No More Learning

Instead of the joy that once reigned here, sadness is everywhere spread,
and you hear only sighs and wailings in place of songs. Where you
formerly saw troops of girls dancing, there are now only bands of
robbers and assassins. "

Lucchino del Verme, one of the most famous condottieri of his time, had
commanded troops in the service of the Visconti, at whose court he made
the acquaintance of Petrarch. Our poet invited him to serve the
Venetians in the war in which they were engaged with the people of
Candia. Lucchino went to Venice whilst Petrarch was absent, reviewed the
troops, and embarked for Candia on board the fleet, which consisted of
thirty galleys and eight large vessels. Petrarch did not return to
Venice till the expedition had sailed. He passed the summer in the
country, having at his house one of his friends, Barthelemi di
Pappazuori, Bishop of Christi, whom he had known at Avignon, and who had
come purposely to see him. One day, when they were both at a window
which overlooked the sea, they beheld one of the long vessels which the
Italians call a galeazza, entering the harbour. The green branches with
which it was decked, the air of joy that appeared among the mariners,
the young men crowned with laurel, who, from the prow, saluted the
standard of their country--everything betokened that the galeazza
brought good news. When the vessel came a little nearer, they could
perceive the captured colours of their enemies suspended from the poop,
and no doubt could be entertained that a great victory had been won. The
moment that the sentinel on the tower had made the signal of a vessel
entering the harbour, the people flocked thither in crowds, and their
joy was even beyond expectation when they learned that the rebellion had
been totally crushed, and the island reduced to obedience. The most
magnificent festivals were given at Venice on this occasion.

Shortly after these Venetian fetes, we find our poet writing a long
letter to Boccaccio, in which he gives a curious and interesting
description of the Jongleurs of Italy. He speaks of them in a very
different manner from those pictures that have come down to us of the
Provencal Troubadours. The latter were at once poets and musicians, who
frequented the courts and castles of great lords, and sang their
praises. Their strains, too, were sometimes satirical. They amused
themselves with different subjects, and wedded their verses to the sound
of the harp and other instruments. They were called Troubadours from the
word _trobar_, "to invent. " They were original poets, of the true
minstrel breed, similar to those whom Bishop Percy ascribes to England
in the olden time, but about the reality of whom, as a professional
body, Ritson has shown some cause to doubt. Of the Italian Jongleurs,
Petrarch gives us a humble notion. "They are a class," he says, "who
have little wit, but a great deal of memory, and still more impudence.
Having nothing of their own to recite, they snatch at what they can get
from others, and go about to the courts of princes to declaim verses, in
the vulgar tongue, which they have got by heart. At those courts they
insinuate themselves into the favour of the great, and get subsistence
and presents. They seek their means of livelihood, that is, the verses
they recite, among the best authors, from whom they obtain, by dint of
solicitation, and even by bribes of money, compositions for their
rehearsal. I have often repelled their importunities, but sometimes,
touched by their entreaties, I have spent hours in composing productions
for them. I have seen them leave me in rags and poverty, and return,
some time afterwards, clothed in silks, and with purses well furnished,
to thank me for having relieved them. "

In the course of the same amusing correspondence with Boccaccio, which
our poet maintained at this period, he gives an account of an atheist
and blasphemer at Venice, with whom he had a long conversation. It ended
in our poet seizing the infidel by the mantle, and ejecting him from his
house with unceremonious celerity. This conclusion of their dialogue
gives us a higher notion of Petrarch's piety than of his powers of
argument.

Petrarch went to spend the autumn of 1365 at Pavia, which city Galeazzo
Visconti made his principal abode. To pass the winter till Easter, our
poet returned first to Venice, and then to Padua, according to his
custom, to do the duties of his canonry. It was then that his native
Florence, wishing to recall a man who did her so much honour, thought of
asking for him from the Pope the canonry of either Florence or Fiesole.
Petrarch fully appreciated the shabby kindness of his countrymen. A
republic that could afford to be lavish in all other expenses, limited
their bounty towards him to the begging of a canonicate for him from his
Holiness, though Florence had confiscated his father's property. But the
Pope had other views for him, and had actually appointed him to the
canonry of Carpentras, when a false rumour of his death unhappily
induced the Pontiff to dispose not only of that living, but of Parma and
others which he had resigned to indigent friends.

During the February of 1366 there was great joy in the house of
Petrarch, for his daughter, Francesca, the wife of Francesco di
Brossano, gave birth to a boy, whom Donato degli Albanzani, a
peculiarly-favoured friend of the poet's, held over the baptismal font,
whilst he was christened by the name of Francesco.

Meanwhile, our poet was delighted to hear of reformations in the Church,
which signalized the commencement of Urban V. 's pontificate. After some
hesitation, Petrarch ventured to write a strong advice to the Pope to
remove the holy seat from Avignon to Rome. His letter is long, zealous,
superstitious, and, as usual, a little pedantic. The Pope did not need
this epistle to spur his intentions as to replacing the holy seat at
Rome; but it so happened that he did make the removal no very long time
after Petrarch had written to him.

