in her affections than the poet's Laura.

Amidst all the incidents of this period of his life, the attachment of
Petrarch to Laura continued unabated. It appears, too, that, since his
return from Parma, she treated him with more than wonted complacency. He
passed the greater part of the year 1342 at Avignon, and went to
Vaucluse but seldom and for short intervals.

In the meantime, love, that makes other people idle, interfered not with
Petrarch's fondness for study. He found an opportunity of commencing the
study of Greek, and seized it with avidity. That language had never been
totally extinct in Italy; but at the time on which we are touching,
there were not probably six persons in the whole country acquainted with
it. Dante had quoted Greek authors, but without having known the Greek
alphabet. The person who favoured Petrarch with this coveted instruction
was Bernardo Barlaamo, a Calabrian monk, who had been three years before
at Avignon, having come as envoy from Andronicus, the eastern Emperor,
on pretext of proposing a union between the Greek and Roman churches,
but, in reality for the purpose of trying to borrow money from the Pope
for the Emperor. Some of Petrarch's biographers date his commencement of
the study of Greek from the period of Barlaamo's first visit to Avignon;
but I am inclined to postpone it to 1342, when Barlaamo returned to the
west and settled at Avignon. Petrarch began studying Greek by the
reading of Plato. He never obtained instruction sufficient to make him a
good Grecian, but he imbibed much of the spirit of Plato from the labour
which he bestowed on his works. He was very anxious to continue his
Greek readings with Barlaamo; but his stay in Avignon was very short;
and, though it was his interest to detain him as his preceptor,
Petrarch, finding that he was anxious for a settlement in Italy, helped
him to obtain the bishopric of Geraci, in Calabria.

[Illustration: NICE. ]

The next year was memorable in our poet's life for the birth of his
daughter Francesca. That the mother of this daughter was the same who
presented him with his son John there can be no doubt. Baldelli
discovers, in one of Petrarch's letters, an obscure allusion to her,
which seems to indicate that she died suddenly after the birth of
Francesca, who proved a comfort to her father in his old age.

The opening of the year 1343 brought a new loss to Petrarch in the death
of Robert, King of Naples. Petrarch, as we have seen, had occasion to be
grateful to this monarch; and we need not doubt that he was much
affected by the news of his death; but, when we are told that he
repaired to Vaucluse to bewail his irreparable loss, we may suppose,
without uncharitableness, that he retired also with a view to study the
expression of his grief no less than to cherish it. He wrote, however,
an interesting letter on the occasion to Barbato di Sulmona, in which he
very sensibly exhibits his fears of the calamities which were likely to
result from the death of Robert, adding that his mind was seldom true in
prophecy, unless when it foreboded misfortunes; and his predictions on
this occasion were but too well verified.

Robert was succeeded by his granddaughter Giovanna, a girl of sixteen,
already married to Andrew of Hungary, her cousin, who was but a few
months older. Robert by his will had established a council of regency,
which was to continue until Giovanna arrived at the age of twenty-five.
The Pope, however, made objections to this arrangement, alleging that
the administration of affairs during the Queen's minority devolved upon
him immediately as lord superior. But, as he did not choose to assert
his right till he should receive more accurate information respecting
the state of the kingdom, he gave Petrarch a commission for that
purpose; and entrusted him with a negotiation of much importance and
delicacy.

Petrarch received an additional commission from the Cardinal Colonna.
Several friends of the Colonna family were, at that time, confined in
prison at Naples, and the Cardinal flattered himself that Petrarch's
eloquence and intercession would obtain their enlargement. Our poet
accepted the embassy. He went to Nice, where he embarked; but had nearly
been lost in his passage. He wrote to Cardinal Colonna the following
account of his voyage.

"I embarked at Nice, the first maritime town in Italy (he means the
nearest to France). At night I got to Monaco, and the bad weather
obliged me to pass a whole day there, which by no means put me into
good-humour. The next morning we re-embarked, and, after being tossed
all day by the tempest, we arrived very late at Port Maurice. The night
was dreadful; it was impossible to get to the castle, and I was obliged
to put up at a little village, where my bed and supper appeared
tolerable from extreme weariness. I determined to proceed by land; the
perils of the road appeared less dreadful to me than those by sea. I
left my servants and baggage in the ship, which set sail, and I remained
with only one domestic on shore. By accident, upon the coast of Genoa, I
found some German horses which were for sale; they were strong and
serviceable. I bought them; but I was soon afterwards obliged to take
ship again; for war was renewed between the Pisans and the Milanese.
Nature has placed limits to these States, the Po on one side, and the
Apennines on the other. I must have passed between their two armies if I
had gone by land; this obliged me to re-embark at Lerici. I passed by
Corvo, that famous rock, the ruins of the city of Luna, and landed at
Murrona. Thence I went the next day on horseback to Pisa, Siena, and
Rome. My eagerness to execute your orders has made me a night-traveller,
contrary to my character and disposition. I would not sleep till I had
paid my duty to your illustrious father, who is always my hero. I found
him the same as I left him seven years ago, nay, even as hale and
sprightly as when I saw him at Avignon, which is now twelve years. What
a surprising man! What strength of mind and body! How firm his voice!
How beautiful his face! Had he been a few years younger, I should have
taken him for Julius Caesar, or Scipio Africanus. Rome grows old; but not
its hero. He was half undressed, and going to bed; so I stayed only a
moment, but I passed the whole of the next day with him. He asked me a
thousand questions about you, and was much pleased that I was going to
Naples. When I set out from Rome, he insisted on accompanying me beyond
the walls.

"I reached Palestrina that night, and was kindly received by your nephew
John. He is a young man of great hopes, and follows the steps of his
ancestors.

"I arrived at Naples the 11th of October. Heavens, what a change has the
death of one man produced in that place! No one would know it now.
Religion, Justice, and Truth are banished. I think I am at Memphis,
Babylon, or Mecca. In the stead of a king so just and so pious, a little
monk, fat, rosy, barefooted, with a shorn head, and half covered with a
dirty mantle, bent by hypocrisy more than by age, lost in debauchery
whilst proud of his affected poverty, and still more of the real wealth
he has amassed--this man holds the reins of this staggering empire. In
vice and cruelty he rivals a Dionysius, an Agathocles, or a Phalaris.
This monk, named Roberto, was an Hungarian cordelier, and preceptor of
Prince Andrew, whom he entirely sways. He oppresses the weak, despises
the great, tramples justice under foot, and treats both the dowager and
the reigning Queen with the greatest insolence. The court and city
tremble before him; a mournful silence reigns in the public assemblies,
and in private they converse by whispers. The least gesture is punished,
and _to think_ is denounced as a crime. To this man I have presented the
orders of the Sovereign Pontiff, and your just demands. He behaved with
incredible insolence. Susa, or Damascus, the capital of the Saracens,
would have received with more respect an envoy from the Holy See. The
great lords imitate his pride and tyranny. The Bishop of Cavaillon is
the only one who opposes this torrent; but what can one lamb do in the
midst of so many wolves? It is the request of a dying king alone that
makes him endure so wretched a situation. How small are the hopes of my
negotiation! but I shall wait with patience; though I know beforehand
the answer they will give me. "

It is plain from Petrarch's letter that the kingdom of Naples was now
under a miserable subjection to the Hungarian faction, aid that the
young Queen's situation was anything but enviable. Few characters in
modern history have been drawn in such contrasted colours as that of
Giovanna, Queen of Naples.