About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
Petrarch
My tasks increase upon my hands;
one begets another; and I am dismayed when I look at what I have
undertaken to accomplish in so short a space as the remainder of my
life. * * * My health is good; my body is so robust that neither ripe
years, nor grave occupations, nor abstinence, nor penance, can totally
subdue that _kicking ass_ on whom I am constantly making war. I count
upon the grace of Heaven, without which I should infallibly fall, as I
fell in other times. All my reliance is on Christ. With regard to my
fortune, I am exactly in a just mediocrity, equally distant from the two
extremes * * * *
"I inhabit a retired corner of the city towards the west. Their ancient
devotion attracts the people every Sunday to the church of St. Ambrosio,
near which I dwell. During the rest of the week, this quarter is a
desert.
"Fortune has changed nothing in my nourishment, or my hours of sleep,
except that I retrench as much as possible from indulgence in either. I
lie in bed for no other purpose than to sleep, unless I am ill. I hasten
from bed as soon as I am awake, and pass into my library. This takes
place about the middle of the night, save when the nights are shortest.
I grant to Nature nothing but what she imperatively demands, and which
it is impossible to refuse her.
"Though I have always loved solitude and silence, I am a great gossip
with my friends, which arises, perhaps, from my seeing them but rarely.
I atone for this loquacity by a year of taciturnity. I mutely recall my
parted friends by correspondence. I resemble that class of people of
whom Seneca speaks, who seize life in detail, and not by the gross. The
moment I feel the approach of summer, I take a country-house a league
distant from town, where the air is extremely pure. In such a place I am
at present, and here I lead my wonted life, more free than ever from the
wearisomeness of the city. I have abundance of everything; the peasants
vie with each other in bringing me fruit, fish, ducks, and all sorts of
game. There is a beautiful Carthusian monastery in my neighbourhood,
where, at all hours of the day, I find the innocent pleasures which
religion offers. In this sweet retreat I feel no want but that of my
ancient friends. In these I was once rich; but death has taken away some
of them, and absence robs me of the remainder. Though my imagination
represents them, still I am not the less desirous of their real
presence. There would remain but few things for me to desire, if fortune
would restore to me but two friends, such as you and Socrates. I confess
that I flattered myself a long time to have had you both with me. But,
if you persist in your rigour, I must console myself with the company of
my religionists. Their conversation, it is true, is neither witty nor
profound, but it is simple and pious. Those good priests will be of
great service to me both in life and death. I think I have now said
enough about myself, and, perhaps, more than enough. You ask me about
the state of my fortune, and you wish to know whether you may believe
the rumours that are abroad about my riches. It is true that my income
is increased; but so, also, proportionably, is my outlay. I am, as I
have always been, neither rich nor poor. Riches, they say, make men poor
by multiplying their wants and desires; for my part, I feel the
contrary; the more I have the less I desire. Yet, I suppose, if I
possessed great riches, they would have the same effect upon me as upon
other people.
"You ask news about my son. I know not very well what to say concerning
him. His manners are gentle, and the flower of his youth holds out a
promise, though what fruit it may produce I know not. I think I may
flatter myself that he will be an honest man. He has talent; but what
avails talent without study! He flies from a book as he would from a
serpent. Persuasions, caresses, and threats are all thrown away upon him
as incitements to study. I have nothing wherewith to reproach myself;
and I shall be satisfied if he turns out an honest man, as I hope he
will. Themistocles used to say that he liked a man without letters
better than letters without a man. "
In the month of August, 1357, Petrarch received a letter from
Benintendi, the Chancellor of Venice, requesting him to send a dozen
elegiac verses to be engraved on the tomb of Andrea Dandolo. The
children of the Doge had an ardent wish that our poet should grant them
this testimony of his friendship for their father. Petrarch could not
refuse the request, and composed fourteen verses, which contain a sketch
of the great actions of Dandolo. But they were verses of command, which
the poet made in despite of the Muses and of himself.
In the following year, 1358, Petrarch was almost entirely occupied with
his treatise, entitled, "De Remediis utriusque Fortunae," (A Remedy
against either extreme of Fortune. ) This made a great noise when it
appeared. Charles V. of France had it transcribed for his library, and
translated; and it was afterwards translated into Italian and Spanish.
Petrarch returned to Milan, and passed the autumn at his house, the
Linterno, where he met with an accident, that for some time threatened
dangerous consequences. He thus relates it, in a letter to his friend,
Neri Morandi:--"I have a great volume of the epistles of Cicero, which I
have taken the pains to transcribe myself, for the copyists understand
nothing. One day, when I was entering my library, my gown got entangled
with this large book, so that the volume fell heavily on my left leg, a
little above the heel. By some fatality, I treated the accident too
lightly. I walked, I rode on horseback, according to my usual custom;
but my leg became inflamed, the skin changed colour, and mortification
began to appear. The pain took away my cheerfulness and sleep. I then
perceived that it was foolish courage to trifle with so serious an
accident. Doctors were called in. They feared at first that it would be
necessary to amputate the limb; but, at last, by means of regimen and
fomentation, the afflicted member was put into the way of healing. It is
singular that, ever since my infancy, my misfortunes have always fallen
on this same left leg. In truth, I have always been tempted to believe
in destiny; and why not, if, by the word destiny, we understand
Providence? "
As soon as his leg was recovered, he made a trip to Bergamo. There was
in that city a jeweller named Enrico Capri, a man of great natural
talents, who cherished a passionate admiration for the learned, and
above all for Petrarch, whose likeness was pictured or statued in every
room of his house. He had copies made at a great expense of everything
that came from his pen. He implored Petrarch to come and see him at
Bergamo. "If he honours my household gods," he said, "but for a single
day with his presence, I shall be happy all my life, and famous through
all futurity. " Petrarch consented, and on the 13th of October, 1358, the
poet was received at Bergamo with transports of joy. The governor of the
country and the chief men of the city wished to lodge him in some
palace; but Petrarch adhered to his jeweller, and would not take any
other lodging but with his friend.
