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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at|http: //books .google .com/I a!wtofelfasiaa5il5i^lft?lSfflJialia'ilJi'i±Jii^ I I t ]•' ■' '^ f r.. ^ ■ ■ BOHN'S ILLUSTEATED LIBEAKT. . PETRARCH. THE SONNETS, TRIUMPHS, AND OTHER POEMS ov PETRAECH. NOW FIRST COMPLETELY T&ANSLATED INTO ENGLISH YERSX BY VARIOUS HANDS. WITH A LIFE OF THE POET BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. ILLUSTBATED WITH SIXTEEN ENQBA VINOS ON STEEL. LONDOK : GEOKGE BELL AND SONS, YOBK STBEET, OOVENT GARDEN. 1876. tUL harva::d college library FaC ■; Ti;Z L!2.7;'..1Y OF HcRBLRT V.ii.l SMYTH APR. 15, 1941 LOKDa^ : PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SON^i STAMFORD 8TRRET AND CHARING CR068. PREFACE. The present translation of Petrarch completes the Illas- trated Library series of the Italian Poets emphatically dis- tinguished as " 1 Quattro Poeti Italiani." It is rather a singular fact that, while the other three Poets of this world-famed series — Dante, Ariosto, and Tassa^bave each found several translators, no complete version of the fourth, and in Italy the most popular, has hitherto been presented to the English reader. This lacune becomes the more remarkable when we consider the great influence which Petrarch has undoubtedly exercised on our poetry from the time of Chaucer downwards. The plan of the present volume has been to select from all the known versions those most distinguished for fidelity and rhythm. Of the more favourite poems, as many as three or four are occasionally given ; while of others, and those by no means few, it has been difficult to find even one. Indeed, many must have remained entirely un- represented but for the spirited efforts of Major Mac- gregor, who has recently translated nearly the whole, and that with great closeness both as to matter and form. To this gentleman we have to return our especial thanks for his liberal permission to make free use of his labours. Among the translators will be found Chaucer, Spenser, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Anna Hume, Sir John Harington, 17 FBEFACE. Basil Kennett, Anne Bannennan, Drummond of Hawthorn- den, R. Molesworth, Hugh Boyd, Lord Woodhouselee, the Rev. Francis Wrangham, the Rev. Dr. Nott, Dr« Morehead, Lady Dacre, Lord Charlemont, Capel Lofft, John Penn, Charlotte Smith, Mrs. Wrottesley, Miss Wol- laston, J. H. Merivale, the Rev. W. Shepherd, and Leigh Hunt, hesides many anon3n[nous. The order of arrangement is that adopted hy Marsand and other recent editors; hut to prevent any difficulty m identification, the ItaUan first lines have heen given throughout, and repeated in an alphabetical index. The Life of Petrarch prefixed is a condensation of the poet Camp belles two octavo volumes, and includes all the material part of that work. York Street, Covent GfardeOy June 2Sf 1859. LIST OF PLATES. 1. POBTBATT OF PeTRARCH . 2. View of Naples 8. View of Nice . 4. Coast of Genoa 5. Bridge of Sighs, Venice 6. Vicenza .... 7. Milan Cathedral . 8. Library of St. Mark's, Venice 9. Ferrara. The Old Ducal Palace 10. Portrait of Laura .... 11. View of Rome — St. Peter's in the Distance 12. Solitudes of Vaucluse (where Petrarch wrote most of his Sonnets) . 18. Genoa and the Apennines 14. Avignon (where Laura resided) 16. Selva Piana (where Petrarch received the news of Laura's death) 16. Petrarch's House at Arqua (where he wrote his Triumphs) •••••••• FAOI to face title. xliv U Ixvi Ixxviii Ixxxiii cvi cxv cxxiil 1 66 105 124 189 232 822 CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF PETRARCH'S LIFE. 1304. Bom at Arezzo, the 20th of July . . . . ix 1305. Is taken to Incisa at the age of seven months, where he remains seven years x 1312. Is removed to Pisa, where he remains seven months . x 1313. Accompanies his parents to Avignon . . . . xi 1315. Goes to live at Garpentras xi 1319. Is sent to Montpelier xi 1323. Is removed to Bologna xii 1326. Betums to Avignon — Closes his parents— contracts a friendship wiSi James Golonna .... xiii 1327. Falls in love with Laura xvii 1330. Goes to Lomhes with James Golonna — ^forms ac- quaintance with Socrates and Lsehns — and returns to Avignon to live in the house of Cardinal Go- lonna xviii 1331. Travels to Paris — ^travels through Flanders and Bra- bant, and visits a part of Germany . . xxiv 1333. TTig first journey to Rome — ^his long navigation as far as tiiie coastof England— his return to Avignon xxxiii 1337. Birth of his son John--ne retires to Vaucluse . . xxxv v^339. Gonmiences writing his epic poem, " AMca " . xxxviii v2^0. Beceives an invitation from Home to come and be crowned as Laureate — and another invitation, to the same effect, from Paris xHi 1341. Goes to Naples, and thence to Home, where he is crowned in the Gapitol — ^repairs to Parma — death of Tommaso da Messina and James Golonna . xliii 1342. Goes as orator of the Roman people to Glement VI. at Avignon — Studies the Greek language imder Barlaamo xlviii 1343. Birth of his daughter Francesca — ^he writes his dia- logues " De secreto conflictu curarum suarum " — is sent to Naples by Glement VI. and Gardinal Golonna — ^goes to R[)me for a third and a fourth time — retimis from Naples to Parma ... 11 1344. Gontinues to reside in Parma Iviii 1345. Leaves Parma, goes to Bologna, and thence to Ve- rona— returns to Avignon Iviii 1346. Gontinues to live at Avignon — ^is elected canon of Parma lix 1347. Revolution at Rome — Petrarch's connection with the Tribune — ^takes his fifth journey to Italy — ^repairs to Parma Ixiv 1348. Goes to Verona — death of Laura — ^he returns again to Parma — his autograph memoraadoia in. \k^ n 1349. 1360. 1351. 1361. 13S4. laee. isro. 1371. 1372. Milan copy of Virgil — TisitB Manfredj, Lord of Caipi, and Jamea Carmra al Padua . . , Ixvii Goes from Panna to Maiitna and Fcrrara — retuma to Padua, and receiTea, probably in tliis year, a canonicate in Padua , Isxiii Ib raised to the Archdeaconry of Parma — writes to the Emperor Charles IV. — goes to Rome, and, in going and retoming, stops at Floriuice . . . Ivtiii Wntea to Andrea Dandolo with a view to reconcile the VenetianB and Horentines — the Florentines decree the restoration of his pateniftl property, and send John Boccaecio to recall him to W country — he retuma, for tlie sixth time, to Avignon — is consulted by the four Cardinals, who had beon deputed to reform the KOTemmeHt of Home . . buLJt Writes to Clement VI. tlie letter which excites against him the enmity of \he medical tribe — begins writing Ilia treatise " De Vita Solilaria " Ixxxvii Visits bis brother in the Carthusian monoste^ of Monte Rivo — writes Ma treatise " De Otio Reli- gioBOmm" — returns to Italy — takes up his abode with the Visconti — is sent by the Archbishop Vis- conti to Venice, to negotiate a peace between the Venetians and Genoese xc Visita the Emperor at Mantua xcis His embassy to the Emperor — publishes his " In- vective against a Physician " .... xoix TTJH embassy to John, King of France . . cxii Leaves Milan and settles at Venice — ^ves his library to tlie Venetians cxiii Writes for LucchinO del Verme his treatise " De Officio et VirtutibuB Imperatoria " . . . esvii Writes to Urban V. imploring him to remove tlie Papal residence to Rome — finishes his treatise " De Itemediis utriusque Fortunie "... csviii Quits Venice — four young Venetians, either in tliis year or the preceding, promulgate a criticsl judg- ment agaiust Petraroh— repairs to Pavia to iiefio- tiale peace between the Pope's Legate and the Visconti csis Sets out to visit the Pontiff— is taken ill at Ferrara— retires to Arqua among the Euganean hills . . cxxii Writes his "Invectiva contra Galium," and his " Epistle to Posterity " ondii Writes for Franoeaco da Carrara his essay " De Ke- publica ojitime adininistranda " .... cxsx Is sent to Vetuce by Francesco da Cansra . cxxx Translates the Griseldis of Buccucciu — dies on the laUi of July in the san^e year . . csr.si THB LIFE OF PETRARCH ^The &2nily of Petrarch was originally of Florence, where hLs ancestors held employments of trust and honour. Garzo, liis great-grandfather, was a notary universally respected for his mtegnty and judgment. Though he had never devoted liim- Belf exclusively to letters, his literary opinion was consulted by men of learning. He lived to be a hundred and four years old, and died, like Plato, in the same bed in which he had been bom. Garzo left three sons, one of whom was the grandfatlier of Petrarch. Diminutives being customary to the Tuscan tongue, Pietro, the poet's father, was familiarly called Petracco, or little Peter. He, like his ancestors, was a notary, and not undistin- cnished for sagacity. He had several important commissions trom government. At last, in the increasing conflicts between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines — or, as they now called them- selves, the Blacks and the Whites — Petracco, like Dante, was obliged to fly from his native city, along with the other Floren- tines of the White party. He was unjustly accused of having officially issued a false deed, and was condemned, on the 20th of October, 1302, to pay a line of one thousand lire, and to have his . hand cut off, if that sum was not paid within ten days from the time he should be apprehended. Petracco tied, taking with him his wife, Eletta Canigiani, a lady of a distinguished family in Florence, several of whom had hold the office of Gonfalonier. Petracco and his wife first settled at Arezzo, a very ancient ciiy of Tuscany. Hostilities did not cease between the Floren- tine factions till some yeai's aftenvards ; and, in an attempt made by the Whites to take Florence by assault, Petracco was present with his party. They were repulsed. This action, which was fatal to their cause, took place in the night between the 19th and 20th days of July, 1304, — the precise date of the birth of Petrarch. During our poet's infancy, his family had still to struggle with an adverse fate ; for hia proscribed and wandering father was obliged to acparatfi himself from his wife and child, in order to have the means of supporting tliem. As the pretext for bnninliing Petracco waa purely peraonal. Eletta, his wife, v/bb not included in tlie sent<ince. She removed to a Email property of her husband's, at Ancisa, fomijien miles from Florence, and took the little poet along with her, in the eeventli month of his age. In their passage tluther, both mother and child, together uil^ their guide, hod a narrow escape from being drowned in the Amo. Eletta entruated her precious charge to a robust peasant, who, for fear of hurling the child, wrapt it in a swaddling cloth, and sospended it over hia shoulder, in the same manner es Metabns is deecidbed by Virgil, in the eleventh book of the .Slnei^l. to have carried hie daughter Camilla. In passing the river, the horse of the guide, who carried Petrarch, stumbled, and sank down; and in theii* Istru^les to save hhn. both hia sturdy bearer and the frantic pai'ent were, like the infant itself, on the point of being drowned. After Eletta had settled at Ancisa, I'etracco often visited her bj stealth, and tlie pledges of their affection were two oilier sons, one^ of whom died in childliood. The other, called Gherardo, was edui^ted along with Petrarch, Petraixih remained witii his mother at Ancisa tor seven years. The arrival of tie Emperor, Hcniy VTI., in Italy, revived the hopes of the banished Florentines; and Petracco. in order to ■wait the event, went to Pisa, niiilher he brought his wife and Francesco, who was now in his eighth year. Petracco remained wilh his family in Pisa for several months ; hut tired at last of MlaciouB hopes, and not daring to trust hiaiself to the promiseg of the popular party, who offered to recall him to Florence, he Bought an a^lum in Avignon, a place to which many Italians ■were allured by the hopes of honours and gain at the pupal resi- dence. In this voyage, Petracco and his (mnily were neu'ly ship- I wrecked off Marseilles. But the numbers that crowded to Avignon, and its lusurioiM court, rendered tliat city an uncomfortable place for a family in slender circumstances. Petracco accordingly removed his house- licdd, in 1316, to Carpentras, a small quiet town, where living was cheaper than at Avignon. There, under the care of his mother, Petrarch imbibed his first instruction, and was timght by one Convennole da Prato as much grammar and logic a ^...11 !._ 1 J .± 1.1 __3 .U .J 1 _ . 3 I oonid be learned at his age. and more than could be learned bv t aa OTilinary disciple from so common-place a preceptor. This I poor master, however, had sufficient intelligence to appreciate IJie I gtaaas of Petrarch, whom he esteemed and honoured beyond all F nis fithei pupils. On the other hand, his illustrious scholar aided liitn, in his old age and poveilj', out of his scanty income. Petrarch used to couipuj"e Conveimole to a whetstone, which is HIS EABI.Y STURLES. bhmt itaelf. but which shBrpcus oUiers. Uis old muster, hoir- ever, was sharp enough to overreach him ia Uie tnutler ' borrowing and tendiit;;. ^lien tlie poet bad collected a c( siderable hbrary, Coiivennole paid liim a visit, aad, pretending to be engaged in someLhing that required him to oonsult Cicero, bon'owed a cojiy of one of tlie works of that orator, wliich ■mas particularly valuable. He made excuses, from time to time, for not returning it ; but Petrarch, at last, had too good reason to suspect that the old gmmmarian bad paivued it. The potit would willingly have paid for redeeming it, but Convennoln wus BO much ashamed, that he would not tell lo whom it wA pawned ; and the precioua manuscript waa lost. Petracco contracted an iutimocf with Settitno, a Genoese, who was, like himself, an exile for his pohticol principleB', and who £xed his abode at Aviguon with hia wife and his boj, Goido Settimo, who was about the same age with Petrarch. The two youths formed a irieudsMp, wliich subsisted between tham Petrarch manifested signs of extraordinary sensibi]itj-_.to ibe charms of nature in~EiB cuildhoqdjboth wEen he waa at CarpeB- trasTiEil at Avigfton. OiIe~day, when he waa at the latter resi- dence, a party was made np, to see the fountain of Vaiicluse. a few leagues from Avignon. The little I'rancesco had no soonei arrived at the lovely landscape than he was struck with its beauties, and exclaimed. " Here, now, is a retirement suited to my taste, and preferable, in my eyes, to the greatest and moat Bplendid cities." A genius so fine as that of our poet could not servilely coufina itself to the slow raethoM of school learning, adapted to t)io in- teliecte of ordinary boys. Accordingly, while his fellow pupils were elill plodding through the firet cudimeuW of Latin, Petrarch had recourse to the original writers, &Dm whom the gramma- tians drew their authority, and particularly employed hunaelF in perusiug tlie works of Oicero, Awl. iillliipii!;li"li'5" was. at this tlraerTIiucli loo young to eomprelnjul lln- riill Utn''- n! the orator's reasoning, he was so struck. .wltli ili,- I'lmniis m' Ids sldde, that he considered I'li" the only true moiiil iu pLDr.i' Liiuiposition. "Hrs-fktiiSl', wliowaa TuiosfiirsomelliJi;^ uT u riiihulux. was pleased and ustonislied at this early pi'oof of his good taste ; he applauded his classical studies, and edcinu'uged hitn to persevere iu tliem; but, very siion, he imagined that he had cause to repent of his commendationB. Clai^cal learning was, In that age, re- garded as a mere sohlary accomplishment, and the law waa the only road that led to honours and preferment, Petracco was. therefore, desirous to turn into that cliaunel the brilliant qualities of his son : and for this purpose he sent him. at the age of fifteen, to the university Of Montpelier, Petrarch remained there for four years, and attended lectures on law itoia Mioa ui ] i 4 LIFE or PETEAHCH. tiie most famaaB proleasqrs of the science. But liis prepoasesBion for Cioero prevented liini from much frequenting the dry and dusty walks of jurisprudence. In his epistle to posteritj', he endeavours to justiiy tills repngnanea hy other motives. He represents the abuses, Uie ehieaiiery, and mercennry practices of the law, as inconsistent with every principle of candour and hones^. When Petracco observed that his son made no great progress in liis legal studies at Montpeher, ho removed liim, in 1333, to Bologna, celebrated for the study of the canon and civil law, pro- bably imaginlue that the superior fame of tlia latter place might attract him to love the law. To Bologua Petrarch was accom- panied by his brother Gherardo, and bj his inseparable Mend, > yoang Guido Settimo. But neither the abilities of the several professors in that cele- brated academy, nor the strongest exhortations Of his father, were sufficient fo conquer the deeply-rooted aversion which onr poet bad conceived for the law. Accordingly, Petracco hastened to Bologna, that he might endeavour to ^eck his son's indnlgenoe 'm liurature, wluch disconcerted his favourite designs. Petrarch, ffnessing at the motive of his arrival, hid the copies of Cicero, VirgU, and some other authors, wliich composed his small Ubraiy, and to purchase which he had deprived himself of almost the necessaries of life. His father, however, soon discovered the place of their concealment, and threw them into tiie fire. Feiiarch exhibited as much agony as if he had been hinuelf the routyr of liis father's resenliaent. Petracco was so mxich affected by his son's tears, that he rescued irom the flames Cicero and Virgil, and, presenting them to ^trarch, he said, " Viroil will console you lor the loss of your other MSS., and Cicero will prepare yon for the study of the law." It is by no means wonderful that a mind like Petrarch's could but ill relish the glosses of the Code and the commentarieE on the Decretals. At Bologna, however, he met with an accomplished literary man and no inelegant poet in one of the professors, who, if bs fciled in persuading Petrarch to niuke tlie law his profession, certainly quickened his relish and ambition for poetry. This man was Cino da Pisloin, wjio is esteemed by Italians as the most tender and harmonioiiB lyric poet in the native langUBgd anterior to Petrarch, During his residence at Bologna, Petrarch made an ei^cursion iB far as Venice, a city that struck him with enthusiastic admi- ration. In one of his letters he calls it "nrlem alteram." Whilst Italy was harassed, he says, on all sides by continual dissensions, like the sea in a storm, Venice alone appeared like a safe harbour, which overlooked the tempest without feeling its nonunotion. The resoluto and independent spirit of that republic mode am K!<TKBS THE CHUBCH. sU indelible impressiDii on Petrarch's heart Tbe joun^ poet, per- haps, at this tune little imagitted that Venice waa to be the last Bcene of his trinmphaiit etoqacnce. Soon after liis return from Venice to Bologna, he received the melancholj intelligeace of the death of his mother, in the thittf- eiglith year of her a^. Her age ia known _b^a copj of verseB which Petrarch wrote upon "E^ deam, the verses beuig the Bamo m nmntief aa the 7eBra'or"Ker~Tife7 ~SEe had iiTed bumbie and retired, andliad dti\'uU)d herself U) the good of her fomilj ; vir- tuous amidat the prevah^nee of corrupted manners, and, thongh a beandful woman. ontainEed bv the breath of calnmnj. Petrarch has repaid her maternal aflfection by preserving her memory from oblivion. Petracco did not long survive the death of this excel- lent woman. According to tbe judgment of our poet, his father Kras a man of strong character and anderslanding. Banished from his native csimtry. and engaged in providing for his &mily, lie was prevented by the scantiness of his fortune, and the cares of his situation, from rising to that eminence which he might have othemise attained. But his admiration of Cioero. in an a^ when that author was universally neglected, was a proof of hia superior mind. Petraxch quitted Bologna upon tha death of his faUier. and re- turned to Avi^on, with his brother Ghemrdo, to collect tha shattered remains of their other's property. Upon tlieir arrival, they found their domestic affairs in a stale of great disorder, aa the executurs of Petrocco's will had betrayed the trust reposed in them, and had seized most of the efTecta of which they could dis- pose. Under these circ^unutences. Petrarch n-ns most anxious for a MS. of Cioero, which his father had highly prized. " The guardians," he writes, " eager to appropriate what tliey esteemed the more valuable effects, had fortunately left this MS, as a thing of no value." Thus he owed to their ignorance this trealiBe, which be considered the richest portion of the inheritance left lijin by his father. But, that inheritance being small, and not sufficient for tha maintenance of the two brothers, they were obliged to think of aome profession for their subsislcnce ; they tlierefbre entered tiia ohurCh ; "aiid^vianon was the place, of all others, where pre- ferment was niost easily obtained, John JiAll, had fixed hiB residence entirely in that cifj since October, 1316, and had appro- priated to himself the nomination to all the vacant beneficeB. The pretence for this appropriation was to prevent simony — in others, not in his Holiness — as the sale of benelices was carried by him to an enormous lieight. At every promotion to a bishop- ric, he removed other bishops ; and. by me meanest iropositlDna, Boon amassed prodigious wealth. Scandalous emoluments, also, which arose from the sale of indulgences, were enlarged, if not iuveated, under his papacy, and every method of acquiring ricbev n I kW life of petsaboh. JQEtified which could contribnte U sordid means, he collected each soma, tliat. according t he left behind him, in Ihe tacred treasury, twenty-five niiUions of florins, a treasure which Voltaire remarks is hardly credible. The luxmy and cormption which reigned in the Komon court at Avignon are fnlly displayed in some letters of Petrarch's, with- out either date or adilress. The partiKiois of that court, it is true, B/;cuBe liim of prejudice and eKHggemtian. He painted, fts they allege, the popes and cardinals in the gloomiest colouring. TTJB letters contain the blackest catalogae of crimes that ever dis- graced humanity. Petrarch was twenly-two years of age when ha settled at Avimon, a scene of licentiousness and profligacy. The luxury of the cardinals, and the pomp and riches of the papal court, were displayed in an extravagant profusion of feasts and cere- monies, which attracted to Avignon women of till ranks, among whom intrigue and gallantry were generally countenanced. Pe- trarch was by natore of a warm temperament, with vivid end susceptible passions, and strongly sttSiChed to the fair ses. We inust not therefore be surprised if. witli these dispositions, and in Huch a dissolnte city, he was betrayed into some escesses. Bat these were the result of his complexion, and not of deUberate profligacy. He alludes to this subject in his Epistle to Posterity, with every appearance of truth and candour. From his own confession, Petrarch seems to have been aonie- what vain of his personal appearance during his youth, a venial ibible, from wjiieh neither the handsome nor the homely, nor the wise nor the foolish, axe exempt It is amusing to find our own Milton betraying this weakness, in spite of all the surrounding strength of his character. In answering one of his slanderers, who had called him pale and cadaverous, the author of Parodisa Lost appeals to all who knew him whether liis complexion was not BO fresh and blooming as to make him appear ten yeais younger than he really was, Petrarch, when yomig, was bo strikingly handsome, that he was frequently pointed at and admired as ho passed along, for his fe«- tures were manly, weU-formed, and expreseire, and Jiis carriage was graceful and distinguished. He was sprightly in conversa- tion, and his voice was unconunonly musical. His complexion was between brown and fair, and his eyes were bright and ani- mate<l. His countenance was a &ithful index of his heart. He endeavoured to temper the warmtli of his constitutiDn by the regularity of liis Uving and the plainness of Ms diet He in- dulged Uttle in either wine or sleep, and fed chiefly on fruits and vegetables. In his early dajs he was nice and neat in his dress, even to a degree of ttfl^tahon, which, in later life, he ridiculed when wxit- US -to-fafB~brotli^~ tjbei&Tdii. ""Do you i3millnbei,*"'lurBayB, HIS FIRST COMlMSlTlOKe. " how mnch care we employed in the lure nf dressinc our per- BODs ; when we traversed the streets, witli what atlenlion did we not avoid eveir bieatJi of wind which ntiglit discompose our hair; and with what caution did we not prevent the least speck of dirt from soiling ourgannentsr' This vanity, however, lasted only during his youtUul days. And even tlieu neither attention to his personal appearun^, noi Ms attachment to the ikir sex, nor his attendance upon the great, oould induce Pefrarch lo neglect his own mental improvement, for, amidst all these occupatiouB. he found leisure for apphcation. and devoted himself to the cnltivalion of his lavoiirite pursuits of literature. ^hielineflLfey nflture to moral phOosophy, he waa guided by tlia rea3&B of Ciuero an<l Seneca & that prbfOQnd knowleflga of tha hnman h^H7 of Jhe duties of others aiail orour own dufies, which shows, itself in aU his writings. Gifted wi(h a mind full of en- thosiasm for p:>etry. he learned from Yirgil elegance and dignity in versificslion. But he had still higher advantages from tlia perasatof Livy. The magnanimous actions of Roman heroes so much excited tiie soul of Petrarch, that he thought the men of his own age light and contemptible, TTiii Urst compositions were in Latin : many motives, however, induced him to compose in the vulgar tongue, as ItuUan was then called, which, Ihougii improved by Dante, was still, in many re- spects, harsh and inele^nt, and much in want of new beauties. Petiarch wrote for the living, and for that portion of the living who were least of all to he fcucinated by the language of the deaiL Latin might be aU very well for inacriplions on mausolemns. hut it vras not suited for the ears of beanty and the bowers of love. The ItaUan. langu^e acquired, under his cultivation, increased elegance and richuesa. so that the harmony of his style has C(m- ■ trimited to its beauty. He did not, however, attach himself Holeljf, I to Italian, but competed much in Latin, which he reserved for ^ graver, or, as he considered, more important subjects. His com- positionB in Latin are— A&ica, an epic poem : Iiis Bucohcs, con- taining twelve eclogues ; and Oiree books of epistles, Petrarch's greatest obstacles to improvement arose from Iho scarcity of authors whom he wished to consult — for the manu- Gciipts of the writera of tlie Augustan s^e were, at that time, GO uncommon, that many could not be procured, and many more of them could not be purchased under the most extra- Tagant price. This scarci^ of books had checked the dawning light of hterBtore. The zeid of our poet, however, surmounted all these obstacles, for hewae indefatigable in collecting and copy- ing many of the choicest manuscript ; and posterity is indebted to liim for the possession of many valuable writings, which were in danger of b^g lost through the carelessness or ignorance of Itw possessors. . UFE OF FETBABCa. Petrarch could aot bm pcrceire the anperionlj of bis own on- dembuiduie aod the brilliancj of bis abilities. The modest hamili^ which knows not ilE own worth is not wmit toEhoiritBdf in mind* jnoch above nut^itctity; aod to elevated geniuses this virtue Lt a stnnger. Petiaich from his j-onthfnl age had an in- ternal aasnraiiee that he shonld prove wortbr of esliuialion and honoDV. Nevertlielees, as he advanced in the field of adonoe.be ■aw the proEpect increase, Alps over Ake. and seemed to be lost amidst the inuoensitv of objects before him. Hence the auticdp«- tion of immeaanrabls labonrs oceasionally damped his ■{>pUcation. But from this depremion of epirita he was much reliev^ bj- the eiUMiiira^ment of John of Florence, one of the secretaiies of the Pope, a man irf learning and probttf. He soon distinguished the extnuirdinaryabililiiisof Petrarch; he directed him in his studies, and cheered up his ambition. Petrarch returned his affection with nnbouiuled confidence. He entmsted him nilh all his foibles, his diiiffiuito, and hid uneasinesses. He aays that he never conversed with him without finding himselt more calm and composed, and more animated for »Cud;. The Mii[>cTior sagaoily of onr poet, together with his pleasing nuuiners, and his increasing reputation for knowledge, ensured to him the moat flattering prospects of success. His conversation waa courted by men of lank, and his acquaintance was sought hj men of learning. It was at this lime, litSO. that his merit pto- Ciinsd him the friendship and patronage of James Colonna, who belonged to one of tlie most ancient and lUusbions &milies of Italy, " Ationt the twenty -second year of my life," Petrarch writoa to one of Iiis friends, " I became acquainted with James Colonna. He bad seen me whilst I retuded st Bologna, and was prepos- seiiMsd, as he was pleased to Ba,y, with my appearance. Upon his arrival nt Avisnon, he again saw me, when, having inquirsd minutely into the state of my affairs, ho admitted me to his friend- ■hip, Icannot sufficienUy describe the cheerfalness of his temper, hi* Noaial disposition, his moderation in prosperity, his conatmicy in nJvt'rnity. I speak not from report, but from my own experi' unco. He was endowed with a persuasive and forcible eloquence. Kin ■conversation and letters displayed the amiahleness of hifl Binoere ohivacter. He gained the first place in my affeotaons, which ho ever afterwerds retained." Such is the portrait wliivli our poet gives of James Colonna. A fuilhful and wise friend is among the most precious gifts of fortune ; hut, as friendships cannot wholly feed our affections, the heart of Petrarch, at this ardent age, was destined to be swayed by atill tenderer feelings. He h^ nearly finished his twenty- tuird year williout having ever seriously known the passion of love, In that year he lii-st saw Laura. Concerning tins lady, at OM time, when no life of Petrarch had been yet wntten that ww VISITS Kosic. xaxiii The fowler covara himself with a shield as he drswa his nela ; the fishermim carries a sword whiLit he hooka his fish : and ths na,tive draws water from the well in an old rusty caaque, iaslead of a paiL In a. word, anna are used here as tools and iniplemenla for aU tlie laboura of thi^ field, and all the wants of men. In the night are heard dreadful bowlings round the walla of towns, and in the day terrible voices oiTing incessantly to amis. What rauirici is this compared ivith those soft and harmonioua sounds which I drew from my lute at Avignon 1 " On his arrival at Caiiranicn. Petrarch despatched a courier to the Bishop of Lombes, informing him where he was, and of hia in- abilit>"to get to Borne, all the roads to it being beset by the enemy. The iBishop expressed great joy at his friend's arrival in Italy, and went to meet tiim at Capmnica. with Stelano Colonna, his hrother, seiialor of Eome. They had with them only a troop of 1 4 that they met with no dMoultiea on their roate ; bnt the reputa- tion of tiieCoIotinaa hud fitnick terror into thehostilo camp. They entered Borne without having had a single skirmish with tlie enemy. Slefano Colonna, in his quaUty of aenator, occupied the Capitol, where he assigned apartments to Petrarch ; and the poet was lodged on tliat fiusous 'lill which Scipio, Metellus, and Pompey. had ascended in triumpli. Petrarch was received and treated by the Colonnas like a child of their family. The vener- able old Slefano. who had known him at Avignon, loaded onr poet witb kindness. But, of all the family, it would seem that Petrarch dehght^d most in the conversatiou of Giovanni da S. Vito, a younger brother of the aged Stefano, and uncle of the Cardinal and Bishop. Their tastes were congenial. Giovanni had made a particular study of the andquilies of Borne ; he was, therefore, a moat welcome cicerone to our poet, being, perhaps, the only Roman then ahve, who understood the subioct deeply, if we except Cola di Rienzo, of whom we shaJl soon h( ' to speak. In company with Giovanni, Petrarch icapecled the relics of the | "eternal city:" the former waa more versed than hia companion in ancient history, bnt the other surpassed him in acquaintance with modem times, as well as with the objects of antiquity that stood immediately before them. What on interesting object ia Petrarch contemplating the ri of Rome ! He wrote to the Cardinal Colonna as follows :- gave you so long an account of Capranica that you may nittiirally en)ect a still longer description of Rome. My materims for this sn^ect are. indeed, inexhaustible: but they will serve for some fdtnre opportunity. At present, I am ao wonder-atnick by s many great objects that I know not where to begin. One circum ataace, however, I cannot omit, which has turned out coctcez^ \i i J r XXXIT LIFE OF PETRARCH. your BTirmisea. You represented to me that Rome was a, city in ruins, and that it would not come up to the imogmatdon Iliad formed of it ; bat this has not happened^ — on the cantnuy. my most san- guine espectationB have been surpasBed, Rome is greater, and her remains ai'e more awful, tliim my imagination had conceired. It ia not matter of wonder that sho acquired uuiTersal dominion. I am only surprised that it was so late before ahe came to it." In the mid^t of his meditationa among the relics of Bome, Petrart'h was struck by the ignorance about their forefethera, with which the natives looked on those monumenta. The veneratioii which they had for them was vague and uninformed. "It is lamentable," he says, " that nowhere in the world ie Rome less known than at Rome." It is not exactly koown in what month Petrarch left the Boman capital ; but, between Ills departure from that city, and hia return to tiie banks of the Ehone, he took an cxfcnsive tour over Europe. He made a voyage along its aouthem coasts, passed the straits of Gibraltar, and aailed as far northward as the Rritish shores. During his wanderings, he wrote a letter to Tommaso da Messina, containing a long geographical dissertation on the ialand of Thule. Petrarch approached the British shores ; why were they not &ted to have the honour of reeeivins him ? Ah ! but who was there, then, in England tiiat was capable of receiving him? Chaucer was but a child. We hod the names of some learned men, but our language had no Uterature. Time works wonders in a few cen- turies ; and England, now proud of her Shakespeare and her Verulam, looks not with euw on the gloiy of any earthly nation. During his excitement by these travels, a singiuar change t«ok place in our poet's habitual ibelingB. He recovered his health and spirits ; he could bear to think of Laura with equanimity, and his countenance resumed the cheerfulness that was natui-ul to & man in the strengtli of hia ago. Nay, he became bo sanguine in his behef that he had overcome liis passion as to jest at his past sufferings ; and, in this gay atatc of mind, he came back to Avignon. This was the crowning misfortune of hia life. He aaw Laura once more; he was enthralled anew; and he might now laugh in agony at his lata eelf-congralulatiana on hia deUvery from her enchantment. With all the pitv that we bestow on unfortunate love, and with all the respect that we owe to its con- stancy, atill we cannot loolr but with a regret amountiag to im- .' patience on a man returning to the spot tiiat wsa to roldndle hia pafsion as recklesaly as a moth to the candle, and binding him- self over for life to an fiffection that was worse than hopeless, inas- much as its success would biing more misery than its fiuloi'e. It ia said that Petrarch, if it had not been for thia passion, would not have been the ]>oet that he was. Not, perhaps, so good an amatory poet ; but I finnly believe that he would have been a more various HIS CtllLDBEK. I and fflflficulme, and, upon the whole, a greater poet, it he hud never been bewitehad by Laura, However, he did retiim lo lako poBsessioQ of his cauonicate at Lombes, and to lose possession of his peace of mind. In the April of the following year. 1336, he mode an esoursion, in company ivith his brother Gherardo, b> the top of Mount Ventonx, in the neighbourhood of Avi^on : a fiill description of which he sent in b. letter to Dionisio dal Borgo a Ban Sepolcro ; but there is nothing peculiarly interesting in this occurrence. A more important event in bis life look place during the foDow- ing }%ar, 133T — namely, tliat he had a son bora t^i him, whom ha christened by the name of John, and to whom he acknowledged his relation^iip of paternity. With all his philosophy and ^- tooic raptures abont Laura, Petrarch was still gnbjeot to the passions of ordinary men, and bad a mistress at Avignon who wa« kinder to him than Laura. Her name and history have been consi^ed to inscrutable obscurity : the same woman afterwards bore him a daughter, whose name was Francesca, and who proved a great solace to him in his old age. His biographers extol the magnanimity of Lanra for displaying no anger at onr poet for what they (Sioose to coll tliis discoveiy of his infidelity V> her; but, as we have no reason to suppose that Lanra ever bestowed one favour on Petrarch beyond a pleaaant look, it ia difficult to perceive her right to command his unspotted faith. At all events, she would have done no good to her own reputation if she had stormed at the lapse of her lover's virtue. In a small city like Avignon, the scandal of his intrigue would naturally be a matter of regret to his friends and of triumph to his enemies. Petrarch felt Itis aitontion. and. unable to calm hia mind either by the advice of bis fiiend Dioniaio dal Borgo, or by the perusal of hia favourite aullior, St. Augustine, he resolved to seek a rural retreat, where he might at least liide bis tears and hit mortification. Unhappily he chose a spot not for enough from Laura — namely, VaiipJuao. which ia fifteen Italian, or about four- teen English, miles from Avignon. Vaucluse, or Vallia Clausa, the shut-up valley, is a most beauti- fnl spot, watered by the windings of the Sorgiie. Along the river there are on one side moat verdant plains and meadows, here and there shadowed by trees. On the other side are hills covered witli com and vineyards. Where the Sorgue rises, the vieip ter- minates in the c]oud'C«pt ridges of the mountains Luberoux and Ventous. This was the place whioi Petrarch had visited with such deligbtwhen he was a schoolboy, and at the sight of which be exclaimed " that he would preier it aa a residence to the moat splendid city." It is, indeed, one of the loveliest seclusions in the world. It £ 'nates in a Bemioirole of rocks of stupendous height, tliat to have been hewn down perpendicularly. M the n.