On the 20th of July, 1366, our poet rose, as was his custom, to his
matin devotions, and reflected that he was precisely then entering on
his sixty-third year. He wrote to Boccaccio on the subject. He repeats
the belief, at that time generally entertained, that the sixty-third
year of a man's life is its most dangerous crisis. It was a belief
connected with astrology, and a superstitious idea of the influence of
numbers; of course, if it retains any attention at present, it must
subsist on practical observation: and I have heard sensible physicians,
who had no faith in the influence of the stars, confess that they
thought that time of life, commonly called the grand climacteric, a
critical period for the human constitution.

In May, 1367, Pope Urban accomplished his determination to remove his
court from Avignon in spite of the obstinacy of his Cardinals; but he
did not arrive at Rome till the month of October. He was joyously
received by the Romans; and, in addition to other compliments, had a
long letter from Petrarch, who was then at Venice. Some days after the
date of this letter, our poet received one from Galeazzo Visconti. The
Pope, it seems, wished, at whatever price, to exterminate the Visconti.
He thundered this year against Barnabo with a terrible bull, in which he
published a crusade against him. Barnabo, to whom, with all his faults,
the praise of courage cannot be denied, brought down his troops from the
Po, in order to ravage Mantua, and to make himself master of that city.
Galeazzo, his brother, less warlike, thought of employing negotiation
for appeasing the storm; and he invited Petrarch to Pavia, whither our
poet arrived in 1368. He attempted to procure a peace for the Visconti,
but was not successful.

It was not, however, solely to treat for a peace with his enemies that
Galeazzo drew our poet to his court. He was glad that he should be
present at the marriage of his daughter Violante with Lionel, Duke of
Clarence, son of Edward III. of England. The young English prince,
followed by many nobles of our land, passed through France, and arrived
at Milan on the 14th of May. His nuptials took place about a month
later. At the marriage-dinner Petrarch was seated at the table where
there were only princes, or nobles of the first rank. It is a curious
circumstance that Froissart, so well known as an historian of England,
came at this time to Milan, in the suite of the Duke of Clarence, and
yet formed no acquaintance with our poet. Froissart was then only about
thirty years old. It might have been hoped that the two geniuses would
have become intimate friends; but there is no trace of their having even
spoken to each other. Petrarch's neglect of Froissart may not have been
so wonderful; but it is strange that the latter should not have been
ambitious to pay his court to the greatest poet then alive. It is
imaginable, however, that Petrarch, with all his natural gentleness, was
proud in his demeanour to strangers; and if so, Froissart was excusable
for an equally-proud reserve.

In the midst of the fetes that were given for the nuptials of the
English prince, Petrarch received news of the death of his grandchild.
This little boy had died at Pavia, on the very day of the marriage of
Lionel and Violante, when only two years and four months old. Petrarch
caused a marble mausoleum to be erected over him, and twelve Latin lines
of his own composition to be engraved upon it. He was deeply touched by
the loss of his little grandson. "This child," he says, "had a singular
resemblance to me, insomuch that any one who had not seen its mother
would have taken me for its father. "

A most interesting letter from Boccaccio to our poet found Petrarch at
Pavia, whither he had retired from Milan, wearied with the marriage
fetes. The summer season was now approaching, when he was accustomed to
be ill; and he had, besides, got by the accident of a fall a bad
contusion on his leg. He was anxious to return to Padua, and wished to
embark on the Po. But war was abroad; the river banks were crowded with
troops of the belligerent parties; and no boatmen could be found for
some time who would go with him for love or money. At last, he found the
master of a vessel bold enough to take him aboard. Any other vessel
would have been attacked and pillaged; but Petrarch had no fear; and,
indeed, he was stopped in his river passage only to be loaded with
presents. He arrived in safety at Padua, on the 9th of June, 1368.

The Pope wished much to see our poet at Rome; but Petrarch excused
himself on account of his health and the summer season, which was always
trying to him. But he promised to repair to his Holiness as soon as his
health should permit, not to ask benefices of the holy father, but only
his blessing. During the same year, we find Petrarch complaining often
and painfully of his bodily infirmities. In a letter to Coluccio
Salutati, he says:--"Age, which makes others garrulous, only makes me
silent. When young, I used to write many and long letters. At present, I
write only to my particular friends, and even to them very short
letters. " Petrarch was now sixty-four years old. He had never seen Pope
Urban V. , as he tells us himself; but he was very desirous of seeing
him, and of seeing Rome adorned by the two great luminaries of the
world, the Pope and the Emperor. Pope Urban, fearing the heats of Italy,
to which he was not accustomed, had gone to pass the dog-days at
Monte-Fiascone. When he returned to Rome, in October, on his arrival at
the Colline gate, near the church of St. Angelo, he found the Emperor,
who was waiting for him. The Emperor, the moment he saw his Holiness,
dismounted from his horse, took the reins of that of the Pope, and
conducted him on foot to the church of St. Peter. As to this submission
of civil to ecclesiastical dignity, different opinions were entertained,
even at Rome; and the wiser class of men disapproved of it. Petrarch's
opinion on the subject is not recorded; but, during this year, there is
no proof that he had any connection with the Emperor; and my own opinion
is that he did not approve of his conduct. It is certain that Petrarch
condemned the Pope's entering Rome at the head of 2000 soldiery. "The
Roman Pontiff," he remarks, "should trust to his dignity and to his
sanctity, when coming into our capital, and not to an army with their
swords and cuirasses. The cross of Jesus is the only standard which he
ought to rear. Trumpets and drums were out of place. It would have been
enough to have sung hallelujahs. "