A short time after his return to Milan, Petrarch had the pleasure of
welcoming to his house John Boccaccio, who passed some days with him.
The author of the Decamerone regarded Petrarch as his literary master.
He owed him a still higher obligation, according to his own statement;
namely, that of converting his heart, which, he says, had been frivolous
and inclined to gallantry, and even to licentiousness, until he received
our poet's advice. He was about forty-five years old when he went to
Milan. Petrarch made him sensible that it was improper, at his age, to
lose his time in courting women; that he ought to employ it more
seriously, and turn towards heaven, the devotion which he misplaced on
earthly beauties. This conversation is the subject of one of
Boccaccio's eclogues, entitled, "Philostropos. " His eclogues are in the
style of Petrarch, obscure and enigmatical, and the subjects are muffled
up under emblems and Greek names.
After spending some days with Petrarch, that appeared short to them
both, Boccaccio, pressed by business, departed about the beginning of
April, 1359. The great novelist soon afterwards sent to Petrarch from
Florence a beautiful copy of Dante's poem, written in his own hand,
together with some indifferent Latin verses, in which he bestows the
highest praises on the author of the Inferno. At that time, half the
world believed that Petrarch was jealous of Dante's fame; and the rumour
was rendered plausible by the circumstance--for which he has accounted
very rationally--that he had not a copy of Dante in his library.
In the month of May in this year, 1359, a courier from Bohemia brought
Petrarch a letter from the Empress Anne, who had the condescension to
write to him with her own hand to inform him that she had given birth to
a daughter. Great was the joy on this occasion, for the Empress had been
married five years, but, until now, had been childless. Petrarch, in his
answer, dated the 23rd of the same month, after expressing his sense of
the honour which her Imperial Majesty had done him, adds some
common-places, and seasons them with his accustomed pedantry. He
pronounces a grand eulogy on the numbers of the fair sex who had
distinguished themselves by their virtues and their courage. Among these
he instances Isis, Carmenta, the mother of Evander, Sappho, the Sybils,
the Amazons, Semiramis, Tomiris, Cleopatra, Zenobia, the Countess
Matilda, Lucretia, Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, Martia, Portia,
and Livia. The Empress Anne was no doubt highly edified by this
muster-roll of illustrious women; though some of the heroines, such as
Lucretia, might have bridled up at their chaste names being classed with
that of Cleopatra.
Petrarch repaired to Linterno, on the 1st of October, 1359; but his stay
there was very short. The winter set in sooner than usual. The constant
rains made his rural retreat disagreeable, and induced him to return to
the city about the end of the month.
On rising, one morning, soon after his return to Milan, he found that he
had been robbed of everything valuable in his house, excepting his
books. As it was a domestic robbery, he could accuse nobody of it but
his son John and his servants, the former of whom had returned from
Avignon. On this, he determined to quit his house at St. Ambrosio, and
to take a small lodging in the city; here, however, he could not live in
peace. His son and servants quarrelled every day, in his very presence,
so violently that they exchanged blows. Petrarch then lost all patience,
and turned the whole of his pugnacious inmates out of doors. His son
John had now become an arrant debauchee; and it was undoubtedly to
supply his debaucheries that he pillaged his own father. He pleaded
strongly to be readmitted to his home; but Petrarch persevered for some
time in excluding him, though he ultimately took him back.
It appears from one of Petrarch's letters, that many people at Milan
doubted his veracity about the story of the robbery, alleging that it
was merely a pretext to excuse his inconstancy in quitting his house at
St. Ambrosio; but that he was capable of accusing his own son on false
grounds is a suspicion which the whole character of Petrarch easily
repels. He went and settled himself in the monastery of St. Simplician,
an abbey of the Benedictines of Monte Cassino, pleasantly situated
without the walls of the city.
He was scarcely established in his new home at St. Simplician's, when
Galeazzo Visconti arrived in triumph at Milan, after having taken
possession of Pavia. The capture of this city much augmented the power
of the Lords of Milan; and nothing was wanting to their satisfaction but
the secure addition to their dominions of Bologna, to which Barnabo
Visconti was laying siege, although John of Olegea had given it up to
the Church in consideration of a pension and the possession of the city
of Fermo.
This affair had thrown the court of Avignon into much embarrassment, and
the Pope requested Nicholas Acciajuoli, Grand Seneschal of Naples, who
had been sent to the Papal city by his Neapolitan Majesty, to return by
way of Milan, and there negotiate a peace between the Church and Barnabo
Visconti. Acciajuoli reached Milan at the end of May, very eager to see
Petrarch, of whom he had heard much, without having yet made his
acquaintance. Petrarch describes their first interview in a letter to
Zanobi da Strada, and seems to have been captivated by the gracious
manners of the Grand Seneschal.