«^ vaji. i r centre of the vast am jihi theatre , and at the foot of one of ita rraoua rockB, there is a cayem of proportional aire, hollowed by the hand of nature. Its opening h an arch sixty feet high ; hut it ia a double cavern, there beiag an interior one with an entrance thirty feet high. In the midat of these there is an oval baein, having eighteen fathoma for its longest diameter, and from i:liia baain riaea Uie copious stream which forms the Sorgue, The sniface of the fountain is hlad:, an appearance prodnced by its depth, from the dnrkneaa of the rocka, and the obscurity of the cavern ; for, on being brought to light, nothing can be dearer than its water. Thongh beautiful to the eye, it ia harsh to the taste. but ia escellent fcr tanning and dyeing ; and it is said to promote the growth of a plant which fattens oxen and is good for hena during incubation. Strabo and Ptiny the naturalist both apeak of its poaaeasing this property. The river Sorgue, which issues from this cavern, divides in ita progreaa into various branches ; it waters many parta of Provence, receives several tributatyBtreaias,and,Bfter reuniting ita branches, &ils into t)ie Rhone near Avignon. Resolving to £x his residence here, Petrarch bought a little cottage and an adjoining field, and repaired to Vaucluse with no other companions than hia hooka. To tliia day tlie ruins of a small house are shown at Vaucluse, which tradition says was hia habitation. If hia object wna to forget Laura, the composition of sonnets upon her in tliia hermitage was unlikely to be an antidote to his recollecttona. It would seem as if he meant to cherish rather than to get rid of his love. But, if he nursed his paaaion, it was a dry-nursing ; for he led a lonely, ascetic, and, if it were not for his studies, we might aay a savage life. In one of his letters, written not long after hia settling at Vaucluse, he saya, " Here I make war upon my senses, and treat them as my enemies. My eyes, which have drawn me into a thousand difficulties, see no longer either gold, or precious atones, or ivory, or purple ; they behold nothing save the water, the firmament, and the rocks. The only female who cornea witliin their sight ia a swarthy old woman, dry and parched as the Lyblan deserts. My ears are no longer conrted by those harmonious inatrumenta and voices which have ao often transported my soul : they hear nothing but the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, the warbling of birds, and the " I keep silence from noon till night. Tliere is no one to con- verae with ; for the good people, employed in spreading tlieir nets, or tending their vines and orchards, ere no great adepts at con- versation. I often content myself with the brown bread of tha fisherman, and even eat it witli pleasure. Nay, I almost prefer it to white bread. This old fisherman, who is as hard as iron, eamesUy remonstrates against my manner of life ; and assures me HI3 RETIREMENT 4T VAUCLU8E. XXKI that I caDiLot long hold nut. I ani. on the contrary, convmea that it IB easier to aCFustom one's self to a plain diet than U. *'' luxuries of a feast. But (^tUl I hsive my luxuries — figs, rail nuts, and slmonds. I am fund of the fish with which tiiis streani '' abounds, and I somelimes amuse mjBelf with sprtading the ni As to my dresa, there is an enlire olwuige ; you would take n a Iftbourer or a ahepherd. " My mansion resembles that of Cato or Fabricins. My « houfie-eetabhshinent consisls of myself, my old fishennaii and h wife, and a dog. My fisherman's cottage is contiguous to niin' when I want him I call ; when I uo longer need him, he retui to his cottage. " I have made two gardens that please me wonderfully. I do not think they are to bs equalled in all the world. And I must confess to you a more than female weakness with which I am haunted. I am positiYely angiy that there is anything so beanli- fiil out of Italy. ] " One of these gardens is shady, formed for contemplation, imd' J sacred to Apollo. It OTei'hangs the source of the iiver, and ibS terminated by rocks, and by places accessible only to birds. Th*^ other is nearer my cottage, of an aspect less severe, and devoted ' to Daechus ; and what is extremely singular, it is in the midst of a rapid river. The approach to it is over a bridge of rocks ; and tbeiB is a natural grotto under the rocks, which gives them the appearance of a rustic bridge. Into this grotto the rays of the Bun never penetrate. I am confident that it much resembles the place where Cicero went to declaim. It invites to study. Hither I retreat during the noontide hours ; my mornings aj of this horrid place empoisons tiie pure air of Vauclnse, and will compel me to quit my retirement." It is clear that he was not supreme^' contented in his solitude with hia self-drawn mental resources. His friends at A%ignon came seldom to see him. Travelling even short diBlaneea waa difficult in those days. Even we, in tlie present day, can remember when the distance of fourteen miles presented a troublesome journey. The few guests who came to him could not expect very exquisite dinners, cooked by the brown old woman and her husband the fisherman; end, though oar poet had a gaxden consecrated to Bacchus, he had no cellar devoted to the same deity. His few friends, therefore, who visited him, thought their angel visits acts of charity. If he saw his friends seldom, however, he had fre- quent visitants in strangers who came to Vauoluse. as a place Jong celebrated for ita natural beauties, and now made illustrioufl by the character and oompositionB of our poet. Among tlu^a^ ] sain'^^^ .for t-hok^J I rxxzriii come fro. I LIFE OF PETRAECH. there were perHnna distingmahed for their rank or leftrning, who come firom die farthest patls of France and frnm Italy, to see and converse with Petrarch. Some of them even sent before them considerable presents, which, thougli Idndlj- meant, were not BCCeptahle. Vaucluse is in the diocese of Cavaillon, a email dly ahont two miles distant from our poet's retrent. Fhihp de Cahasaoles waa the bishop, a man of high ranlt end noble family. His disposition, according to Petrarch's usual praise of his fnends, was highly benevolent and humane ; he was well versed in literatore, and had distinguiahed abihticB. No aoonar waa the poet settled in his re- tirement, than he visited the Bishop at his palace near Vaacluse. The latter gave hiin a friendly reception, and returned his visits frequently. Another much Estunated, Ma friend since their child- hood, Guido Sette, also repaired at times to his hnmhle mansion, and reUaved hia sohtude in the shut-np valley.* Without some daily and constant occupation even the bright mind of Petrarch womd have rusted, like the finest sleel when it is left unsconred. But he continued his studies with an ardour that commands our wonder and respect : and it was at Vaucluse that he either meditated or wrote his most important oompoai- tions. Here lie undertook a history of Rome, from Eomulna down to TituH Vespasian. This Herculean task he never finished ; but there remain two fragments of it, namely, four books, De Habos Memorandis, and another tract entitled Vitamm Virorum Hluatrium Epitome, being sketches of iUnstrions men from the founder of Rome down to Fabricius, About his poem, Africa, I shall only say for the present that be began this Latin epic at Vauctuse, that its hero is his idolized Roman, Scipio Afr^canus, that it gained him a reputation over Europe, and that he was much pleased wiUi it himself, but that his admiration of it in time cooled down so much, that at last he was annoyed when it was mentioned to him, and turned tlie uonveraa- tion. if he could, to a different subject. Nay, it is probable, that if it had not been for Boccaccio and Coluccio Salutati, who, long after he had left Vaacluse. importuned him to finish and puUish it, hia Africa would not have come down to posterity. Petrarch alludes in one of hia lettera to an eseuraion which he made in 1338, in company with a man whose rank vms above his wisdom. He does not name him. but it seems clearly to have been Humbert II,. Dauphin of tlie Viennois. The Cardinal Colonna forced our poet into this pilgrimage to Baujne, famous for its adjacent cavern, where, according to the tradition of the aountry, Mary Magdiden passed thirty years of repentance. HIS EPISTLE TO HUUBEBT 11. In that holy but horrible cavern, as Petrarch calls it, tiiey re* nmined three days and three nishta, though I'etrarch eainetime* gave hia comrcideB the aUp, and indulged in rambles among tba hill" and forests ; he composed a short poem, however, on St Mary Magdalen, which is as dull as the cave itself. The Dauphia Humbert was not a bright man ; but be seems to have oontriU'ted a friendly familiority with our poet, if we may judge by a letter which Petrarch indited to him about this time, frankly reptoacta- ing him with hia poUtical neutrality in the affairs of Europe. It was supposed that the Curdiuat Colontm incited him to write it A strug^ that was now impending between France and England engaged all Europe on one side or other. The Emperor Lewis baa intimated to Humbert that he must follon him In this war, I 1 from Philip of ' Valois to join liim nith his troops at Amiens as vassal of Francs. The Dauphin tried to back out of the dileimua between hia two suitors by Mvolous excuses to both, all the time determining to asaist neither. In l:i3S he came to Aviftlion. and the Pope gave him his palace at the bridge of the Sorgue for his babitatioo. Here the poor craven, beset on one side by threatening Ittten | from Phihp of Valois, and on the other by importunities from tli8 French party at the pHpal court, remained in Avignon till July, , 1330. after Petrarch had let loose upon him his epistolaiy elo^ quence. This letter, dated April, 133ti, is. according lo De Sade's opinion, frill of powerful persuasion. I cannot say tliut it strikes me as euch. Afier calling Christ to nitness that he writes to the Dauphin in the spirit of friendship, he reminds li'ti tliat Europe bed never exhibited so roigbtyand interesting a war as that whioli had now sprung up between the kings of France and England, nor one that opened so vast a lield of glory for lie brave. " All the princes and their people," he says, " are anxious about its < issue, especially those between the Alps and the ocean, who take i arms at the crash of the neighbouring tumult ; nhilst you alone i go to sleep amidst the clouds of the coming storm. To say the truth, if Uiere was notliing more than shaine to nwakun you, it ought to rouse you from this lethargy. I had thought you," he continues, " a man desirous of glory. You are young and in the strength of life. What, then, in the name of God, keeps you in- active ? Do you fear iatigue ? Remember what SaDust says — ' Idle enjoyments ivere made for women, fetigue was made for men.' Do yon fear death? Death is the last debt we owe to nature, and man ou^ht not to fear it; certainly lie ought not to fear it more than sleep and slu^shness. Aristotle, it is true. calls death the last of horrible things ; but, mind, he does not call ^^t^the moBt horrible of things," In this manner, our poet goes on iHMEiilizing on the blessings of an early death, and the great advaa- i LIFE 0? PETRAHCH. tage tliat it would liave afforded to some excellent Eomtui heroes if they had root witli it sooner. Tlie only thing like h Bensihle argu- ment that he urges is, that Hmuhert could not expect to save hun- aell' even by neutrality, hut must ultimately become the prey of the victor, and be punished like the Alban Metius, wJioni Tullns Hostilius caused to be torn asunder by horses that pulled Iub limbs in different directiozis. The pedontLc epistle had no eSect on Humbert, Meanwhile. Italy had no repose more than, the r? st of Europe, bnt its troubles gave a happy occasion to Fctrarcli to see once more hia friend, Gughelmo Pastrengo. who, Jn 13i!8, came to Avignon, from Maatino della Scala, lord of Verona. The moment Petrarch heard of his friend's arriral he left his hermitage to welcome him ; but scarcely had he reached the iaXel city when he saw tlie danger of so near an approach to the woman he so madly loved, and was aware that he had no escape from the eyes of Laura but by flight. He returned, therefore, all of a sudden to Vaucluse, without waiting for a sight of Pastrengo. Shortly after he had quitted the house of LeeliuB, where he uau&lly lodged when he went to Avignon, Ouglielmo, expecting to find him there, knocked at the door, but no one opened it — called out, but no ono answered liim. He tlierefiire wrote him a little biUet, saying. " My dear Petrarch, where have you hid yourself, and whither have you vanished ? What is tlie meaning of all this ?" The poet received this note at Vaucluse, and sent an explanation of his flight, sincere indeed as to good feelings, but prolix as naual in the expression of them. Pastrengo sent him a kind reply, and soon afterwaids did bim the still greater favour of visiting liiiTi at Yaucluas, end helping >iiin to cultivate his garden. Petrarch's flame for Laora waa in reality unabated. One day he met her in the streets of Avignon ; ibr he had not always reso- lution enough to keep out of the western Babylon. Laura cast a kind look upon him, and said, "Petrarch, you are tired of loving " Thisinddentproducedoneof the finest sonnets, beginning — s'iSraiEar In 1331), he composed among other sonnets, those three, the Ixii,, Ixxiv,. and Ixxv., wiiich are oonfesaedly master-piecea of their kind, as well as three canzoui to the eyes of Laura, which HIB GANZONI. Xll the Italians call the three sister Graces, and worship as divine.* The critic Tassoni himself could not censure them, and called them the queens of song. At this period, however seldom he may have visited Avignon, he evidently sought rather to cherish than suhdue his fatal attachment. A celehrated painter, Simone Martini of Siena, came to Avignon. He was the pupil of Giotto, not exquisite in drawing, hut Yimous for taking spirited likenesses. Petrarch persuaded Simone to favour him with a miniature like- ness of Laura ; and this treasure the poet for ever carried ahout with him. In gratitude he addressed two sonnets to the artist, whose fame, great as it was, was heightened hy the poetical reward. Yasari tells us that Simone also painted the pictures of both lovers in the chapel of St. Maria Novella at Florence ; that Simone was a sculptor as well as a painter, and that he copied those pictures in marbles which, according to Baldelli, are still extant in the house of the Signore Pruzzi. An anecdote relating to this period of Petrarch's life is given by De Sade, which, if accepted with entire credence, must inspire us with astonishment at the poet's devotion to his literary pursuits. He had now, in 1339, put the first hand to his epic poem, the Scipiade ; and one of his Mends, De Sade believes that it was the Bishop of Lombes, fearing lest he might injure his health by over- zealous application, went to ask him for tiie key of his library, which the poet gave up. The Bishop then locked up his books and papers, and commanded him to abstain from reading and writing for ten days. Petrarch obeyed ; but on the first day of this literary Kamazan, he was seized with ennui, on the second with a severe headache, and on the third with symptoms of fever; the Bishop relented, and permitted the student to return to his books and papers. Petrarch was at this time delighted, in his solitude of Vaucluse, to hear of the arrival at Avignon of one of his dearest friends. This was Dionisio dal Borgo a San Sepolcro, who, being now advanced in years, had resigned his pulpit in the University oi Paris, in order to return to his native country, and came to Avignon with the intention of going by sea to Florence. Petrarch pressed h\m strongly to visit him at Vaucluse, interspersing his persuasion with many compliments to King Kobert of Naples, to whom he knew that Dionisio was much attached ; nor was he without hopes that his friend would speak favourably of him to his Neapolitan Majesty. In a letter from Vaucluse he says: — "Can nothing induce you to come to my solitude? Will not my ardent request, and the pity you must have for my condition, bring you to pass some days with your old disciple ? If these motives are not sufficient, permit me to suggest another induce- ment. There is in this place a poplar-tree of so immense a size that it covers with its shade not only the river and its banks, but * Cansoni 9, 9, aad 10. adii LIFE OF PETRARCH. also a considerable extent bejvnd them. The; tell ub Qiat Tfing Bobert of Naplya, invited by the beauty of Hub sjiot, came hither to unborthen bis miud from the weialit of public afiairB. and to enjoy hiioflelf in the abady retreat. ' The poet added inttDr euiDgieB on liia Majesty of Naples, which, as he anticipated, readied the royal ear. It seems not to be clear that Father Dionisio erer visited the poet at Vanclnse ; though they certainly had an interview at Avignon. To Petrareb's miHfortune, his Mend's stay in that city was very shorL The monk proceeded to Florence, but he found there no shady retreat like that of the poplar at Vaucluse. Florence was more than ever agitated by internal coromotdona, and was this j^ear afflicted by pkgue and &mine. This dismal stale of the city determined Dionisio to accept an invitation fi'om King Kobert to spend the remainder of liis days at his court. This monarch had the happiness of giving additJonal pnblici^ to Petrarch's reputation. That the poet sought his patronage need not be concealed; and if he used a little flattery in doing su, we must make aUowanoe for the adulatory instinct of tlie tone* fal tribe. We cannot Uve witliout bread upon bare reputation, or on the prospect of having tombstones put over our bones, prema- turely hurried to the grave by hunger, when they shall be as in- sensiblo to praise aa the stones themselves. To speak seriously, I tliink that a poet sacrifices his usefulness lo himself and others, and an importance in society which may be turned to public good, if he shuns the patronage that can be obtained by unparaaitical I'ather Dionisio, upon his arrival at Naples, impressed the King witli so favourable an opinion of Petrarch that Eobert wrote a letter to our poet, enclosing an epitaph of bis Majea^'a own coin- pDsition, on the death of his niece Clementina. This letter is un- nappily lost ; but the answer to it ia preserved, in which Petrarch tells the monarch tliat his epitaph rendered his niece an object rather of envy than of lamentation. " O happy Clementina !" says tiie poet, " after passing through a transitory life, yuu have attained a. double immortahty, one in heaven, and another on eartli." He then compares the posthumous good fortune of tlie eincess to that of Achillea, who had been immortalized by omer. It is possible that King Bobert's letter to Petrarch vna so laudatory as to require a flattering answer. But this rever- berated praise is rather overstrained. Peb'urch was now intent on obtaining the honour of Poet Lau- reate. His witihcs were at length gratified, and in a manner that made the oJfer more flattering than the crown itself. Wliilst he still remained at Vaucluse, at nine o'clock in the morning of the Ist of September, 1340, he received a letter from tlie Iloman Semite, pressingly inviting him to come and receive tlie cronn of Poet Lamente at Rome. He must have httle notion I THE UOREiTESHIP OFFERED TO BIM, xlw| of a poet's pride and vanity, who cannot imi^ne the SnshaA countenanue, the dilated ajes. end the Jo\-oiib1j -throbbing hesit' of Petrarch, wliilst he read this letter. To be invited by die Senate of Rome to such an honour might excuse him for forgst- ting that Rome wns not now what ahe hud once been, and that the substantial glory of his appointment was Email in comparison with die I'lHijiin associations which formed its halo, Ab if to keep up the fever of his joy, he received the some iaj, in the afternoon, at four o'clock, another letter with the same offtsr. from Roberto Bttrdi, Chancellor of tlie University of Paris. in which he importuned him io be crowned as Pool Laureate at Paris. Wben we consider the poet's veneration for Rome, we may easily anticipate that he would give the preference to that city. Tiiat ha might not, however, offend hjs friend Roberto Bardi and the Universitf of Paris, he despatdieil a messenger to Cardinal Coionno, asking his advice npon the snbjcct, pretty well knowing that his patron's opinion would coincide with his own wishes. The Colonna advised bim to be crowned at Rome. The custom of conferring this honour had, for a long time, been obsolete. In the earliest classical t^s, glands were given as a reward to valour and genius. Tirgil exhibits his conquerors adorned with them. The Romans adopted the ctistom from. Greece, where leafy honours were bestowed on victors at public' games. This coronation of xioeta, it is said, ceased under OA'. reign of the Emperor Theodosius. After his death, during tha long subsequent barbarism of Europe, when literatiire produced only rhyming monks, and when there were no more poets to crovm, the discontinuance of the practice was a natural consequence. At the commencement of the thirteenth century, according to the Abbe Reanel, the tmiversities of Europe began to dispense laurels, not to pacta, but to students distinguished by their leant-: ing. The doctors in medicine, at the famous university of Salerno;': established by the Emperor Frederic II,. had crowns of laorel put upon their heads. The bachelors also had their laurels, and derived tlieir name from a bocniue, or stick, which they carried. Cardinal Colonna. as we have said, advised him, " nothing lotk" to enjoy his coronatioa at Rome, Thither accordingly he repaired early in the year 1311. He embarked at Maiseiiles for Naples, wishing previously to his coronation to visit King Robert, by whom he was received with all possible hospitality and distinction. Though he had accepted the laurel emidst the general applause of his contemporaries, Petrarch wus not sattafied tliat he should enjoy fbin honour without passing through on ordeal as to his learajne, ibr laurels and learning had been for one hundred years habitually associated in men's minds. The person whom Petrarch selected for his examiner in erudition was the King of Naples. Robert the Oood. as he was in some respects deservedly called, ' 'b age, a well-instructed man, imd, for a king, a piodi^. 1 Lt I i 1 LIFE OF PETRARCH. He hod aleo some common sense, btit m classical knowledge he was more fit h) be the scholar of Petrarch thon his examiiier. If Petrarch, liowever, learned notliing from the King, the King leamed something from Petrarch, Among tlie otJier requisites for esamining a Poet Laureate which Bohcrt possessed, was an utter ignorance of poetry. Bnt Petrarch couched his hlindness on the suhject, so that fiobert saw, or beheved he saw, something useM in the divine art. He had heard of the epic poem, Africa, «ai requested its author to recite to him some part of it The Tfing wa3 charmed with the recitation, and requested tliat the work might be dedicated to him. Petrarch assented, but the poem was not finished or published tOl after King Kobert's death. His Neapolitan Majesty, after pronouncing a warm eulogy on. our poet, declared that he merited the laurel, and hftd letters patent drawn up, by which he certified that, after a aevere examina- tion {it lasted tliree days), Petrarch was judged worthv to receive tint honour in tlie Capitol. Robert wished him to be crowned at Naples ; but our poet represented that he waa desirous of being distinguished on the same theatre where Virgil and Horace had shone. The King accorded with bis wishes; and, to complete Lis kindness, regretted tliat hia advanced age n'ould not permit him lo go to Rome, and croivn Petrarch himself He named, how- ever, one of hia most eminent courtiers, Barrilli, to be hia proxy. Boccaccio speaks of Barrilli as a good poet; and Petrarch, with exe^erated politeness, compares him to Ovid. ■When Petrarch went to taie leave of King Eobert.the sovereign, aAer engaging his promise that he would visit him again very Boon, took oil' the robe which he wore that day, and, begging Petrarch's acceptance of it. desired that he might wear it on the day of his coronation. He also bestowed on him the place of his almoner-general, an office for which great interest was always made, on account of the privileges attached to it, the principsl of which were an exemption from paying the tithes of benefices to the King, and a dispensation from residence. Petrarch proceeded to Etane, where he arrived on the flth of April, 1341, accompanied by only one attendant from the court of Naples, for BarriUi had taken another route, upon some im- portant business, promising, however, to be at Rome before the time appointed. But as he had not arrived on the Tth. Petrarch despatched a messenger in search of him, who returned without any information. The poet was desirous to wait for his arrivat; bat Orso, Coimt of AngiuUara, would not suffer tlie ceremony to be deferred. Orso was joint senator of Rome with Giordano degli Orsini; and, his office expiring on the 8th of April, he was un- willing to resign to bis successor the pleasure of crowning eo Pettarcli was afterwards inftirmed tliat Barrilli. hastening to- wards Rome, had been beset near Anaguia by robbers, from whom HIS COBONATIOS AT EOIIE. he escaped with iliffii^ul^, and thnt lie whs obliged toi safety b> return to Naplus, In tearing Ihut city, Petraroli pnaaed tho tomb j traditionally eaid to be that of Virgil, His coronatioa took plua T without delaj after his arrival at Riune. ■ The momiog of the Sth of April, 1341, was ushered in by tba I Eoiind of trumpetB : and the people, ever fond of a show, ( from all quarters to see the ceremony. Twelve youtiis sdoctei fromtlie beat f&miliea of Rome, and clothed in suarlet, opened tl prooeaaion, repeating as they went some verscB, composed by tt poet, in honour of the Roman people. They were followed i^M ^x citdzems of Borne, clothed in green, and hearing crowiura wreathed with diflerent flowers. Petrarch walked in the midsf i of them; after him came the senator, accompanied by the first men of the coiindl. The streeta were strewed with flowers, and tlie windows fdled witli ladies, dressed in the most splendid man- ner, who showered parfomed waters profusely on the poet.* He nil the time wore the robe that hod been presented to him by the King of Naples. .When they reached the Capitol, the trumpets were silent, and Petnu'ch, having made a short speech, in which he qnoted a verse.&oni YirgU, cried out three times, " Long Uts the Roman people ! long live the Senators ! may God preserve thnr liberty '. " At the conclnsion of these words, he knelt belbro the senator Orso, who, taldng a crown of laurel from his own head, placed it on that of Petrarch, saying, " This crown is the reward of rirtue." The poet then repeated a sonnet in praise of the ancient Romans. TJie people testified their approbation by shouts of ap- planse, cjyiog, " Long flonriah the Capitol and tlio poet!" The ' friemfa of Petrarch shed tears of joy, and Stefnno Coloana, his f &vaiirite hero, addressed the assembly in his honour. The ceremony having been flnished at the Capital, the proces- ainn. amidst Uie sound of trumpets and the acclamations of tlie people, repaired thence to the ohnrch of SL Peter, where Petrarch offered np his crown of laurel before the altar. Tiie same day tlie Count of Angoillara caused letters patent to be delivered to Petrarch, in which the senators, after a flattering preamble, ehxei that he had merited the title of a great poet and hiitorion ; that, it nmrk his distinction, they had put upon Ms head a lanrel *i crown, not only by the authority of King Robert but by that of the Romnn Senate and people ; and that they gave liim. at Rome and elsewhere, the privilege to read, to dispute, to psjilain ancient books, to moke new ones, to compose poems, and to wear a crown according to his choice, either of laurel, beech, or myrtle, as well •V.le^ry, in hl>" Travel! in lUrfy.-alvMiheto^o^jn^^ ^ 4 4 ' i ^ J 1 LIFE OF PETIUBCH. as the poetic habit. At that tine a panicnlar dress was ifiected by the poeU. JJante was buried in this costume. PetjHjch contiiiued only a fen days at Rome after bis caiona- tJOD ; hut he had Ecarcelj departed when he fooad that there weitt banditti on the road waiting for him, and anxious to relieve him of any superlluoiiB wealth which he might have about him. He waa thus obliged to return to Rome with all expedition ; but he Bot out the following day, attended by a guard of armed men, and arrived at Pisa on fto 20th of April P'rom Pisa he went to Parma, to see his friend Azzo Corr^nio, and aooD after his arrival he was witness to a revolution in Uiat ciW of which Anzo had the principal direction. The Scalas. who held the eovereignty of FaiTna, had for some time oppressed the inhabitants with exorbitant taxes, which excited murmurs and •editions. The CorreggioB, to whom the cily was entrusted in the absence of Mastino dolla Scala, profiled by the public discontent, hoisted the flag of liberty, and, on the aand of May, 1341. drove out the garriHon, and made themselves lords of the commonwealth. On tltis occasion, Azzo has been accused of the worst ingraUtudo to his nephews, Alberto and Ma^tino. But, if the people were oppressed, he was surely justihed in rescuing them from miago- vemment. To a great degree, also, the conduct of the CorregmoB sanctioned the revolution. They introduced into Parma such a mild and equitable administration as the city had never before esperienoed. Some exceptionable acts they undoubtcdlj^ com- mitted; and when Petrarch extols Azzo as another Cato, it is to be hoped that he did so with some mental reservation. Petrarch had proposed to cross the Alps immediately, and proceed to Avi- gnon ; but he was prevailed upon by the HolicitntionH of Azzo to remain some time at Parma. He was consulted by the Correggios on their most important aSairs, and was admitted to their secret coimeilfi. In the present instance, this confidence was peculiarly agreeable to liim ; as the four brothers were, at that time, unani- mous in tlieir opioions; and their desigus were all calculated to promote the weU'are of their subjects. Soon after his arrival at Parma, ho received one of those tokens of his popularity which are exceedingly expressive, though they come fin)m a hiunble admirer. A blind old man, who liad been a granusar-school master at Pontremoli. cune 1« Parma, in order to pay his devotions to the laureate. The poor num. had already wuked to Naples, guided in his blindness by his only Bon, for the purpose of finding Petrarch. The ^oet had left that ci^ ; but King Bobert, pleased nith tiis enthusiasm, made him a present of some money. The aged pilgrim returned to Pontremoli, where, being informed that Petrarch was at Parma, he crossed the Apen- ninee, in spite of the severity of the weather, and travelled thimer, having sent before him a, tolerable copy of verses. He was pre- sented to Petrarch, whose hand he mssed with devotion and DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF LOMGES. xWtl exclamfttioiis of joy. One day, before many spectntora. the blind man said to Petrarch, " Sir. I have come far to see you," Tiw byslanderB laughed, on which the old man replied, " I appcid to you, Petrarch, whether I do not aee you more clearly and dis^ tinctly than these men who have their eyesigiil." Petrarch gavu j him a kind reception, and dismiKsed him with a consideraU* I present. The pleHsnra which Petrarch had in retirement reading, refiection, induced hiiu to hire a house on tlte outakirlB of tha I dtf of Paima, with a garden, beantifuiJy watered by a sttesaa, a TJU in urbe, ea he calls it ; and he was ao pleased with thk locality, that he purchased and embeUiahed it. Hia happineas, however, he tells ns. was here embittered by the lo9S of Bome friends who shared the firat place in his alfeotiona. One of these was Tommaso da Messina, with whom he had formed a friendsliip when tiiey were fellow-studenls at Bologna, and ever since kept np a familiar correspondence. They were of the same age, addicted to tJie same pursuits, and imbued with similar sen- timenta. Tommaso wrote a volum.e of Latin poems, several of which were puhUslied after the invention of printing. Peti'oroh, ' in his Triumphs of Love, reckons him an excellent poet, | This loss was followed by ajiother wliich affected Petrarch still , more strongly. Having received frequent invitations to LomboB &om the Bishop, who had resided some time in his diocese. Pa- ' trarcb looked forwuvl witli pleasure to the time when lie should revisit him But he received accounts that the Bishop was taken dangerously ilL Whilst his mind was ai^itatad by tliis neivs. be had the following dream, which he has himself related. " Me< thought I saw the Bishop crosaing the rivulet of my garden alone. I was astonished at this meeting, and asked liim whence he came, whither he was goiag in such haste, and why he was alone. He smiled upon me with liia usual complacency, and said, ' Hemamber that when you were in Gascony tlie tempestuous climate waa insupportable tn you. I also am tired of it. I have qoitted Gascony, never to return, and I am going to Rome.' At the con- clusion of tlieae words, he had reached the end of the garden, and, as I endeavoured to accompany him, he in the kindest and gentlest manner waved hia hand ; but, upon my persevering, hs cried out in a more peremjttory manner, ' Stay I you must not at present attend me.' Whilst he spoke these words, I fixed my eyes upon him. and saw the paleness of death upon hia counte- nance. Seized with horror. I uttered a loud cry, which awokft me. I took aodce of the time. I told tile circumstance to all my Mends ; and. at tho expiration of five-and-twen^ days, I received accounts of his death, which happened in the very same night ic which he had appeared to me." On a htlle reflection, this incident wiU not appear to be super- natural. That Petrarch, oppressed as he was witli anxiety about jd-mu UFE OP PETKABCH. his friend. Hhonld &U into &DriM reveries daring his sleep, and iirmging that he san h'T" in the paleness of deeth, was nothing vonderful— nay. Ihnt he should frame this aUegory in his dresm is equally conceivable. The sleeper's imnginaticin is often a great imptovieiilDre. It forms scenes and stories; its puts questions. and answers them itself, all the time believing that tlie responses come from those whom it interrogates. Petrarcii. deeply attached to Azzo da Corre^o. now be^nn to consider himself as settled at Parma, where he enjoyed LterETf retirement in the bosom of his beloved Italy. But he had not resided there a, year, when he was sommoned to Avignon br orders lie considered (hat he could not disobey. Tiraboschi, and after him BuldclU. ascribe his retom to Avignon to the com- mission which he received in 1343. to go as advocate of the liomtm people to the new Pope, Clement VI.. who had succeeded to the Idara on the death of Benedict XII., and Petrarch's own words coincide with what they say. The feelings of joy with which Petrarch revisited Avignon, thangh to appearance he had weaned himself Irom Laura, may be imagined. He hod friend* ship, however, if he had not love, to welcome him. Here he met, with reciprocal gladness, his friends Socrates and Leelius, who hod establiBhed themselves at the conrt of the Cardinal Coloima. '■ SoerateB," saya De Sode, "devoted himself entirely to Petrarch, and even went with him to Vaucluse." It thus ftppears that Petrarch liad not gives up his peculinm on the Sorgue, nor hod any one rented the field and cotti^e in his absence. Benedict's successor, Clement VI,, was conversant with the world, and accustomed to the splendour of courts. Quite a con- trast to the plain rigidity of Benedict, he was courteous and muniiicent, but withal a voluptuary ; and his luxury and pro- fusion gave rise to extortions, to rapine, and to boundless simony. His artful and arrogant tniatress, the Countess of Turenue, ruled him BO absolutely, that all places in iiis gift, which had escaped the grasp of his relations, were disposed of thronglt her interest ; and she amassed great wealth by the sale of benefices. TJie Romans applied to Clement VI,, as they had applied ta Benedict XII., imploring bim to bring back the sacred seat to Uieir capital ; and they selected Petrarch to he among those who sliauld present their supplication. Our poet appealed to his Holiness on this subject, both in prose and verse. The Pope received him with smiles, complimented liim on his eloquence, bestowed on him the priory of Migliorino, but, for the present, consigned his remonstrauoe to obhvion. In this mission to Clement at Avignon tliere was joined with Petrarch the famous Nicola Gabrino, better known by the name Cola di Rieuzo, who, very soon afterwards, attached the liistory of Rome to his biography. He was for the present comparatively COLA DI KTENZO. xlix HtUe known ; but Petiarcli, thus coming into connection with Ihia extraordinary persoa. was captivated with hia eloqaenoe, whilst Clement compluuentcd Rienzo. admitted liim daily ta his presence, and conversud iviLli him on tlie wretched stale of Rome, the lyrannj of tlie nobles, and the suiferinsa of the people. Cola and Petrarch were the two chiefs of this Roman eunbasBj to tlie Pops ; and it appears that the poet gave precedency to the future tribune on this occasion. They both elaborately exposed Qie tliree demands of the Roman people, namely, that the Pope, aheady the ocknowleiiged patron of Rome, ehonld asaume ihv title and functions of its senaior, in order to extrnguiah the civil wars kindled by the Roman barons ; that he should return hi hia pontihcal chair on the hanks of the Tiber ; and Cliat he should rut permission for the jobilee, instituted by Boniface VIII,, to held every fifty yeai'9, luid not at the end of a century, as its extension to the latter period went far beyond the ordinary dura- tion of human life, and cut off the greater part of the faithiiil from enjoying the inatitulion. Clement pniised bntli orators, and conceded that the Romans shonld have a jabilee every fifty years ; but he excused himself fromgoing to Rome, alleging that he was prevented by the disputes between France and England. " Holy Father," aaid I'etrarch, "how umeh it were to be wished that you liad knoivn Italy before you knew France." " I wish I had," said the Pontiff, very coldly. Petrarch gave vent to hia indignation at the papal court in a writing, entitled, " A Book of Letters without a Title," and in aeversl severe soimets. The " Lit>er Epiatolarum sine Titulo " contains, as it is printed in his works (Basle edit., 16^1), eighteen letters, folminaling aa freely againat papal luxury and corruption as if tliey had been penned by LuUier or Jolin Knox. From (heir contents, we might set down Petrarch as the earliest preacher of the Reformation, if tliere were not, in the writings of Dante, some passages of llie same stamp. If tliese epistles were really circulated at the Idme when they were written, it is matter of astonishment that Petrarch never sufiered from any other fljunes than those of love ; for many honest reformers, who have been roasted alive, have uttered less anti-papal vituperation than OUT poet; nor, although Petrarch would have been startled at a revolntion in the hierarchy, can it be doubted that his writings contributed to the Reformation. It must be remembered, at the same time, that he wrote against the church government of Avignon, and not that of Rome. He compares Avignon with the AssjTisLn Babylon, with Egypt under the mad granny of Cambysea ; or rather, denies that the latter empires can he held as parallels of guilt to the weetem Babylon ; j^ lU^, lie tells us that neither Avemus nor Tartarus can l"- — ^^Aonted with Uiis infernal place. K Z. : 1 Ul'E OT PETHARCH. of a troop of flsliermen," he aaya, "biWff forgotl^ii their origin- Tliey are not contented, like tlie fii«t foUoWeiH of Ciuist, wlio giiined their livelihood bj the Lalce.of Geiinesiireth. with modest hahU&liauB, bat they must build thiam^ ' selves splendid pnlaoea, and go ' about covered with gold un purple. They are fishers of men, who catch a, creduloos mulfa^ tude, nnd devour Ihem for their prey." This " Ijber £[dSto^l larmn " mcludea some descnptions of the delinunheriea of lt0 churolmien, which are too scandalous for translation. They aSR' nevertheless curious relics of history, , In thin year, Gherardo, the brother of our poet, retired, })j Il|^< advice, to the Ciathusijin monastery of Montrieux, which &^ had both visited in the pilgriioage to Baume three yeara bef^uw. Gherai'do had been struck down with affliction by the deatli of % beautiful woman at Avignon, to whom he was devoted. ' Hef name and tustory are quite unlniown, but it may be hoped, if nott conjectured, that she was not married, aud could be moie libenl ' in her affections than the poet's Laura. Amidst all the incidents of tbia period of liis life, the attnoh.