Petrarch, in his letter to Boccaccio, in the month of September, says
that he had got the fever; and he was still so feeble that he was
obliged to employ the hand of a stranger in writing to him. He indites
as follows:--"I have had the fever for forty days. It weakened me so
much that I could not go to my church, though it is near my house,
without being carried. I feel as if my health would never be restored.
My constitution seems to be entirely worn out. " In another letter to the
Cardinal Cabassole, who informed him of the Pope's wish to see him, he
says: "His Holiness does me more honour than I deserve. It is to you
that I owe this obligation. Return a thousand thanks to the holy father
in your own name and in mine. " The Pope was so anxious to see Petrarch
that he wrote to him with his own hand, reproaching him for refusing his
invitation. Our poet, after returning a second apology, passed the
winter in making preparations for this journey; but before setting out
he thought proper to make his will. It was written with his own hand at
Padua.

In his testament he forbids weeping for his death, justly remarking that
tears do no good to the dead, and may do harm to the living. He asks
only prayers and alms to the poor who will pray for him. "As for my
burial," he says, "let it be made as my friends think fit. What
signifies it to me where my body is laid? " He then makes some bequests
in favour of the religious orders; and he founds an anniversary in his
own church of Padua, which is still celebrated every year on the 9th of
July.

Then come his legacies to his friends. He bequeathes to the Lord of
Padua his picture of the Virgin, painted by Giotto; "the beauty of
which," he says, "is little known to the ignorant, though the masters of
art will never look upon it without admiration. "

To Donato di Prato Vecchio, master of grammar at Venice, he leaves all
the money that he had lent him. He bequeathes the horses he may have at
his death to Bonzanello di Vigoncia and Lombardo da Serigo, two friends
of his, citizens of Padua, wishing them to draw lots for the choice of
the horses. He avows being indebted to Lombardo da Serigo 134 golden
ducats, advanced for the expenses of his house. He also bequeathes to
the same person a goblet of silver gilt (undoubtedly the same which the
Emperor Charles had sent him in 1362). He leaves to John Abucheta,
warden of his church, his great breviary, which he bought at Venice for
100 francs, on condition that, after his death, this breviary shall
remain in the sacristy for the use of the future priests of the church.
To John Boccaccio he bequeathes 50 gold florins of Florence, to buy him
a winter-habit for his studies at night. "I am ashamed," he adds, "to
leave so small a sum to so great a man;" but he entreats his friends in
general to impute the smallness of their legacies to that of his
fortune. To Tomaso Bambasi, of Ferrara, he makes a present of his good
lute, that he may make use of it in singing the praises of God. To
Giovanni Dandi, physician of Padua, he leaves 50 ducats of gold, to buy
a gold ring, which he may wear in remembrance of him.

[Illustration: FERRARA. ]

He appoints Francesco da Brossano, citizen of Milan, his heir, and
desires him, not only as his heir, but as his dear son, to divide into
two parts the money he should find--the one for himself, the other for
the person to whom it was assigned. "It would seem by this," says De
Sade, "that Petrarch would not mention his daughter by name in a public
will, because she was not born in marriage. " Yet his shyness to name her
makes it singular that he should style Brossano his son. In case
Brossano should die before him, he appoints Lombardo da Serigo his
eventual heir. De Sade considers the appointment as a deed of trust.
With respect to his little property at Vaucluse, he leaves it to the
hospital in that diocese. His last bequest is to his brother Gherardo, a
Carthusian of Montrieux. He desires his heir to write to him immediately
after his decease, and to give him the option of a hundred florins of
gold, payable at once, or by five or ten florins every year.

A few days after he had made this will, he set out for Rome. The
pleasure with which he undertook the journey made him suppose that he
could support it. But when he reached Ferrara he fell down in a fit, in
which he continued thirty hours, without sense or motion; and it was
supposed that he was dead. The most violent remedies were used to
restore him to consciousness, but he says that he felt them no more than
a statue.

Nicholas d'Este II. , the son of Obizzo, was at that time Lord of
Ferrara, a friend and admirer of Petrarch. The physicians thought him
dead, and the whole city was in grief. The news spread to Padua, Venice,
Milan, and Pavia. Crowds came from all parts to his burial. Ugo d'Este,
the brother of Nicholas, a young man of much merit, who had an
enthusiastic regard for Petrarch, paid him unremitting attention during
his illness. He came three or four times a day to see him, and sent
messengers incessantly to inquire how he was. Our poet acknowledged that
he owed his life to the kindness of those two noblemen.

When Petrarch was recovering, he was impatient to pursue his route,
though the physicians assured him that he could not get to Rome alive.
He would have attempted the journey in spite of their warnings, if his
strength had seconded his desires, but he was unable to sit his horse.
They brought him back to Padua, laid on a soft seat on a boat. His
unhoped-for return caused as much surprise as joy in that city, where he
was received by its lords and citizens with as much joy as if he had
come back from the other world. To re-establish his health, he went to a
village called Arqua, situated on the slope of a hill famous for the
salubrity of its air, the goodness of its wines, and the beauty of its
vineyards. An everlasting spring reigns there, and the place commands a
view of pleasingly-scattered villas. Petrarch built himself a house on
the high ground of the village, and he added to the vines of the country
a great number of other fruit-trees.