With all his popularity, the Seneschal was not successful in his
mission. When the Seneschal's proposals were read to the impetuous
Barnabo, he said, at the end of every sentence "Io voglio Bologna. " It
is said that Petrarch detached Galeazzo Visconti from the ambitious
projects of his brother; and that it was by our poet's advice that
Galeazzo made a separate peace with the Pope; though, perhaps, the true
cause of his accommodation with the Church was his being in treaty with
France and soliciting the French monarch's daughter, Isabella, in
marriage for his son Giovanni. After this marriage had been celebrated
with magnificent festivities, Petrarch was requested by Galeazzo to go
to Paris, and to congratulate the unfortunate King John upon his return
to his country. Our poet had a transalpine prejudice against France; but
he undertook this mission to its capital, and was deeply touched by its
unfortunate condition.
If the aspect of the country in general was miserable, that of the
capital was still worse. "Where is Paris," exclaims Petrarch, "that
metropolis, which, though inferior to its reputation, was, nevertheless,
a great city? " He tells us that its streets were covered with briars and
grass, and that it looked like a vast desert.
Here, however, in spite of its desolate condition, Petrarch witnessed
the joy with which the Parisians received their King John and the
Dauphin Charles. The King had not been well educated, yet he respected
literature and learned men. The Dauphin was an accomplished prince; and
our poet says that he was captivated by his modesty, sense, and
information.
Petrarch arrived at Milan early in March, 1361, bringing letters from
King John and his son the Dauphin, in which those princes entreat the
two Lords of Milan to persuade Petrarch by every means to come and
establish himself at their court. No sooner had he refused their
pressing invitations, than he received an equally earnest request from
the Emperor to accept his hospitality at Prague.
At this period, it had given great joy in Bohemia that the Empress had
produced a son, and that the kingdom now possessed an heir apparent. His
Imperial Majesty's satisfaction made him, for once, generous, and he
distributed rich presents among his friends. Nor was our poet forgotten
on this occasion. The Emperor sent him a gold embossed cup of admirable
workmanship, accompanied by a letter, expressing his high regard, and
repeating his request that he would pay him a visit in Germany. Petrarch
returned him a letter of grateful thanks, saying: "Who would not be
astonished at seeing transferred to my use a vase consecrated by the
mouth of Caesar? But I will not profane the sacred gift by the common use
of it. It shall adorn my table only on days of solemn festivity. " With
regard to the Imperial invitation, he concludes a long apology for not
accepting it immediately, but promising that, as soon as the summer was
over, if he could find a companion for the journey, he would go to the
court of Prague, and remain as long as it pleased his Majesty, since the
presence of Caesar would console him for the absence of his books, his
friends, and his country. This epistle is dated July 17th, 1861.
Petrarch quitted Milan during this year, a removal for which various
reasons are alleged by his biographers, though none of them appear to me
quite satisfactory.
He had now a new subject of grief to descant upon. The Marquis of
Montferrat, unable to contend against the Visconti, applied to the Pope
for assistance. He had already made a treaty with the court of London,
by which it was agreed that a body of English troops were to be sent to
assist the Marquis against the Visconti. They entered Italy by Nice. It
was the first time that our countrymen had ever entered the Saturnian
land. They did no credit to the English character for humanity, but
ravaged lands and villages, killing men and violating women. Their
general appellation was the bulldogs of England. What must have been
Petrarch's horror at these unkennelled hounds! In one of his letters he
vents his indignation at their atrocities; but, by-and-by, in the same
epistle, he glides into his bookworm habit of apostrophizing the ancient
heroes of Rome, Brutus, Camillus, and God knows how many more!
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY OF ST. MARK, ST. MARK'S PLACE, VENICE. ]
The plague now again broke out in Italy; and the English and other
predatory troops contributed much to spread its ravages. It extended to
many places; but most of all it afflicted Milan.
It is probable that these disasters were among the causes of Petrarch's
leaving Milan. He settled at Padua, when the plague had not reached it.
At this time, Petrarch lost his son John. Whether he died at Milan or at
Padua is not certain, but, wherever he died, it was most probably of the
plague. John had not quite attained his twenty-fourth year.
In the same year, 1361, he married his daughter Francesca, now near the
age of twenty, to Francesco di Brossano, a gentleman of Milan. Petrarch
speaks highly of his son-in-law's talents, and of the mildness of his
character. Boccaccio has drawn his portrait in the most pleasing
colours. Of the poet's daughter, also, he tells us, "that without being
handsome, she had a very agreeable face, and much resembled her father. "
It does not seem that she inherited his genius; but she was an excellent
wife, a tender mother, and a dutiful daughter. Petrarch was certainly
pleased both with her and with his son-in-law; and, if he did not live
with the married pair, he was, at least, near them, and much in their
society.
When our poet arrived at Padua, Francesco di Carrara, the son of his
friend Jacopo, reigned there in peace and alone. He had inherited his
father's affection for Petrarch. Here, too, was his friend Pandolfo
Malatesta, one of the bravest condottieri of the fourteenth century, who
had been driven away from Milan by the rage and jealousy of Barnabo.