-, meot of Petrarch to Laura continued unabated. It appears, -too,, that, since his return from Parma, she treated him with moro than wonted complacency. He passed the greater part of tiM' year 1342 at Av^ou, and went to Vaucluse but seldom and for , abort intervals. In the meantime, love, (hat mahes other people idle, int^rf^ed not with Petrarch's fondness for study. He found an opportunity of commuacing the study of Greelt, and seized it with avid^.- That language had never been totally extinct in Italy ; hot at tn» time on which we are touching, there were not probablj ai^ persons in the whole country acquainted witli it. Dant« haiS quoted Greek authors, but without having known tiie Gre^ . alphabet. The person who favoured Petrarch ivitli this covBtei.' instruction was Bernardo Barlaamo, a Calsbiian monk, who ha^ been three years before at Avignon, having come as envoy baar Andronicus, the eastern £mperor, on pretext of proposing it union between the Greek and Roman churches, but, in reality fi^' the purpose of trying to boiTow money from the Pope for thfl'' Emperor. Some of Pefrareh's biographers dale his commenoa-, ment of tlie study of Greek from the period of Barlaamo'e Just visit Ifl Avignon ; but I am inclined to postpone it to 1342, when Barlaamo returned to the west and settled at Avignon. Petranh. began studying Greek by the reading of Plato. He never i obtained instruction sufficient to make him a good Grecian, bol ' ha unbibed miu:h of .the spirit of Plato &om the labour whidl hs bestowed on his works. He was very anxious t« continue his Onek rea^lings with Barlaamo ; but his stay in Avignon waa very short; and, though it was his interest to detain lum as his pieccplor, Petrarch, finding that he was anxious for a settlement EMBASST TO SAPI.E; in Italy, helped liim to obtain the bishopric of Garaei, Calabria, The neit year was memorable in our poet's life for Oie birth of bis daughter Francesca. That the mother of this daughter WBB the same who presented him with Ms 6on John there can be no doubt. Baldelh diacovers, in one of Petrarch's letters, an obBcors allusion to her, which seems to indicate that she died Enddeiily after the birth of francesca, who proved a comfort to her father in bis old age. The opening of the year 1343 brought a new loss to Petrarch la tlie death of Robert, King of Naples, Petrarch, as we have seen, had occasion to be grateful to this monarch ; and we need not doubt that he was much aSccted by the news of his death; but, when we are told that he repaired to Yaucluse to ben-ail his irreparable loss, we may suppose, inthout uncharitableness, that he retired also with a view to study the expression of his grief no less than to cherish it. He wrote, however, an interesting letter on tlie occasion to Barbato di Sulmona, in which he ver^ sensibly exhibits his fears of the calamitiea which were likely to result irom the death of Robert, adding that his mind was seldom tme in prophecy, unless when it foreboded misfortunes ; and hia predictions on this ocoasioB were but too well verified, Kobert was succeeded by his granddaughter Giovanna, a ^J of sixteen, already married to Andrew of Hungary, her cousin, who was but a few montjis older. Robert by his will had esta- bhshed a conncil of regency, whieh was to continue until Gio- vanna arrived at the age of twenty-five. The Pope, however, made objections to tliin arrangement, alleging that the admini- stration of aifairs during the Queen's minority devolved npon him immediately ss lord superior. But, as he did not choose to assert his right till he should receive more accurate information re- specting the state of the kingdom, he gave Petrarch a commission for that purpose ; and entrusted him with a negotiation of much importance and delicaoy. Petrarch received an additional commission &om the Cardiuai Colonna, Several friends of the Colonna family were, at that time, confined in prison at Naples, and the Cardinal flattered himself that Petrarch's eloquence and intercession would obtain their enlargement. Our poet accepted the embassy. He went to Nice, where he embarked ; but had nearly been lost in his pasE^e. He wrote to Cardinal Colonna the following account of his voyage, "I embarked at Nice, the first maritime town in Italy (he means the newest to Franco). At night I got to Monaco, and the bad weather obliged me to pass a whole day there, which by no means put me into good-humour. The next morning we re- . embarked, and, after being tossed all day by the tempest, we Lanired very late at Port Maurice. The night was dreadfnl ; it ^ Hi 1JFE OV FETRASCH. to the cBstla. and I whs obliged to put up 3 m; bed and sapper appeared tolerabla I determined to proceed by land ; flie perils of the road appeared leas dreadful to ine than those by sea. I left 1117 Bervonta and baggage in the ship, which eel sail, and I remained with only oDe domestic on shore. Sy actrident, upon tha coast of Genoa, I found some Gennan horses which were ibr sale : they were atrong and serviceable. I bought them ; but I was soon afterwards obliged to take ship again ; for war was re- newed between Ibe Pisans and the Milanese, Nature has placed limits to these Stales, tlie Po on one side, and the Apennines on the other. I must have passed between their two armies if I bad gone by land : this obliged me to re-embark at LericL I passed by Corvo. that famous rock, the ruins of the city of Xiuna, ajid landed at Murrona. Thence I went the next day on horse- back to Pisa. Siena, and Rome. My eagemesa to execnts yoor orders has made me a night-trsvelier. contrary to my character and disposition. I would not sleep till I had paid my duty to jonr illustrious father, who is always my hero. I found hiwi tlie same as I left him seren years ago, nay, even as hale and sprightly as when I saw him at Avignon, which is now twelve years. What a surprising man ! What strength of mind and body ! How firm his voice '. How beantifiil his face ! Had he been a few years younger. I shoidd have taken him for Julius Ccesar, or Scipio AMcanus. Rome grows old ; but not its hero. He was half undressed, and going to bed : so I stayed only a moment, but I passed tlia whole of the next day with him. He asked ma a thousand questions about you, and was ranch pleased that I was going to Naples. When I set out &om Rome, he insisted on ac- companying me beyond the walls. " I reached Palestrina that night, and was kindly received by your nephew John, He is a young man of great liopes, and fol- lows the steps of his ancestors. " I arrived at Naples the lllb of October. Heavens, what a change has the death of one man produced in that place ! No one would know it now. Religion, Justice, and Trum are ban- ished, I think I am at Memphis, Babylon, or Mecca. In the stead of a king so just and so pious, a httle monk, fat. rosy, bare- footed, with a shorn head, and Italf covered with a dirty mantle, bent by hypocrisy more than by age, lost in debBUulieiy whilst proud of his affected pover^, and still more of the reu wealth he baa amassed — this man holds the reins of this staggering empire. lu vice and cruel^ he rivals a Dionysiua, an Agathocles. or a Phalaris, This monk, named Roberto, was an Hungarian cordelier, and preceptor of Prince Andrew, whom he entirely sways. He oppresses the week, despises the great, tramples justice under foot, and treats both the dowager arid the reigning Queen with the greatest insolence. The court and mty tremble ■ GioTANKA or KAPLES. iiii i before hini : a monntfiil silence reigns in the public asBembliea, and in priTate they conyerse by whispers. The least Restnre i> pimislied, and (o think is denounced as a crime. To tJua man I have presented the ordera of the Sovereign Pontiff, and your Juat demands. He behaved with incredible insolence. Suaa, or Da- mascua, the capital of the Saracens, would have received with more respect an envoy ftom tlie Holy See. The ftfeat lorda imi- tate hia pride and tyranny. The Bishop of Cnvaillon is the only one who opposes tlua torrent ; hut what can one lamb do in ths midst of so many wolves ? It is the request of a dying Mne alone that makes him endure so wretched a situation. How smaU are the hopea of my negotiation ! but I sball wait with patience ; though I know beforehand the fuiswer they will give me." It is plain from PetrsTch's letter that the kingdum of Naples was now nitder a miserable subjection to the Hungarian faotioa, and that ttie young Queen's situation was anything but enviable. Few characters in modem hisloiy have been drawn in such con- trasted colours as that of Oiovanna, Queen of Naples, She has been charged with every vice, and eictolled for every virtue. Petrarch represents her as a. woman of weak understanding, disposed to gallantry, but incapable of greater crimes. ' Her history reminds us much of that of Mary Queen of Scots. Her youth and her character, gentle and interesting in several re- specls, entitle her to the benefit of our doubts as to her assent to the death of Andrew, Many circumstances seem to me to favour IhoHs doubts, and the opinion of Petrarch is on the side of her acquittal. On his arrival in Naples, Petrarch had an audience with the Qneen Dowager ; but her grief and tears for the loss of her hus- band made this interview brief and fruitless with regard to business. When he spoke to her about the prisoners, for whose release the Cdonnas had desired him to intttcade, her Migesty referred luni to the council. She was now, in reahty, only a state jypher. The principal prisoners for whom Petrarch was commissioned to plead, were the Counts Minervlno, di Lucera. and Pontenza. Petrarch applied to the council of state in their behalf, but he was put off with perpetual excuses. While the affair was in agitation he went to Capua, where the prisoners were confined. " There," he writes to the Cardinal Colonna, " I saw your friends ; and. such is the instability of Fortune, that I found them in chains. They support their situation with fortitude. Their innocence ia no plea in their behalf to those who have shared in the spoils of their fortune. Their only expectations rest upon you. I have no hopes, except from the intervention at. superior power, as any dependence on the clemency of " " " ' out of the queatioa. The Queen Dowager, now 4 ^^Bnnci liV ilFE OF PETEARCK, iiioaf deBolate of ividows, compasaionatca their case, but cannot assist them." Petrarch, wearied with the delays of hnsiness. sought relief in sxcursioDS to the neighbourhood. Of these he writes an account to CardinBl Colonna. "I went to Baife," he says, "with my friends. Barbato and Barrilli. Everything concurred to render tiiia jaunt agreeahla — goodconipany.Uiebeautyof the scenes, and my extreme weariness uf the city I l^d qnitted. This climate, which, as far as I can ' re, must be insupportable in summer, ia delightful in winter. as rejoiced to behold places described by Vii^, and. what is ■e surprising, by Homer before liim. I have seen tlie Lucrino lake, &mou8 for ita fine oysters ; the lake Aventus, with water as black as pilch, and fishes of the same colour swiramiitg in it ; marahea formed by the etanding waters of Acheron, and the mountain whose roots go down to hell. The terrible aspect of this place, the thick shades with which it is covered by a sor- rounding wood, and the pestilent odour which this water exl^ales, oharact^ize it very justly as the Tartarus of the poets. There wants only the boat of Charon, which, however, would ba Tumedessary, as there is only a sliallow ford to pass over. The Slyx and the kingdom of Flnto are now hid irom our sight. Awed by what I had heard and read of these mournful ap- proaches to tlie dead, I was contented to view them at my feet from the top of a high mountain. The labourer, tlie shepherd, and the Bailor, dare not approach them nearer. There are deep caverns, where some pretend that a great deal of gold is con- cealed; covetous men, they say, have been to seek it, but they never return ; whetlier tliey lost their way in the dark valleys, or had a fancy bo visit the dead, being so near their habitations. "I have seen the ruins of the grotto of the famoua Cunuean Bfbil ; it is a hideous rock, Buspended in the Avermim lake. Its situation strikes the mind witli horror. There still remain the hundred mouths by which the gods conveyed their oracles : these are now dumb, and there is only one God who speaks in heaven and on earth. These uninhabited ruins serve as the resort of birds of unlucky omen. Not far oiF is that dreadful cavern which leads, theg »ay. \xi the infernal regions. Who would beheve that, close ta the mansiona of the dead, Nature should have placed powerful remedies for the preservation of life? Near Avemus and Acheron are situated tliat barren land whence rises continuallj a salutary vapour, wliich is a cure for several diseasea, and those hot-springs that vomit hot and sulphureous cinders. I have Been the baths which Nature baa prepared ; but the avarice of physicians has rendered them of doubthil use. This does not. however, prevent Ihem from being visited by tha iuvalidB of all the ueighbouriug towns. These hollowed moun- APrOlNTMENTS AT NAPLES. tains dazzle ua irith tlie lustre of their marbie circles, on which are engraved figures that point out. by tlie positiyn of their liands, tlie part of the body whieh each foiinlaia is proper to " I saw the foundations of that admirable reaervoii of Nero, which was to go fetni Monnt Misemia to the ATemian lake, oud to enclose all the hot waters of BaiEe. " At Pozzuoli I saw the mountain of Falemns, celebrated for its grapes, whence the famous Falemion wine. I saw likewiM those eurayed waves of which Virgil speats in his GcorgicB, on wliich CiesHT put a bridle b; the mole wliich he raised there, and which Augustus finished. It is now called the Dead Sea. I am surprised at the prodi^ous expense the Romans were at to build houses in the most exposed situationi, in order to shelter them from the severities of the weather; for in the hrats of summer the valleys of the Apennines, the mountains of Viierbo, and the woods of CJmbria, furnished them with channing shades; and even the rains of the houses which they built in tliose places are superb." Oui' poet's residence at Naples was evidently disagreeable lo him, in spite of the company of liis friends. BamUi and Barbalo. TiTis friendship with the latter was for a moment overcast by an act of indiscretion on tlie part of Barbalo, who, by dint of impor- tunity, obtained from Petrarch thirty-four lines of his poem of Airica, under a promise that he would show them to nobody. On entering the hbrary of ajiother friend, the first thing thai struct our poet's eyes was a copy of the same verses, transcribed witli a good many blnnderB. Petrarch's vanity on this occasion, however, was touched more than his anjjer — he forgave his friend's treachery, believing it to have onsen from excessive admiration. Barbato, as soma atonement, gave him a little MS. of Cicero, wliich Petrarch found to contjiin two books of the □ralor's Treatise on the Academics, " a work," as he observes, ■* more subtle than useful." Queen Giovanna was fond of literature. She had several con- versations with Petrarch, which increased her admiration of him, After the example of her grandfather, she made liim her chaplain and honsehold clerk, both of which offices roust be supposed to have been sinecureB. Her letters appointing him to them are dated the asth of November, 1343. the very day before that nocturnal stoim of which I shall speedily quote the poet's descrip- Vbltaire has asserted that the young Queen of Naples was the pupil of Petrarch; "but of this," as Dl- Sade remarks, "there is no proof." It only appears that tlie two greatest geniuses of Italy, Boccaccio and Petrarch, were both attached to Giovanna, tutd had a more charitable opinion of tier than most of their contemporaries. 4 l!l LIFE OF PETnABCH. Soon after his return from the tour to Btuse, Petraieh was witness to a violent tempest at Naples, whieh most hiatoriaiis luiTe menduned, as it wtui memorable fur having threatened the entire destraetion of the ci^. The night of the 33th of November, 1343, set in with nncom- monly Etui weather ; but suddenly a tempest rose violentlj. in the direction of the sea, which made the buildings of the city -ahabe to their very foundations. " At the first onset of the tem- pest," Petrarch writes to the Cardimil Colonua, " the windows of the house were burst open. The lamp of mj- cliamber "—he was lodged at a monastery — " was blown out — I was shaken from my bed with violence, and I apprehended immediate death. The 'friars and prior of the convent, who had risen tji pay their cuBtomBry devotions, rushed into my room wltli crucifixes and relics in their hands, imploring the mercy of the Deity. I took courage, and accompanied tliein to the church, where we aJl ptissed the night, expecting every moment b> be our last. I oannot ^escribe the horrors of that dreadful night; the bursts of light- ning and the roaring of thunder were blended with the shriekE at Ae people. The night itself appeared protracted to an unnatural length ; and. when the morning Eirrivod. which we discovered irather by conjecture tlian by any dawning of light, the prieata prepared to oelebrate the service : but the rest of us, not having Jet dared to lift up our eyes towards the heavens, threw onr- flelves prostrate on the ^ound. At length the day appeared — a ^y how like to night ! The cries of the people began to cease * 1 the upper part of the city, but were redoubled from tiie sa-shore. Despair inspired us with courage. We mounted oia s and arrived at the port. What a scene was there ! the Is had suffered shipwreck in tlie very harbour; Uie shore Mas covered with dead bodies, which were tossed about and It^ied against the rooks, wlulat many appeared struggling in the Igoniea of death. Meanwhile, the raging ocean overturned many ttonses from their vary foundations. Above a thousand Neapoli- ^^ ■■ e assembled near the shore to assist, 8" *' the obsequies of their countrymen, I caught from them a mint of resolution, and was less afraid of deatli from tlie con- HderatJon that we should all perish together. On a sudden a ciy of horror was hmrd ; the sea had sapped the foimdations of the ,pound on which we stood, and it was already beginning to give way. We immediately hastened to a higher place, 'v^ere tira acene was equally impressive. The young Queen, with naked &et and dishevelled hair, attended by a number of women, was ^ mshing to the church of the Virgin, cn-iug out for mercy in this inuninent peril. At sea. no ship escaped tlie fury of the tempest; all the vesselB in the harbour— «ne only excepted — sunk hefots our eyes, and every sonl on hoard perished." By the aaaidui^ and solioitationB of Petnirch, the council of QDITS BAPLEB. l»ii Xaples were at last engaged in debating about the liberation of Colonua'a impriBaned fnenda ; enA- ihe affair was nearly brought to a conclusion, when, llie approach of night obliged the membCTs to separate before thej oaine to a final decision. The cause of tbia aeparation is a ead proof of Neapolitan barbarism at that period. It will hardly, at this day, aeem credible that, in the capital of so fiouriBlung a kingdom, and the residence of k brilliant court, such savage licentjousuess could have prevailad. At night, ail tbo streets of the city vrcra beset by tiie young nobility, who were armed, and who attacked all passengers with- out distiiLGtion, so that even the members of the council could not venture to appear after a certain hour. Neither the severity of parents, nor the authorilj of the magistrates, nor of M^cstf itself, could prevent continual combats and assassinutiuns. " Bat can it be Hstonisbing," Petrarch remai'ks. " that anoli dis- graceful scenes should pass in tlie night, when the Neapolitans celebrate, even iu the face of day, games similar to those of the gladiators, and with more than barlmrian cruelty? Human blood is shed here with as httle remorse as that of brute animals ; and, while the people join madly in applause, eons expire in the very sight of their parents ; and it is considered the utmost disgrace not to die with baeoming fortitude, as if tliey were dying in tlie defence of their rehgion and country. I myself, ignorant of these customs, was once carried to the Carbonara. the destined place of butchery. The Queen and her husband, Andrew, were present; the soldiery of Naples were present, and the people flocked thiUier in crowds. I was kept in suspense by the appearance of bo large and brilliattt an assembly, and expected some spectacle worthy of my attention, when I suddenly heard a loud shout of applause, aa for some joyous incident Wnat was my surprise when I hehald a beautiful young man pierced through with a sword, and ready to expire at my feet I Struck with horror, I put spurs to my horse, and fled from the barbarous sight, uttering esecrationa on. the cmel spectators. " This inhuman custom has been derived from their ancestors, and is now so sanctioned by inveterate habit, that their very licentionsneBs is dignifled with the name of UbGrty. " You will cease to wonder at the imprisonment of your friends in this city, where the death of a young man is considered as an innoeeitt pastime. As to myself, I will quit this inhuman country before three days are past, and hasten to you who can make all things agreeable to me except a sea-voyage." Petrarch at length brought his negotiations respecting the prisoners to a saEeesaful issue ; and tliey were released 1^ the express authority of Andrew. Our poet's presence being no longer necesaa^, he left Naples, in spite of the strong solicitations of his fijends fiairiUi and Barbato. In answer to their request that ha 4 I LIFE OF PETHAECH. would remain, he said, " I am but a satellite, and follow tiie directions of a superior planet; quiet and repose are denied to From Naples he went to Parma, where Azzo Correggio, with his wonted affection, pressed him to delay ; and Petrarch accepted the invitation, though he remarked with Borrow that liarmony no lunger reigned among tlie brothers of tlie family. He stopped there, however, for some time, and enjoyed such tranquillity Uiat , he could revise and polish his composiljons. But, in liie foUow- Farma— Azzo had obtained it by the assistance of, the Visoonti, who avenged himself by making war on the Correggios — he invested Parma, and afflicted it \vith a tedious eiece. PetffU'ch, foie- seeine little prospect of pursuing hia atudiea quieUyin aheleagnered city, left the place with a smoU number of his companions ; but, about midn^ht. near Pheggio, a troop of robbers rushed from an amhuscadB, with cries of "Kill 1 kill!" and our handful of travellers, being no match for a host of brigands, fled and Bought to save themselves under favour of night Petrarch, during wis flight, was thrown &om his horse. The shock was so violent that he swooned ; but he recovered, and was remounted by his com- panions. They had not got far, however, when a rioleut sturm of rain and lightning rendered their situation almost as bad aa that from which tliey had escaped, and threatened them with death in another shape. They passed a dreadful night viithout finding a tree or tlie hollow ol' a rock to shelter them, and bad no ex- pedient for mitigating their exposure to the slonu but to turn their horses' hacks to the tempest. When the dawn permitted them to discern a path amidst tho hmshwood, they pushed on to Scandiano, a castle occnpied by the Gonzaghi. friends of the lords of Parma, wliich tbey uappily reached, and where they were kindly received. Here they learned that a troop of horse and foot had been waiting for t^em in ambush near Scandiano, but had been forced by the had weather to withdraw before their arrival ; thus " the pelting of th^ pitiless itonit " had been to Ihem a merciful occunence. Petrarch made no delay here, for he was smarting under tlie bruises &om his iaU, but caused himself to he tied upon his horse, and went to repose at Modena. The next day be repaired to Bologna, where he stopped a short time for surgical assistance, and whence he sent a letter to his friend Barbato. describing his misadventure ; but, unable to hold a pen himself, he was obliged to employ the hand of a stranger. He was so impatient, however, to get bach to Avignon, that he look the road to it as soon as he could sit bis horse. On approaching that city he says he felt a greater soft- ness in the air, and saw with dehgbt tlie flowers that adom tha Clement VT. received Petrorcli with tho highest respect, offered him his choice among several vacant bislioprica, and pressed liint to receive the office of pontifical secretary. He declined the prof- fered Becretoryship, Prizing his independence above all tlungs, excepting Laiira. he remarked to hia inenda that tlui yoke of office would not ait lighter on him for being gilded. In consequence of the dangers he had cncoiinteri?d, a nuaoor of hie death hod spread over k great part of Italy. The age was romantic, with a good deal of the fontastical in its romauce. If the news had been true, and if he had been really dead and buried, it would be difficult to reatrain a, amile at the sort of honours that were paid to hia memory by the less hrain-gifted portion of his admirers. One of these, Antonio di lieccaria. a S'lysician of Feirara, when he onght to have baen moumiug for B own deceased patients, wrote a poetical lamentation for Petrarch's deslh. The poem, if it deserve such a, name, is alle- gorical ; it represents a funeral, in which the following personages parade in procession and grief for the Laureate's deatli. Gram- mar, Rhetoric, and FJiilosophy are introduced with their sererttl attendant. Under the banners of Rhetoric are ranged Cicero, Geoflroy de Vinesauf, and Alain de Lisle. It would recmire all Cicero's eloquence to persnade ua that his comradea in uie pro- cession were quite worthy of hia company. The Nine Muses follow Petrarch's body ; eleven poets, crowned with laurel, sup- port the bier, and Minerva, holding the crown of Petrarch, closea the procession. ■Wb have seen that Petrarch left Naples foreboding disastrons events to Uiat kingdom. Among these, the assassination of Andrew, on the 18th of September, 1345, was one that fulfilled hie angury. The particulars of this murder reached Petrarch on his arriviu at Avignon, in a letter from his friend Barbato. From the sonnets which Petrarch wrote, to all appearance, in 1345 and I34U, at Avignon or Vaucluse, he seems to have suffered from those fluctuations of Laura's favour that naturally aroso I from hia own imprudence. 'When she treated him with affability, he grew bolder in his assiduitJes, and she was again obliged to be more severe. See Sonnets cviii.. cix., and oxiv. During this sojourn, though he dal^s some of his pleasantest letterB from 'Vaucluae, he was projecting to retam to Italy, and to establish himself there, after oidding a final adieu to Frovenoa. When he acquainted his nominal patron, Jolm Colonna, with hia intention, the Cardinal rudely taxed him with madness and in' gratitude. Petrarch frankly told the prelate that he was coa- soious of no ingratitude, since, after fourteen years passed ■' ' ' service, he bad received no provision for hia future livel rered ^^ I liim " J.IFK OF PETRAfiOH. This qnarrelnith the proud churchman is, witli fantastic pastorul imagery, made the subjeat of our poet's eiAih Eacolic. entitled Divortjum. I suspect that Petrarch's &ee language in favour ol the Tribune Bienzo wolb not tincomiecl«d with their ahenation. Not^ritlistanding Petrarch's declared dislike of Avignon, there is erery reason to suppose that he passed the greater part of tlie Tvintor of 134(i in his western Babylon ; aud we Jind fliat he wit- nessed many interesting scenes between the coniUcting cardinals, Hs well as tlie bnlhant fetes that were given to two foreign princes, whom an important affair now brought to Avignon. Ibese were the King of Bohemia, and his son Charles, Prince of Moravia, otlierwise called Charles of Lnxembu:^. The Emperor Lewis of Bavaiia, who had previously made several but Iruitless attempts to reconcile himself witli the Church, on learning the election of Clement YI.. sent ambassadors with unlimited powers to effect a reconcilement; but the Pope proposed conditions eo hard and humbling that the States of the German Empire peremptorily rejected tiiem. On this, his Holiness con- firmed the condemuatio^is wliich he hod already passed on Lewia of Bavaria, and enjoined the Electors of the empire lo proceed to a new choice of lie KJnaof the Romans. "John of Luxem- burg," says Villani, '■ would have been emperor it he had not been blind." A wish 1« secure the empire fur his son and to fiuiher his election, brought him to the Pope at Avignon. Prince Charles had to thank the Pontiff for being elected, bnt first his Holiness made Him sign, on the 23nd of April. 1340, in presence of twelve cardinals and his hrotlier "Willitun Roger, a declaration of which the following is the substance :— I will fulfil all the promisea and confirm all tl my grandfather Henry VII. and of his predecessors. I 'will re- voke the acts made by Lewis of Bavaria. I will occupy no place, either in or out of Italy, belonging to the Church. I will not enter lUime before tlie day appointed for my coronation. I will depart from thence the same dity witli all my attendants, and I will never return without the permission of tlie Holy Sea." He might aa well have declared that he would give the Pope all his power, aa King of Ihe Komans, provided he was allowed the pro- tils; for, in reality. Charles had no other view with regard to Italy than to make money. This concession, which contrasts so poorly with (he conduct of Charles on many other occasions, excited universal indignation in Germany, and a good deal even in Italy. Petrwch exclaimed against it as mean and atrocious ; for, Cathoho as he was. he was not BO milch a churchman as to see without indignation the papal tiara exalted above the imperial crown. In July. 134S. Charles was elected, and. in derision, was called "the Emperor of tlie Priests." The death of liis rival, Lewis of LAURA — HOPES AND FRARS. Bavftrift, however, wlucb happened in t!ie nfixt yoar. prevented livil war, BJid Charles IV. remuined peaceable poBseesoi of '' empire. Among the fetes that were given to Charles, a hall wbe held Avignon, in a gmnd saloon briKhtly iUmninatcd. Thitlter cai all the beauties of the citj' and of Provence. Die Prince, who had heard much of Laura, through her poelioal fiune, sought her ant and saluted her in the French maimer. Petrarch went, according to his custom, to pass the tern of Lent at Vaucluse. The Blehop of CavaiUon. eager to see the poet, persuaded him to visit his recluse residence, and remuned with Petrarch as his gneat for fifteen days, iu hjn own castle, oii tlie summit of rocka, that seemed more adapted for the perch of hirds than the habitation of men. There is now scarcely a wreck of it remaining. It would seem, however, that the Bishop's conversation made this redremeat vei^ agreeable to Petrarch : for it inspired him with the idea of writing a " Treatise on a Sohlaiy Life." Of this work he made a sket<!h in a short time, but did not finish it till tiventj jears afterwards, when he dedicated and presented it to the Bishop of CavaUlon. It is agreeable to meet, in Petrarch's life at the shnt-up valley, with any circumstance, however trifling, that indicates a cheerfnl Btata of mind ; for, indepeudentlj of his loneliness, the inex- lingnish&ble passion for Laura never ceased to haunt him; and his love, strange to saj, had mad, momentary hopes, which only deepened at their departure the retoming gloom of despair. Petrarch never wrote more sonnets on his beloved than during the course of this year. Laura had s fair and discreet female friend at Avignon, who was also the friend of Petranih. aad interested in his attachment. The idead which this amiable confidante enter- tained of hannonizing success in misplaced attachment with honour and virtue raust have been Platonic, even beyond the feel- xags which Petrarch, in reality, cherished ; for, occasionally, the poet's sonnets are too honest for pore Platonism. Tins lady, however, whose name is unknown, strove to convince Lanza tliat ahe ought to treat her lover with less severity. "She pushedLaura forward," says De Sade. " and kept hack Petrarch." One day she reconntfd t« the poet all (he proofs of affection, and after these proofs she said, ■' You infidel, can yon doubt that she loves you? " It is to this fair friend that he is supposed to liave addressed lus 1 the ^H L1^ This year, his Laura was seized with a definxion in her eyes, which made her suffer much, and even threatened her with blmd- ness. This was enough to bringasonnet from Petrarch (his 94th), in which he laments that those eyes which were the sun of liis life should be for ever ecUpsed. He went (o see her during her illness, having now the privilege of visiting her at her own house. 4 1 I Ixii LIFE OF TETRARCH. one day he fonnd her perfectly recovered. WheUier the oph- thalmitL was infeclioae. or aolj endemic, I know not ; hut so it was, that, whilst Laiira.'B eyes got well, those of her lover became affected with the eame defluKion, It struck hie imagination, or, at least, he feigned to beheve poetically, that the malady of her eyes haJl paesed into his ; ajid, in one of his sonuete. he extilts at tiiia welcome ciroum stance.* "1 fixed my eyes," he aaid. "on Laora ; and that moment a aoraetlung inexpressihle, like a shoot- ing star, darted from Ihem to mine. This is a present from love, in which I rejoice, How delightful it is thns to cure the Harling obJEct of one's soul! " Petrarch received some show of complacency from Lanra, which hifi imatfinatiaQ raagniiied : and it was some sort of consolation, at least, that his idol was conrteons to him ; but even this acan:^ Holace waa interrupted. Some malicious person communicated to Laura that Petrarch was imposing upon her, and Uiat he waa secretly addressing his love and his poetry to another lady under a borrowed name. Laura gave ear to the calumny, and, tot a time, debarred liim from her presence. If she had been wholly indifferent to iiim, tliis misunderstanding would have never ex- isted; for jealousy and indifference are a contradiction in tenns. I mean true jealousy. Tliere is a paendo apeciea of it, with which many wives are troubled who care nothing about their husbands' B&ction ; a plant of iU, nature that is reared merely to be a rod of conjugal castigation. Laura, however, discovered at last, that her admirer was playing no double port. She was too reasonable to protract so ui^ust a quarrel, and received him again as usual I have already mentioned that Clement VI. had made Petrarch Canon of Modena, which benefice he resigned in favour of his friend, Luca Christino, and that this year his Holiness had also eonfeired upon him the prebend of Panna. This preferment ex- ited the envy of some persons, who endeavoured to prejudice Ugolino de' Hossi. the bishop of the diocese, against liim. Ugolina W8B of that family which had disputed for the sovereignty of Parma with the Correggios, and against whom Petrarch had Sileaded in favour of their rivals. From this circumstance it waa eaied that Ugolino might be inclined t« hsten to those maJignerB who accused Petrarch of liaviug gone to Avignon for the purpose of nndennining the Bishop in Uie Pope's favour. Petrarch, upon hifi promotion, wrote a letter to Ugolino, strongly repelli:^ this accusation. 'Tills is one of the manhest epistles that ever issued from his pen. ■■ Allow me to assure yon." he says, " tliat I would not exchange my tranquillity for your troubles, nor mypover^for your riches. Do not imagine, however, that I despise your par- ticular situation. I only mean that tltere is no person of yonr naJt whose prefermoni I desire; nor would I accept such prefer- VISITS HIB BKOTHER. Ixiii J mont if it were offered to me. I should not My thus much, if my familiar intercourse with the Pope and the Cardinals had not con- vinced me that happiness in that ranJi: is more a shadow tlian a substance. It was a, memorable saying of Pope Adrian IV.. 