He had scarcely fixed himself at Arqua, when he put his last hand to a
work which he had begun in the year 1367. To explain the subject of this
work, and the circumstances which gave rise to it, I think it necessary
to state what was the real cause of our poet's disgust at Venice. He
appeared there, no doubt, to lead an agreeable life among many friends,
whose society was delightful to him. But there reigned in this city what
Petrarch thought licentiousness in conversation. The most ignorant
persons were in the habit of undervaluing the finest geniuses. It fills
one with regret to find Petrarch impatient of a liberty of speech,
which, whatever its abuses may be, cannot be suppressed, without
crushing the liberty of human thought. At Venice, moreover, the
philosophy of Aristotle was much in vogue, if doctrines could be called
Aristotelian, which had been disfigured by commentators, and still worse
garbled by Averroes. The disciples of Averroes at Venice insisted on the
world having been co-eternal with God, and made a joke of Moses and his
book of Genesis. "Would the eternal architect," they said, "remain from
all eternity doing nothing? Certainly not! The world's youthful
appearance is owing to its revolutions, and the changes it has undergone
by deluges and conflagrations. " "Those free-thinkers," Petrarch tells
us, "had a great contempt for Christ and his Apostles, as well as for
all those who did not bow the knee to the Stagirite. " They called the
doctrines of Christianity fables, and hell and heaven the tales of
asses. Finally, they believed that Providence takes no care of anything
under the region of the moon. Four young Venetians of this sect had
attached themselves to Petrarch, who endured their society, but opposed
their opinions. His opposition offended them, and they resolved to
humble him in the public estimation. They constituted themselves a
tribunal to try his merits: they appointed an advocate to plead for him,
and they concluded by determining that he was a good man, but
illiterate!

This affair made a great stir at Venice. Petrarch seems at first to have
smiled with sensible contempt at so impertinent a farce; but will it be
believed that his friends, and among them Donato and Boccaccio, advised
and persuaded him to treat it seriously, and to write a book about it?
Petrarch accordingly put his pen to the subject. He wrote a treatise,
which he entitled "De sui ipsius et aliorum Ignorantia--" (On his own
Ignorance, and on that of others).

Petrarch had himself formed the design of confuting the doctrines of
Averroes; but he engaged Ludovico Marsili, an Augustine monk of
Florence, to perform the task. This monk, in Petrarch's opinion,
possessed great natural powers, and our poet exhorts him to write
against that rabid animal (Averroes) who barks with so much fury against
Christ and his Apostles. Unfortunately, the rabid animals who write
against the truths we are most willing to believe are difficult to be
killed.

The good air of the Euganean mountains failed to re-establish the health
of Petrarch. He continued ill during the summer of 1370. John di Dondi,
his physician, or rather his friend, for he would have no physician,
would not quit Padua without going to see him. He wrote to him
afterwards that he had discovered the true cause of his disease, and
that it arose from his eating fruits, drinking water, and frequent
fastings. His medical adviser, also, besought him to abstain from all
salted meats, and raw fruits, or herbs. Petrarch easily renounced salted
provisions, "but, as to fruits," he says, "Nature must have been a very
unnatural mother to give us such agreeable food, with such delightful
hues and fragrance, only to seduce her children with poison covered over
with honey. "

Whilst Petrarch was thus ill, he received news very unlikely to forward
his recovery. The Pope took a sudden resolution to return to Avignon.
That city, in concert with the Queen of Naples and the Kings of France
and Arragon, sent him vessels to convey him to Avignon. Urban gave as a
reason for his conduct the necessity of making peace between the crowns
of France and England, but no one doubted that the love of his own
country, the difficulty of inuring himself to the climate of Rome, the
enmity and rebellious character of the Italians, and the importunities
of his Cardinals, were the true cause of his return. He was received
with great demonstrations of joy; but St. Bridget had told him that if
he went to Avignon he should die soon afterwards, and it so happened
that her prophecy was fulfilled, for the Pope not long after his arrival
in Provence was seized with a mortal illness, and died on the 19th of
December, 1370. In the course of his pontificate, he had received two
singular honours. The Emperor of the West had performed the office of
his equerry, and the Emperor of the East abjured schism, acknowledging
him as primate of the whole Christian Church.

The Cardinals chose as Urban's successor a man who did honour to their
election, namely, Pietro Rogero, nephew of Clement VI. , who took the
name of Gregory XI. Petrarch knew him, he had seen him at Padua in 1307,
when the Cardinal was on his way to Rome, and rejoiced at his accession.
The new Pontiff caused a letter to be written to our poet, expressing
his wish to see him, and to be of service to him.