The plague, which still continued to infest Southern Europe in 1362, had
even in the preceding year deprived our poet of his beloved friend
Socrates, who died at Avignon. "He was," says Petrarch, "of all men the
dearest to my heart. His sentiments towards me never varied during an
acquaintance of thirty-one years. "
The plague and war rendered Italy at this time so disagreeable to
Petrarch, that he resolved on returning to Vaucluse. He, therefore, set
out from Padua for Milan, on the 10th of January, 1362, reckoning that
when the cold weather was over he might depart from the latter place on
his route to Avignon. But when he reached Milan, he found that the state
of the country would not permit him to proceed to the Alps.
The Emperor of Germany now sent Petrarch a third letter of invitation to
come and see him, which our poet promised to accept; but alleged that he
was prevented by the impossibility of getting a safe passage. Boccaccio,
hearing that Petrarch meditated a journey to the far North, was much
alarmed, and reproached him for his intention of dragging the Muses into
Sarmatia, when Italy was the true Parnassus.
In June, 1362, the plague, which had begun its ravages at Padua, chased
Petrarch from that place, and he took the resolution of establishing
himself at Venice, which it had not reached. The course of the
pestilence, like that of the cholera, was not general, but unaccountably
capricious. Villani says that it acted like hail, which will desolate
fields to the right and left, whilst it spares those in the middle. The
war had not permitted our poet to travel either to Avignon or into
Germany. The plague had driven him out of Milan and Padua. "I am not
flying from death," he said, "but seeking repose. "
Having resolved to repair to Venice, Petrarch as usual took his books
along with him. From one of his letters to Boccaccio, it appears that it
was his intention to bestow his library on some religious community,
but, soon after his arrival at Venice, he conceived the idea of offering
this treasure to the Venetian Republic. He wrote to the Government that
he wished the blessed Evangelist, St. Mark, to be the heir of those
books, on condition that they should all be placed in safety, that they
should neither be sold nor separated, and that they should be sheltered
from fire and water, and carefully preserved for the use and amusement
of the learned and noble in Venice. He expressed his hopes, at the same
time, that the illustrious city would acquire other trusts of the same
kind for the good of the public, and that the citizens who loved their
country, the nobles above all, and even strangers, would follow his
example in bequeathing books to the church of St. Mark, which might one
day contain a great collection similar to those of the ancients.
The procurators of the church of St. Mark having offered to defray the
expense of lodging and preserving his library, the republic decreed that
our poet's offer did honour to the Venetian state. They assigned to
Petrarch for his own residence a large palace, called the Two Towers,
formerly belonging to the family of Molina. The mansion was very lofty,
and commanded a prospect of the harbour. Our poet took great pleasure in
this view, and describes it with vivid interest. "From this port," he
says, "I see vessels departing, which are as large as the house I
inhabit, and which have masts taller than its towers. These ships
resemble a mountain floating on the sea; they go to all parts of the
world amidst a thousand dangers; they carry our wines to the English,
our honey to the Scythians, our saffron, our oils, and our linen to the
Syrians, Armenians, Persians, and Arabians; and, wonderful to say,
convey our wood to the Greeks and Egyptians. From all these countries
they bring back in return articles of merchandise, which they diffuse
over all Europe. They go even as far as the Tanais. The navigation of
our seas does not extend farther north; but, when they have arrived
there, they quit their vessels, and travel on to trade with India and
China; and, after passing the Caucasus and the Ganges, they proceed as
far as the Eastern Ocean. "
It is natural to suppose that Petrarch took all proper precautions for
the presentation of his books; nevertheless, they are not now to be seen
at Venice. Tomasini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the
church of St. Mark, that he demanded a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
Whilst Petrarch was forming his new establishment at Venice, the news
arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had died on the 12th of September. "He
was a good, just, and simple man," says the continuator of Nangis. A
simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer
on account of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the
pontificate, to the surprise of all the world, by William Grimoard,
abbot of St. Victor at Marseilles, who took the title of Urban V. The
Cardinals chose him, though he was not of their Sacred College, from
their jealousy lest a pope should be elected from the opposite party of
their own body. Petrarch rejoiced at his election, and ascribed it to
the direct interference of Heaven. De Sade says that the new Pope
desired Petrarch to be the apostolic secretary, but that he was not to
be tempted by a gilded chain.
About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
Boccaccio came to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and their meeting was
joyous. They spent delightfully together the months of June, July, and
August, 1363. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in the following
year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Laelius, and his tears
were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in being
bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of experience
to appreciate this kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of
losing our accustomed friends, and almost wish ourselves out of life
that we may escape from its solitude. Boccaccio returned to Florence
early in September, 1363.
In 1364, peace was concluded between Barnabo Visconti and Urban V.
Barnabo having refused to treat with the Cardinal Albornoz, whom he
personally hated, his Holiness sent the Cardinal Androine de la Roche to
Italy as his legate. Petrarch repaired to Bologna to pay his respects to
the new representative of the Pope. He was touched by the sad condition
in which he found that city, which had been so nourishing when he
studied at its university. "I seem," he says, "to be in a dream when I
see the once fair city desolated by war, by slavery, and by famine.