'that he knew no one more unhappy tlian the Sovereign PontifT: his throne is a seat of thoma ; his mantle is an oppressive weight i his tiara shines splendidly indeed, but it is not without a devour- ing fire.' If I had been ambitious," continues Petrarch, "I might have been preferred to a benefice of more value than yours ;" and he refers to tlie fact of the Fope having given him His choice of several high preferments. Petrarch passed tlie winter of 1346-47 chiefly at Avignon, and made but few and short excursions to Veucluse. In one of tiicse, at the beginning of 134T. when he had Socrates to keep iiim company at Vancluse, the Bisbnp of CavaiUon invited them to hiB castle. Petrarch returned the following answer i^ " Yesterday we quitted the city of storms to take refuge in tliia harbour, and taste the sweets of repose. We have nothing bat coarse clothes, suitable to the season and the place we live in; hut in this rustio dress we will repair to see you. since you com- mand US : we fear not to present onrselves in this fustio dress ; onr desire to see you puts down every other consideration. Wliat matters it to ns how we appear he^re one who possesties the depth of our hearts? If you wish to see us often you will treat na without ceremony." TTia visits to Vaucluse were rather in&eqnent: business, he says, detained him often at Avignon, in spile of himaelf ; but still at intervals he passed a day or two to look after liis gardens and trees. On one of these occasions, he wrote a pleasing letter to Willism. of Pastrengo, dilating on the pleasures of his garden, which displays liveliness and warmtli of heart. Petrarch had not seen liia brother since the latter had taken the cowl in the Carthusian monastery, some five yeai's before. To that convent he paid a visit in February, 1347, and he was re- ceived like an angel from heaven. He was dehghted to see a brother whom he loved so much, and lo find Bm contented with the life which he had embraced. The Carthusians, who had heard of Petrarch, renowned as the .finest spirit of the age, were Hattared by his showing a strong interest in their condition ; and though he passed but a day and a night with them, they parted so mutually well pleased, that he promised, on taking leave, to send them a treatise on the happiness of tlie life which they led. And he kept his word; for, immediately upon his return to Van- cluse, ha commenced hia essay " Be Otio Seligioso — On the Leisure of the Relif^ous," and be finished it in a few weeks. The ol^ect of tl'ia work is to show the sweets and advantages of their retired state, compared with the agitations of hfe in the world. from these monkish reyeriea Petrarch was awakened by an I LIFE OF rETBARCH. astounding public event, namelj. the eleration of Cola di Bienzd to Oi« tribuneahip of Rome. At Ihe news of this revolution. Petrarch waa animated nith as much enthusiasm as if he had been liiiuholf engaged in the cnterpriae. Under the first impulse of bia feeling he sent an epistolary congratulation and advice toRienzo and the Koman people. Tins letter breathes a strongly republi- can spirit. In later timeB, we perceive tliut Petrarch would have been glad to witness the accomplishment of his darling object — Rome restored to her ancient power and magnificence, even under an imperial govenrntent. Our poet received from the Tribune an answer to his epistolary oration, telling him that it had been read to the Roman people, and received with applauBe. A considerable number of letters passed between Petrarch and Cola. When we look bach on the long connection of Petrarch with the Coloona &mily. his acknowled|;ed obligations, and the attach- ment to Ihem which ho expresses, it may seem, at first sight, Bur- piising that he should have bo loudly applauded a revolution which struck at the roots of their power. But, if we view the matter with a more considerate eye, we shall hold the poet in nobler and dearer estimation for liis pubUc zeal than if he had ciinged to the Colonnaa. His personal attachment to thenit who were quilij as much honoured hj hii friendship as ke was by tliein, was a consideration subservient to that of the honoui of his country and the freedom of his fellow-cittzens ; "for," as he says in ms own defence, " we owe much ta our tHends, still more to our parents, bnt everything to our country." Retiriiig during this year foi' some time to Vaucluse, Petrarch composed an eclogue in honour of tlie Roman revolution, the fifth in lu8 BncohcH. It is entitled " La Pieta Pastorale," and has three speakers, who converse about their venerable mother Rome, but in so dull a manner, that, if Petrarch had never written belter poetry, we should not, probably, at tliis moment, have heard of his existence. In the midst of all this poUtical fervour, the poet's devotion to Laura continued unabated ; Petrarch never composed so manp sonnets in one year as during 134T, but, for the most part, still indicative of sadness and despair. In his llQth sonnet, he If anything were wanting to convince us that Laura had treated him, during his twenty years' courtship, with sufficient rigour, ihia and other such expresaiona would siulSce lo prove it A lover, at tlie end of so long a period, is not apt to speak thus despondingly of a mistress wrbo has been kind lo him. It seems, however, tiiat there were esceptions to her extreme reseive. On one occasion, this year, when they met, and when ^^ LEOlTrHATION OF niS SOX. IXV PetraTcfB eyes were fixed on her in silent reverie, she stretched out her hand to him. and allowed liim to delnin it in his for BOmo time. This intideut is allnded to in bis 21(^th soimet If pnhlie eyenla, however, were not enough to make him foraet his passion for Laura, they were sufBciently stirring to keep his interest in them olive. The heoil of Rienzo was not strong enougli to stand the elevation which he had attained. Petntrch had hitherto regarded the reports of RieDzo's errors as hi/rhly eTcaggerated by his enemies ; bnt the truUi of tliem. at last, became too palpable : though our poet's charituhle opinion of the Tribune conBiderahly ontlasted that of the pobhc at hu^. When the papal court heard of the mulliplied extravagances of Bienzo, they recovered a Uttle from the panic which hiid seized them. They saw that iliey liad to deal with a man nhose head was turned. His summonseB had enraged them ; and they resolved to keep no measures with him. Towards the end of August, 13J7, one of his couriers arrived ivithout arms, and with only the symbol of his office, the silver rod, in his hand. He was arrested near Avignon ; his letters were taken from him and torn to pieces ; and, without being permitted to enter Avignon, he ; hack to Rome with threats and ignominy. This ; appeared atrocions in the eyes of Petrarch, and be wrote a letter to Rienzo on tlie subject, expressing his strongest indignation at the act of outrage. Petrarch piwsed almost the whole of tlie month of September. 134T, at Avignon. On the 9th of this month he obtained let- ters of legitimation for his son Jolm, who might now he about ten years old. John is entitled, in these letters, "a scholar of Florence," The Pope empowers him lo possess any kind of benefice without being obliged, in. future, to moke mention of his illegitimato hirtJi. or of the ohtained dispensation. It appears from these letters that the mother of John was not niBiried. He left his son at Verona under the tuition of Rinaldo ili Villa Franca. Before he had left Provence in this year, for the purpose of visiting Italy, he had announced his intention to the Pope, wlio wislied to retain him as an honour to his court, and offered hini his chotco of several church preferments. Rut our poet, whose onlj" wish was to obtain some moderate henefloe that would leave bnn independent and at hberty, decUned his Holiness'a ragve offers. If we consider that Potrarch made no secret of his good wishes for Rienzo, it may seem surprisingly creditable to vie Pontiff's liberality that he should have even pTofeued any interest in the poet's fortune ; but in a letter to Ids friend Socrates. Petrarch gives us to understand tliat he thought Uifl Pope's professions were merely verbal. He says : " To hold Dot tr^sures to a man who demands a small sum is but a pohte tof refusal." In fact, the Pope offered him some bishopric. M g that he wauled only somi beneficn tlmt ahodd be a If it bo asked what determined him now to leave Avignon, the CDUnter-qneation may be put. what detained liim so long bani Italy ? It appears that he had never paxfed with Ma house and garden at Ptmna; he hated everything in Avignon excepting Laura ; and of the sohtude of Valicliise he was, in all probabihly, already weBry. Before he left Avignon, he went to take leave of Laura. He found her at on assembly which she ofen frequented. " She was seated," he aaya, " among those ladies wlio are generally her companions, and appeared like a beantifal rose surroimded with flowers emaller and le«s blooming." Her air was more touching than usual. She was dressed perfectly plain, and without pearls or garlands, or any gay colour. Though she was not melancholy, she did not appear to have her wonted cheerfulness, but was serious and thoughtful. She did not sing, as usual, nor speak with that voice which used to charm every one. She had the air of a person who fears an evil not yet arrived, " In taking leave of her." says Petrarch, " I sought in her looks for a consolation, of my own sufferings. Her eyes had an expression whioh I had. never seen in them before. What I saw in her tnce seemed to predict the sorrows that threatened me." This was the last meeting that Petrarch aud Laura ever had. Petrarch set ontfor Italy, towards the close of la47. having de- termined to make that country Ills residence for the rest of his life. Upon his arrival at Genoa he wrote to Bienzo. reproaching him for his follies, and exhorting him to return to his farmer manly conduct. Thk advice, it is scarcely necessary t« say, was hke dew and sunshine bestowed upon barren sands. From Genoa he proceeded to Parma, where he received flie lirst information of the catastrophe of the Colonna family, six of whom had fallen in battle with Rienzo's forces. He showed himseli deeply affected by it, and, probably, was so sincerely. But tlie Colonnas, tliough his former patrons, were still the ene- mies of a cause which he considered sacred, much sa it was mis- managed and diwraced by the Tribune ; and his grief cannot ha mpposed to have been immoderate. Accordingly, tlie letter which he wrote to Cardinal Colonna on this occasion is quite in the style of Seneca, and more like an ethical treatise tlion an epistle of condolence. It is obvious that Petrarch slowly and reluctantly parted wifli his good o|iinion of Bienzo. But, whatever sendments he might have ohenshed reapecttng him, he was now doomed to bear ot his tragic fall. The revolution which overthrew the Tribone was accom- pliEhed on the ISUt of December, 134.7. That his fall was, in a ! CARDINAL OF BOD LOG SE. Eome, onee the empress of the world, now pale, witli Bcattered locks and torn garnienta, at your feet, imploi-ing jour presence and support!" Then follows a diEserlation on tlic history and heroes of Bunie, which night be wearisome if transcribed to a modem reader. But the epistle, upon the whole, is manly and elotiuent. A few days after despatching his letter to the Emperor. Pe- tiarch made ajoumty to Verona to see his friends. There he wrote to Socmtcs, In this letter, aft«r enumerating the few friends whom ihe plague had spared, he confesses that he could not flatter himself with tlie hope of being able to join them in Provence. He therefore invokes them to come to Italy, and to settle either at Pai-ma or at Padua, or any otlier place that would suit them. His remaining friends, here enumerattd. were only Barbato of Sulmona, Francesco Itinucci, John Boccaccio, LiehuB, Guido Settimo. and Socrates. Petrarch had returned to Padua, there to rejoin tile Cardinal of Bo\ilogne. The Cardinal came buck tliither at the end of April, 1!I50, and, after dispensing his blessings, spiritual and tem- poral, set out for Avignon, travelling by way of Milan and Genoa. Petrarch accompanied the prelate out of personal attachment on a part of his journey. The Cardinal was fond of his conversa- tion, but sometimes rallied the poet on his entlinsiasm fur hia native Italy. When they reached the territory of Verona, near the lake of Guarda, they were struck by the beauty of the pros- pect, and stopped to contemplate it In Uia distimce were the Alps, topped with snow even in svimmer. Beneath was the lake of Gnarda, with its flux and reflux, like tlie sea, and around them were the rich hills and fertile valleys. " It must be con- fessed," said the Legate to Petrarch, " that yonr eountrj is more beauliftil than ours." The face of Petrarcli brightened up. " But you must agree," continued the Cardinal, perhaps to moderate the poet's exultation, ■■ that ours is more tranquil." " That is true," replied Petrarch, "but we can obtain tranquillity whenever we choose to come to our senses, and desire peace, whereas yoti cannot procure those beauties which nature has lavished on us." Petrarch here look leave of the Cardinal, and set out for Parma. Taking Mantua in hia way, he set out from tlience in the eve- ning, in order to sleep at Luzoia, £ve leagues from the Po. The lords of that city had sent a courier to Mantua, desiring that he would honour them with hia presence at supper. The melting snowB and the overflowing river had made the nmds nearly impassable ; but he reached the place in time to avail Imnself of the invita- tion. HishoBtfi^ve liim amaguiiicentreception. Thesupperwas exquisite, the dishes rare, the wines dehcious, and the c^ompttny full of gaiety. But a small matter, however, will spoil the finest The supper was served up in a damp, low hall, and aU of insects annoyed tlie convivials. To crown their misfor- blXVi UrE OF fETKAECH. tune an annj of frogs, attracted, no doabt. by tlie odour of the meals, crowded aad eroalsed about them, till they were obliged to leave their imfiiiislied supper. Petrarch returned next day for Parma. Vfe find, finm the ori- ginal fragments of hiE poems, bronglit to light by Uboldlni, that he was occupied in retauching Ihem during Ihe suimner which he paseed at ]^rma, wailiug ior the terntinatian of tlie excessive heats, to go to Home and attend the jubilee. With a. tdew to make Ihe journey pleasanter, ho invited Gnglielmo di Paatrengo to ai»:ampany hun. in a letter imtten in Latiit verse. Nothing would have delighted Guglielmo more than a journey to Homo with Petrarch ; hut he viae settled at Veroua, aud could not ab- sent himself from hia family. In lieu of Pastrengi), Petrarch found a res^ ci^table old abbot and Beveral others who were capable of bemg agreeable, and from tlieir experience, useful companions to him oa the road. In the middle of October, ia50, they departed from Florence for Rome, to attend tlie jubilee. On bis way between Boluena and Viterbo, he met with an accident which threatened dangerous consequences, and which he relates in a letter to Boccaccio. " On the 15th of October," he says, " we left Bolsena, a little town scarcely known at present ; but interesting from having been anciently one of the ^ncipol places in EtruriEU Occupied with the hopes of seeing Ilome in five days, I reflected on the chflDges in our modes of thinking which are made by the course of years. Fourteen years ago I repiiired to the great ci^ from sheer curiosity to see its wonders. The second time I came was to receive Ihe laurel. My third and fourth journey had no object but to render sen'ices to my persecuted friends. My present visit nu^ht to be more happy, since its only object is my eternal sal- vation." It appears, however, that me norses of the travellers had no such devotional feelings ; " for," ho contiimes, " whilst my mind was full of these thoughts, the horGe of the old abbot, which was walking upon my left, ticking at my horse, struck me upon the leg. just below the knee. The blow was so violent that it sounded as if a bone was broken. My attendants came up. I lelt an acute pain, which made me. at hrst, desirous of stopping ; but, fearing Ihe dongerousness of the place, I made a virtue of necessi^, and went on to Viterbo, where we arrived very late on the ISth of October. Three days aflerwards they dragged me to Rome with much trouble. As soon as I arrived at Rome, I caJled for doctors, who found tlie bone laid bare. It was not, however, thought to be broken ; though the shoo of the horse had left its impression." However impatient Petrarch might be to look once more on the beauties of Rome, and to join in the jubilee, he was obhged to keep his bed for many days. The concourse of pilgrims to this jubilee was immense. One THE BOMAN JUBEf^E. Uxvu can scarcely credit lie oonmion account that there were about a million pilgrims at one time assembled in the great ciPr- "Wo do not perceive," says Petrarch. "■ Uiat the plague has depopulated the world." And, indeed, if tliis computation of the congregated pilgrims approaehes the trath, wo cannot but suspect that tlie alleged depopulation of Europe, already mentioned, must have been exaggerated. ■' The crowdB," he continues. " dimiiiiBhed a little during summer and the gathering-jn of the harvest ; but re- commenced towarda the end of the year. The great nobles and ladies &am beyond the Alps come the last." Many of the female pilgrims arrived by wny of tlie marshes of Ancona, where Bernardino di Roberto, Lord of Ravenna, waited for them, and scanditl whispered that his asaiduities and those of his suite were hat too successful in seducing them. A contcmpo- raiT aulhor, in allusion to tlie circumstance, remarks (hat joumeya and indulgences are not good for young persons, and that tlie fair ones hod better have remained at honie, since the vessel that stays in port is never shipwrecked. The strangers, who came from all countries, were for the most part unacquainted with the Italian language, and were obliged to employ interpreters in making their confession, for the eaJie of obtaining ateolution. It was ibund that many of the pretended interpreters were either imperfectly acquainted with the language of the foreigners, or were knaves in collusion with the priestly confessors, who made the poor pilgiims confess wliatever they chose, and pay for their sins accordingly. A better subject for a scene in comedy could scarcely be imagineil. But, to remedy this abuse, penitentiaries were established at Rome, in which the confessors understood foreign languages, ^^B -The number of days fised for the Roman pilgrims to visit the ^^Bnitcbes was thirty ; and fifteen or ten for the Italians and other ^^Bliigers, according to the distance of the places irom which they ^**'Petrarch says that it is inconceivable how the city of Rome, whose adjacent fields were uutilled. and whose vineyards had been fronen the year before, conld for twelve months support such a conS.aencc of people. He extols the hospitahty of the citizens. and the abundance of food which prevailed ; but ViUani and others give us, more disagreeable accounts — namely, tliat the Roman citizens became hot^l-keepera, and charged exorbitantly for lodgings, and for whatever they sold. Numbers of pilgrims B thus necessitated to live poorly; and this, added to their e and the heats of summer, produced & great mortality, soon as Petrarch, relieved by surgical skill &om (lie wound ia leg, was allowed l» go out, he visited all the churches. 'Vr having performed his duties at (he .jubilee, Petrarch re- d to Padua, taking the road by Arezzo, the tawn which had BlionQor of hia birth. Leonardo Aretino says that his feUow-j' r Issriii life of tetraech. towBEanea ci'owdcd around him witti d^ght, ood receiretl 1 will* Bueh honours as could have been ptiid only to a Idng. Inlho Rtune month of December. ISfiO, he discovered a tre which made tiini happier than a liing. Perhaps . a royal head ! might not have equally valued it. It wbb a copy of QiiintOiMi'B ( work .'' Be InBtitutione Oratoda.'' which, tiU then, had escaped \ all-his reaearchos. On the very day of Ule discovery he wrote ft J letter to Quiiitilian, according ta Ins fantastic custom of episMi ^ Jizing the ancients. Some days afterwards, he left Arezzo to ' tnrsue his journey. The principal persona of the tiiwa took lave of liim pubUclj at hia departure, after pointing out to Hhii' the hpuse in which he was bom. "Itwaaaamali house," M^; Petiw^h, " befitting an exile, as my father was." They told huA that the prppiietore would Lave. made some alteratjona in it; biit the tjiwn had interposed and prevented them, determined that • the place should remain the same as when it was first consecrated ( by his.birth. The poet related wh^t had been mentioned ta a I young man who wrote to him expressly to ask whether ArezniS J couU ire ally- biHkst of being h& birthplace, Petrarch added, tbat il Arezeo had done more for him as a stranger than Florenco Bsift. 'I citizen. . In truth, his family was of Fluience ; and it was oj^.jM by accident IJiat he waa bom at Arezzo. He (hen went to ;£lb> B rence, where he, made but a short stay. There he fooad'tifc^ friends still alarmed about the accident which had befallen h' in his journey to fionje, the news of which he had commnnicBl Petrarch went on to Padua. On approaching it, he pereeiK^ a jmiveTesJ mourning. . Ho soon learned the foul catadtrtqihai which had deprived tlie city of one of its best moslers, y ' Jacopq di (Jarrora had received into his house his conain Giltt'' lielmo. Though the latter was known to be an evil-dispoeed M& son, he was treated with kindness by Jacopo, and ate at hia tabid. On the 21st of December, whilst Jucopo was sitting at suppen in themidstof his friends, his people and hia giiiii-da, themonBter ' Guglielmo plunged a dagger into liis breast with snoh celwity^ tliat even tliose who were nearest could not ward off the blow; Horror-struck, they lifted liico up, w]iilst others put liie asBOEiBiit ' to instant death. > The fate of Jacopo Carrara gave Tetrarch a dislike for PaduK, ' and his recoHectiona of Vanoluse beut his unsettled mind .to re- | turn tj] its Eolitude ; but he tarried at Padua during the nintcf. | Hero ,I;e Bpeut a great deal of his time fiith Xldebrondo Conti. i bishw of Umt cil?, B man of rank and merit. One day, as fa4 wap, dining: at the Bishop's palaee. two CarthuBiEui monks were- i announced-:, they were well received by tlie Bishop, as he wpA i partiai-to tieir order. He asked. them what brought thaa to W PaduB, "We are going," lliay.said. "to Treviao, by thadirectJoa-'H of our general, there to remain and establish a monastery." Hda- HIS BROTHER.— DOGE ANDREA DANDOLO. IzziZ brando asked if they knew Father Gherardo, Petrarch's brother. The two monks, who did not know the poet, gave the most pleasing accounts of his brother. The plague, they said, having got into the convent of Mon- trienx, die prior, a pious but timorous man, told his monks thai flight was the only course which they could take : Gherardo an- swered with courage, " Go whither you please ! As for myself I will remain in the situation in which Heaven has placed me." The prior fled to his own country, where deatli soon overtook him. Gherardo remained in the convent, where the plague spared him, and left him alone, after having destroyed, within a few da3rs, thirty-four of the brethren who had continued with him. He paid them every service, received their last sighs, and buried them when death had taken off those to whom that office be- longed. With only a dog left for his companion, Gherardo watched at night to guard the house, and took his repose by day. When the summer was over, he went to a neighbouring monas- tery of the Carthusians, who enabled him to restore his con- vent. While the Carthusians were making this honourable 'mention of Father Gherardo, the prelate cast his eyes from time to time upon Petrarch. " I know not," says the poet, " whether my eyes were filled with tears, but my heart was tenderly touched." The Carthusians, at last discovering who Petrarch was, saluted him with congratulations. Petrarch gives an account of this interview in a letter to his brother himself Padua was too near to Venice for Petrarch not to visit now and then that city which he called the wonder of the world. He there made acquaintance with Andrea Dandolo, who was made Doge in 1343, though he was only thirty-six years of age, an ex- traordinary elevation for so young a man; but he possessed extra- ordinary merit. His mind was cultivated; he loved literature, and easily became, as far as mutual demonstrations went, the personal friend of Petrarch ; though the Doge, as we shall see, excluded this personal Mendship from all influence on his pohti- cal conduct. The commerce of the Venetians made great progress under the Dogeship of Andrea Dandolo. It was tJien that they began to trade with Egypt and Syria, whence they brought silk, peans, the spices, and otiber products of the East. This prosperity excited the jealousy of the Genoese, as it interfered with a commerce which they had hitherto monopolized. When the Venetians had been chased from Constantinople by the Emperor Michael Paleo- logus, they retained several fortresses in the Black Sea, which enabled them to continue their trade with the Tartars in that sea, and to frequent the fair of Tana. The Genoese, who were masters of Pera, a suburb of Constantinople, would willingly have joined the Greeks in expelling their Italian rivals altogether from thd IXSX LIFE OF FETP.ARCIT. ¥ ^^M Elack Sea; and privateering hostilities actually c-ommeaced ba ^^1 tivcen \he two republics, which, in 1^50, exlended to the serious ^H aspect of a national war, ^H The winter of tlmt year was passed on both siiiea in prepara- ^^H tions. The Venetians sent amhassadars to the King of Arragon, ^H who hod Bome difl'orences wijb tlie Genoese about the Island of ^^M Sardinia, and to the Bmperor of Constantinople, who saw with ^^^ any sensation, in tlie world but dehgbt the flag of Genoa tljing ^^^ over the walls of Pera, A league hetween those three powers ^^m was quichly concluded, and their grand, common object was to ^H^ destroy the city of Genoa. ^H* It was impossible that these great movements of Venice ahonld be unltnowu at Padua. Petraj'ch. ever zealous for tlie common good of Italy, saw with pain the kindling of a war which could not but be mtal to her, and thought it his duty to open his heart to the Doge of Venice, who had shown him so much fiiendship. I He addressed to him, therefore, the following letter from Padua, on the Uth of March, 1351;— " My Jove for my country forces me to break silence ; the good- ness of yonr character encourages me. Can 1 hold my peace -whilst I hear the symptoms of a coming stonn that menaces my beloved county? Two puissant people are flying to arms : two flourishing cities are agitated by the approach of war. These cities are placed by nature like the two eyes of Italy ; the one in the Bonth and west, and the other in the east and north, to domi- nate over the two seas that surround them ; so that, even after the deatruollDn of the Koman empire, this beautiful country was Btm regarded as the queen of the world. I know that prood nations denied her the empire of the land, but who dared ever to dispute ivith her the empire of the sea? ■' I shudder t« think of our prospects. If Venice and Genoa turn their victorions arms against each other, it is all over with ns ; we lose our glory and the command of the sea. In this calamity wa shall have a consolation wliich we have ever had. namely, that if our enemies rejoice in our calamities, they cannot at least derive any glory from them. " In great affairs I have always dreaded the connsels of the young. Youthful ignorance and inexperience have been the min of many omphes, 1, therefore, loam with pleasure that you have named a council of elders, lo whom you have confided this affair. I expected no less than this from your wisdom, which is far be- yond your years, I "The state of your repuhhc distresses me. I know the dif- ference that there is between the tumult of arms and the tron- qnilU^ of Pamaasua. I know that the sounds of Apollo's lyre uncord hut iU with tlie trumpets of Mars ; but if yon have aban- doned Pamaasua, it has been only tfl fulfil the duties of a good citizen and of a vigilant chief. I am persuaded, at the same tune, I^TTEB TO THE DOOE OF VENJCB, Qiat m the midat of arms you think of peace ; that jam would re- gard it aa a triumph for yoiirsetf. ftnd the mtiSteBt blessing yon could procure for your couutrj. Did not Uaniiibal hiiueelf eaf that a. sure peac« was more valuable than a hoped-for victory ! If trutii has extorted Uiia confesdon from the most wariike man that ever lived, is it not plain Uiat a pacific num ought to prefer peace even to a certain victuij ? Who does not know llkat peace IB the grea.leBt of blesaiiigs, and that war is th« souroe of all '■ Do not deceive yonrself ; yon hare to deal witi a keen per^le who know not what it ia to be conquered. WooM it aot he better to tranafor the war to DamasfiUB, to Suaa, or to Memphia? Think besides, that those whom you are jjoisff \a attack ore your brothers. At Thebes, of old, two brothers fought to their mutual destruction. Most Italy reuew, in our days, so atrocioos h spectacle? " Let Dfi examine what may be tlie results of this war. Whether JOB are conqueror or are conquered, one of tlie eyes of Italy will necesaajily be blinded, and the othu' much weaki^ed : for it would be folly to flatter yourself with tlie hopes of conquering so atrong on enemy wiQiout mucli effustun of blood. '"Brave men, powerfiil people ! (I speak here to both of you) what is your object — to what do you aspire ? What wiB be the | end ol your dissensions? It is not the blood of the Carthagininna or the NumantianB that yon are about to spill, bat it is Italian blood; the blood of a people who would be the first to start irp and nSer to expend their blood, if any barbarous s&lkin were to attempt a new irruption among uh. la that event, their bodiea would be the bucklers and ramparts of our conuoott country; they would Uve. or they would die with us. Ought the pleasure of avenmng a dight offence to carry more weight with you than the pnbEc good and your own safety? Let revenge be the delight of women. Is it not more glorious for men to forget an injury ftas to avenge it ? to pardon an enemy than lo destroy liim ? " If my feeble Toice could make itself heard among those grave men who compose your council, I am persuaded that you would not only not reject the peace which is offered to you, but go to meet and embrace it dosely. so that it might not escape you. Conanlt your wise old men who love the republic; they will speak Hob same Lmffiisfie to yuu that I do. " You, my lord, who are at the head of the ooancil, and who govern your republic, ought to recollect that the gloiy or tJie shame <n these events will fall principally on you. Raise your, self above yourself: look into, examine everything with attention. Compare the auccesa of the war with the evils which it brini^ in its train. Weigh in a lutlBnce the good effects and the e and you will say with Hannibal, that an hour is sufficient to Blioy the work of many yeara. nisgenenlfy 1 Ixxxii LTPE OP PETHABCH. '■ The renown of your conntty ia more ancient than ia ( believed. Several aeea before the city of Venice was bnSt, I find ' not only the name of the Venetians famous, bnt also that of one i of their dukes. Would jou submit to the caprices of fortune a I glory acquired for bo long a time, and at so great a cost? Yob will render a great service to your republic, if, preferring her , safe^ to her glory, you give her incensed and insane populace prudcut and useful counsels, instead of offering them briUiant ' and specious projects. The wise say that we cannot purchase a virtue more precious than what is bought at the expense of glory. If yoa adopt this axiom, your character will be handed down to posteri^, like that of the Duke of the Venetians, to whom I have alluded. All the world will admire and love you. I " To conceal nothing from you, I confess that I have heard , with grief of your league wiUi the King of Arragon. What ! shall IlaliauB go and implore succour of barbaroua kings to de- stroy Italians? You will say, perhaps, that your enemies have , set you the example. My answer is, that they are equally cul- pable. According to report, Venice, in order to satiate her rage, calls to her aid tyrants of the west ; whilst Genoa brings in those □f the east. This is the source of our calamities. Carried away by the admiration of strange things, despisina, I know not why. I the good things which we find in our on-n climate, we sacrifice sound Italian failh to barbarian perfidy. Madmen that we are, { we seek among venal souls that which we could find among our own brethren, " Nature has given us for barriers the Alps and the two seas. | Avarice, envy, and pride, have opened these natural defences to j the Cimbri. tiie Huns, the GotJis, the Gauls, and the Spaniards. I How often have we recited the words of Virgil : — " Athens and Lacedemon had between tJiem a species of rival- ship similar to yours : but their forces were not by any meaoa BO nearly balanced. Lacedemon had an advantage over Athens, which put it in the power of the former to destroy her rival, if she had wished it ; but she rephed, ' God forbid that I should pull out one of the eyes of Greece !' If tliis beautiful sentiment came from a people whom Plato reproaches with their avidity for conquest and dominion, wiiat still softer reply ought we not to expect from the most modest of nations ! " Amidst the movements which agitate you, it is impossible for me to he tranquil When I see one party cutting down trees to eonstruot vessels, and others sharpening their swords and darts. I should ihinb myself guU^ if I did not seize my pen, which is my only weapon, to coimsel peace. I am aware with what cir- oomspection we ought to speak to our superiors ; but the love of I f Boccaccio's mission to him fhom floresce. Ixxxiii battmla. it nil! sen "Throwing myself at the feet af the chjefs of two nations who are going to war, I say tu them, with t«ai^ in my eyes, ' Throw , awair your arms ; give one another the embrace of peace ! nnite j jonr hcBits and your colours. £y this means tJie ocean and the Euxine shall b« open to you. Vour ships will arriTe in safety at 1 Tapnibatie, at the Fortunate Isles, at Thule, and even at the' 1 poles. The kings and their people will meet you with respect ; the XndiaTi. the Kngliahman. the ^UuDpian. will dread you. M^ I peace reign among you, and may you have nutlilng to fenrf' ^ Adiea '. greatest of dukes, and best of men ! " This letter produced no effect. Andrea Dandolo, in his euHwei to it, alleges the thousand and one afironta and outm^fes which Venice had suffered horn Genoa. At the same time he pays a I hi^ compliment to the eloqnence of Petrarch's epistle, and says that it is a production wliich could emanate only Irom a mind ;' scared by the divine Spirit. During the spring of this year, 1351. Petrarch put liis L finish to a canzone, on the snbject etill nearest to liis heart, the death of his Laura, and to a sonnet on the same snhject. In April, his attention was recalled from visionary things by the arairal of Boccaccio, who was sent by the repubho of florence to announce io him the recall of his family to tiieir native land, and Uie reatoration of his family fortune, as well as to invito him to the home of hia anceHtora, In (lie name of the Florentine repubUc. The invitation was conveyed in a long and flattering letter ; bat it appeared, from the very contents of this epistle, that tiie Flo- raudnee wished our poet's acceptance of their offer to be as ad- vantageous to themselves as to him. They were estahhshing a, UniTerai^, and they wished to put Petrarch at lie head of it PebUToh rephed in a letter apparently full of gratitude and satis- hctioii. but in which he by no means pledged himself to be the pjiniutsiarch of their new college ; and, agreeably to his original intention, he set out from Padua on the Srd of May, 1351, for Provence. Petrarch took the road to Vicenza, where he arrived at son- set He hesitated whether he should stop there, or take odvan- taso of the remainder of the day and go ^Lrther. But. meetiug wiih Gome interesting persons whose conversation beguiled him. i^t came on before he was aware how late it was. Their con- reraation. in the oourae of the evening, ran upon Cicero. Many wiTc the eiilogiea passed on the great old Roman; hut Petrarch, afti^r ]in\ing lauded his divine genius and eloquence, said som tiling ahi'iu^ his inconsistency. Every one was astonished at o C;a boldness, but particularly a man, venerable for his age ai nledge, who was on idolater of Cicero. Petrarch argued f a 1 USK OF PETRARCH. gained groimil in later agea. At least, it ia bow agreed that Cicero's polidcal life will not bear throughout nn unchaiitable iriTestiga&Dii, though the pohticsl difficulties of Ms time demand abundmt allowance. Petrarch departed next raoraing for Verona, where he reckoned on remaining only for a few days ; hut it waa impossible for him to resist Oxe importimities of Azzo Correggio, Guglielmo di Fas- trengo, and bis other Menda, By them hewaa detained dming the remainder of the month. "The reqneslB of a friend," he said, on thia occasion, '■ are always chains upon me." Petmrch arrived, for the sixth time, at Vauclnaa on the a7th of June, 1361. He first onnomieed Imosolf to PMUp of Cabassolea, Bishop of Cavflillon, to whom he had already sent during- hia Journey, some Latin verges, in which he ^aks of Vaucluse as the most chajToing place in the universe. " When a cliiH," he Bays, " I visited it, and it nourished mj joutl in its sunny bosom. "When grown to manliood. I piissed some of the plensaatest jeare of my life in the shut-up valliiy. Grown old, I wish to pass in it my last years." The sight of his romantio hermitage, of die capnoiona grotto which bad listened to his sighs for Laura, of Mr garden, utd of Mb hbrarr. was, nndouhlediy, sweet to retrarch ; and, fliongh he had piomiaed Boccaccio to come back to Italy, he had not tiie fortitude to determine on a sudden return. He writes In oaa at his Itfllian friends, " When I ksft my native country, I promised to return to it in ^e autumn; but time, place, and circumstanees. often oblige ua to change our resolntions. As far as I can judge, it will be necessary for me to remain here for two years. My friends in Italy, I trust, will pardon me if I do not keep my promise to them. The inconstancy of the humaji mind must «erve tis my excuse. I have now experienced (hat cliange of place is Hie only thing which can long keep from ua the ennici that is inseparable from a sedentary life." At Ute same