In a letter written about this time to his friend Francesco Bruni, we
perceive that Petrarch is not quite so indifferent to the good things of
the world as the general tenor of his letters would lead us to imagine.
He writes:--"Were I to say that I want means to lead the life of a
canon, I should be wrong, but when I say that my single self have more
acquaintances than all the chapter put together, and, consequently, that
I am put to more expenses in the way of hospitality, then I am right.
This embarrassment increases every day, and my resources diminish. I
have made vain efforts to free myself from my difficulties. My prebend,
it is true, yields me more bread and wine than I need for my own
consumption. I can even sell some of it.
But my expenses are very
considerable. I have never less than two horses, usually five or six
amanuenses. I have only three at this moment. It is because I could find
no more. Here it is easier to find a painter than an amanuensis. I have
a venerable priest, who never quits me when I am at church. Sometimes
when I count upon dining with him alone, behold, a crowd of guests will
come in. I must give them something to eat, and I must tell them amusing
stories, or else pass for being proud or avaricious.

"I am desirous to found a little oratory for the Virgin Mary; and shall
do so, though I should sell or pawn my books. After that I shall go to
Avignon, if my strength permits. If it does not, I shall send one of my
people to the Cardinal Cabassole, and to you, that you may attempt to
accomplish what I have often wished, but uselessly, as both you and he
well know. If the holy father wishes to stay my old age, and put me into
somewhat better circumstances, as he appears to me to wish, and as his
predecessor promised me, the thing would be very easy. Let him do as it
may please him, much, little, or nothing; I shall be always content.
Only let him not say to me as Clement VI. used to do, 'ask what you wish
for. ' I cannot do so, for several reasons. In the first place, I do not
myself know exactly what would suit me. Secondly, if I were to demand
some vacant place, it might be given away before my demand reached the
feet of his Holiness. Thirdly, I might make a request that might
displease him. His extreme kindness might pledge him to grant it; and I
should be made miserable by obtaining it.

"Let him give me, then, whatever he pleases, without waiting for my
petitioning for it. Would it become me, at my years, to be a solicitor
for benefices, having never been so in my youth? I trust, in this
matter, to what you may do with the Cardinal Sabina. You are the only
friends who remain to me in that country. These thirty years the
Cardinal has given me marks of his affection and good-will. I am about
to write to him a few words on the subject; and I shall refer him to
this letter, to save my repeating to him those miserable little details
with which I should not detain you, unless it seemed to be necessary. "

A short time afterwards, Petrarch heard, with no small satisfaction, of
the conduct of Cardinal Cabassole, at Perugia. When the Cardinal came to
take leave of the Pope the evening before his departure for that city,
he said, "Holy father, permit me to recommend Petrarch to you, on
account of my love for him. He is, indeed, a man unique upon earth--a
true phoenix. " Scarcely was he gone, when the Cardinal of Boulogne,
making pleasantries on the word phoenix, turned into ridicule both the
praises of Cabassole and him who was their object. Francesco Bruni, in
writing to Petrarch about the kindness of the one Cardinal, thought it
unnecessary to report the pleasantries of the other. But Petrarch, who
had heard of them from another quarter, relates them himself to Bruni,
and says:--"I am not astonished. This man loved me formerly, and I was
equally attached to him. At present he hates me, and I return his
hatred. Would you know the reason of this double change? It is because
he is the enemy of truth, and I am the enemy of falsehood; he dreads the
liberty which inspires me, and I detest the pride with which he is
swollen. If our fortunes were equal, and if we were together in a free
place, I should not call myself a phoenix; for that title ill becomes
me; but he would be an owl. Such people as he imagine, on account of
riches ill-acquired, and worse employed, that they are at liberty to say
what they please. "

In the letter which Bruni wrote to Petrarch, to apprize him of
Cabassole's departure, and of what he had said to the Pope in his
favour, he gave him notice of the promotion of twelve new cardinals,
whom Gregory had just installed, with a view to balance the domineering
authority of the others. "And I fear," he adds, "that the Pope's
obligations to satiate those new and hungry comers may retard the
effects of his good-will towards you. " "Let his Holiness satiate them,"
replied Petrarch; "let him appease their thirst, which is more than the
Tagus, the Pactolus, and the ocean itself could do--I agree to it; and
let him not think of me. I am neither famished nor thirsty. I shall
content myself with their leavings, and with what the holy father may
think meet to give, if he deigns to think of me. "

Bruni was right. The Pope, beset by applications on all hands, had no
time to think of Petrarch. Bruni for a year discontinued his
correspondence. His silence vexed our poet. He wrote to Francesco,
saying, "You do not write to me, because you cannot communicate what you
would wish. You understand me ill, and you do me injustice. I desire
nothing, and I hope for nothing, but an easy death. Nothing is more
ridiculous than an old man's avarice; though nothing is more common. It
is like a voyager wishing to heap up provisions for his voyage when he
sees himself approaching the end of it. The holy father has written me a
most obliging letter: is not that sufficient for me? I have not a doubt
of his good-will towards me, but he is encompassed by people who thwart
his intentions. Would that those persons could know how much I despise
them, and how much I prefer my mediocrity to the vain grandeur which
renders them so proud! " After a tirade against his enemies in purple,
evidently some of the Cardinals, he reproaches Bruni for having dwelt so
long for lucre in the ill-smelling Avignon; he exhorts him to leave it,
and to come and end his days at Florence. He says that he does not write
to the Pope for fear of appearing to remind him of his promises. "I have
received," he adds, "his letter and Apostolic blessing; I beg you to
communicate to his Holiness, in the clearest manner, that I wish for no
more. "

From this period Petrarch's health was never re-established. He was
languishing with wishes to repair to Perugia, and to see his dear friend
the Cardinal Cabassole. At the commencement of spring he mounted a
horse, in order to see if he could support the journey; but his weakness
was such that he could only ride a few steps. He wrote to the Cardinal
expressing his regrets, but seems to console himself by recalling to his
old friend the days they had spent together at Vaucluse, and their long
walks, in which they often strayed so far, that the servant who came to
seek for them and to announce that dinner was ready could not find them
till the evening.