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.
one begets another; and I am dismayed when I look at what I have
undertaken to accomplish in so short a space as the remainder of my
life. * * * My health is good; my body is so robust that neither ripe
years, nor grave occupations, nor abstinence, nor penance, can totally
subdue that _kicking ass_ on whom I am constantly making war. I count
upon the grace of Heaven, without which I should infallibly fall, as I
fell in other times. All my reliance is on Christ. With regard to my
fortune, I am exactly in a just mediocrity, equally distant from the two
extremes * * * *
"I inhabit a retired corner of the city towards the west. Their ancient
devotion attracts the people every Sunday to the church of St. Ambrosio,
near which I dwell. During the rest of the week, this quarter is a
desert.
"Fortune has changed nothing in my nourishment, or my hours of sleep,
except that I retrench as much as possible from indulgence in either. I
lie in bed for no other purpose than to sleep, unless I am ill. I hasten
from bed as soon as I am awake, and pass into my library. This takes
place about the middle of the night, save when the nights are shortest.
I grant to Nature nothing but what she imperatively demands, and which
it is impossible to refuse her.
"Though I have always loved solitude and silence, I am a great gossip
with my friends, which arises, perhaps, from my seeing them but rarely.
I atone for this loquacity by a year of taciturnity. I mutely recall my
parted friends by correspondence. I resemble that class of people of
whom Seneca speaks, who seize life in detail, and not by the gross. The
moment I feel the approach of summer, I take a country-house a league
distant from town, where the air is extremely pure. In such a place I am
at present, and here I lead my wonted life, more free than ever from the
wearisomeness of the city. I have abundance of everything; the peasants
vie with each other in bringing me fruit, fish, ducks, and all sorts of
game. There is a beautiful Carthusian monastery in my neighbourhood,
where, at all hours of the day, I find the innocent pleasures which
religion offers. In this sweet retreat I feel no want but that of my
ancient friends. In these I was once rich; but death has taken away some
of them, and absence robs me of the remainder. Though my imagination
represents them, still I am not the less desirous of their real
presence. There would remain but few things for me to desire, if fortune
would restore to me but two friends, such as you and Socrates. I confess
that I flattered myself a long time to have had you both with me. But,
if you persist in your rigour, I must console myself with the company of
my religionists. Their conversation, it is true, is neither witty nor
profound, but it is simple and pious. Those good priests will be of
great service to me both in life and death. I think I have now said
enough about myself, and, perhaps, more than enough. You ask me about
the state of my fortune, and you wish to know whether you may believe
the rumours that are abroad about my riches. It is true that my income
is increased; but so, also, proportionably, is my outlay. I am, as I
have always been, neither rich nor poor. Riches, they say, make men poor
by multiplying their wants and desires; for my part, I feel the
contrary; the more I have the less I desire. Yet, I suppose, if I
possessed great riches, they would have the same effect upon me as upon
other people.
"You ask news about my son. I know not very well what to say concerning
him. His manners are gentle, and the flower of his youth holds out a
promise, though what fruit it may produce I know not. I think I may
flatter myself that he will be an honest man. He has talent; but what
avails talent without study! He flies from a book as he would from a
serpent. Persuasions, caresses, and threats are all thrown away upon him
as incitements to study. I have nothing wherewith to reproach myself;
and I shall be satisfied if he turns out an honest man, as I hope he
will. Themistocles used to say that he liked a man without letters
better than letters without a man. "
In the month of August, 1357, Petrarch received a letter from
Benintendi, the Chancellor of Venice, requesting him to send a dozen
elegiac verses to be engraved on the tomb of Andrea Dandolo. The
children of the Doge had an ardent wish that our poet should grant them
this testimony of his friendship for their father. Petrarch could not
refuse the request, and composed fourteen verses, which contain a sketch
of the great actions of Dandolo. But they were verses of command, which
the poet made in despite of the Muses and of himself.
In the following year, 1358, Petrarch was almost entirely occupied with
his treatise, entitled, "De Remediis utriusque Fortunae," (A Remedy
against either extreme of Fortune. ) This made a great noise when it
appeared. Charles V. of France had it transcribed for his library, and
translated; and it was afterwards translated into Italian and Spanish.
Petrarch returned to Milan, and passed the autumn at his house, the
Linterno, where he met with an accident, that for some time threatened
dangerous consequences. He thus relates it, in a letter to his friend,
Neri Morandi:--"I have a great volume of the epistles of Cicero, which I
have taken the pains to transcribe myself, for the copyists understand
nothing. One day, when I was entering my library, my gown got entangled
with this large book, so that the volume fell heavily on my left leg, a
little above the heel. By some fatality, I treated the accident too
lightly. I walked, I rode on horseback, according to my usual custom;
but my leg became inflamed, the skin changed colour, and mortification
began to appear. The pain took away my cheerfulness and sleep. I then
perceived that it was foolish courage to trifle with so serious an
accident. Doctors were called in. They feared at first that it would be
necessary to amputate the limb; but, at last, by means of regimen and
fomentation, the afflicted member was put into the way of healing. It is
singular that, ever since my infancy, my misfortunes have always fallen
on this same left leg. In truth, I have always been tempted to believe
in destiny; and why not, if, by the word destiny, we understand
Providence? "
As soon as his leg was recovered, he made a trip to Bergamo. There was
in that city a jeweller named Enrico Capri, a man of great natural
talents, who cherished a passionate admiration for the learned, and
above all for Petrarch, whose likeness was pictured or statued in every
room of his house. He had copies made at a great expense of everything
that came from his pen. He implored Petrarch to come and see him at
Bergamo. "If he honours my household gods," he said, "but for a single
day with his presence, I shall be happy all my life, and famous through
all futurity. " Petrarch consented, and on the 13th of October, 1358, the
poet was received at Bergamo with transports of joy. The governor of the
country and the chief men of the city wished to lodge him in some
palace; but Petrarch adhered to his jeweller, and would not take any
other lodging but with his friend.