time, whibt Vanduse threw recoUodionB t«id»r, though melancholy, over Petrarch's mind, it does not appear that Avignon bad assumed any new charm in his absence : on the contrary, he found it plunged more than ever in luxury, wanton- nesB. and gluttony. Clement VI. had replenished the church, at the request of the French king, with numbers of cardinals, mnity of whom were so young and licentious, that tlie most scandalous abominations prevailed amongst them. " At this time," says Matthew Villsni. "no regard was paid oitlier to learning or TOtue ; and a man needed not to blush for anything, if he oould cover liis heftd with a red hat Pielro Riiggiero, one of Ihone exemjilnry new cardinals, was only eiilbleen years of age." V^ trnrch veated his indiEnation on this oecaeion in iiis seveuth HIS SON. IXZXV eelogae, which is a satire upon the Pontiff and his cardinals, the interlocutors being Micione, or Clement himself, and Epi, or the city of Avignon. The poem, if it can be so called, is clouded with allegory, and denaturalized with pastoral conceits ; yet it is worth being explored by any one anxious to trace the first fountains of reform among Catholics, as a proof of church abuses having been exposed, two centuries before the Beformation, by a Catholic and adiurchman. At this crisis, the Court of Avignon, which, in fact, had not known very well what to do about the affairs of Rome, were now anxious to inquire what sort of government would be the most advisable, after the fsdl of Rienzo. Since that event, the Cardinal Legate had re-established the ancient government, having created two senators, the one from the house of Colonna, the ouier from that of the Orsini. But, very soon, those houses were divided by discord, and the city was plunged into all the evUs which it had suffered before the existence of the Tribuneship. " The com- munity at large," says Matthew Villani, " returned to such con- dition, that striangers and travellers found themselves like sheep among wolves." Clement VI. was weary of seeing the metropolis <rf Christianity a prey to anarchy. He therefore chose four cardi- nals, whose united deliberations might appease these troubles, and he imagined that he could establish in Rome a form of 0)yemment that should be durable. The cardinals requested Petrarch to give his opinion on this important affair. Petrarch wrote to them a most eloquent epistle, full of enthusiastic ideas of ilie grandeur of Rome. It is not exactly known what effect he produced by his writing on this subject ; but on that account we are not to conclude that he wrote in vain. Petrarch had brought to Avignon his son John, who was still ▼erjr young. He had obtained for him a canonicate at Verona. Thither he immediately despatched him, with letters to Guglielmo di Pastrengo and Rinaldo di ViUa Franca, charging the former of these friends to superintend his son's general character and man- ners, and the other to cultivate his understanding. Petrarch, in his letter to Rinaldo, gives a description of John, which is neither ▼ery flattering to the youth, nor calculated to give us a favourable opinion of his father's mode of managing his education. By his own account, it appears that he had never brought the boy to confide in him. This was a capital fault, for the young are naturally ingenuous ; so that the acquisition of their confidence is the very first step towards their docility; and, for maintaining parental authority, there is no need to overawe them. " As far as I can judge of my son," says Petrarch, " he has a tolerable under- standing ; but I am not certain of this, for I do not sufficiently loiow mm. When he is with me he always keeps silence; whether my presence is irksome and confusing to him, or whether shame for his ignorance cbses his lips. I suspect it is the latter. IxSXri UFE OF PETRiKOH. for I perceive too clearly hia ontipathy to lettera. I never saw it etronger in any one ; he dreads and detests nothing hq mueh as a book ; yet he was broiiglit np at PariDB. Verona, and Padua. I Bometiines direct a few sharp pleasantrioa at this disposition. ' Take care.' I say, ' lest you should eclipse your neighbour, Virgil,' Wlien I talk in this manner, he looks down and hlushea. On this behaviour bIodo I buHd my hope. He is modest, and has a dooihty which renders him sasceplible of every impresaion." This is a melancholy confession, on the part of Petrarch, of his own incompetence to make tiie moat of his son's mind, and a coufesHion the more convincing that it is made unconsciously. In the summer of 13d2, the people of Avignon witnessed the impresBive spectacle of the &F-fained Tribune Bienzo entering their city, but in a style reiy different from (he pomp of his IsM processions in Home, He had now for his attendants only two archers, between whom he walked »a a prisoner. It is necessary to say a few words about the circumstances which befell Rienzo after his fall, and which bronght b'l" now to the Pope's tribunal Petrarch says of him at tliis period, " The Tribune, formedy BO powerful and dreaded, but now the most nnhappj of men. haia been bronght hither as a prisoner. I praised and I adored him. I loved his virtue, and I adwired Ms courage. I thought that Rome was about to resume, under him, the empire she formerly held. All ! bad he continued as he began, he would have been praised sind admired by the world and oy posteri^. On entering the city," Petrarch continues, ''he inquired if 1 was there. I knew not whether he hoped for succour from me, or what I could do to serve him. In tlie process against him they accuse bim of nothing criminal. They cannot impute to liim having joined with bad men. All that they charge h'm with is en attempt to give freedom to the republic, and to make Rome the centre of ita government. And is this a crime worthy of the wheel or the gibbet ? A Roman citi/en afflicted to see bis country, wliioh ia by right the mistress of the world, the slave of the vilest of Clement was glad to have Rienzo in hia power, and ordered him into his presence. Thither the Tribune came, not in the least disconcerted. He denied the accusation of heresy, and in- sisted that his cause should be re-examined ivith more equity. The Pope made him no reply, but imprisoned him in a bi^ tower, in which he was chained by the leg to the floor of ui apartment. In other respects he was treated mildly, allowed books to read, and suppUud with dishes from the Pope's kitchen. Rienzo begged to be allowed an advocate to defend him ; hia request wsa retiised. This refusal enraged Petrarch, who wrote, according to De Sude and others, on this occasion, that mysterioua letter, which is found in Ills '' Epistles without a title." It is tin HIS "INVZCTIVE8 AGAINST PHI8I0IAKS." Ixsxvii sppeal to the Romans in behalf af their Tribune. I must confess that eyen the autiioritj of De Sade do^a not entirely eradicate from my mind a auspiciua 03 tii the EpuriousnesH of tiiis infliun- laatoij letter, from the cooseq^aeiiceB of which Petrarch could hardly have eacaped with impunity- One of die circumstonceB that detAined Petrarch at ATtgnon was the iUness of the Pope, which retarded his decision on aeyeral important affairs. Clement VI. was fast approaching to hia end, and Petrarcli had little hope of his convalescence, at least in the hands of doctors. A messase from the Pope produced an impru- dent letter from the poet, m. which he saya, " Holy lather I I shudder at the account of your fever ; but. lielieve me, I am not a flatterer, I tremble to see your bed always surrounded with phy- Bioians. who are never agreed, because it would be a reproach to the second to timik like the ^rat, ' It is not to be doubled,' aa Pliny says, ' that physicians, desiring to raise a name by their discoveries, make experiments upon us, and tlius barter away oui Vves. There is no law for punishing their extreme ignorance. They learn their trade at our expense, they make some progress in the art of curing ; and they alone are permitted to murder with impunity.' Holy fotlier! consider as your enemies the crowd of ph3^uians who beset you. It is in our age that we behold verified the prediction of the elder Cato, who declared that corruption wouM be general when tlie Greeks should hare transmitted the sciences to Rome, and, above all, the science of healing. "Whole natdons have done without this art The Rocoan republic, accord- ing to Pliny, was without physicians fur eix hundred years, and was never in a more flourishing condition." The Pope, a poor dying old man, conununioated Petrarch's letter immediately to bis pliysicians, and it kindled in the whole fkcul^ a flame of indignation, worthy of being described by Moliere. Petrarch made a general enemy of the physicians, though, of course, tlie weakest and the worst of tliem were the first to attack him. One of them told him, " You ore a foolhardy man, who, contemning the physicians, have no fear either of the fever or of the malaria," Petrarch replied, " I certainly have no assurance of being free from the attacks of either ; but, if I were attacked by either, I should not tli'"Tr of calling in physicians." His first asaailant was one of Clement's own physicians, who loaded him with scurrility in a formal letter. These circumstancea brought forth our poets "Four Books of Invectives against Physicians." a work in which he undoubtedly exposes a great ' ' -'■---■ ' - ' ' -^' it the same time, I ground than his IiT the last year of his life, Clement VI. wished to attach o ^^npet permanently t*) his nouit by niKking liim his secretary, and ^^1 ^^^brarch, after much coy refusal, wils at last induced, by tha ^^^H IsxSviii LIFE Of PE1E4HC soliritations (rf hia Mends, to Mcept tiie office. But beibraha' conld enter npon it an objection to Iub filling it was nnexpeeted^ Btartt^d. It naa discavered that his atyle was loo lofty to suitlbe humility of the Goman Cltarch. The ekvstion of PetrHich'» ttjia might he obvions, hot certainly tha humih^ of tiie Chnrch W» A br^t disravery. Petrarch, sccordiiig to hia own account, so far from promigiiig to bring down lus rougniloquence to a lerel vitli cfaaich hunulity, »eized the objection aa an eKcuae for dechning the secretaryBliip. He compares hia joy on this occasion to that of a prisoner finding the gates of his prison thrown open. Ha returned to Vaueluse, where he waited impatiently ior the atttunm, when he meant to retam to Italy. He tiius describes, in a leUa to his dear Simonidea, tiie manner of life which he there led : — " I make war upon my body, which I regard as my eoemy. My eyes, that have made me commit so many foUies, are wdl fixed on a safe object. They look only on a woman who is vitliered, dork, and ennbumt. Her sool, however, is as white ■■ her complexion is black, and she has the air of being bo little cm- tcions of her own appearance, tliat her homeliness may be said tD become her. She passes ^rtiole dajs in the open fields, when the BrBHshopprs can scaicely endure the sun. Her tanned hide braves the heats of the dog-star, and, in the evening, she anivu as fresh as if she had just risen &om bed. She doea all the -wtA of my liouse, begides taUng care of Ler husband and children and attending my guests. Sha seems occupied with everybody but herself. At night she sleeps on vine-brauches ; she eats only black bread and roots, and drinks water and vinegar. If yo» were to give her anjtlung more dehcate, she would be the worse for it : such is the force of habit. " Though I have still two fine suits of clothes, I never wear them. If you saw me, you would take me for a laboorer or a Bheplierd, tiiough I was once bo tastoful in my dress. The times are changed ; the eyes wliich I wished to please are now shut ; and, per£ipB. even k they were opened, they would not now have tiie same empire over me." In another tetter from Vauduse, he says : " I rise at midni^ ; I go out at break of day; I study in the fields as in ray libwy; I read, I write. I dream; I stru^le against indolence. InnOT, and pleasure. I wander all day among the arid moontaina, the fresh valleys, and the deep caverns. I walk much on the banks of the Sorgue, where I meet no one to distract me. I recall tha past, I deliberate on the hiture ; and. in this cont^mplatjon, I find a resoDTCB against my solitude." In the same letter he avowa that he could acooi^tom himself to any habitation in Uie world, except Avignon, At this tune he was meditating to recross the Alps, Early in September, 1352, the Cardinal of Boul:^ne departed for Paris, in order to negotitite a peace between the Kings of HT DEATH OF Cr.EMENT ¥1. Ixxsix France and England. Petrarch went to take his leave of him, «nd asked if lie had any orders lor Italy, for which he exported Boon to set out. The Carditial told him that he Bhunld be only a month npon liis journey, and that he hoped to see him at AvignMi on his return. He had, in fact, kind views with regarf tr> Petrarch. He wished to procure for him some good establish- ment in France, and wrote to liini upon Ma route, " Pr^ do not depart yet. Wait until I return, or, at least, until I writa to yon on an important affair that cuncems yourself." Tliis letter, which, hy the way, evinces that our poet's eireumatances were not independent of ohnrch promotdon, changed the plana of Petrarch, who remained at Avignon nearly the whole of the months of Septemher and October. Daring thia delay, he heard constant reporte of the war that waa going on between the Genoese and the Venetians. In the spring of the year 1351i, their fleets met in the Propontis, and had a conflict almost unexampled, which lasted during two days and a tempestuous night. The Genoese, upon the whole, had the advantage, and, in rerenge for the Greeks having aided the Vene- tians, they made a league with the Turka, The Pope, who had it earnestly at heart to put a slop to this fatal war, engaged the belligerents to send their ambassadors t« Avignon, and £ere to treat for peace. The ambassadors came ; but a whole month waii spent in negotLationa which ended in nothing. Petrarch in vain employed his etoqueoce, and the Pope his conciliating talents. In ihese circumstances, Petrarch wrote a letter to the Genoese wyvernment which does infinite credit to his head and his heart He used every argument that common sense or htunanity could suggest to show the folly of the war, but his arguments were thrown away on flpirita too fierce for reasoning. A few days after writing this letter, as the Cardinal of Boulogne had not kept bis word about returoing to Avignon, and as he heard no news ot him, Petrarch determined to set out for Italy, He accordingly started on the 10th of November, 1352; bat scarcely had he left his own house, with all his papers, when he was overtaken by heavy falls of rain. At first he thought erf going back immediately; but he changed his purpose, and pro- ceeded as far as Cavullon, which is two leagues from Vaucluae, in order to take leave of his friend, tie Bishop of Cabaasole. His good friend waa very unwell, but received him with joy, and preMcd him to pass the night under his roof That night and aU the nest day it rained so heavily that Petrarch, more from fear of his hooks and papers being damaged than from anxiety about Mb own health, gave up his Italian journey for the present, and, returning to Vaucluse, spent tiiere the rest of November and the whole of December, 1352. Early in December, Petrarch beardof (he death of Clement VL, ^1 this event gave him occasion tor more epistles, both ugouiat 1 I Xe LIFE OF PKTnARCH. the Knman conrt and his enemies, the physiotanB. Clemerfg deadi waa ascribwi to different causes. Petrarch, of course, im- pnted it ta his doctors. Villani's opinion is the most probable, that he died of a. protracted fever. He was buried with great pomp in the church of Notre Dame at Avignon ; bnt his remainB, tkftor some time, were removed to the abbey of Chaise Dien, in Auvergne, where hia tomb was violated by the Huguenota in isea, Scanda] saj^ tliat they made a football of his head, and that the Marquis de Courton afterwards converted his skull into a driii]dn£?-eup. It need not surprise ns that his Halineas never stood hi^ in the good graces of Petrarch. He was a Limousin, who never loved Italy so much as Gfiscony, luid, in place of re-eatablishing tlie holy seat at B^me, he completed the building of the papal palace at Avignon, which his predecessor hod begun. These were Lults that edipaed all tlie good qualities of Clement VI. in the eyes of Petrarch, and. in the sl^-th of his eclogues, the poet has drawn the character of Clement in odious colours, and, wit^ equal freedom, has described most of the cardinob of his oonrt whether there was perfect consistency between this hatred to Hie Fope and his thinlnng, ea he certainly did for a time, of becoming his secretary, may admit of a diiubt, I am not, however, disposea '3 deny some allowance to Petrarch for his dishlte of Clement, rho was a voluptuary in private life, and a cormpted roler of the Church. Early in May, 135,1, Petrarch departed for Italy, and wa find him very Boon afterwards at the palace of JolinVisconti of Milan, whom he used to call the greatest man in Italy. This prince, uniting the sacerdotal witli Qie civil power, reigned absolute in Milan, He tvas master of Lombardy. and made all Italy tremble at hia hostility. Yet, in spite of hia despotism, John Visconti was a lover of lottera, and fond of having literary men at hia court. He exercised a cuuning influence over our poet, and detained him. Petrarch, knowing that Milan was a troubled city and a stormy court, told the Prince that, being a prieat, his vocation did not permit him to live in a princely court, and in the midat of arma "For that matter," replied the Archbishop, "lam myself an eoclesiastio; I wish to press no employment upon yon, but only to requeat you te remain as an ornament of my court." Petrareh, taken by surprise, had not fortitude to resist liis importanities. All that he bargained for was, that he should have a habitation BufGdentiy distant from the city, and tliat he sliould not be obliged te make any change tn h^ ordinary mode of living. The AT<£bisltop was too happy te poesesij him on these terms, Petrarch, accordingly, took up his habitation in the western part of the city, near the VerceUina gate, and the uliurch of St, Ambrosio. Hia honse was flanked with two towers, stood behind the city wall, and looked out upon a rich and beautiful couuti^-, as BOCCACCIO S LETTER OF REMOKSTBASCE. tni as tKe Alps, ibs tops of which, although it i Htill covered with snow. Great woe the joy of Petmreh whtn ho iomid himself in a house near the church of that Saint Ambioslo, for whom he had always eherishod. a peculiar revorence. 7~ himaelf tells us that he never entered that temple withotit i periencing rekindled devotion. He visited the statue of the saint, which was niched in one of U>e walls, and the stone Sgvre seemed to him to hreathe, such was the majesty and tranquillity of the ecnlptme. Near the church arose the chapel, where St. Angoatin, after his victory over his re&actory passions, was batlied in the sacred fountain of St. Ambrosio, and absolved from penance fbr his past life. AJl this time, whilst Petrarch was so well pleased with his i abode, his friends were astonished, and even grieved, at his fixing himself at Milan. At Avignon, Socrates, Guido Setdmo, and the Bishop of CavRJllon, said among themselves, "WhatI this proad TepuhUcan, who breathed nothing but independence, who scorned an office in the papal court bs a gilded yoke, has gone and throtni himself into the diains of the t^ant of Italy; this misanthrope, who delighted only in the silence of fields, and perpetually praised a secluded life, now inhabits the most bustling of cities!" At Florence, hia Mends entertained the same sentiments, and wrote to him reproacbfiiUy on the subject. "I would wish to he silent," sajB Boccaccio, "but I caunot hold my peace. My reverence for you would incline me to hold silence, but my indignation obliges me to spettkouL How has Silvanus acted?" (Under the name of Silvanus he conches that of Petrarch, in allusion to his love of mral retirement! "He has forgotten liis dignity; lie has forgotten oil the language he used to hold respecting the state of Ita^, his hatred of Gie Archbishop, and his love of liberty ; and he would imprison the Muses in that coiut. To whom can we now give our Mth, when Silvanus. who formerly pronounced the Visconti a cruel ^rant, has now bowed himself to the yoke which he once so boldly condemned? How has tlie Viseouti obtained tliis truckling, which neither King Boberl, nor the Pope, nor the Emperor, could ever obtain? You will say, perhaps, that you have been ill-used by your fellow-oitiseiis, who have withheld from you your paternal property. I disapprove not your just indignation ; but Heaven forbid I should beUeve that, righteously and honesUy, any injury, from whomsoever we may receive it, cmi justify our talong part against our country. It is in vain for you to allege that you have not incited him to war against our country, nor lent him either your arm or advice. How can you be happy with him, whilst you are bearing of the ruins, the eonfla^iitions, tlie imprisonments, the deatla, and the rapines, that he H[prartds around him?" Petrarch's answers to tliowi^ and otlii^r reproaches which his . Mends sent lo him were ciilil, viigue. an<l unsutiMfaetoty. He ^^Jsaied that ho had aaorificod his liberty; and told Boccaccio that, sci ^^^1 'en ^^H ihs ^^M He ^^ I aiter nil, it was less biucUifiting to be subsement to a eingft tyrant than to be, as he, Boccaccio, was. aiibaervient to a. wiiola tjrH.nnicfll people. This waa an unwise, implied confession on the piirt of Petrarch that he was the slave of Viiiconti. Sismondi may be rather harsh in pronouncing Petrarch to have been all hia H& a Troubadour ; but there ia something in hia fiiendalup with the Lord of MiliLn that palliates the accusation. In spile of this severe letter &om Boccoctio. it ia strange, and yet. methinka, honourable to both, that their friendahip was never broken. Levati, in his " Viagui di Petrarea" ascribes the poet's settle- ment at Iililau to his desire of accumulating a httle money, not tor himaelf, but for hia natural children : and In some of Petrarch's letters, Bubseqnent to this period, there are allusions to his own circumstanceE which give countenance to tliia snapicion. However this may be, Petrarch deceived himself if he expected to have long tranquiUity in such a court as that of Milan. He waa perpetually obliged to visit the Viacontia, and to be present at every feast that they gave lo honour the arrival of any iUustriouB atranger. A more than usually important visitant soon came to Milan, in the person of Cardinal Egidio AlbomoE. who arrived at the h^ of an army, with a view to restore to the Church large portions of its territory which had beeu seized by some powerfol families. The Cardinal entered Milan on the 14Ui of September, 13B3. John Viaconlj, thonf^ &r from being delighted at hia arrival, gave him an honourable reception, ddrayed all the es- pensea of his numerous retinue, and treated tiim magnificently. _^[ hiniaelf to meet him, two miles from the city, a him. The Legate and his retinue rode also on horseback. When the two partiea met, the duat, that rose in clouds from the feet of the horses, prevented them frum discerning each other, Petraich, who had advanced beyond the reat, found hiuisalf. lie knew not how, in tlie midst of the Legate's train, and very near to him. Salutationa passed on either aide, but with veiy httle speaking, for Uie dust had dried their throats. Petrarch made a backward movement, to regain hia place among his company. His horse, in backing, allpped vnih hie hind-legs into a diUJi on the aide of the road, but, by a sort of miracle, tiie animal kept his fore-feet for stime time on the top of the dit^h. If he had lallen back, he must have crushed hia rider. Petrarch was not afraid, for he was not aware of Ilia danger ; but OiUeazzo Viaconti and his people dismounted to rescue Uie poet, who escaped without injury. The Legate treated I'etrarch, who little expected it, with the ntraost ki^Iness and distinction, and, grantbig all that he asked tor his friends, pressed him to mention sometlting worthy of big Bwn acceptance. Petrarch replied: "When I ask for my friends. ■ OENOA DEFEATED BT VENICE. is it not &e same as (iir mysflf ? Have I not Qiti highest tion in receiving fevouw for tliem ? I hare long put a rei own desires. Of what then, can I stand in net^d ?" Ailer the departure of the Iiegate, Petrarch retired to b vrbe. In a letter dated thence to his friend the I'riur of tlie Holf Apost^, we lind liim auknowlodging fi!t:lin<;B that were Sax distant from sflttlod oonlentmeut. "You have lieard." lie says, " how mncli m; peace has been disturbed, and mj leisure broken in upon, by on importuitftto crowd and by unforeseen occupntionB. The Legate has left Milan. He wiia received at Florence with nnbounded applause : as fbr poor me. I am aj^^ain in my retrekL I have been long irce, ha^tpy, and master of my time ; but I fed, at present, that liberty and leisure are ojUy for soula of con- summate virtue. When we are not of liiat chas of beiogB, Qotliitig is more dangerous for a heart subject to (he pasaiona than to be free, idle, and alone. The snsjres of voluptuouiraeas are then more dangerous, and corrupt thoughts gain an easier entJitnce — above all, love, that seducing tonneutur, from whom I thought that I had now nothing mure Ui fenr," From these expressions we might almost conclude tliat he bad again fallen in love ; but if it was so, we have no evidence as to the object of hia new passion. Dnring his half-Jietirement, Fetnurh learned news wMch dia- tmbed hie repose. A courier arrived, one nigiit, bringing an aooount of the entire destruction of the Genoese fleet, in a naval combat wilJi that of the Venetians, which took place on tlie lOUi of August. 1353, near the island oiF Sardinia. The letters which the poet hod written, iu «\ler to ooncihale tJiose two repubUcB, bad proved as useless as the pacificatoiy efforts of Clement VT. and his sucoessor. Innocent. Petrarch, who Imd constantly pM- dicted the eventual success of Genoa, coulil hardly bslifive his senses, when he heard of lite Genoese being defeated at sea. He wrote a letter of lamentation and aatouisbment on the subject to his fciend Guide Settime, He saw, as it were, one of the eyes of Mb country destroying the other. The courier, who brought these tidings to Milan, gave a distressing aoeount of the state of Genoa. There was not a family which had not lost one of ila xciii ^^^1 Batis&O' ^^^H nouD? ^^H is ru» in ^^^1 he Holv ■ i Petrarch passed a whole night in composing a letter to tlie Genoese, in which he exhortea tliera, after the example of the KomaUB, never to despair of the repubhc. HJs lecture never reached them. On awakening in tlie morning, Petrarch learned that tlie Genoese had lost every spark of their courage, and that the day before they had euhscribed the most humiliating con- It has been alleged by some of his biographers that Petrarch BnnnreBsed his letttr to the Genoese from his fear of tjie Viaeonti buuij, John Visconti had views on Genoa, which was a port bo id IMT LIFE or PETRAECH. oonvenieatly dtnated that he nftturallj- coveted the poBsesmon of H. He invested it an all sides by land, whUst its other enemiea blockaded it by sea ; bo tliat the city was reduced to famine- The peitizBiia of John ViBCOiitiinBiniULted.totheOenoeHethat they had no other remedy than to place themselves under the protection of Ute Prince of Milan. Petrarch was not ignorant of the Viaconti'a yiews ; and it has been, therefore, auspected that he kept back his exhortatory epistle from his appreliension, that if he had deapatched it, John Visconti would have made it the last epistle of his life. The mumittg after writing it, he fonnd that Genoa had signed a treaty of almost abject sabmiasian; after which his eidiortBtion would have been only an insult to the vanquished. The Genoese were not long in deliberating on the meaanrea nhich they were to take. In a few days their depntiea arrived at MUfln, imploring the fdd and protectiun of John Visconti, aa well as offering him the republic of Genoa and all that belonged to it. After some confereuoea, the articlea of the treaty were signed; and the Lord of Milan accepted with pleasure the possession that was offered to him, Petrarch, as a counsellor of Milan, attended these conferences, and condoled with the deputies irom Genoa; though we cannot anppoae that he approved, in his heart, of the desperate Bub- mission of the Genoese in thus throwing themselves into the arms of the tyrant of Italy, who had been ao long uiidouB either to invade them in open quarrel, or to enter their States npon a more amicable pretext. John Visconti immediately took possession of the dty of Genoa ; and, after having deposed the doge and aenote, t«ok into his own hands the reins of government. Weary of Milan, Petrarch betook himBelf to the cotmtry, and made a temporary residence at the castle of St. Colnmba, which was now a monastery. This mansion was built in 1164, by the celebrated Frederick Baibarossa. It now belonged to the Car- tJmsian monks of Pavia. Petrarch has given a beantifnl descrip- tion of this edifice, and of the magnificent view which it com' mands. Whilst he was enjoying this glorious scenery, he received a letter from Socrates, informing bim that he had gone to Vaucluse in company with Guide Settimo, whose intention to accompany Petrarch in his journey to Italy had been prevented by a fit of iUness. Petrarch, when he hoard of (his visit, wrote to espreaa his happiness at their thus honouring his habitation, at the same time lamenting tiiat he was not one of their par^. "Repair," he aoid, "often to the same retreat. Make use of my hoolia, which deplore the absence of tlieir owner, and the death of their keeper " (he alluded to his old servant) . '■ My country- house is the temple of peace, and the home of repose." From the contents of his letter, on this occasion, it is obvious that he had not yet foimd any spot in Italy where he could da- COHRESPOSrEKCE WITH THE EMTEROB. termiiie on fixing himself permanentlj; otherwise he wotlld not have left his books behind him. Wbtn he wrote about his hooka, he was little aware of the danger that was iiupecdiug over then. On. Cliriatmasdaya troop of rohhera, who had for some time infested tlie neighbourhood of Vaucliise, aet fire lo the poet's house, after having taken awaj everything that they could carry off. An ancient vanlt stopped tlte con^agration, and saved the manaion ittaa being entirely consumed by the fiames. Luckily, the peraon to whose oaia he had left his house — the son of the worthy rustic, laldy deceased — having a presentiment of the robbery, had conveyed to the castle a great many booka which Petrarch iell behind him ; and the robbera, believing that there were persons in the castle ta defend it, had not the courage to make an attack. Aa Petrarch grew old, we do not find him improve in con- Bietencj, In his letter, dated the 21st of October, 1353, it il evident that he had a return of his hankering- after Vanchiae. He accordingly wrote to his friends, requesting that they would procure him an estahliahment in the Comlat. Socrates, upon this, immediately communlcuted with the Bishop of Cavaillon, who did all that he could to obtain for the poet the oliiect of his wish. It uppeora that the Bishop endeavoured to get for him a good benefice in his own diocese. Tha thing was never aceom- pliahed. Without doubt, the enemies, whom he had excited by writing freely about the Church, and who were very numerous it Avignon, fnistrated his wishes. After some time Petrarch received a letter from the Emperor Charles IV. in answer to one which the poet had expedited to him about three years before. Our poet, of course, iii not fail to acknowledge his Imperial Majesty's late-coming letter. He com- mences his reply with a piece of pleasantry: "I see very well," he says, "that it is as difficult for your tnperlal Majosty'a de- spatches and couriers to cross the Alps, as it is tbr your person and legions." He wanders tliat the Emperor had not followed hia advice, and hastened into Italy, to take possession ot the empipe. " What consoles me," he adds, "is, that if you do not adopt my sentiments, you at least approve of my zeal ; and that is tlie greatest recompense I could receive." He argues the question with the Emperor with groat force and eloquence; and, to oe sure, there never was a fairer opportunity for Charles IV. to enter Italy. The reasons which Mb Imperial Majesty alleges, for waiting a little time to watch the course of- eventfi, display a timid and iraverin^ mind. A cunous part of his letter is that in which he mentions Rienzo. " Lately," he says. " we have seen at Itome, suddenly elevated to supreme power, a man who was neither Hng, nor consul, nor patrician, and who was hardly known as a Roman citizen. , Although he waa not diatinguished by his ancestry, jet he dared 4 r to declare himself the restorer of public liberty. What title n brilliftiit for ati obscure dibq ! TuBcany immediately snlnai' to hini. All Italy followed bsr example ; uid Europe and the whole world were in one inuvement. We have seen the eyent ; it fa not a doubtful tale of hiatoiy. Already, under the reign of Ihfl Tribune, justice, peace, good faith, and security, were reetored, and we saw veetiges of the gulden age appearing onee more. Ja the moment of hiB most brilliant success, lie chose t« iubmit to others. I blame nobody. I wish neither to acquit nor tdcondema; but I know what I ought to think That moJi had only the title of Tribune. Now, if flie name of Tribune could produce BBob aa effect, what might not the title of Csesar produce I" Charles did not enter Italy until a year after the date of our poet's epistle ; and it is hlielj^ that the increasing power of John Viscontj made a far deeper impression on his irresolute mind than all the rhetoric of Petrarch. Undoubtedly, the pi^tty Itn'ds of Italy were fearfiil of the v^ers of Milan. It was thus that Ihey denominated the Viscouti iamily, in aUusion to their ooat of arms, which represented an immense serpent swaUowing a childt though the device was not their own, but borrowed from s Btandard which they had taken from the Saracens. The submis- eion of Genoa alanned the whole of Italy. The Venetians took meaaures to form a league against the Yisconlj ; and the Princes of Padua, Modeua. Mantua, and Verona joined it, and the oon- fedeiated lords sent a deputation to tlic Emperor, to beg that he would Bupi<ort them ; and tliey propused Uiat he sluiuld eaier Italy at their expense. The opportunity was too good to be lost : and the Emperor promised to do all tliat they wished. Thi> league gave great bouble to John Visconti. In order to appease the threatening storm, be immediately proposed to the Empeioi thtit he should come to Milan and receive the iron crown ; while he himself, by an embassy from Milan, would endeavour to r^tore peace between the Venetians and the Genoese. Petrarch appeared to John Viscouti the person most lihely to Bucceed in this negotiation, by his eloquenue, and by his intimaqy with Andrea Dandolo, who governed the republic of Vonioe. The poet now wished for repose, and journeys began to fatigue him; but the Viscouti knew so well how to flatter ai^ manage nim, that he could not resist tlie proposal At the cammeucement of the year 1364, before he departed fijT Venice, Petrardi received a jwesent, which gave him no small delight. It was a Greek Homer, sent to him by Hichola Sigeroa, RiBtor of Romagna. Petrarch wrote a long letter of (hanks to Sigeros, in which there is a remarkable confession of the small progress wltich he had made in the Greek language, though at the same time he begs his friend Sigeros to send bim copies of Hesiod and Euripides, A few days alterwards he set out to Venice. He was the ciiief EMBASSY TO ^•E^■ICK. XCVII of the embassy. He went wilt confidence, flftttering himself that he ahoiilii find the Venetians more tractaUe and disposed tu peaoa, both from their fear of Jolin Viaconti, and from some cliecka which their deet had experienced, aince their yictory off Sardinia. Sut he was impleasantlj astonished to find tlie Venetians mare exasperated tlion humhied by their recent losses, and bj the Bnion of the Lord of Milan with the Genoese, All his eloquence could not bring them to accept the proposals he had to offer. Petrarch completely tailed in ioB nesotialion, and, after passing a moath at Venice, he returned to Milan full of chagriu. l!wo circnmstancea seem to have contributed to render the Venetiana intractable. The princes with whom they were leagued had taken into their pay the mercenary troops of Count Lalido, which, composed a very formidable force ; and ftuthur. tJia Em- peror promised to appear very soon in Italy at the head of an Some months aflerwarda, Petrarch wrote to the Doge of Venice, saying, that he saw with grief that the hearts of tlie Veneliana , were shut against wise counsels, and he then praises John Visconti aa a. loTer of peace and humanity. After a considerable interval, Andrea Dsndolo answered our poet's letter, and was very sarcastic npon him for his eulogy <m. i John Viaconti. At this moment, Viaconti was arming the Oenosst fieet, the commftnd of wliich he gave to Paganino Doria, tho admiral who had beaten the Venetiane in the Propontis. DoriB set sail with thirty-three vessels, entered the Adriatic, sacked and pillaged some towns, and did much damage on the Venetian coast. The news of this descent spread constematLon in Venice. It was belteyed that the Genoese fleet were in the roads ; and the Doge took all possible precautions to secure the aafety of tlie Stati But Dandolo'a health save way at tliia crisis, vexed as ht to see tlie maiden city so humbled in )ier pride. Uis constitutioit rapidly declined, and he died the 6tii of September, 1394. He was extremely popular among the Venetians. Petrarch, in i letter written shortly after his death, says of him : " He was i virtuous man, upright, fuJI of love and zeal for Ms republic learned, eloquent, wise, and afiable. He had only one fiiult, U wit, that he loved war too much. From this error he judged of i ganae by its event. The luckiest cause always appeared to hitu the most just, which made him often, repent what Scipio Africanus. said, and what Lucan makes Ctesar repeat : ' Htec acies victuia If Dandolo bad hved a little longer, and continued his ethical theory of judging a cause by its success, he would have had a hint, firom the disasters of Venice, that his own cause was not the most righteous. The Genoese, having surprised the Venetians ofi' tim idand of Sapietiza, obtained