It appears from this epistle that our poet had a general dislike to
cardinals. "You are not," he tells Cabassole, "like most of your
brethren, whose heads are turned by a bit of red cloth so far as to
forget that they are mortal men. It seems, on the contrary, as if
honours rendered you more humble, and I do not believe that you would
change your mode of thinking if they were to put a crown on your head. "
The good Cardinal, whom Petrarch paints in such pleasing colours, could
not accustom himself to the climate of Italy. He had scarcely arrived
there when he fell ill, and died on the 26th of August in the same year.

Of all the friends whom Petrarch had had at Avignon, he had now none
left but Mattheus le Long, Archdeacon of Liege, with whom his ties of
friendship had subsisted ever since they had studied together at
Bologna. From him he received a letter on the 5th of January, 1372, and
in his answer, dated the same day at Padua, he gives this picture of his
condition, and of the life which he led:--

"You ask about my condition--it is this. I am, thanks to God,
sufficiently tranquil, and free, unless I deceive myself, from all the
passions of my youth. I enjoyed good health for a long time, but for two
years past I have become infirm. Frequently, those around me have
believed me dead, but I live still, and pretty much the same as you have
known me. I could have mounted higher; but I wished not to do so, since
every elevation is suspicious. I have acquired many friends and a good
many books: I have lost my health and many friends; I have spent some
time at Venice. At present I am at Padua, where I perform the functions
of canon. I esteem myself happy to have quitted Venice, on account of
that war which has been declared between that Republic and the Lord of
Padua. At Venice I should have been suspected: here I am caressed. I
pass the greater part of the year in the country, which I always prefer
to the town. I repose, I write, I think; so you see that my way of life
and my pleasures are the same as in my youth. Having studied so long it
is astonishing that I have learnt so little. I hate nobody, I envy
nobody. In that first season of life which is full of error and
presumption, I despised all the world except myself. In middle life, I
despised only myself. In my aged years, I despise all the world, and
myself most of all. I fear only those whom I love. I desire only a good
end. I dread a company of valets like a troop of robbers. I should have
none at all, if my age and weakness permitted me. I am fain to shut
myself up in concealment, for I cannot endure visits; it is an honour
which displeases and wears me out. Amidst the Euganean hills I have
built a small but neat mansion, where I reckon on passing quietly the
rest of my days, having always before my eyes my dead or absent friends.
To conceal nothing from you, I have been sought after by the Pope, the
Emperor, and the King of France, who have given me pressing invitations,
but I have constantly declined them, preferring my liberty to
everything. "

In this letter, Petrarch speaks of a sharp war that had arisen between
Venice and Padua. A Gascon, named Rainier, who commanded the troops of
Venice, having thrown bridges over the Brenta, established his camp at
Abano, whence he sent detachments to ravage the lands of Padua. Petrarch
was in great alarm; for Arqua is only two leagues from Abano. He set out
on the 15th of November for Padua, to put himself and his books under
protection. A friend at Verona wrote to him, saying, "Only write your
name over the door of your house, and fear nothing; it will be your
safeguard. " The advice, it is hardly necessary to say, was absurd. Among
the pillaging soldiery there were thousands who could not have read the
poet's name if they had seen it written, and of those who were
accomplished enough to read, probably many who would have thought
Petrarch as fit to be plundered as another man. Petrarch, therefore,
sensibly replied, "I should be sorry to trust them. Mars respects not
the favourites of the Muses; I have no such idea of my name, as that it
would shelter me from the furies of war. " He was even in pain about his
domestics, whom he left at Arqua, and who joined him some days
afterwards.

Pandolfo Malatesta, learning what was passing in the Paduan territory,
and the danger to which Petrarch was exposed, sent to offer him his
horses, and an escort to conduct him to Pesaro, which was at that time
his residence. He was Lord of Pesaro and Fossombrone. The envoy of
Pandolfo found our poet at Padua, and used every argument to second his
Lord's invitation; but Petrarch excused himself on account of the state
of his health, the insecurity of the highways, and the severity of the
weather. Besides, he said that it would be disgraceful to him to leave
Padua in the present circumstances, and that it would expose him to the
suspicion of cowardice, which he never deserved.

Pandolfo earnestly solicited from Petrarch a copy of his Italian works.
Our poet in answer says to him, "I have sent to you by your messenger
these trifles which were the amusement of my youth. They have need of
all your indulgence. It is shameful for an old man to send you things of
this nature; but you have earnestly asked for them, and can I refuse you
anything? With what grace could I deny you verses which are current in
the streets, and are in the mouth of all the world, who prefer them to
the more solid compositions that I have produced in my riper years? "
This letter is dated at Padua, on the 4th of January, 1373. Pandolfo
Malatesta died a short time after receiving it.