A short time after his return to Milan, Petrarch had the pleasure of
welcoming to his house John Boccaccio, who passed some days with him.
The author of the Decamerone regarded Petrarch as his literary master.
He owed him a still higher obligation, according to his own statement;
namely, that of converting his heart, which, he says, had been frivolous
and inclined to gallantry, and even to licentiousness, until he received
our poet's advice. He was about forty-five years old when he went to
Milan. Petrarch made him sensible that it was improper, at his age, to
lose his time in courting women; that he ought to employ it more
seriously, and turn towards heaven, the devotion which he misplaced on
earthly beauties. This conversation is the subject of one of
Boccaccio's eclogues, entitled, "Philostropos. " His eclogues are in the
style of Petrarch, obscure and enigmatical, and the subjects are muffled
up under emblems and Greek names.
After spending some days with Petrarch, that appeared short to them
both, Boccaccio, pressed by business, departed about the beginning of
April, 1359. The great novelist soon afterwards sent to Petrarch from
Florence a beautiful copy of Dante's poem, written in his own hand,
together with some indifferent Latin verses, in which he bestows the
highest praises on the author of the Inferno. At that time, half the
world believed that Petrarch was jealous of Dante's fame; and the rumour
was rendered plausible by the circumstance--for which he has accounted
very rationally--that he had not a copy of Dante in his library.
In the month of May in this year, 1359, a courier from Bohemia brought
Petrarch a letter from the Empress Anne, who had the condescension to
write to him with her own hand to inform him that she had given birth to
a daughter. Great was the joy on this occasion, for the Empress had been
married five years, but, until now, had been childless. Petrarch, in his
answer, dated the 23rd of the same month, after expressing his sense of
the honour which her Imperial Majesty had done him, adds some
common-places, and seasons them with his accustomed pedantry. He
pronounces a grand eulogy on the numbers of the fair sex who had
distinguished themselves by their virtues and their courage. Among these
he instances Isis, Carmenta, the mother of Evander, Sappho, the Sybils,
the Amazons, Semiramis, Tomiris, Cleopatra, Zenobia, the Countess
Matilda, Lucretia, Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, Martia, Portia,
and Livia. The Empress Anne was no doubt highly edified by this
muster-roll of illustrious women; though some of the heroines, such as
Lucretia, might have bridled up at their chaste names being classed with
that of Cleopatra.
Petrarch repaired to Linterno, on the 1st of October, 1359; but his stay
there was very short. The winter set in sooner than usual. The constant
rains made his rural retreat disagreeable, and induced him to return to
the city about the end of the month.
On rising, one morning, soon after his return to Milan, he found that he
had been robbed of everything valuable in his house, excepting his
books. As it was a domestic robbery, he could accuse nobody of it but
his son John and his servants, the former of whom had returned from
Avignon. On this, he determined to quit his house at St. Ambrosio, and
to take a small lodging in the city; here, however, he could not live in
peace. His son and servants quarrelled every day, in his very presence,
so violently that they exchanged blows. Petrarch then lost all patience,
and turned the whole of his pugnacious inmates out of doors. His son
John had now become an arrant debauchee; and it was undoubtedly to
supply his debaucheries that he pillaged his own father. He pleaded
strongly to be readmitted to his home; but Petrarch persevered for some
time in excluding him, though he ultimately took him back.
It appears from one of Petrarch's letters, that many people at Milan
doubted his veracity about the story of the robbery, alleging that it
was merely a pretext to excuse his inconstancy in quitting his house at
St. Ambrosio; but that he was capable of accusing his own son on false
grounds is a suspicion which the whole character of Petrarch easily
repels. He went and settled himself in the monastery of St. Simplician,
an abbey of the Benedictines of Monte Cassino, pleasantly situated
without the walls of the city.
He was scarcely established in his new home at St. Simplician's, when
Galeazzo Visconti arrived in triumph at Milan, after having taken
possession of Pavia. The capture of this city much augmented the power
of the Lords of Milan; and nothing was wanting to their satisfaction but
the secure addition to their dominions of Bologna, to which Barnabo
Visconti was laying siege, although John of Olegea had given it up to
the Church in consideration of a pension and the possession of the city
of Fermo.
This affair had thrown the court of Avignon into much embarrassment, and
the Pope requested Nicholas Acciajuoli, Grand Seneschal of Naples, who
had been sent to the Papal city by his Neapolitan Majesty, to return by
way of Milan, and there negotiate a peace between the Church and Barnabo
Visconti. Acciajuoli reached Milan at the end of May, very eager to see
Petrarch, of whom he had heard much, without having yet made his
acquaintance. Petrarch describes their first interview in a letter to
Zanobi da Strada, and seems to have been captivated by the gracious
manners of the Grand Seneschal.