one of the compieteat victories on record. All tho Venetian vesaola, with the exception of one thatf. zy'A ^^^ cka ^^M i tSiiSl LIFli OF PETItAKCH. r ^H escaped, were taken, ttjgether mth their Bdmiral. It is believed ^H that, if tlie victors had gone iinmeitiatelf to Venice, tliey might ^H have taken the city, which was defeuceteEs, and in a, state of con- ^H Btemation ; but the Gflnoeae preferred retumiiig home to announce ^H their triumph, and to partake in the pubhc joy. About the time ^^M of the Doge's death, another important pubhc event took place in ^H the death of Jobu Viscouti. He heA a carbmicle upon his fore- ^H head, just above the eyebrows, which he imprudently caused to ^^M be cot; and, on the very day of the operation, October dth, 11154, ^H he expired bo suddenly as not to have time to receive tii* ^H sacrament. ^f John Visoonti had three nephews, Matteo, Onleazzo, and Bar- nabo. They were his heirs, and took possession of his dominions in common, a few days after his death, without any dispute among themselves. The day for their inangnration was fiKed, ench was &e superstition of the times, by au astrologer ; and on tJiat day Petrarch was commissioned to make to the assembled people an address soiled to the ceremony. He was stUl in the midst of )iiB faaraogne, when the astrologer declared with a loud voice that the moment for the ceremony was oome, and that it wonld be danger- ous to let it pass. Petiarch, heartily as he despised the &Jse science, immediately stopped his discourse. The astrologer, some- what disconcerted, rephed that there was still a httle tinie, and that the orator might continue to speak. Petrarch answered that he had nothing more to say. Whilst some laughed, and others were indignant at the interraption, the astroli^er esclaimed " that the happy moment was come ;" on which an old oflicer carried three white stakes, like the palisades of a town, and gave one to each of tlie brothers ; and the ceremony was thus concluded. The countries wliieh the three brothers shared amongst tbem comprehended not only what was commonly called the Duchy, before the King of Sardinia acquired a great putt of it, bnt the territories of Parma, PJacenza, Bologna, Loili, Bobbio, Pontremoli, and many other places. There was an entire dissinulari^ among the brothers. Matteo hatod bnsinesB, end was addicted to the grossest debaucheries. Bamabo was a monst«r of tyranny and cruelty. Petrarch, never- theless, condescended 1« be goilfather to one of Bamabo's anna, and presented the child with a gilt cap. He also composed a Latin poem, on the occasion o' Ids godson heing christened by the name of Marco, in which he passes in review all the great men who had borne that name. GaleazKO was very different from Ids broUiera. He had much Idndliness of disposition. One of bis greatest pleasures was hia intercourse witli men of letters, lie almost worshipped Petrarch, and it was his iii9nence that induced tlie ]>oet to settle at Milan. Unlike as they were in dispositions. Uie brothers, nevertheless, felt how important it was that ttiey should be united, in order tc d : proteet themselves Hgainst the lea^a which thre&tened them; Bsd, at first, the; lived in the greatest hannouy. Bamabo. tho most wsrlilie, was charged with whatever concerned tlie mililarj-. Business of every other kind devolved on GaJeazzo. Matteo, aa the eldest, presided over all; but. conscious of bis incapaciiyi ha took littje Ehare in the dehberations of his brothers. Nothing important waa done without consulting Petrarch ; and this flatter- ing coniidence rendered Milan as agreeable to him as any resi- "mce could be, consisteiitly wi(h his love of change. The deatlia of the D(^ of Venice and of the Lord of Milaji !0on tuUowed bj snother, which, if it had happened some earlier, would have strongly affected Petrarch. This was tragic endof Bienzo. Our poet's opinion of this extraordinar]' man had boen changed by his Uter conduct, and he now took but a comparatively feeble interest in him. Under the pontihcate of Clement VI., tie ex-Tribune, after hia hU, had been consifined to a prLion at Avignon. Innocent, the succeeding Pope, tliou^t difl:erently of hiin from his predecessor, and sent the CaidiJtal AlbomoK into Italy, with an order to estabhsh him at Rome, and to conhde the government of the city to in'i" under the title of itor. The Cardinal obeyed the injunction ; but after a brief ingloriona struggle with the faction of the Coionnaa, Rieiizo -ished in a popular sedition on the 8th of October, 1354. Wac was DOW raging between the States of the Venetian League Mt Milan, united wifc Genoa, when a new actor was brought upon the scene. The Emperor, who had been sohcited by one half of Italy to enter the kingdom, but who hesitated &om dread of the Lord of Milan, was evidently induced by the intelligence of John Viaconti's death to accept this iurifation. In October, 1364, hia ImperiaJ Majesty entered Ilaiy, with no sliow of martial preparation, being ottended by only tlu'ee hundred horsemen. On the 10th of November he arrived at Mruitua, where he was received as sovereign. There he stopped for some time, before he pursued his route to Rome. The moment Petrarch heard of his arrival, he vcrote to his Im- perial Majesty in transports of joy. "You are no longer," he aaid, " king of Bohemia. I behold in yon the kiiig of the world, die Boman emperor, the true Ctesar." Ihe Emperor received this letter at Mantua, and in a few days sent Sacromore de Po- mieres. one of his squires, to invite Petrarch to come and meet him, expressing the utmost eagerness to see him. Petrarch could not resist so fiattering on invitetiou ; he was not to be deterred even by the nnprecedented severity of the frost, and departed from Milan on the tfth of December ; but, witli all the sjieed that he oonld make, was not able to reach Mantua till the IMth. The Emperor thanked him for having come to him in snch Kiadftd weather, the hke of which he had scarcely ever felt, even Germany. "The Emperor," saya Pctrarcli, "received me in e LIFB OF FETRAPCn. a manner thai partook neither of imperial haughtiness nnr of German etiquette. We passed sometimes whole daya together, from momiog to night, in converGation. as if his Majesty had bad nothing else to do. He spoke to me about mj works, and ex- preBsed a great desire b> see them.parlicukrly my ' Treatise on IllustriouB Men.' I told him that I had not yet pnt my last hand to it, and that, before I could do so, I required to havB leiaoiB and repose. He gave me to understand tliat he should be very glad to see it appear under his own patronage, that is to say, dedicated to liimHeK I said to him, with that freedom of speech which Nature has given me, and which years have fortified. ' Great prince, for tJus purpose, nothing more is necessary than virtue on yonr part, and leisure on mine.' He asked me to ex- plain myself. J said, ' I must have time for a work of this nature, in which I propose to include great things in a small space. On your part, labour to deserve that yonr name shoiUd appear at the head of my book. For this end, it is not enough that you wear a crown ; your virtues and great actions must place you among the great men whose portraits I have delineated. Live in such a manner, that, after reading tlie lives of jour illuBtrious prede- cessors, yon may feel assured that yonr own life shall deserve to be read by posterity.' " The Emperor showed by a smile tliat my hberty had not displeased him. I seized tl'i" opportunity of presenting him with some imperial medals, in gold and in silver, and gave liim a short sketch of the Hvca of those worthies whose images they bore. He seemed to listen to me with pleasure, aud, graciously ai^ceptiug the medals, declared that he never had received a more agreeable present. " I should nerer end if I were to relate to you all the conver- sations wiiich I held with this prince. He desired me one day to relate the liistory of my life to liim. I deiihiifid to do so at first ; but he would take no refusal, and I obeyed him. He heard me with attention, and, if I omitted any circumstances from for- getfulness or the fear of being wearisome, he brought them back to nsy memory. He then asked me what were my projecla for the future, and my plans for the rest of my life. ' My intentions are good,' I rephed to him, ' but a bad habit, which I cannot conquer, masters mv better will, and I resemble a sea beaten by two oppo- site winds.'' 'I can Ttnderatand that,' he said; 'but I wi^ to know what is the kind of life that would most decidedly please fou?' 'A secluded life.' I rephed tB him. without hesitation. 'If oould. I should go and seek for such a Bfe at its fountain-head ; that is, among the wouds and mountains, as I have already done. If I could not go so far to £nd it, I should seek to enjoy it in the tnidst of cities. " The Emperor differed from me totally as to the benefits of a solitary life. I told liim that I hod composed a treatise on ih« ■ THE EMPEROR IN ITALY. tnbject. 'I know that.' eaid the Emperor; 'and if I ever find I your book, I shall throw it into the fire.' 'Aud,' I replied. 'I ' shtdl take oare that it ue^r folk into your hands.' On this BQb- i J6ct we had long and frequent disputas, alu'aja aeaaoned with pleasantry. I most confesa ttiat the Emperor combated my system | on a solitary life with anrpilBing energy." Petrarch renwiued eight days with the King of Bohemia, at I Mantua, where he was witness to all his negotiations with Qw Xtorda of the league of Lombardy, who came to confer with his Imperial Majesty, in that city, or sent thither their ambassadora. The Emperor, above all things, wished to ascertain the strength of this confederation ; how much each principality wonld contnbute, and how much might be the sum total of the whole contribatLoa. The reeolt of tliia inquiry was, that the forces of the united con- ^ federates were not sufficient to moke head against the Visconti, I who had tliirly thousand well -disciplined men. The Emperor, ' IhereibrB, decided that it was absolutely necessary to couclode a peace. This prince, pacilic and without ambition, had, indeed, come into Italy with this intention ; and was only anxious to obtain two crowns witliout drawing a Bword. He saw, therefore, with satts&clian that there was no power in Italy to protract hostilities by strengthening tlie coalition. He found difficuUies, however, in the settlement of a general ; peace. Tlie Viacontis felt their superiority; and IJie Genoese proud of a victory which they had obtained over the Venetiana, insisted on hard terms. The Emperor, mors intent upon his per- sonal interests than the good of Italy, merely negotiated a tmce between the beUigerents. He prevailed upon the confederates to. diaband the company of Count Lando, which cost much and effected httJe. It cannot be doubted that Petrarch had consider- able influence in producing this dismissal, as he always held those troops of mercenaries in abhorrence. The tmce being signed, his Imperial Majesty had no further occupation than to negotiate a particular agreement with the Viscontis, who had sent the chief men of Milan, with presents, to conclude a treaty with liim. No one appeared more ht than Petrarch to manage this negotiation , and it was universaUyeicpeoled that it should be entmsted to him; but particular reasons, which Petrarch has not thought proper to record, oppitaed the desires of the Lords of Milan and tiie public The negotiation, nevertheless, was in itself a very easy one. The Emperor, on tlie one hand, had no wiah to make war for the Bake of being crowned at Monza. On the other hand, the Viscontis were afraid of seeing the league of their enemies fortified by imperial power. They took advantage of the desire which. they observed in Charles to receive this crown without a struggle. They promised not to oppose his coronation, and even to give 60,000 florins for the expense of Oie ceremony; but they required i ^ m LITT, OF PETRARCH. that he shanld not enter the citj of Milan, and that the troops in his Boite shuuld be disarmed. To these humiliating terms Charles subscribed. The affair was completed during; the few days that Fetmrch spent at Mantua. The Emperor strongly wished that he should be present at the signature of the treaty ; and. in fact, though he was not one of the envoys from Milan, th.e snccess of the negotiation was generally attiihuted to hint. A ramonr to this effect reached even Avignon, where Lwhua then waa. He wrote to Pefrarch to oompliment him on the Bul^eot. The poet, in hie answer, declines an honoui that was not due to him. After the aignatnre of the treaty, Petrarch departed for Milan, where ho arrived on Chrisfjnas eve, 1854. He there fonnd foor letters from Zanohi di Strata, from whom he had not had news far two years. Curious perEona had intercepted their letters bi each other. Petrarch o^>n complains of this nuisance, which The Emperor set out from Mantua alter the feativitiea of Christ- maa. On arriving at the gates of Milan, he was invited to enter by the Viscontis ; hut Charles declined their invitation, saying, that he wonld keep the promise which he had pledged. The ViscontiB told tiini politely that they asked his entrance as a favour, and that the precaution respecting liia troops by no means extended to his personal presence, which they should always con- sider an honour. The Emperor entered Milan on the 4th. of January, 13&fi. He weis received with the sound of drums, tnunpets, and other instmments, that made such a din as to re- semble tiiunder. " His entry," s^s Villani, " had the air of a tem- pest rather than of a festivity." Meanwhile the gat«a of Milan were shut and strictly guarded. Shortly after his arrival, tlie three Srothers came to tender their homage, declaring that they held of Ae Holy Empire aJ! that they poaseased, and that they would never employ their possessions but for liis service. Nest day tlie three brothers, wishing to give the Emperor ft high idea of their power and forces, held a grand review of their troops, horse and foot ; to which, in order to swell the number, they added companies of the burgesses, well mounted, and mag- nificently dressed ; and they detained his poor M^esly at a ■window, by way of amusing him, ail the time they were making thia display of their power. WhilHt the tniopa were defiUng, they bade iiiin look upon the six thousand oaval^ and ten thousand infantry, which they kept in their pay for his service, adding that their fortresses and castles were well furnished and garrisoned- This spectacle waa anything but amusing to the Emperor ; but he put a good countenance on the matter, and appeared cheerful and serene. Petrarch scarcely ever quitted his side ; and the Prince oonversed with him whenever he could snatch tune trom bnsineaa, ■uit from the rigid ceremonials that were imposed on him. 1^ THE EMPEHOBS DKrAtlTCRE. OIU On tJie flth of Jaunary, the featival of Epiphany, Charlas re- ceived at Mi Inn the iron crawn, in the church of St. Ambroaio, from tlie hands of Robert Viaeonti, ArchbiBliop of Milan. They gave the Emperor fifty thousand florins in gold, two hundred beautifiil horses, covered ivith cloth hordered with ermine, and Bis hunibed horsemen 1« escort him to Rome, The Emperor, who regarded Milan only bb a fine large priaon, got out of it as BOOH as he could. Petrarch occoaipamed Mm aa &i as fire miles beyond Piacenza, hnt refused to comp^ with the Emperor's soUcitationB to conlinue with Mm as far as Rome. The Emperor departed from Sienna the 28th of March, with the Empress and all Ma suite. On the iaA pf April he arrived at Rome. During Uie next two days be visited the cliiu^ibes in pilgrim's attire. On Sunday, which wbh Easter day, he waB crowned, along with liis Empress ; and, on this occasion, he oon- £imed all the privileges of the Roman Church, and ell the promieea that lie had made toUie Popes Clement VI. and Innocent VI. One tf those promkea was, that he should uot enter Rome except upon ^ s day of Ma coronation, and that he should not sleep in the He kept his word moat scrupulously. After leaving tbe rch of St. Peter, he went with a grand retinue to St. John's I Latrana, where he dined, and. in the evening, under pretext t a. hunting-party, he went and slept at St. Lorenzo, beyond the ^. inie Emperor arrived at Sienna on t)ie SBth of April. He had there many oonl'erences with the Cardinal Albomoz, to whom be promised troops for the purpose of redncing the tyrants wilb whom the Legate was at war. His Majesty then went to Pisa, where, on the 21at of May, 1,S55, a sedition broke out against bim. which nearly cost him bis life. He left Tuscany without delay, with Ms Ihnpress and his whole suite, to return lo Ger- many, where lie arrived early iu June. Many were tlie affronts he met with on bis route, and he recroseed the Alps, as Villoni lys, " with bis digmly humbled, though with Ms .purse well iUed." TjB'liu", who had accompamed iiie Emperor as far as Cremona, quitted hun at tliat place, and went to Milan, where be deUvered to Petrarob the Prince's valedictory oompliments. Petrarch's in- dignation at Ms dastardly flight vented itself in a letter to bis Imperial Majesty liimself. so Mil of unmeasured rebuke, that it is believed it was never sent. Shortly after Uie departure of the Emperor, Petrarch had the Batisiactiou of hearing, in Ms own church of St. Ambrosio, the publication of a peaoe between the Venetians and Genoese. It was concluded at Milau by the mediutiou of the Visconti, itirely to the advantage of the Genoese, to whom their victtny InedM the gulf of Sapienza bad given an irresistible superiority. cost the Venetians two hundred thouasjid fiorius. WMlst the ffi." i LIFE 01'' PETRARCH. tresly of peace yiaa proceeding, Venice witnesaed the sad and Btrange spectade of Marino J'aliero, her venerable Doge, four- score years old, being draped to a ptiblic execution. Some obscurity BtiU hangs over tlie true history of tliia affair. Petrarch himself seems to have anderatood it bnt imperfectly, though, from his personal acquaintance with Fajiero, and his humane indigna- tion at seeing an old man whom he believed to be innocent, hurled &om Mb seat of power, stripped of his ducal robes, and beheaded like the meanest felon, he inveighs against his execution as a public murder, in his letter on the subject to Onido Scttimo. Petrarch, since his establishment at Milan, had tJiougbt it his du^ to bring thither his son John, that he might watch over his Bducation. John was at tbia time eighteen years of age, and was stuilying at Verona. The September of 1355 was a critical month for our poet. It was then that the tertian a^e commonly attacked him, and Ihia vear it obliged him to pass a whole month in bed. He was iust beginning to be convalescent, when, on the Olh. of Septemb«r, 1366, a friar, from the kingdom of Naples, entered his chamber, and gave bim a letter from Sarbato di Salmone. This was a great joy to him, and tended to promote the recovery of his health. Their cDrrespondence had been for a long lime Interrupted by the wars, ajid the nnsafe stal« of the public roads. This letter was fall of enthusiasm and affection, and was addressed to Franei* Petrarch., the king nf poets. The friar had told Barbato that this tdtie was given to Petrarch over all Italy. Our poet in his answer afiected to refuse it with displeasure as &r beyond his deaarta. " There are only two king-poets," he says, " tlie one in Greece, the other in Italy. The old bard of MFeonia occupies the former kingdom, the shepherd of Mantua is in possession of the latter. As for me, I can only reign in my transalpine Golitude and on the banks of the Sorgue." Petrarch continued rather languid during autumn, but his health was re-established before the winter. Early in the year 1388, whilst war was raging between Milan and the Lombard and Ligurian league, a report was spread that tiie King of Hungary bud formed a league with the Emperor and the Duke of Austria, to invade Italy. The Italians in itlarm sent ambassadors to tiie King of Hungry, who declared that he had no hostile intentions, except against the Venetians, as they had Tabbed him of part of Sclavonia. This declaration calmed the other princes, but not the Viscontis, who knew tJiat the Emperor wonld. never forget the manner in which they hod treated him. They thought that it would be poUtic to send an ambassador to Charles, in order to justify Uiemselves before him. or ratlier to penetrate into Ms designs, and no person seemed to be more fit for this commission than Petrarch. Otir poet had no great desire to journey into the north, but a charge so agreeable and flattering VISITS GEBMANT. nacle Titm overlook tiie &.tigue of travellmg. Ha vrrote llins ta Simonides on tlie day before his departure : — " They are Bending me to the north, at the tLme wheu I am sighing for solitode and repose. But man was made for toU : ihe charge imposed on me does not displease me, and I shall be recompensed far my fatigne if I succeed in the object of my mission. The Lord of Ligoria sends me to treat v/ith the Emperor. After having conferred with him on public a&irs, I reckon on being able to treat with Mm respecting my own, and be my own emhusaador. I have leproached this prince by letter with his shameful (light from omr countiy. I shall make him the same reproaches, face to face, and viva voce. In tlius using my oirn hberly and his patieuce, I sha? avenge at once Italy, the empire, and my own per^in. At my return I shall bury myself in a solitude so profound that toil and envy will not be able to find me out. Yet what folly ! Can I flutter myself to find any place where envy cannot penetrate?" Next day be departed with Sacromoro £ tomieres, whose com- pany was a great solace to him. They arrived at Basle, where the Emperor was expected ; but they waited in vain for liim a whole month. " This prince," says Petrarch, " finishes nothing ; one must go and seek him in the depths of barbarism." It was fortunate for him that he stayed no longer, for, a few days after he took leave of Basle, the city was almost wholly destroyed by an earthquake. Petrarch arrived at Prague in Bohemia towards lie end of July, 1350. He found the Emperor wholly occupied with that &mous Golden Bull, the provisions of which he settled with the States, at the diet of Nuremberg, and which he solemnly promnl- ^ted at another grand diet held at Christmas, in the same year. This Magna Charta of the Germanic constitution continued lo be the fundamental law of the empire till its dissoliitioii. Petrarch made but a short stay at Prague, notwithfitanding his Mtyesty's wish to detain him. The Emperor, liiough sorely ex- asperated against the Visconti, had no thoughts of carmng war into Italy. His affairs in Germany employed Tiini eufSciently, besides the embclliahment of the city of Pn^ue. At the Bohe- mian cotirt our poet renewed a very amicable acquaintance with two accomplished prelates, Rrnest, Archbishop of Pardowitz. and John Oc/kow, Bishop of Olmutz. Of these churchmen he speaks in the warmest terms, and he afterwards corresponded with them. We find bim retiumed to Milan, and writing to Simonides c aoth of September. Some days after Petrarch's return from Germany, a c arrived at Milan with news of the battle of Poitiers, in whioli eighty thousand French were defeated by thirty thousand English- men, and in which King John of France was made prisoner." • Mnst hiiloiiani relale thnl ihe Fnelitli, at Poitiere, araounled lo no more lht_ right ot icn thouund men; hul. "hetlitr Ihpy con ■.! sled of eiaht Ihouiaod or Ihltty 4 J Oyi LIFE OF PBTRAHCH. Petrarch was requested by GalesMO Vifieonti on this occasioh to write for him two coniloUitg letters, oqo to Charles the Uauphin, and another to the Cardinal of Boulogne, Petrarch was thuader- rtnick at the calamity of King John, of whom he haA an exalted idea. "It is a, thing," he snys, "incredible, unheard-of, and un- exampled in history, tliat an invincible hero, the greatest king that ever Cved, should have been conqnered and nmde captive by an eotemj so inferior." On thia great event, our poet composed an allegorical eclogue, in which the Kirg of France, under the name of Fan, and the King of England, under that of Articus, heartily abuse each other. The city of Avignon is brought in with the designation of Faustnla. England reproaches the Pope with his partiahty ibr the King of France, to whom he had granted the tithes of his kingdom, by which means he was enabled to levy an army. Articufi QaiB apostropM/es Faustula : — Tbr euiiiy fruit at pnfldy and Hfulth ] But in my foe'i tiDbtM« aprac llie night I Meanwhile, Marquard. Bishop of Angsburg. vicar of ttieS_ peror in Italy, having put himself at the lieSd of Uie Lombard league against the Vlscontis, entered their territories with the German troops, and was commlttiug great devastations. Bat the brothers of Milan turned out, beat the Bishop, and took him piisoner. It is evident, from these hostilities of the Emperor'* vicar against the Viscontis, that Fetrarclt's embassy to Plague had not had the desired success. Tlie Emperor, it is true, plainly tdld him that he had no thoughts of invading Italy in person. And this was true ; but there is no doubt that be abetted and aocreOj Bupported the enemies of the Milan chieib. Powerful as ths Visconli were, their numerous enemies pressed them hard ; and, with war on all sides, Milan was in a critical situation. Bnt Petrarch, whilst war was at the very gates, continued retouching hi ft Italian poetry. At the commencement of this year, 1356. he received a letter from Avignon, which Socrates, L^hus, and Guido Settimo hod jointly written to him. They dwelt all three in the same house, and lived in the most sociEd union. Petrarch made them a short teply, in which he said, "Little did I think that I should ever envy those who inhabit Babylon. NeverUieless, I wish that I were with you in that house of yours, inaoceasible lo the pe.3tilent sir of the in&mous city, I regard it as an elysium in the midst of Avemns." At this tune, Petrarch received a, diploma tliat was lent to hiu- bv Jiihn, Bisbup of Oloilitz. Chancellor of the Einpur, in whiob diploma the Emperor created liim a count palatine, and conferred upon )um the ri^ts and privileges attached to ttiis digni^. IbeBB, according to the French abridger of tlie Hiatjiry of Ger- many, consisted in creating doctors ana notaries, in legitimatiiniig the baetarda of citizena, in crowninc poets, in giving dispensationa wilb respect to age, and in other tMngs, To tins diploma sent to Petrarch waa attached a bull, or capsule of gold. On one aide was the iiowesaion of the Emperor, seated on his throne, with an ^agle and fion beside him : od the other was Uie cil^ of Rome, wilL He temples and walla. The Emperor had added to thia dignity privileges wiiicli lie granted to very few, and the Chan- ceUor. in his commnnication, nsed veryflattering terms. Petramli says, in his letter of thanks, " I am exceedingly gratcfu] for the Edgnal distinction which the Empenir has graciously vouchsafed to me, and for the obliging terms with which you have seasoned the communication. I have never sou^t in vain for anything from his Imperial Majesty and yourself. But I wish not for your gold." In ttte summer of 1357, Petrarch, wishing to aerecn himself from the excessive heat, took up his abode tiira time on the banks of the Adda at Garigoano, a village three miles distant from Uilan, of which he gives a charming descriptioii. " Tiie village," he snys, " stands on a sUght elevation in the midst of a plain. Eurroundod on all sides by springs and streams, not rapid and noisy like those of Vancluse, but clear and modest. They wind in such a manner, that you know not either whither they art going, or whence they have come. As if to imitate tlie daiioes of the nymphs, they approach, they retire, they unite, and they separate altiomtlely. At last, after having formed a kind of labyrintli, they all meet, and pour theniaelves into the same re- servoir." John Viscotiti had chosen this situation whereon to build a CArtbusian monastery. This was what tempted Petrarch to found here a httle estabhahment. He wished at &mt to hve within the walls of the monastery, and the Carthusians made him welcome to do so ; but he conld uot dispense with aervants and horses, and he feared tliat tlie drunkenness of the former might trouble the silence of the sacred retreat. He therefore hired a house in the neighbourhood of the holy brothers, to whom he re- paired at all hours of the day. He called this house liisLintemo, in memory of Soipio Africanus, whose country-houBe bore &at uame. The peasants, hearing him call the domicile LintentOi corruptod the word into Inftmo, and, from this misprouundation, the place was often jocularly called by that name. Petrarch vrss Bcnroety settled in this agreeable solitude, he received a letter from his friend Settimo, asking him tor ad it and circumstantial detail of his circumstiuices and mode^oJ of his plaos and occupations, of his soa John ^ 4 i eviti LIFE answer was prompt, and is not uninteresting. "The coiirae of my life," he Baya, '"has always been imiforra. ever since the froat of Bge has quenched tlie ardour of my youth, and pattioulaxly that Jatal flame which so long; tormented me. But what do I saj?" he continues ; " it is a celestial dew wliich has produced tliia ex- tinction. Though I have often, clianged my place of aSode, I have always led nearly the some kind of life. What it is, none knows better than yourself, I once hved beside you for two years. Call to mind how I was then occupied, and you will know mj present occupations. You understand me so well that you ought to he able to guess, not only wlmt I am doing, but what I bju ureaming. " Like a h^Teller, I am quickening my steps in proportion Ba I approach the term of my course. I read and writ* night and day ; the one occupation refreBhea tne from the 6ttigne of the other. These are my employments—these are my pleasures. My taaks jncreaae upon my hands ; one begets another ; and I am diwnayed when I look at what I hare undertaken to accomplish in so short a Bpaee as the remainder of my hi'e. * i' * My health is good ; my Dody is so robust tliat neither ripe years, nor grave ocoupa- tdons, nor abstinence, nor penance, can totally suhdne that kicktng aaa on whom I am constantly making war. I count upon the grace of Heaven, without wliicli t should infaUibly fall, as I fell in other times. All my reliance ia on Christ. With regard to my fortune, I am exactly in a just mediocrity, equally distant from ilie two extremes * + * * " I inhabit a retired comer of the eity towards the west. Their imeient devotion attracts tlie 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 1ms changed noUiirg in my nourishment, or my hours of sleep, except that I retrench as mnch aa possible &om indul- gence in either. I lie in bed for no other purpose than l^i sleep, unless I am ilL I hasten from beit as soon as I am an'ake, and pB£a into my hbrary. This takes place about liie middle of the ni^t, save when Uie njglits are sliortest. I grant Ui Nature nothing but what she imperatively demands, and which it ia im- possible to refuse her. " Though I have alwa^ loved snUtude and silence, I am a great gossip with my friends, which arises, perhaps, from my aeeing them hut rarely. I atone for this loquacity by a year of taciturnity. I mutely recnU my parted Mends 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 t^o 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 Uian ever from the wearisomeness of the city. I have abundance of everytlung; the peasants vie with each other hi bringing me fruit, fish, ducks, LETTER BESrEOTTKG HIS WAT OF LIFE, ETC. ClX and all aorte of game. There is a beautiful Caithusiaji monaster; in mj neigbbourhuod. where, at aU hours of tlie day. I find the iaaooeut pleasures which religion offers. In this sweet retreat I feel no want but that of my ancient frionds. In these I was once Boh ; bnt death has token away some of them, and absence rohs me of the remainder. Though taj ima^nation represents themr ■till I am not the less desirona of their real prcience. There would remain but few things for me to desire, if fortune would re- store to me but two friends, such as }-ou and Socrates, I confess that I tiattered myself a long time to have had you both with me. But, if you persist in your rigour, I must console myaelf with the company of my religionists. Tlioir conversation, it is true, ia neither witty nor profound, but it is simple and pious. Those good priests will be of great service to me both in lifo and death. I thiiuc I have now said enough about myself, and, perhaps, more than enough. Yon nek me about tlie state of my fortune, and you wish to know whether you may believe the rumoiu^ that are abroad about my riches. It is true that my income is increased ; but 80, also, proportiounbly, is my outlay. I am. as I have always been, neither rich nor poor. Eicliea, they say, make men poor by multiplying their wants and desires ; for my part. I feel the con- trary; the more I have the less I desire. Yet, I suppose, if I posseased ereat riches, they would have the same effect upon me ■a upon otner people. " Yon ask news about my sou. I know not very well what to say concerning liim. His manners are gentle, and the flower of his youth holcb out a promise, though what fruit it may producs I tmow not I think I may flatter myself tliat 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, Fer- snaaions, caresses, and threats are all thrown away upon him aa incitements to study. I have nothing wherewitli to reproach my- eelf ; and I shall be satisfied if he turns out an honest man, as I hope he will. Themistocles nsed to eay that he liked a without letters better than letters without a man." In Uie month of August, 135T, Petrarch received a letter from fienintendi, the Chancellor of Venice, requesting him to send ft dozen elegiac verses to be engraved on the tomb of Andrea Dan- dolo. The children of the Doge had an anient wish that our poet should grant them this lestiniony of his friendship for their father. Petrarch, could not refuse the request, and composed fourteen vetses, 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, 13SC, Tetrarch was almost entirely occu- pied with Ilia treatise, entitled. " De Kemediis utriusque Fortunie." (A Remedy against either extreme of Fortune.) Tliis made a Kreat noise when it appeared. Charles V. uf France had it Iron- 1 I 4 eX UFE OF PETEAECH. acribed for hia library, and translated ; and it was afterwarda tnuislnCed iuto Italian and Spanish. Fetnuch returned to Milan, and passed the antumn at his honsB, the Linlerno, where he met wiHi an accident, that for aome time threatened dangerouB consequences. He tlma 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 myBclf, for the copyists nnderstand noQiing. One day, when I waa entering my library, my gown got entangled with this large book, so that the volnme feu heavily on my left leg, a little above the heel. By some &tality, I treated the accident too lightly. I walked, I rode on horseback, according to my usual custom ; bnt my leg became inflamed, th^ sMn changed colonr, and mortifica- tion began to appear. The pain took away my cheerfnlneas and Bleep. I then perceived that it was foolish courage to trifle with ea serious an accident. Doctors were called in. They feared at firet that it would be necessary to amputate the limb ; but, at last, by means of regimen and fomentation, the aiHictcd member was put into the way of healing. It is singular that, ever since my infancy, my midbrtunes have always fallen on fliis same left le^. In truth. I have always been tempted to beUeve in deatiny ; and why not, if, by the word destiny, we understand Providence ? " As soon as hia leg was recovered, he made a trip to Bergamo. There was in that city a jeweller named Enrico Capri, a man of great natural talenta, who cherished a passionate admiration for the learned, and above all for Petrarch, whose likeness was pic- tured or etatued in every room of his bouse. He had nopiea mttde at a great expense of everything that came hom 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 aU my life, and famous throngh all fitturity." Petrarch consenteii, and on tlie 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 mahed to lodge him in some palace ; but Petrarch adhered to lua jeweller, and would not take any other lodging but with his friend. A short time after his return to Milan. Petrarch had the plea- sure of welcoming to his house John Boccaccio, who passed some days with Tiini The author of the Decamerone regarded Petrarch as hia literary master. He owed him a still h^er obligation, according to liia 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 for^-five years old when he went to Milan. Pe- trarch made him sensible that it was improper, at his age, to lose his time In courtrng women; tlint be ought to employ it more aeriously, and turn towards heaven the devotion which he mis- placed on earthly beauties. Tlds conversation is the subject BOBBKD BT HIS SOS. cf one of BoMaccio's ed^gaes. Entitled. ' ^aloKtiapot.' eologncs are in the styU at Prtrajcb. abacnre and eniematia llie eabjects are muffled op under cmblnua and Greek nam After speading some days with Petrarch, that appeared ahort to tiiem both, Boectecio. pressed b; biuiiiFs^ departed abnat tba begmning of April. 1359. The great novelist soon aftenraidB sent to Pelrarcb friMn Florence a beaotifol oopy of Dante's poem, irrittei) in hla own hand, t^on^er tcith srane indiderent Lntia Terses. in which he bestovs the highest praises on the aotfaor of tiie Infemo. At that time, half the worid believed that Petrarch was jealooa of Danle's lame : and the mmour was rendered plausible by the drcntnstance — fiw which he has accounted vcij latioiuilly — that he had not a copy of Dante in his libiaiy. In the month of May in this year, 1359. a courier Emm Bohemia brought Petrarch a letter from the £mpre» Anne, who hud tht) eottdescension to writa to him with her own hand to inform him that ehe had given birth to a dau^ter. Great was the joj oa tiiia occasion, for the Empress had been married five yents, bat, until now, hud been childless, Ptttruroh, in his answer, dated Ibe 33rd of tlie same month, after expressing his sense of the honour which her Imperial Majesty had done him, adds some common- places, and seasons them with Ills accustomed pediwtt;. He mtmoimces a grand eulogy on the nnmbers of the fair sex who had distinguished themselves by Ibeir virtues aud tlieir courage. Araotig these he instances Isis, Carmeata. tbe mollior of Erander, Sappho, the Sybils, the Amonons. Semiramis, Tomiris, Cleopatra, Zenobia. the Countess Matilda. Lucratia. Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, Mortio. Portia, and Livia. The Einproas Anna was lu) doubt highly edified by tliis muster-roll of iliuatriouH woman; though some of the heroines, snch as Lucretia, might have bridled up at their chaste names being classed witli that of Cleopatra. Petrarch repaired to Lintemo, on the Ist of October, ISfiB ; but his stny there was very short. The <iviuter set in sooner than, usual. The constant rains made liia rural rutrent disagrueahia, and induced him to retom to the city about tlie eud of Uie month. On rising, one morning, soon after his return to Milan, he found that he had been robbed of evorytliiug valuable in his house, excepting his books. As it was a domestic robbery, he could accuse nobody of it but his son Jolm and his servauts, tba former of wliom hid returned from Avigaoa, On tliis, he deter- mined to quit his house at St. Ambiosio, 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 vary presence, 80 violently that they exchanged blows. Petrorch tlien lost all patience, and turned the whole of his puguicious innmtes out of doors. His son Joim had now become an umint dehauelieu ; oud 1 I eXU ZWM OF PETRARCH. it was undoubtedly to supply his debaucharies tbat ho piUaged hiB own fsther. He pleaded strongly to be readinittod to Ilia home ; but Fetrajch persevered for some time in excluding him, tkougb he ultimately took tiim back. It appears from one of Petrarob's letters, that many people at Milan doubled his veracity about the story of the robbery, alleging that it was merely a pretext to excuse bis inconstancy in quitting hia house at St. Ambrosio ; but that be was capable of accusing his own son on false grounds is a suspicion which the whole character of Petrarch easOy repels. He went and settled himself in the monasteiy of St. SimpUdan, an abbey of the BenedictineB of Monte Cassino, pleaaanOy sitnated without the walls of tlie city. He was scarcely eetabUshed in his new home at St, Simph- ciau's, when Qaleazzo Viaconti arrived in triumph at Milan, a^r having taken possession of Pavia. The capture of this city mnoh augmented the power of the Lords of Milan ; and nolhmg was wanting to their satisfaction but the secure addition to their dominions of Bologna, to which Bamabo Visconti was laying siege, although Jolm of Olegea bed given it up to the Church, in consideration of a pension and the possession of the city of This afSiir had thrown tho court of Avignon into much embarrassment, and the Pope requested Nicholas Accityuoli, Grand SeneBchal of Naples, who had been sent to the Papal citf by his NeapoUtan Majesty, to return by way of Milan, and there negotiate a peace between the Church and Bamabo 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 deseriboB their iirst interview in a letter to Zanobi da Strada, and seems to have been captival.;d by the gracious manners of tlie Grand Seneschal. With all liis popularity, the Seneaclial was not snccesafal in his mission. When the Seneschal's proposals were read to the impctuoufl Bamabo, he said, at the end of every sentence, " lo voglio Bologna." It is said that Petrarch detached Galeazzo Visconti from the ambitiouB projects of hia 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 has accommo- dation with the Church was bis being in treaty with France, and Holiciting the French monarch's daughter, Isabella, in marriage for his son Giovanni. After this marriage had been celebrated ^^'ith magnificent festivities, Petrarch was requested by Galeazzo to go to Paris, and to congratulate the unfortunate King John upon his return to bis country. Oar poet had a transalpine pre- judice against France : but he undertook this mission to ite capital, and was deeply touched by its unfortMnate condition. If Ihe aspect of the country in general was miserable, that of IVPERtAL ATTENTIONB. Cli^ tlie capital was slJU worse. " Wliere is Paria." exclsimB Petiarch, " that metropolis, which, thotif^h inferiur to ite reputatiun. Viae, uevertlieleBs, a gi'^at citj?" Ue teilla us that its streets weca covered with htmia and grasB, end Uiat it looked like a vast Here, however, in epile of its deaolate condition, Petrarch wit- nessed the joy nitli which the I'avisiHna received their King John and the Duiipiiiii Charles. The King hud not been welt educatedt yet he respected literature and learned men. The Duupliin was an accomplished prince : and our poet sajs that he was captivatad bj his modesty, sense, and information. Petrarch arrived at Milan early in March, 1301, bringing letters from King John and his son the Dauphin, in which those princei entreat the two Lords of Milan to persuade Petrarch hy every means to come and esUblish himself at their court. No sooner bad he refused their pressing invitations, than he received as equnlly earnest request from the Emperor to accept bis hoapituli^ at Pm^e. At Uiia period, it had given great joy in Bohemia that ths Elmpresa 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 occ^tiuon. The Em- peror sent liim a gold emboRsed 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 gratefal thanks, aaj'ing: "Who would not be astonished at seeing transferred to my use a vase con- secrated by the mouth of Ctesar? But I wUl not profane the Bocred 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 inune- diatoly, but promising that, as soon as the summer was over, if be oonld find a companion for the journey, he would go to the oonrt of Prague, and remain as long as it pleased his Majesty, since the presence of Ctesar would console him for the absence of his books, his friends, and his country. This epistle is dated July nth, 1361. Petrarch quitted Milan during this year, a removal for which TariouB reasons are alleged by liis biographers, though none of them appear to me qnite salietactory. He bad now a new subject of grief to descant upon. The Marquis of Montferrat, unable to contend against the Viaconti, Bppbod 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 •^ •• ' ■ ■ ijg gent to Bsaiat Uie Marquis againtit the i Italy by Nice. It was tlie first time tliat «■ entered the ijatumian land. They did I CliT LIFE OF FETBAHCH. no credit to tlie English character for hustaiuty, but raTaged limds and villageB, killing mso and viaiating women. Their general appellation was me biUldoga of England. Wliat must Lave been Petrarch's horror at these unkennelled bounds ! In one of his letters he vents his indignation at their atrocities ; but, by-and-by, in tlie same epistle, he glides into liis bookworm hahit of apostrophizii^ the ancient heroes of Rome, Brutus, CamilluB, and God knows how many mors I The plague now again broke out in Italy ; and the English and other predatory troops conlribuied much to spread its rnvages. It extended to many places ; but most of aJl it afflicted Milan. It is probable that these disasters were among the causes of Petrarch's leaving Milan. He settled at Padua, wlien 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 j'ear. In the same year. 1361, he married Ida daughter Francesco, now near the age of twenty, to Francesco di Hrossano. a gentle- man of Milan. Petrarch speaks highly of bis son-in-law's talents, and of the mildness of his character. Boccaccio has drawn his portrait in tlie most pleasing colours. Of the poet's daughter, also, he tells ua, " tliat without being handsome, she had a very agreeable face, and much resembled her fatlier." It does not seem that she inherited his genius ; but she was an escellent it hvB with the married pair, he b and much in tlielr society. When our poet arrived at Padua. Francesco di Carrara, the son of his iHend Jocopo, reigned tliere in peace and alone. He had inherited his father's affection for Petrarch. Here, too, was his friend Pandolfo Malatesta, one of Ih^ bravest condottieri of the fourteenth century, who had been driven away from Milan by the rage and jealousy of Bamabo. The plague, which still continued to infest Southern Europe in 18(12, had even in the preceding year deprived our poet of his beloved friend Socrates, who' died at AviMion. " He was," says Petrarch, " of all men the dearest to my heart. His sentiments towards me never varied during an acquaintance of thirty-one 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 Padna for Milan, on ilie luth of January, 1362. reckoning that when tiie 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 itate of (lie c - *-■ " not permit him to proceed to the Alps. TWQ^ , E TO TEKICE. The Emperor of GenQflny now sent PetrarcU a third letter of iirvitAtion to come and see him. wbith oiir poet promised to accept ; but alleged that he was prevented by Uie impossibili^ of gettiiig B. Hafe paaaufie, Boccaccio, hearing that Petrarch medi- ated a, journey to the far North, was mucti Hhtrmed. and re- proached him for Mb intention of dragging tho Mnsea into Stx- matia, when Italy was the true Parnassus. In June, 13U2, the plague, which htul begun its ravagee at Padaa, chased Petrarch &om tliat place, and he took the reaoln- tion of establisliing himself at Venice, wlijch it had not reached. The course of the pestilence, like that of the cholera, was not general, bat unaccountably capricioua. Villani says that it acted uke hail, which will desolate iields to the right and left, whilst it sparea those in the middle. The war had not permitted our poet to ttavei either to Avignon or into Germany. The plague had drlTen him out of Milan and Fadua. " I am not flying &01A. death," he said, " but seeking repose." Having resolved to repair to Venice, Petrarclt as usual took Mb books along with him. From one of his letters to Boccaccio, it appears that it was hia intention to bestow his hbrary on aome religiouB community, but, soon after Ida arrival at Vemce, he coa- ched the idea of offering this treasure to the Venetian Bepnblie, He wrote to tho Government tliat he wished Uie blessed £van- geliat, St, Mark, to be the heir of those books, on condition that they should all he placed in safety, that they should neither be sold nor separated, and that they should be sheltered &om 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 pnbhc, and that tlie citizens who loved their country, the nobles above aU, and even sfrangera, would follow his example in bequeathing books to tho church of St. Mark, which might one day contain a great collection simUaz to Uiose of the ancients. The procurators of the church of St. Mark having offered to defray the expense of lodging and preserving his library, the re- public decreed that our poet's offer did honour to the Venetian atate. They assigned to Petrarch for his own residence a large palace, called the Two Towers, formerly belonging to the fanmy of Molina. The mansion w«s very lof^, and commanded a prospect of the harbour. Our poet took great pleasu view, and describes it with vivid interest. " From this port," he says, " I see vessels deparling, which are aa large as the house I iimabit, and which have masts taller than its towers. Thesa ships resemble a mountain floating on the aea ; they go to alt parte of the world amidst a thouaaaid dan^rs ; they nines to the Enghah, our honey to the ScyUuaus, our s 'Ofl*, and our Imen to the Syrians, Armenians, Per^iiins, aad I I I «Mi LIFE OF FKTRARCH. Arabiand ; and, wonderftil to say. convey onr wood to the Greets and Egyptians. From all these countries thev bring back in return articles of inerchandize, whiuh they di^iise oyer all Europe. They go even as for as the Tonais. The navigation of our eeas does not extend ferther north ; but, wJien they have airived there, they quit their veBsels, and travel on to trade with India and China ; and, after passing the Cancasiis and the Ganges, the; proceed as far as the Eastern Ocean." It is natbral to suppose that Petrarch tsok all proper pre- cautions for tlie preaen'ation of his books ; nevertheless, they are not now to be Been at Venice. Tomnsini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the church of St. Mark, that he de- manded a sight of them, but that he fotmd them almost entirely spoiled, and Home of them even petrified. Whilst Petrarch was forming Ids new establishment at Venice, the news arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had. died on the lath of September. " He was a good, juat, and simple man,'' says the continuator of Nangis. A simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer on accotmt of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the pontificate, to the sm'prise of all the world, by Willjam Orimoard, abbot of St. Victor at UaraeiUes, who took the titie of Urban V. The Cardinals chose him, tliongh he was not of their Saored CoU^e, front their je^usy lest a pope shoold 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 aposUilic secretary, but that he was not to be tempted by a gilded chain. Abant this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Coireg^o, one of his dearest friends, whose widow ^td children wrote to him on this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him aa a father. Bo(^caccio carae to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and Iheii meeting was joyous. They spent delightfully toMther the montJiB of June, July, and August, 13(13. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in tlie following year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Lielius, and his tears were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in beiag bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of eiperionce to appreciate tliis kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of losing our ac- customed friends, and almost wish ouraelvea out of life that we may escape from its solitude. Boccaccio returned to Florence early in ^ptember, 1303. In 1364, peace was concluded between Bamabo Visconti and Urban V. Bamabo having refused 1« treat with the Cardinal Albomo^, whom he pers{)nully hated, bis Holiness sent the Car- dinal Androine do hi Roche to Italy as his legate. Petrarch fepjiired to Bologna to pay his respects to the new representative ^ OF THE JOSOLEUES OF ITALI. CIt3" I of the Pope. He was touched bj the Bad cDnditLan in whiuh hs* 1 found that city, which bad been so floorishmg wlieu he studied ci* ' its university. " I seBin." he aoys, " to be in a dream when I ao« the once fair city deBohited by war, by slttvery, and l)y famina.' Instead of the joy that once reigned here. Badness is everywher- Bpread, and you hear only sighs and waiiings in place of Hongi Wbere you formerly saw troops of girls dancing, there are aoi only bands of robbers and assaasiuB." Luccliino del Verme, one of the most femona condotlieri of hls' time, had conuuanded troops in the service of the Viscoati, Bt< whose eonrt he mode tlio acquaintance of Petrarch. Our poet invited him to serve the Venetians in the war in which they weM' engaged with the people of Candia. Iiucoliino went to Venico whdat Petrarch was absent, reviewed the troops, and embarked lor Candia on board the fleet, which consisfed of thirty galleys and eight large vessels. Petrarch did not retnm to Venice till the expedition hod sailed. He passed tile siiminer in the country, having at liis house one of his friends, Barthelemi di I^ppazuori, Bishop of Christi, whom he had known at Avignon, and who had dome purposely to see hira. One day, when they were boli at n window which overlooked the sea, they beheld one of the long vessels which the ItaHans call a galeazza entering tlie harbour. The green branches witli which it was decked, the air of joy that appeared among the mariners, the young men crowned with lanrel, who, from the prow, saluted Ihe standard of their country — every- thing betokened that the galeazza brought good news. When thfl vessel came a little nearer, tliey coiud percaive the captnred colours of their enemies suspended from the poop, and no donU could be entertained that a great victory had been won. The moment that the sentinel on the tower had made the signal of ft vessel entering the harbonr, the people flocked thither in crowds, and their joy was even beyond expectation when they learned that the rebellion had been totally cmsbed, and the island reduced to obedience. The most magnilicent festivals were given at Venice Shortly after these Venetian Jotes, we find otir poet writing ft' I long letter to Boccaccio, in which he gives a curiona and interest- 1 ing description of the Jongleurs of Italy. He speaks of them in a vety diiferent manner from those pictures that have come down to ns of the Proveufsl Troubadours. The latter were at once poets and musicians, who frequented the conrls and casties of great lords, and saug their praises. Their strains, too, were aometimea satirical. They amused themselves with diflerent sabjects. and wedded fheir verses to the aonnd of the harp and other instruments. They were called Troubadours from the word trobar, "to invent," They were original poets, of the true min- E breed, similar to thoso whom Bishop Percy ascribes to .nd in the olden time, but about the reality of whom, as am CXViii LIFE OF PETBAKCH, profeBBioniil bod^, BitEton has shown aome cause to douht. Of the Italian Jongleura. Petrarch gives us a humble notion, " Tliey are a claaa," he aaya, "who have little wit, but a great deal of memorf, and still more impudence. Having nothing of their own to recite, they snatch at what they can get from otliers, and go about to tlie courts of princes to declaim verses, in the vulgar tongue, which they have got by heart. At those courts tbey inainnafe themselveB into the favour of the great, and get subsist- ence and presents. They seek their means of Uvehhood, that is, the verses they recite, among the best authors, from whom they obtain, by dint of Bolioiiation, ajid even by bribes of money, oom- positioDS for their rehearsal. I have often repelled their impor- tunities, but sometimes, touched by their entreaties, I have spent boiUB in composing productbns for them. I have seen them leave me in rags and poverty, and retnm, some time afterwai'ds, clothed in ailka, and with purses well furnished, to thank me for having relieved them," In the course of the same amnsing corregpondence with Boc- caccio, which our poet maintained at this period, he gives an account of an athe^t and blasphemer at Yenice, with whom ha had. a long conversation. It ended in our poet seizing the infidel by the mantle, and ejecting him from. Iiis house with unceremonious celerity. This conclusion of their dialogue gives us a higher notion of Petrarch's piety than of Ma powers of a^um.ent, Petrarch went to apend the autumn of 136B at PavJa, which city Galeazzo Visconti. made his principal abode. To pass the winter (HI Easter, out poet returned first to Venice, and tlien to Padua, according to his custom, to do the duties of his canoury. It was then that his native Florence, wishing to recall a man who did her so ranch honour, tliought of aslting for liim fi^m the Pope the canonry of either Florence or Fiesole. Petrarch fully appre- oiatod the shabby kindness of hia countrymen. A republic that could afford to be lavish in all other expenses, limited their bounty towards liim to the begging of a canonicate for him &om his Holiness, tliough Florence had confiscated hia father's property. But tbe Pope had other views for him, and had actually appointed him to tiie canoniy of Carpentras, when a false mmour of his death imhappily induced the Pontiff to dispose not only of that living, hut of Parma and others which he haid resigned to indigent Menda, Daring the February of 13flB there waa great joy in the honae of Petrarch, for his daughter, Francesca, the wife of Francesco di Broaaano. gave birth to a boy, whom Donalo degh Albanzani, a peculiarly-favoured fiiend of the poet'a, held over the baptiamal font, whilst he was cliristoned by the name of Francesco. Meanwiiilo, our poet was dehghted to hear of refomiations in the Church, which signalized the commencement of Urban V.'s pontificate. After eome hesitation, Petrarch ventured to write a IKVITKD TO THE COURT OF QAr,EAZZO VtSCOKTI. CXIZ strong adrice to the Pope to remove the holy seat from Avignon to Rome. His letter is long, zealous, auperstitionB. and, a^ usual, a little pedautic. Tlie Pope did not need tliis epistle to spur his intentions aa to replacing tlie liolj seat at Rome; but it so hap- pened that he did make the removal no very long time after Petrarch had written to liim. On the 20Lh of Joly, 1306, our poet rose, as waa his custom, to his matin devotions, and reflected that bo was precisely then entering on hia sixty-third year. He wrote in Boccaceio on the fmbject. He repeats the belief, at that time generally entertained, that the sixty-third year of a man's Me is its moat dangerooB crisis. It was a beUef connected nith astrology, and a supei- stitions idea of the influence of nmnbera ; of course, if it retain! any attention at present, it mnst subsist on practical observatioti:' and I have heara. Hensible physicians, who had no faith in tlw influence of the stars, confess that lliey thought that time of lif^ commonly called the grand climacteric, a critical period for Qia human constitution. In May, l.SHT, Pope Urban accomplished hia determination to remove Ids court from Avi^fnon in spite of the obstinacy of hia Cardinals ; but he did not arrive at Home till the month of October, He was joyously received by the Romans; and, in addiHon ta other compliments, liad a long letter from Petrarch, who was thea at Venice. Some days after the date of this letter, our poflt' received one from Galeazzo YiscontL The Pope, it seems, widied, at whatever price, to exterminate the Visconti. He thimdered this year against Barnabo with a terrible bull, in which he pub- lished 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 him- aelf master of that city. Galeazzo, liis brother, less warlike, thought of employing negotiatiott for appeasing the storm ; and ha invited Petrarch to Pavia, whither our poet arrived in 138B. He attempted to procure a peace for the Visconti, but was not successful. It waa 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 tlie marriage of his daughter Violaate 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 lith of May. Hia nuptials took place about a month later. At the marriage- dinner Petrarch was sealed at the table where there were only princes, or nobles of the first rank. It is a curious circu: ' ' that Froissart. so well known as an historian of England, this time to Milan, in the suite of the Duke of Clarence, and yet formed no acquaintance with onr poet. Froissart was then only about thirty years old. It might have been hoped that """ ■" — I J ea 1.1FS OF EETEAHOH. geniuses would have become intimate friends; but there is no trace oi tiieir having even spoken bi each other. Petrarch's neglect of Froissatt may not have boon so wonderful ; but it ia 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 Ids natural gentleness, was proud in his demeanour to Eitrangera ; and if so, Fioissart wss excusable for an eqiiaJly- In the midst of tl)e fetes that were ^ven for the nuptials of the English prince, Petrarch received news of the death ol his grand- child. This little boy had died at Pavia, on the very day of tt^ marriage of Lionel and Violante, when only two years and four months old. Petrsrch 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 grandaon. " This child," he save, " had a singular resemblEince to me, insomuch that any one who had not seen its mother would have token 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 approa^- ing, when lie was accustomed to be ill ; and he had, besides, got by the accident of a lall a bad cont\uion on his leg. He was anxious to retnm 1j) Padua, and wished to embark on. tlie Po. But war was abroad; the river banks were crowded with troops of the belligerent parties ; and no bontmen could be found for some time who would go with him for love or money. At last, ho 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, 13t)8. The Pope wished much to see our poet at Rome ; but Petrarch excused himqplf oQ account of liis health and the summet 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. Dnring the same year, we find Petrarch complaining often and painfully of his bod^y infirmities. In a letter to Colucdo 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 nevet seen Pope Urban V., as he tulls us himself; but he was very desirous of seeing liim, and of seeing Rome adorned by the two great tuminaides of the world, the Pope and the £mperor. Pope UrlHA, fearing the heats of lualy, to wliich he was not accustomed, had gone ki pass the 'iaacoue. When ht amed tfa JliXES HIS WILL. cni returned to Rome, in October, on hin arrival at the CoUine gate, near the church of St. Angelo, he found the Emperor, who was wattiiig for him. The Emperor, iLe moment lie saw hif) HolinesB, dismounted from his horse, took the reina of that of the Pope, and conducted him on foot to the chorch of St. Peter. As to this Gubmission of cItU to eccleaiaetical dignitr. different opinions were entertained, even at Home ; and the wiser class of men disapproved of it, Petrarch's opinion on the subject is not re- corded ; but, during this year, there is no proof that he had any with the Emperor ; and m; own opinion is tliat he did 'e of his conduct. It ia certain that Petrarch con- the Pope's entering Rome at the head of liODO soldiery. The Konmn Pontiff," he remarks, " should trust ta 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 only standard which he ought to rea " were out of place. It would have b bflHelujahs." Petrarch, in his letter to Boccaccio, ii says that he had get the fever ; and he ■was obUged to employ the hand of a stranger in writing to him. I He indites as follows : — '■ I have had the fever for for^ days. It kened me.so much that I could not go to my church. Ihongb near my bouse, without being carried. I feel as if my health ' ' never be restored. My constitution seems to be entirely nt." In another letter to the Cardinal Cabassole, who in- Jbrmed him of the Pope's wish to see him, he says : " Hia " iliness does me more honour than I deserve. It is to yon that >we this obligation. Return a thousand tliaiiks to the holy fcther in your oivn name and in mine." The Pope was so ansiona to see Petrarch that he wrote to him with Ms own hand, reproaching him for refusing his invitation. Our poet, after re- turning a second apology, passed the winter in making preparations for this journey ; but before setting ont he thought proper to ma^e his wilL It was written with hia own hand at Padua. In his testament be forbids weeping for his death, justly re- marking that tears do no good to the dead, and may do harm to tie living. He asks only prayers and alms to the poor who will ptay for him. " As for my burial," he says, " let it be made as my friends think lit. What signi&es it to me where my body is laid 7 '■ He then makes some bequests in favour of the religions orders; and he founds an anniversary in his own chorch 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 hia picture of the Virgin, painted by Giotto ; "" the beauty of which," he says. " is Uttle known to the ignorant, loo^ Uie masters of art wiH never look upon it without onli LIFE To Donafo di Prato Vecohio, master of granunar at Venice, ha leaves all the money tiiat he hod lent him. He bequeathes the horses he may have at his death to Bonzanello di Vigoncia and Lombarda da Seri^o. two friends of his, citizens of Padua, wishing them to draw lols for tlie choice of Uie horses. He avows being indebted to Lomhardo da Serigo 134 golden ducats, advanced for the expenses of his house. He also bequealhes to the same person ft goblet of silver gilt (undoubtedly the same which the Emperor Charles hod sent him in 131)3). He leaves to John Abucheto, 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 saeriaty for the nse of the fiitore priests of the church. To John Boccaccio he bequeathes 60 gold florins of Florence, to buy him a winter-habit for bis studies at night " I am ashamed," he adds, " to leave so smail 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 nay make use of it in singing the praises of God. To Giovanni Dandi. physician of Padua, & leaves 60 ducats of gold, to buy a gold ting, which he may wear in remembrance of him. He appoints Francesco da Brossano, citizen of Milan, his heir, and desires him, not only as hie heir, but as his dear son, to divide into two parts the money ha should find — the one for himself, the other for the person to whom it was assigned. " It would seem l^ this," says De Sade, "that Petrarch would not mention his dau^tei by name in a pubhc will, because she was not bom in marrtage." Yet his shyness to name her makes it singular that he should style Brossano bis son. In case Brosaono ^onld die before him, he appoints Lombardo da Serigo Ids eventual heir. De Bade considers the appointment as a deed of trust. With rBBpect to his httle property at Vauclnse, 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 lloiins of gold, payable at once, or by five or tea florins eveiy year. A few days after he had made this will, he set oot for Home. The pleasiu'e with which he undertook the journey made hini suppose that be could support it. Bnt when be reached Ferrara he fell down in a fit, in wlijch he continued thirty hours, witliout eenae or motion ; and it was supposed that he was dead. The most violent remedies were used to restore him tj^ consciousness, hut he says tliat 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. Tlie news spread to Padua, Venice. ^' ' a- Crowds came from ^m H^ BEStDENCK AT ARQCA. CXSui an pBits to his burial. Ugo d' Este. the brother of Nicholas, tt jDiiRg man of much merit, who bad on enthuBitiBtic regard fov Petrarth, paid him imremittiiig attention during Ms illness. H^ came three or four times a da; to see him, aad sent mesaengers iaeeBsantlj to inquire how he was. Our poet nckuowledged tbat he owed lus life to tlie kindness of those two noblemen. When Petrarch was recoverin|r, he was impatient to pursue his ront«, tiiongh the phyaiciana assurpd him that he could not get to Home alive. He would hare attempted the journey in qnte of their wamii^s, if hia strength had seconded his desires, but he was unable to sit his horse. Tliey brought liim back to Padua, laid on a soft seat on a boat. His unhoped-for Totnm caused as much surprise as joy in- that cit^. where he was received by itd " lords and dtizeiiB with as much joy as if he had come bacJc froni H the other world. To re-establish his health, he went to a Till^fet I called Armi^, situated on the slope of a hill famous tat tM. saJnbrity of its air, the goodness of its wines, and the beautT of its Tiiiejar^s. 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 tile country a great number of other fruit-trees. He hod saajoely Used himself at Arqua, when he put his last hand to a work which he had begun' in tlie year 1307 . To explain the subject of this work, and the circnmstances which gave rise to it. I think it necessary to state what was the real cause of omt poet's disgust at Venice. He appeared there, no doubt, to leaft an agreeable life among many friends, whose society was deli^^ilfiH J to him. But there reigned in tliis city what Petraroh thonglit 1 licenliouBness in oonversation. The most ignorant persQns weit 1 in the habit of undervaluing the finest geniuses. It fills n^'1 ifith regret to find Petrarch impatient of a hherty of speeoh,'' \ which, whatever its abuses maybe, cannot be suppressed, inllioiit 4 crushing the liberty of bwnian thought At Venice, mrfreovefj | the phUoaophy of Aristotle was much in vogue, if doctrines ooul4 « lie called AristoteUan, which hud bcon disfigured'hy commentatolrs, I rtid still worse garbled by Avenoes. Tlie disciples of AverroeB I a*Venice insisted on the world having been co-otomal with' GoiT tfnd made a joke of Moses and his bo'ik of Genesis. " Won! the eternal arcbiteet." they said, " remain from all eternity doiw- f nothing? Certainly not! The world's ydulhful appearance S '" owing to its revolutions, and the changes it has undergone ^•'\ delugea and conflagrations." "Those free-thinkers," Petranffli - tells us, " had a great contempt for Christ and his Apostles, as' well lie for all those who did not bow the knee to the fetagirite." They called the doctrines of Christiani^ fables, and heU and' heweh the tales of asses. PTnally, they believed fliat Providenoe ttJces nn niire of anything undf r the region of lie moon. Four yoiTng Venotiana of this sect had attached themaelv 1 itrarchj^^^H ttOQT LlfE or PETRARCH. who endiired their society, bat opposed tlioir opimona. Hia opposition offended Ehem, and l^liejreBulved to humble him in the public estimation, Tbey constituted themselves a tribunal to try liis merits : they appointed an advocftte to plead for hint, and they coDclnded by determiiiing that he whs 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 Donabt and Boccaccio, advised and persuaded him to treat it seriously, and to write a book about it ? Petrarch accordin^ir put hia pen to the subject. He wrote a treatise, which he entitled "De sui ipsius et sliorum Ignorantia — " (On his own Ignorance, and on that of others). Petrarch had himself formed the design of confaljng the doc- trines of Averroes ; but he enga^d Ludovico Marsili, an Aumistine monk of Florence, to perlorm the titsk. This mock, in Petrarch's opinion, possessed great natural powei's, and our poet Bxliorts liim to write against tliat rabid animal (Averroes) who barks with so much fiiiy egainst Christ and his ApoetleB. TJnfoi'tuiiat<^ly, the rabid animals who write against the truths we ore most willuig t« believe are difficult to be lolled. The eood air of the Euganean mountains ikiled to re-eetablish the health of Petrarch, He continued ill during the summer of 1310. John di Dondi, his physioiau, or rather his friend, for he would have no physician, would not quit Padua without going to see hira. He wrote to him afterwards that he had discovered the ti-ue cause of his disease, and that it arose from his eating fruits, drinking water, and frequent fastings. His medical adviser, also, besought >iiTii to abstaiu from all salted meats, and raw frtiits, or herbs, Petrarch easily renounced salted provisions, "but. as tn fruits," he says, " Nature must have been a very unnatural mother to give us such ftgreeeble food, with such delightful huea and fragrance, only to seduce her children with poison coTered over with honey," Whilst Petrarch was tlms ill, he received news very anlikely to forward his recoveij. The Pope tcok a sudden resolution to return to Avignon. That city, in concert with the Queen of Naples and the Kings of France and Arragou, sent him vessels to convey him to Avignon. Urban gave bm a reason for his conduct the necessity of maldng 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 cliraate of Rome, tha 61111111; and rebellious character of the Ilahans. and the importn- nities of his Cardinals, were the true cause of his return. Ha was received with great demonstrations of joy ; but St. Bridget had told hill) that if he went to Avignon he shoidd die soon after- wards, and it so happened that her prophecy was fulfilled, for Uie Pope not long after his arrival in Provence was suized with a I HE UCKS PBEFERMEKT. ffltST mortal iUnesa, and died on Ihe I9th of December, 1370. In the course ot his pontificate, he had received two ainguliir honours. The £mperor of the West had performed the afiice of his equeny, and the Emperor of the East ahjured scliism, acknowledging him as primate of the whole Christian Church. The CardinalB chose tm Urhan's Buccessor a nan wlio did honour to their election, namely, Ketro PU^ern. nephew of Clement VT., who took the name of Gregory XI. Petraroh knew Idin. he had seen hi'n at Padua in 1367. when llie Cardin&l was on his waj to Romu, and r^oiced at his accession, lite new Pontiff caused a letter to be written to our poet, expressing his wish to see him, and to he of service to him. In a letter written about this time to his friend Francesco Bnmi, we perceive that Petrariih is not quite so indifferent to the Ci things of the world as the general tenor of his lettera would 1 ns to imagine. He writes : — " Were I to say tliat I want nteans to lead the life of a canon, I should be wrong, but when I say that ray single self have more acquaintances than all the chapter put together, and, consequently, that X am put to more e:q)enBes in the way of hospitality, then I am right. This em- berrassmcnt increases every day, and my resources diminish. I havB made vain eflbrta to free myself uom my difficulties. My Cbend, it is true, yields me more bread and wine than 1 need my own consumption. I can even sell some of it. But my oxpenseB are very considerable. hOTses, nsually hve or six amanuen moment It is because I could fin to find a painter than an amanuensis, I have a venerable priest, who never quits me when I am at church. Sometimes when I etnint upon dining with hint alone, behold, a crowd of guests will Dome in. I must give them something to eat, and I must tell them amusing stories, or else pass for being proud or avaricious. " I am desirous to found a Uttle oratory for the Virgin Mary ; and shall do so, though I should sell or pawn my books. After that I shall go to Avignon, if my strength pennits. If it does not, I shall send one of my people to the Cardinal Cabassole, and to you, that you may attempt to accomplish what I have often wi^ed, hut uselessly, as boQi you and he well know. If the holy bther wishes to stay my old age, and put me into somewhat better circomstances, as he appears to me to wish, and as his pre- daoessor promised me, the thing would be very easy. Let him do as it may please him. much, little, or nothing ; I shall be always content Only let him not say to me as Clement VI, used to do, ' ask what you wbh for." I cannot do so, for several reasons. In the first place, I do not myself know exactly what would suit me. Secondly, if I were to demand some vacant place, it might be t?