Several Powers interfered to mediate peace between Venice and Padua, but
their negotiations ended in nothing, the spirits of both belligerents
were so embittered. The Pope had sent as his nuncio for this purpose a
young professor of law, named Uguzzone da Thiene, who was acquainted
with Petrarch. He lodged with our poet when he came to Padua, and he
communicated to him some critical remarks which had been written at
Avignon on Petrarch's letter to Pope Urban V. , congratulating him on his
return to Rome. A French monk of the order of St. Bernard passed for the
author of this work. As it spoke irreverently of Italy, it stirred up
the bile of Petrarch, and made him resume the pen with his sickly hand.
His answer to the offensive production flows with anger, and is harsh
even to abusiveness. He declaims, as usual, in favour of Italy, which he
adored, and against France, which he disliked.

After a suspension the war was again conducted with fury, till at last a
peace was signed at Venice on the 11th of September, 1373. The
conditions were hard and humiliating to the chief of Padua. The third
article ordained that he should come in person, or send his son, to ask
pardon of the Venetian Republic for the insults he had offered her, and
swear inviolable fidelity to her. The Carrara sent his son Francesco
Novello, and requested Petrarch to accompany him. Our poet had no great
wish to do so, and had too good an excuse in the state of his health,
which was still very fluctuating, but the Prince importuned him, and he
thought that he could not refuse a favour to such a friend.

Francesco Novello, accompanied by Petrarch, and by a great suite of
Paduan gentlemen, arrived at Venice on the 27th of September, where they
were well received, especially the poet. On the following day the chiefs
of the maiden city gave him a public audience. But, whether the majesty
of the Venetian Senate affected Petrarch, or his illness returned by
accident, so it was that he could not deliver the speech which he had
prepared, for his memory failed him. But the universal desire to hear
him induced the Senators to postpone their sitting to the following day.
He then spoke with energy, and was extremely applauded. Franceso Novello
begged pardon, and took the oath of fidelity.

Francesco da Carrara loved and revered Petrarch, and used to go
frequently to see him without ceremony in his small mansion at Arqua.
The Prince one day complained to him that he had written for all the
world excepting himself. Petrarch thought long and seriously about what
he should compose that might please the Carrara; but the task was
embarrassing. To praise him directly might seem sycophantish and fulsome
to the Prince himself. To censure him would be still more indelicate. To
escape the difficulty, he projected a treatise on the best mode of
governing a State, and on the qualities required in the person who has
such a charge. This subject furnished occasion for giving indirect
praises, and, at the same time, for pointing out some defects which he
had remarked in his patron's government.

It cannot be denied that there are some excellent maxims respecting
government in this treatise, and that it was a laudable work for the
fourteenth century. But since that period the subject has been so often
discussed by minds of the first order, that we should look in vain into
Petrarch's Essay for any truths that have escaped their observation.
Nature offers herself in virgin beauty to the primitive poet. But
abstract truth comes not to the philosopher, till she has been tried by
the test of time.

After his return from Venice, Petrarch only languished. A low fever,
that undermined his constitution, left him but short intervals of
health, but made no change in his mode of life; he passed the greater
part of the day in reading or writing. It does not appear, however, that
he composed any work in the course of the year 1374. A few letters to
Boccaccio are all that can be traced to his pen during that period.
Their date is not marked in them, but they were certainly written
shortly before his death. None of them possess any particular interest,
excepting that always in which he mentions the Decameron.

It seems at first sight not a little astonishing that Petrarch, who had
been on terms of the strictest friendship with Boccaccio for twenty-four
years, should never till now have read his best work. Why did not
Boccaccio send him his Decameron long before? The solution of this
question must be made by ascribing the circumstance to the author's
sensitive respect for the austerely moral character of our poet.

It is not known by what accident the Decameron fell into Petrarch's
hands, during the heat of the war between Venice and Padua. Even then
his occupations did not permit him to peruse it thoroughly; he only
slightly ran through it, after which he says in his letter to Boccaccio,
"I have not read your book with sufficient attention to pronounce an
opinion upon it; but it has given me great pleasure. That which is too
free in the work is sufficiently excusable for the age at which you
wrote it, for its elegant language, for the levity of the subject, for
the class of readers to whom it is suited. Besides, in the midst of much
gay and playful matter, several grave and pious thoughts are to be
found. Like the rest of the world, I have been particularly struck by
the beginning and the end. The description which you give of the state
of our country during the plague, appeared to me most true and most
pathetic. The story which forms the conclusion made so vivid an
impression on me, that I wished to get it by heart, in order to repeat
it to some of my friends. "

Petrarch, perceiving that this touching story of Griseldis made an
impression on all the world, had an idea of translating it into Latin,
for those who knew not the vulgar tongue. The following anecdote
respecting it is told by Petrarch himself:--"One of his friends, a man
of knowledge and intellect, undertook to read it to a company; but he
had hardly got into the midst of it, when his tears would not permit him
to continue. Again he tried to resume the reading, but with no better
success. "