With all his popularity, the Seneschal was not successful in his
mission. When the Seneschal's proposals were read to the impetuous
Barnabo, he said, at the end of every sentence "Io voglio Bologna. " It
is said that Petrarch detached Galeazzo Visconti from the ambitious
projects of his brother; and that it was by our poet's advice that
Galeazzo made a separate peace with the Pope; though, perhaps, the true
cause of his accommodation with the Church was his being in treaty with
France and soliciting the French monarch's daughter, Isabella, in
marriage for his son Giovanni. After this marriage had been celebrated
with magnificent festivities, Petrarch was requested by Galeazzo to go
to Paris, and to congratulate the unfortunate King John upon his return
to his country. Our poet had a transalpine prejudice against France; but
he undertook this mission to its capital, and was deeply touched by its
unfortunate condition.
If the aspect of the country in general was miserable, that of the
capital was still worse. "Where is Paris," exclaims Petrarch, "that
metropolis, which, though inferior to its reputation, was, nevertheless,
a great city? " He tells us that its streets were covered with briars and
grass, and that it looked like a vast desert.
Here, however, in spite of its desolate condition, Petrarch witnessed
the joy with which the Parisians received their King John and the
Dauphin Charles. The King had not been well educated, yet he respected
literature and learned men. The Dauphin was an accomplished prince; and
our poet says that he was captivated by his modesty, sense, and
information.
Petrarch arrived at Milan early in March, 1361, bringing letters from
King John and his son the Dauphin, in which those princes entreat the
two Lords of Milan to persuade Petrarch by every means to come and
establish himself at their court. No sooner had he refused their
pressing invitations, than he received an equally earnest request from
the Emperor to accept his hospitality at Prague.
At this period, it had given great joy in Bohemia that the Empress had
produced a son, and that the kingdom now possessed an heir apparent. His
Imperial Majesty's satisfaction made him, for once, generous, and he
distributed rich presents among his friends. Nor was our poet forgotten
on this occasion. The Emperor sent him a gold embossed cup of admirable
workmanship, accompanied by a letter, expressing his high regard, and
repeating his request that he would pay him a visit in Germany. Petrarch
returned him a letter of grateful thanks, saying: "Who would not be
astonished at seeing transferred to my use a vase consecrated by the
mouth of Caesar? But I will not profane the sacred gift by the common use
of it. It shall adorn my table only on days of solemn festivity. " With
regard to the Imperial invitation, he concludes a long apology for not
accepting it immediately, but promising that, as soon as the summer was
over, if he could find a companion for the journey, he would go to the
court of Prague, and remain as long as it pleased his Majesty, since the
presence of Caesar would console him for the absence of his books, his
friends, and his country. This epistle is dated July 17th, 1861.
Petrarch quitted Milan during this year, a removal for which various
reasons are alleged by his biographers, though none of them appear to me
quite satisfactory.
He had now a new subject of grief to descant upon. The Marquis of
Montferrat, unable to contend against the Visconti, applied to the Pope
for assistance. He had already made a treaty with the court of London,
by which it was agreed that a body of English troops were to be sent to
assist the Marquis against the Visconti. They entered Italy by Nice. It
was the first time that our countrymen had ever entered the Saturnian
land. They did no credit to the English character for humanity, but
ravaged lands and villages, killing men and violating women. Their
general appellation was the bulldogs of England. What must have been
Petrarch's horror at these unkennelled hounds! In one of his letters he
vents his indignation at their atrocities; but, by-and-by, in the same
epistle, he glides into his bookworm habit of apostrophizing the ancient
heroes of Rome, Brutus, Camillus, and God knows how many more!
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY OF ST. MARK, ST. MARK'S PLACE, VENICE. ]
The plague now again broke out in Italy; and the English and other
predatory troops contributed much to spread its ravages. It extended to
many places; but most of all it afflicted Milan.
It is probable that these disasters were among the causes of Petrarch's
leaving Milan. He settled at Padua, when the plague had not reached it.
At this time, Petrarch lost his son John. Whether he died at Milan or at
Padua is not certain, but, wherever he died, it was most probably of the
plague. John had not quite attained his twenty-fourth year.
In the same year, 1361, he married his daughter Francesca, now near the
age of twenty, to Francesco di Brossano, a gentleman of Milan. Petrarch
speaks highly of his son-in-law's talents, and of the mildness of his
character. Boccaccio has drawn his portrait in the most pleasing
colours. Of the poet's daughter, also, he tells us, "that without being
handsome, she had a very agreeable face, and much resembled her father. "
It does not seem that she inherited his genius; but she was an excellent
wife, a tender mother, and a dutiful daughter. Petrarch was certainly
pleased both with her and with his son-in-law; and, if he did not live
with the married pair, he was, at least, near them, and much in their
society.
When our poet arrived at Padua, Francesco di Carrara, the son of his
friend Jacopo, reigned there in peace and alone. He had inherited his
father's affection for Petrarch. Here, too, was his friend Pandolfo
Malatesta, one of the bravest condottieri of the fourteenth century, who
had been driven away from Milan by the rage and jealousy of Barnabo.
The plague, which still continued to infest Southern Europe in 1362, had
even in the preceding year deprived our poet of his beloved friend
Socrates, who died at Avignon. "He was," says Petrarch, "of all men the
dearest to my heart. His sentiments towards me never varied during an
acquaintance of thirty-one years. "
The plague and war rendered Italy at this time so disagreeable to
Petrarch, that he resolved on returning to Vaucluse. He, therefore, set
out from Padua for Milan, on the 10th of January, 1362, reckoning that
when the cold weather was over he might depart from the latter place on
his route to Avignon. But when he reached Milan, he found that the state
of the country would not permit him to proceed to the Alps.
The Emperor of Germany now sent Petrarch a third letter of invitation to
come and see him, which our poet promised to accept; but alleged that he
was prevented by the impossibility of getting a safe passage. Boccaccio,
hearing that Petrarch meditated a journey to the far North, was much
alarmed, and reproached him for his intention of dragging the Muses into
Sarmatia, when Italy was the true Parnassus.
In June, 1362, the plague, which had begun its ravages at Padua, chased
Petrarch from that place, and he took the resolution of establishing
himself at Venice, which it had not reached. The course of the
pestilence, like that of the cholera, was not general, but unaccountably
capricious. Villani says that it acted like hail, which will desolate
fields to the right and left, whilst it spares those in the middle. The
war had not permitted our poet to travel either to Avignon or into
Germany. The plague had driven him out of Milan and Padua. "I am not
flying from death," he said, "but seeking repose. "
Having resolved to repair to Venice, Petrarch as usual took his books
along with him. From one of his letters to Boccaccio, it appears that it
was his intention to bestow his library on some religious community,
but, soon after his arrival at Venice, he conceived the idea of offering
this treasure to the Venetian Republic. He wrote to the Government that
he wished the blessed Evangelist, St. Mark, to be the heir of those
books, on condition that they should all be placed in safety, that they
should neither be sold nor separated, and that they should be sheltered
from fire and water, and carefully preserved for the use and amusement
of the learned and noble in Venice. He expressed his hopes, at the same
time, that the illustrious city would acquire other trusts of the same
kind for the good of the public, and that the citizens who loved their
country, the nobles above all, and even strangers, would follow his
example in bequeathing books to the church of St. Mark, which might one
day contain a great collection similar to those of the ancients.
The procurators of the church of St. Mark having offered to defray the
expense of lodging and preserving his library, the republic decreed that
our poet's offer did honour to the Venetian state. They assigned to
Petrarch for his own residence a large palace, called the Two Towers,
formerly belonging to the family of Molina. The mansion was very lofty,
and commanded a prospect of the harbour. Our poet took great pleasure in
this view, and describes it with vivid interest. "From this port," he
says, "I see vessels departing, which are as large as the house I
inhabit, and which have masts taller than its towers. These ships
resemble a mountain floating on the sea; they go to all parts of the
world amidst a thousand dangers; they carry our wines to the English,
our honey to the Scythians, our saffron, our oils, and our linen to the
Syrians, Armenians, Persians, and Arabians; and, wonderful to say,
convey our wood to the Greeks and Egyptians. From all these countries
they bring back in return articles of merchandise, which they diffuse
over all Europe. They go even as far as the Tanais. The navigation of
our seas does not extend farther north; but, when they have arrived
there, they quit their vessels, and travel on to trade with India and
China; and, after passing the Caucasus and the Ganges, they proceed as
far as the Eastern Ocean. "
It is natural to suppose that Petrarch took all proper precautions for
the presentation of his books; nevertheless, they are not now to be seen
at Venice. Tomasini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the
church of St. Mark, that he demanded a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
Whilst Petrarch was forming his new establishment at Venice, the news
arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had died on the 12th of September. "He
was a good, just, and simple man," says the continuator of Nangis. A
simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer
on account of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the
pontificate, to the surprise of all the world, by William Grimoard,
abbot of St. Victor at Marseilles, who took the title of Urban V. The
Cardinals chose him, though he was not of their Sacred College, from
their jealousy lest a pope should be elected from the opposite party of
their own body. Petrarch rejoiced at his election, and ascribed it to
the direct interference of Heaven. De Sade says that the new Pope
desired Petrarch to be the apostolic secretary, but that he was not to
be tempted by a gilded chain.
About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
Boccaccio came to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and their meeting was
joyous. They spent delightfully together the months of June, July, and
August, 1363. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in the following
year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Laelius, and his tears
were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in being
bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of experience
to appreciate this kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of
losing our accustomed friends, and almost wish ourselves out of life
that we may escape from its solitude. Boccaccio returned to Florence
early in September, 1363.
In 1364, peace was concluded between Barnabo Visconti and Urban V.
Barnabo having refused to treat with the Cardinal Albornoz, whom he
personally hated, his Holiness sent the Cardinal Androine de la Roche to
Italy as his legate. Petrarch repaired to Bologna to pay his respects to
the new representative of the Pope. He was touched by the sad condition
in which he found that city, which had been so nourishing when he
studied at its university. "I seem," he says, "to be in a dream when I
see the once fair city desolated by war, by slavery, and by famine.
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.