Another friend from Verona having heard what had befallen the Paduan,
wished to try the same experiment; he took up the composition, and read
it aloud from beginning to end without the smallest change of voice or
countenance, and said, in returning the book, "It must be owned that
this is a touching story, and I should have wept, also, if I believed it
to be true; but it is clearly a fable. There never was and there never
will be such a woman as Griseldis. "[N]

This letter, which Petrarch sent to Boccaccio, accompanied by a Latin
translation of his story, is dated, in a MS. of the French King's
library, the 8th of June, 1374. It is perhaps, the last letter which he
ever wrote. He complains in it of "mischievous people, who opened
packets to read the letters contained in them, and copied what they
pleased. Proceeding in their licence, they even spared themselves the
trouble of transcription, and kept the packets themselves. " Petrarch,
indignant at those violators of the rights and confidence of society,
took the resolution of writing no more, and bade adieu to his friends
and epistolary correspondence, "Valete amici, valete epistolae. "

Petrarch died a very short time after despatching this letter. His
biographers and contemporary authors are not agreed as to the day of his
demise, but the probability seems to be that it was the 18th of July.
Many writers of his life tell us that he expired in the arms of Lombardo
da Serigo, whom Philip Villani and Gianozzo Manetti make their authority
for an absurd tradition connected with his death. They pretend that when
he breathed his last several persons saw a white cloud, like the smoke
of incense, rise to the roof of his chamber, where it stopped for some
time and then vanished, a miracle, they add, clearly proving that his
soul was acceptable to God, and ascended to heaven. Giovanni Manzini
gives a different account. He says that Petrarch's people found him in
his library, sitting with his head reclining on a book. Having often
seen him in this attitude, they were not alarmed at first; but, soon
finding that he exhibited no signs of life, they gave way to their
sorrow. According to Domenico Aretino, who was much attached to
Petrarch, and was at that time at Padua, so that he may be regarded as
good authority, his death was occasioned by apoplexy.

The news of his decease made a deep impression throughout Italy; and, in
the first instance, at Arqua and Padua, and in the cities of the
Euganean hills. Their people hastened in crowds to pay their last duties
to the man who had honoured their country by his residence. Francesco da
Carrara repaired to Arqua with all his nobility to assist at his
obsequies. The Bishop went thither with his chapter and with all his
clergy, and the common people flocked together to share in the general
mourning.

The body of Petrarch, clad in red satin, which was the dress of the
canons of Padua, supported by sixteen doctors on a bier covered with
cloth of gold bordered with ermine, was carried to the parish church of
Arqua, which was fitted up in a manner suitable to the ceremony. After
the funeral oration had been pronounced by Bonaventura da Praga, of the
order of the hermits of St. Augustin, the corpse was interred in a
chapel which Petrarch himself had erected in the parish church in honour
of the Virgin. A short time afterwards, Francesco Brossano, having
caused a tomb of marble to be raised on four pillars opposite to the
same church, transferred the body to that spot, and engraved over it an
epitaph in some bad Latin lines, the rhyming of which is their greatest
merit. In the year 1637, Paul Valdezucchi, proprietor of the house and
grounds of Petrarch at Arqua, caused a bust of bronze to be placed above
his mausoleum.

In the year 1630, his monument was violated by some sacrilegious
thieves, who carried off some of his bones for the sake of selling them.
The Senate of Venice severely punished the delinquents, and by their
decree upon the subject testified their deep respect for the remains of
this great man.

The moment the poet's will was opened, Brossano, his heir, hastened to
forward to his friends the little legacies which had been left them;
among the rest his fifty florins to Boccaccio. The answer of that most
interesting man is characteristic of his sensibility, whilst it
unhappily shows him to be approaching the close of his life (for he
survived Petrarch but a year), in pain and extreme debility. "My first
impulse," he says to Brossano, "on hearing of the decease of my master,"
so he always denominated our poet, "was to have hastened to his tomb to
bid him my last adieu, and to mix my tears with yours. But ever since I
lectured in public on the Divina Commedia of Dante, which is now ten
months, I have suffered under a malady which has so weakened and changed
me, that you would not recognise me. I have totally lost the stoutness
and complexion which I had when you saw me at Venice. My leanness is
extreme, my sight is dim, my hands shake, and my knees totter, so that I
can hardly drag myself to my country-house at Certaldo, where I only
languish. After reading your letter, I wept a whole night for my dear
master, not on his own account, for his piety permits us not to doubt
that he is now happy, but for myself and for his friends whom he has
left in this world, like a vessel in a stormy sea without a pilot. By my
own grief I judge of yours, and of that of Tullia, my beloved sister,
your worthy spouse. I envy Arqua the happiness of holding deposited in
her soil him whose heart was the abode of the Muses, and the sanctuary
of philosophy and eloquence. That village, scarcely known to Padua, will
henceforth be famed throughout the world. Men will respect it like Mount
Pausilippo for containing the ashes of Virgil, the shore of the Euxine
for possessing the tomb of Ovid, and Smyrna for its being believed to be
the burial-place of Homer. " Among other things, Boccaccio inquires what
has become of his divine poem entitled Africa, and whether it had been
committed to the flames, a fate with which Petrarch, from excess of
delicacy, often threatened his compositions.