^6tL away before my demand readied tlie feet of his HoUness. I Thirdly, I might make a request that might displease him. Hia tanai life of petearch. extreme Mndness migbt pledge him to grant it; and I shanld tw made miserabie by obtaining it. " Let him ^ve me. then, whatever he pleasee, without woitdng for my petitioning for it. Would it become me, at my years, to be a solicitor for beuoflcea, having never been so in my youth ? I tniEt, in this matter, to what jon may do nith Oie Cardinal Sabina. You are the only friends who remain to me in that country. These thirty years the Cardinal has given me marks of hia affection and good-wilL I am about to wiite to him a few words on the subject ; and I shall refer him to this letter, to save my repeating to him those miserable Uttle details with which I should not detain you, unless it seemed to be necessary." Ashort time afterwards. Petrarch heard, with no small satisfac- tion, of the conduct of Cardiual Cabasaole. at Perugia. When the Cardinal came to take leave of the Pope the evening before hia depailBrB for that cilj, he said, " Holy father, permit me to recom- mend Petrarch to you, on account of my love for him. Ha is, indeed, a man unique upon earth — a true phcenis." Scarcely was he gone, when the Cardinal of Boulogne, making pleasantries on the word phrenis, turned into ridicule both the praises of Cabassole and hitti who was (heir object. Francesco Broui. iu writing to Petrarch about the kindness of the one Cardinal, thought it uimecessarj to report the pleasantries of the other. But Petrarch, who had heard of them from another quarter, relates tliem himself to Eruui, and says : — " I am not astonished. This man loved mo formerly, and I was equally attached to him. At present he hates me, and I return his hatred. Would you know the reason of Ihla double change ? It is because he ia the enemy of tmlh, and I ajn the enemy of falsehood ; he dreads the Uberty which inspires me, and I detest the pride with which he is swollen. If our fortunes were equal, and it we were togetlier in a free place, I should not call myself a phceniz ; for that title ill becomes me ; but he would be an owl. Sveh people as he imagine, on accoont of riches iU-acqnired, and worse employed, that they are at liberty to say what they please." In the letter which Bruni wrote to Petrarch, to apprize him of Cabassole 's departure, and of wliat he had said to the Pope in his favour, he gave >iini notice of the promotion of twelve new cardi- nals, whom Gregory had just instadled, with a view to balance tha domineering authority of the others. "And I fear," he odds, "that the Fope'a obUgations to satiate those new and hungry comers may retard the effects of hia goodwill towarda yon. ' " Let hia Holiness satiate them," rephed Petrarch ; " let him appease their thirst, which is more than the Tagus. the Pactolus, and the ocean itself could do — I agree to it; and let him not think of me. I am neither famished nor thirnty, I shall content myself with their leavings, and with what the holy tathec S flunk meet to give, if he deigns to tliink of me." -" HIS COMPLAINTS AGAINST CARDINALH. IBrani was right. The Pope, beset bj applicatioDS on all hands, had no time to tliink of Petrareh. Eruni for a year diacoatinned £is correEponden^^e. Hia silence vesed our poet. He tvrote to Francesoo. Baying, " You do not write to me, becanse you cannot oommunicate what you would wish. You undeifltand me ill, and you do me injuEtice. I desire notliing, and I hope for nothing, but an easy death. Nothing is more ridiculous than an old man's avarice ; thongh nothing ia mure common. It is like a voyager wishing to heap up proviaiona for his voyage when he sees himself approaching the end of it. The holy &ther has written me a most oblidng letter : is not that suiScient for me ? I have not a douht of his good-will towards me, but he is encompassed by people who thwart his intentions. Would that those persona could know how muoh I despise them, and how much I prefer my mediocrity to the vain grandeur which renders them so proud ! " After a tirade gainst his enemies in purple, evidently some of the Cardinals, he reproaches Bruni for having dwelt ao long for lucre in the ill-smeUing Avigmm ; he exhorts him to leave it, and to come and end his days at Florence. He says that he does not write to the Pope for fear of appeariug to remind him of his pro- miBea. " I have received," he adds, " his letter and Apostoho blessing ; I heg you to communicate to his Holineaa, in the clearest manner, that I wish for no more." From this period Petrarch's health was never re-established. _^e was languishing with wishes to repair to Peru^a, and to see Ida dear friend the Cardinal Cabassole. At the commencement spring ha mounted a horse, in order to see if he could support journey : but his weakness was such that he could only ride a . . BtepB. He wrote to the Cardina] eKpressing his regrets, hnt seems tji console himself by recalling to his old friend the days they had spent together at Vaucluse. and then: long walks, in which they often strayed so far, that the servant who came to seek for them and to announce that dinner was ready could not find them till the evening. It appears from tliia epistle that our poet had a general dislike to cardmals. "You are not," he tells Cabaaaole, "like most c£ your brethren, whose heads are turned by a bit of red cloth ao far as to forget that they are mortal men. It seems, on the contrary, aa if honours rendered yon more humble, and I do not believe that yon would change your mode of thinking if they were to pot a crown on your head." The good Cardinal, whom Petrarch paints in auoh pleasing coburs, could not accustom himself to the climate of Italy. He had acaroely arrived there when he fell ill, and die<ion the afith of Angust in the same year. Of all the friends whom Petrarch had had at Avignon, he had now none left but Mattheus le Long, Archdeacon of Liege, with whom hia ties of friend.ship had Hubsiated ever since tliey had studied together at Bologna, From him he received a letter on He HJli9< 1^' i r 1 CXXVUl LIFE Oir PETRAHCH. tlie 5tli of JannBiy, 1373, and in his answer. Aat(.i Ihe same da; at Padua, he gives this picture of his conditioji, and of the life which he led: — " You ask about my conditioa — it ia this. I am. thanlcs to God, sufficiently tranquil, and free, unless I deceive myself, from all the passions of my joqUl I enjoyed good health fur a long time, but for two years past I have become infrm. Frequently, those aroond me have believed me dead, hut I live sbll, and pretty much the same as yon hare knomk me. I could have monnled higher ; but I wished not to do so, since every elevation is suspicious. I have acquired many friends and a good many books : I have lost my health and many Mends ; I have spent Bome time at Venice. At present I am at Padua, where I perform the ftmctions of canon. I esteem myself happy to have quitted Venice, on account of that war whicli has been declared between that Republic and the Lord of Fadua. At Venice I should have been suspected : here I am caressed. I pass the greater part of the year in the country, which I always prefer to tiie toivu. I repose, I write, I think : so yon see that my way of life and my pleasures are the same as in my youth. Having studied so long, it is astonishing (hat I have learnt so httle. I hate nohody, I envv nobody. In that first season of life which is full of error and presmnption, I despised all tlie world except myself. In middle life, I despised only myself In my aged years. I despise all the world, and myself most of all. I fear only tliose whom I love. I desire only a good end. I dread a company of valets like a troop of robbere. I should have none at all. if my age and weasness permitted me. I am fain tj] shut myself up in conceal- ment, fori cannot endure visits; it is an honour which displeases and wears me oat. Amidst the Ei^anean hills I have built a email but neat mansion, where I reckon on passing quietly the rest of my days, having always before my eyes my dead or absent friends. To conceal nothing from you. I have been sought after by the Pope, the Emperor, and the King of France, who have dven me pressing invitations, but I have constujitly declined Siem, preferring my liberty to everything." In this letter. Petrarch speaks of a sharp war that had arisen between Venice and Padua. A Gascon, named Rainier, who commanded the troops of Venice, having thrown bridges over the Brenta, eBtablished his camp at Ahano, whence he sent de- tachments to ravage the lands of Padua, Petrai'ch was in great alarm ; for Arqua is only two leagues from Abano. He set out on the 15th of November for Padua, to put himself and biB books under protection. A friend at Verona wrote to him, saying, " Only writa your name over Ihe door of your house, and tear nothing ; it wiU he your, safeguard." The advice, it is hardly necessary to say, wna absurd. Among the pillnging soldiery there were thousands who could uot have mad the ^^r OOBREBFOHSEKCE WITH fASDOLPtlO UALATEBTA. CX21X poet's name if Ihey had saen it written, and of those who were acooiiipliRheii enough to read, probably irnmy who would hftve thought Petrarch aa St to be plunderad. as another nten. Petrarch, tlierefore, sensibly rephed. " I should be sony to trust them. Mara rsBpecta not Uie &vourites of the Muses ; I have no such idea of my name, as tliat it would shelter me irom the furies of war." He was even in pain about hia domesticB, whom he left at Arqua, and who joined him some days afterwards. Fandolfu Malatesta, learning what wafi passing in the Paduan territory, and the danger ia which Petrarch was exposed, aent to offer him his horses, and an escort to conduct liim to Pesaro, which was at that time his residence. He was Lord of Pesaro and Fossombrone, The envoy of Fandolfo found our poet at Padua, and used every argument to second his Lord's invitation; but Petrarch excused liiniself on account of the atate of his health, Ihe insecurity of the highwajfs, and the severity of the weather. Besides, he said that it would be disgraceful to liim to leave Padua in the present circumstances, and tliat it would expose him to the suspicion of cowardice, which he never deserved. Pandolfo earnestly solicited Irom Petrarch a copy of his ItaHan works. Our poet in answer says to bim, •' I have sent to you by your mesaenger these trifles which were the amusement of my yonth. They Lave need of all your indulgence. It is shamefi^ for an old man to send you things of tliia nature ; but you have earnestly asked for tliem. and can I refuse you anything ? With what grace could I deny you versea which are current in the streets, and are in the mouUi of all tlie world, who prefer them to the more sohd compositions tliat I have produced in my ripei years?" This letter is dated at Padua, on the 4th of January; 1873. Pandolfo Malatesfa died a short time after receiving it. Several Powers interfered to mediate peace between Venica and Padua, but their negotiationa ended in nothing, the spirits of both beUigerenta were so embittered. The Pope had sent as his ' nuncio for this purpose a young professor of kw, named Uguzzone da TMene, who was acquainled with Petrarch. He lodged with our poet when he came to Padua, and he communi- cated to bim some critical remarks which had been written at Avignon on Petrarch's letter to Pope Urban V., congratulating him on his return to Rome. A French monk of the order of St, Bernard passed for the author of this work. As it spoke irre- vently of Italy, it stirred up the bile of Petrarch, and made him resume the pen with his sickly hand. His answer to tlie oHensive production glows with anger, and is harsh even to abusiveness. He declHinis, as usual, in favour of Italy, which he adored, and against France, which he disliked. After a suspension the war was again conducted with fary, till tit last a peace was signed at Venice on the lltli of September, I exXX LIFK OF PETHARCH, 1378. The conditionB were hard acd humiliating to the chief of Padua. The third article ordained tliat he should come in peraon, or send his son, to ask pardon of the Venetian Kepubhc for the insults he had offered her. and swear inviolable lidelity to her. The Carrara sent his son Francesco Novello. and requested Petrarch to accompany him. Our poet had no great ivish to do BO, and liad too good an excuse in the state of tus health, which waa still very fluctuating, but the Prince importuned him. and he thought that he could not refuse a favour to such a Mend, Francesco Novello, accompanied by Petrarch, and by a great suite of Paduan gentlemen, arrived at Venice on the 37Bi of September, where they were well received, especially the poeL On the following day the chie& of the maiden city gave hini a public audience. But, whether the luajeaty of die Venetian Senate afiected Petrarch, or his illness returned by accident, so it was that he could not dehver the speech which he had prepared, for his memory tidied him But the universal desire to hear him induced the Senators to postpone their sitting to the foDowing day. He then spoke with enei^, and was extremely applandei Franceso NoveUo begged pardon, and took the oath of fidehty. Francesco da Carrara loved and revered Petrarch, and used to go frequentiy to see him without ceremony in his small mansion at Arqua. The Prince one da^i complained to liim that he had written for all the world excepting himself. Petrarch thought long and seriously about what he should compose that might C.se the Carrara ; but the task was embarrassing. To praise directly might seem sycophantish and fulsome to the Prince himself. To censure liira would be BtUl more indelicate. To escape the difficulty, he projected a treatise on the best mode of Coming a State, and on the qualities required in the person who such a charge. This subject fumialied occasion for givii^ indirect praises, and, at the same time, for pointing out some defects which he had remarked in his patron's government. It cannot be denied that there are some excellent maxims re- specting government in this treatise, and that it waa a laudable work for the fourteenth century. But since that period the subject has been so often di^^ussed by minds of the lirst order. that we should look in vain into Petrarch's Essay for any truths that have escaped their observation. Nature oflers herself in virgin beauty to the primitive poet. But abstract truth comes not to the philosopher, till she has been tried by tlie teat of After his return from Venice, Petrarch only languished. A low fever, that undermined his constitution, left him but short intervals of health, but made no change in Ins mode of life ; he pBflsed Ihe greater part of the day in reading or writing. It does not appear, however, that he composed any work in the course of the year 1374. A few letters to Bocca^jcio are all that can bo THE DECAMEBON. CXSXl traced to his pen during that period. Their date is not marked in them, but they were certainly written shortly before his death. None of them possess any particular interest, excepting that always in which he mentions the Decameron. It seems at first sight not a httle astonishing that Petrarch, who had been on terms of the strictest friendship with Boccaccio for twenty-four years, should never till now have read his best work. Why did not Boccaccio send him his Decameron long before ? The solution of this question must be made by ascribing the circumstance to the author's sensitive respect for the austerely moral character of our poet. It is not knowTi by what accident the Decameron fell into Petrarch's hands, during the heat of the war between Venice and Padua. Even then his occupations did not permit him to peruse it thoroughly ; he only sHghtly ran through it, after which he says in his letter to Boccaccio, " I have not read your book witli suffi- cient attention to pronounce an opinion upon it ; but it has given me great pleasure. That which is too free in the work is suifi- ciently excusable for the age at which you wTote it, for its elegant language, for the levity of the subject, for the class of readers to whom it is suited. Besides, in the midst of much gay and playful matter, several grave and pious thoughts are to be found. Like the rest of the world, I have been particularly struck by the beginning and the end. The description which you give of the state of our country during the plague, appeai'ed to me most true and most pathetic. The story which forms the conclusion made so vivid an impression on me, that I wished to get it by heart, in order to repeat it to some of my friends." Petrarch, perceiving that this touching story of Griseldis made an impression on aU the world, had an idea of translating it into Latin, for those who knew not the vulgar tongue. The follo^^dng anecdote respecting it is told by Petrarch himseK: — " One of his friends, a man of knowledge and intellect, imdertook to read it to a company ; but he had hardly got into tlie midst of it, when his tears would not permit him to continue. Again he tried to resimie the reading, but wdth no better success." Another friend from Verona having heard what had befallen the Paduan, wished to try the same experiment ; he took up tlie composition, and read it aloud from beginning to end without the smallest change of voice or countenance, and said, in returning the book, " It must be owned that this is a touching story, and I • should have wept, also, if I beHeved it to be tnie ; but it is clearly a fable. There never was and there never will be such a woman as Griseldis."* This letter, which Petrarch sent to Boccaccio, accompanied by /' * This is the story of the patient Griscl> which is familiar in almost every lan- guage. i 2 cxxxii LIFE a, Latin translatioii of his story, is dated, in a, MS. of tlie Freticit King'e Ubrarj, the Bth of June, 1374, It Ib perhaps, the last letter which he ever wrote. He eompiaina in it of " mischievous people, who opened packela to read the letters contained in them, and copied wliat they pleased. Proceeding in their hcence, they even spared themselves the tronhle of tranBcriplion, and kept the pacltets themselves." Petrarch, indignant at those violators of the rights and confidence of socie^, took the resolution of writing no mora, and bade adieu to his friende and epistolary correspond- ence, " Valete amici, valete epistolie." Petrarch died a very ahort time after despatching thia letter. His biographers and contemporary authors are not agreed aa to the day of his demise, hut the probability seems to be that it was the ISth of July. Many writers of his life tell us tliat he ex- pired in the arms of Lombardo da Serigo, whom Philip Villani and Gianozzo Manetti make their autliority for an absurd tra- ditjon connected with Ms death. Tliey pretend that when he breathed his last several persons saw a white cloud, hke the smoke of incense, rise to the roof of his chamber, where it stopped for some time and then vanished, a miracle, they add, alearly proving that his sonl was aeneptable to God, and ascended to heaven. Giovanui Manzini gives a different account. He Bays that Petrarch's people found him in his library, sitting with hia head reclining on a book. Having often seen him in tlus at- titade, they were not alarmed at first ; hut, soon finding that he exhibited no Big"" of life, they gave way to their sorrow. Ac- cording to Domenico Aretino, who was mnch attached to Petrarch, and was at that time at Padua, so that he may l>e re);arded as good autliority, his deatli was occasioned by apoplexy. The news of his decease made a deep impression tl Italy ; and, in the first instance, at Arqua and Padua, and i^ cities of the Euganean hills. Their people hastened in crowds ta pay their last duties to the man who bad honoured their countiT by hia residence. Francesco da Carrara repaired to Arqua with all his nobility to assist at his obsequies. The Bishop went thither with his chapter and with all his clergy, and the coDunon people flocked together to stiare in the general mourning. The body of Petrarch, clad in red satin, which was the dress of the canons of Padua, supported by sixteen doctors on a bier covered with cJoth of gold bordered with ermine, was carried to the parish church of Arqna, wliich was fitted up in a manner suitable to the ceremony. After the funeral oration had been pronounced by Bonaventura da Praga, of the order of the hermita of St. Augustiu, the corpse was interred in a chapel which Pe- trarch himseh had erected in the parish church in honour of the Virgin. A short time afterwards, Francesco Brossano, having eaosed % tomb of marble to be raised on four piUara oppo^a r pLUNDEnED. — thk Africa, csxxiif ' te the same church, transferred the body to that apot, and en- graved over it an epilaph in same bad Latin linea, the rhyming of which is their grpjiieBt merit. In the year 1637, Paul Valde- ZQCchi, proprietor of the house and erounda uf Petrarch at Arqua, caused a bust of bronze to be placed above his mausoleum. In the year 1630, his monumeut was violated by some sacri- legious thieves, who carried off some of his bones for tiie sake of seUing tliem. The Senate of Venice severety punished the de- linquents, and by their decree upon the subject testified their deep respect for the remajiis of Uiis great man. The moment the poets will was opened, Broseano, his heir, liastened to forward to his Irii-nds the httle legacies which had been left them : among the rest bis fifty fionus to Boccacdo. The answer of that most interesting man is charaoteristic of his sensi- bility, whilst it unhappily shows him to be approaching the close of his hfe (tor he survived Fetrai'ch but a year), in pain and extreme debility. " My first impulse," he says to Brossano, " on hearmg of the decease of my maslei*," so he always denominated our poet. " was to have hastened to his tomb to bid him my last adien, and to mix my tears with yours. But ever since I lecturad in pub- lic on the Divina Commedia oi Dante, which is now tea months, I have suffered under a malady which has so weakened and ohansed me, that you would not recognise me. I liave totally lost the stoutness and complexion which I had when yon saw me at Venice. My leanness is extreme, my sight is ilini, my hands ahake. and my knees totter, so that I can hardly drag myself to my country-house at Certaldn. where I only languish. Afterread- ing your letter. I wept a whole night for my dear master, not " 1 for his piety permits us not to doubt that he is now happy, but for myself and for his friends whom he baa left in tiiis world, like a vessel in a stormy sea without a pilot. By my own gnef I ju^ of yours, and of that of Tulha, my beloved sister, your worQiy spouse. I envy Arqua the happiness of hold- ing deposited in her soil him whose heart was the abode of the Muses, and the sanctuary of ptiilosophy and eloquence. That village, scarcely known to Padua, nill henceforth be famed throughout the world. Men will respect it like Mouut PausiUppo for containing the ashes of Virgil, the shore of the Euxine for possessiua the torab of Ovid, and Smyrna for its being believed ta be the Durial-place of Homer." Among other things, Boccacdo inquires what has become of his divine poem entiUed Africa, and whettier it had been committed to the flames, a fate with wliich Petrarch, from excess of dehcacy, often threatened hia oompo- Bitions. From this letter it appears that this epic, to which he owed the laurel and no small part of liis hving reputation, had not yet been pubUshed, with Uie exi'.eption of thirty-four vei-ses. wliioh had appeareil at Naples through tbe indisctetimi of Barbatus. " lo suid that Petrarch kept it coutinually liwAui^ 'Oi^,vak& Jd r oxxxir . LIFE 0 had been Beveral times inclined to bum it. The author of the DccAQteroii himEelf did not long survive his master ; he died the ■il6t of December, 1375, Petrarch so far succeeded in clearing the road to the study of auEitjiiitiea, as to deserve tiie title which he jnstiy retains of the restorer of classical learning ; nor did hia entlmsiasm tor ancient monuments prevent l>ini from describing them with critical taste. He gave an iinpulae to the study of geography by his Itinerarium Syriacum. That science had been partially revived in the pre- ceding century, by the publication a! Marco Polo's travels, and jom^eys to distant coiuitries had been accomplished more fre- quently than before, not only by religious missicmaries, but by pOgrims who bnvelled fi'om purely rational curiosity; but both of uiese classes of travellers, especially Uie rehgioniats, dealt pro- foaely in the marvellous ; and their fabehooils were further ax- a^erated by copyists, who wished to profit by the sale of MSS. describing their adventures. As an insea,nce of the doubtful wonders related by wayfaring men. may be noticed what is told of Octorico da Pordenone, who met. at Trebi/oiid, with a man who had trained four thousand partridges to follow him on journeys for three days together, who gutiiered around like chickens when he slept, and who returned home after he had sold to the Empenji ea many of tliem aa his imperial majesty chose to select His treatise. " De Remediis utriusque Fortonte " (On the Remedies for both Extremes of Fortune) was one of his great undertakings in the solitude of Vaucluse, though it was not linished till many yesrs afterwards, when it was dedicated to Azzo Correggio. Here he borrows, of course, largely from the aucients : at the same time he treats ua to some observations on hmuan aulure suffioieutly original to keep his work from the dryness of plagiarism. His treatise on "A Holitary Life " was written as an apology for his own love of retirement — retirement, not siiUtude. for Petrarch had the social feaUng too strongly in his nature to desire a perfect hermitage. He loved to have a fdend now and then beside him, to whom he might say how sweet ia solitude. Even his deepest retirement in the " shut-up valley " was occasionally visited by dear iriends, with whom his discourse waa so interesting that they wandered in the woods so long and so far. that the servant coidd not find them to announce that tlieir dinner was ready. In his rapturous praise of living alone, our poet, there- fore, says wore th .n he sincerely meant ; he liked retirement to be Btire, but then it was with somebody within reach of him. like the young lady in Miss Porter's novel, who was fond of solitude, and walked much in Hyde Park by herself, with her footm&n be- hind her. His treatise, " De Otio Beliginsorum." wa.t written in 1363, after an agi'eeable visit to his brother, who was a monk. It is a oonuneudsttioa of the monastic lii'e. He may be found, I dars CHABACTEB OF HIH POETRY. ■a7, to exaggerate the blessing of that mode of life which, in pi- poTtion to our increasing activity and inl^Iligence, has sunll il the estiniation of Protestant society, ao that we compare tlie whoW monkish firatemity with ike drones in a hive, an ignavum pecD3, Thorn the other bees are right in expelling. Thongh 1 shall never pretend to he the translator of Petrarch, I recoil not, after writing his Life, from giving a Htnuere account of the impression which his poetry produces on my mind. I have studied the Italian language with assiduity, though perhaps fit a later period of my life than enables the ear to bepsrfectli/ sensitive to its harmony, for it is in yonth, nay, almost in child- hood alone, that the melody and felicitous expressions of any tongue can touch our deepest sensibihty ; but sml I have studied it with paing — I believe I can thoroughly appreciate Dante; I can perceive much in Petrarch that is elevated and tender ', and I approach the subject unconscious of the slightest splenetio pr^udice. I demur to caUing him the first of modern poets who refined and digni&ed the language of love. Dante had certainly set him the example. It is true that, compared with his brothers of clas- sical antiquity ui love-poetry, he appears like an Abel of purity offering innocent incense at the side of so many Cains making their carnal sacrifices. Tibullus alone anticipates his tenderness. At the same time, while Petrarch is purer than those classical lovers, he is never so nfttursl as they sometimes are when their passages are least objectionable, and the Bun-bnrsts of his real, mauly, siid natural human love seem to me often to come to us struggling through the clouds of Platoniam. I will not expatiate on the eiiiieetti that may be objected to in many of his sonnets, for thev are so often in such close con- nection with exquinitely line uoughts, that, in tearing away the weed, we might be in i&n^r of snapping the flower. I feel little inclined, besides, to dweU on Petrarch's faults with that feline dilation of vision which sees in the dark what would escape other eyes in daylight, for, if I coidd make out the strongest critical case against him, I should still have to answer this ques- tion. " How comes it tliat Petrarch's pnetrf, in spite of all these fiiulta, has been tlie favourite of the world for nearly five hundred So strong a regard for Petrarch is rooted in the mind of Italy, that his renown has grown up like an oak which has reached maturity amidst the storms of ages, and fears not decay from revolving centuries. One of the hiah charms of his poetical lan- goage is its pure and melting melody, a charm untransferable to any more northern tongue. No conformation of words wiU charm the ear unless they bring silent thoughts of corresponding sweetness to tlie mind ; nor Muld the most sonorous, vapid verses be changed into poetry if ] they were set to the mnHio of the Spheres. It is scareely necfil- HBiy to Bay that Petrarch has intcUei^tual gra<^cs of thought and epiritual feUciCiea of dicdon. without which his tactics in the mere march of words would be a worthless ekill. The loTe of Patrarch was inifiplaced, hut its utterance was at once so fervid a:nd dehcate. and its enthusiasm so enduring, that the purest minds feel justified in ahstracting from their conside- Tatian the nnhappiness of the attachment, and attending only to its devout fldehly. Among his deepest admirers we shall find women of virtue above suspicion, who are willing to foroet Mb Laura being married, or to forgive the circumstance for the elo- Sience of his courtship and the unwavering faith of his aSuction. or is this predilection for Petrarch the result of femtde vanity and the mere love of homage. No ; it is a wise instinctive con- aoiouanesB in women that the offer of love to them, without enthu- aiaam. refinement, and aonttttHcy, is of no value at all. Without these qualities iu their wooers, tiiey are the slaves of the stronger aex. It IS no wonder, therefore, that they are grateful to Petrarch for holding up the perfect image of a lover, and tliat tlioy regard him as a friend to that passion, on the dehcacy and constancy of which the happiness, the must hallowed ties, and the very con- tiniunce of the species depend. In modem ItaUan criticism there are two schools of taste, whose respective partizans may be culled the PetrarchisCs and the Dante- ists. The latter allege that Petrarch's amatory poetry, from its platonic and mystic character, was best suited to the age of cloisters, of dreaming voluptuaries, and of men living under tyrannical Governments, whose thoughts and feelinj^ were op- pressed and disguised. The genius of Bante, on the other hand, they say, appeals to all that is bold and natural in the human hreaflt, and they trace the grand revival of his popularity in oar own times to tlie re-awakened spirit of Uberly. On this side of the question the most eminent Italian scholars and poels are certainly ranged. The most gifted man of that country with whom I was ever personally a<;quainted, Ugo Foscolo, was a vehement Dante- ist. Yet his copious memory was well stored with many a sonnet of Petrarch, which he could repeat hy heart; and with all his Donteism, he infused the deepest tones of admiration into his recitation of the Petrarchan sonnets. And altogether, Foscolo, though a cautious, is a candid admirer of onr poet. He saya. " The harmony, elegance, and perfectioa of his poetry are the result of long labour; but its original con- ceptions and pathos always sprang from the sudden inapiralian of a deep and powerful passion. By an attentive perusal of all the writings of Petrarch, it may be reduced almost to a certainty that, by dweUing perpetually on the same ideas, and by aUowing his mind to prey incessantly on itself, tlie nliole train af his fedings and reflectiuns acquired one strong character and tone, and, if BI8 FOETBS' NOT TilAN'SLATABLE. CSXXVU hs waa ever able to suppress tliem for a time, they retttmed to him v,ith iitcreuavd violence ; that, to trariqiiiUize this agitated state of his mind, he, in the first iu^tance. cominuuicated in a frue and looat manner all that he thoaght and felt, in Ilia correspond- ence with Ilia intimitis friends : that be afterwards reduced tbesa narrativea, with more order and description, into Latin verse ; Uid that he, lastly, perfected them wiUi a gruatar profusion of imagery and more art in his Italian poetry, the composition of which at first served only, as he frequenOy says, to divert and mitigate all hia afflictions. We may thua understand the perfect concord which prevails in Petrarch's poetry between Nature and Art; between Uie accuracy of fact and the magic of invention; between depth and perapicuity: between devouring passion and calm meditation. It is preeisely because tiie poetry of Petrarch originally sprang from the heart that liis passion never aeems hc- titioos or cold, notwithstanding the profuse ornament of his style, or the metaphysical elevation of his tlkou(;hts." I quote Ugo f oacolo. because he is not only a writer of strong poetic feeling as well as philoeopliio judgment, but he is pre- eminent in that Italian critical achool who see the merits of Petnin-h in no exaggerated light, but. on tlie whole, prefer Dauta to liiin as a poet. Petrarch's love-poetry, Foscolo remarks, may be considered as the intermediate link between tliat of the clas- Bics and the modems. * * * * Petrarch both feels like the ancient aud philosophizes like the modern poets. Wlien he paints after the manner of tlie classics, he is equal to them. I despair of ever seeing in Enghsh verse a translation of Pe- trarch's Italian poetry that shall bo adequate and popular. The term adequate, of course, always apphes b> the translation of genuine poetry in a subdued sense. It means tlie Itest that can be expected, after making allowance for tliat escape of etherial spirit which is inevitable in the transfer of poetic Uioughts &om one language to another. The word popular is also to be taken in a liitiited meaning regarding all trajislationa. Cowper's ballad of John Gilpin is twenty limes more popular than liis Homer; vet the latter work is deservedly popular in comparison with the Bulk of translations from antiquity. The same thing may be said of Gary's Dante ; it is, like Cowper's Homer, as adequate and popular as translated poetry can be expected to be. Yet I doubt if either of tlioae poets could have succeeded so well with Pe- trarch. Lady Dacre has shown much grace and ingenuity in the passages of our poet which she has versijied ; but she could not tranter into English those graces of Petrarchan diction, which are mostly intransi'erable. She could not bring the Italian language along with her. Is not this, it may be B^ked, a proof that Petrarch is not so genuine a poet as Homer and Dante, since his chai*m depends upon the dehcacies of diction that evaporate in the transfer lirom r CXXXVlll LIFE OF PETRATIcn. tongue to tongne, more than on hardy thoughts that will take root in any lanf^age t« wliich tJiey are tranaplanted. ? In a. gene- ral view. I agree with tliis proposition ; yet, wJiat we call ielici- hma diction can never have a potent charm wlthont refined thoughts, which, like essential odours, may be too impoJpahle to bear transfusion. Bums has the happiest imaginable ScottiBfa. dicdon ; yet, wlbat trae Scotsman would bear to see him iliine into French? And. with the exception of German, nhat languaf^ has done justice to ShEikespeare ? The reader must be a true Petrarchiat who is TinoouRcioua of b Denetal similarilf in tlie character of his sonnets, which, in the long perusal of t^em. amounts to monotony. At the same time, it must be said that this monotonous similarity impresses tlie mind of Petrarch's reader exactly in proportion tollie slendemess of his acquaintance with the poet. Does he approach Petrarch's Bonneta for the first time, jhej wiU probably appear to him aU as like to each otlier as the sheep of a flock ; but, when he becomes more familiar witli them, he will perceive an interesting indivi- duality in every sonnet, and wiL discriminate their individual cha- racter as precisely as the shepherd can distinguish every single sheep of Ua flock by its voice and face. It wonld be ratlier tedious to pull ont. one by one, all the sheep and lambs of our poet's flock of sonnets, and to enumerate the varieliea of tlieii bleat; and though, by studying the subject half bis lifetime, a man might classify them by Iheir main characteristics, he would find them defy a perfect classification, as they often blend different gnajities. Some of them have a uniform expression of calm and beautifiil feeling. Others breathe ardent and almost hopeful passion. Others a^^ain show him jealous, despondent, or despair- ing ; sometimes gloomily, and sometimes with toueliing resig- nation. But a great many of them have a mixeil chiu'Bcter. wiiere, in tlie space of a line, he passes from one mood of mind to anotJier. As an example of pleasing and calm reflection, I would citd the first of liis sonnets, according to tlie order in which tliey ere nsuslly printed. It is singular to find it confessing the poet's shame at the retrospect of so many years spent. ITiDiigh mnKiniii, now, n 80NKETS TRANSLATED BY CAMPBELL. CXI^XIX The following sonnet (cxxvi.) is such a gem of Peti'archan and Platonic homage to beauty that I subjoin my translation of it with the most sincere avowal of my conscious inability to do it justice. In what ideal world or part of heaven Did Nature find the model of that face And form, so fraui;ht with loveliness and grace* In which, to our creation, she has given Her prime proof of creative power above ? What fountain nymph or goddess ever let Such lovely tresses float of gold refined Upon the breeze, or in a single mind. Where have so many virtues ever met, E*en though those charms have slain my bosom's weal ? He knows not love who has not seen her eyes Turn when she sweetly speaks, or smiles, or sighs. Or how the power of love can hurt or heal. Sonnet Ixix. is remarkable for the fineness of its closing thought. Time was her tresses by the breathing air Were wreathed to many a ringlet golden bright. Time was her eyes diffused unmeasured light, Though now their lovely beams arc waxing rare. Her face methought that hi its blushes show'd Compassion, her angelic shape and walk. Her voice that seem'd with Heaven's own speech to talk i At these, what wonder that my bosom glow'd ! A living sun she seem'd— a spirit of heaven. Those charms decline : but does my passion ? No ! I love not less— the slackening of tne bow Assuages not the wound its shaft has given. The following sonnet is remarkable for its last four lines having puzzled all the poet's commentators to explain what he meant by the words " Al man ond' io scrivo e fatta amica, a questo volta.** I agree with De Sade in conjecturing that Laura in receiving some of his verses had touched the hand that presented them, in token of her gratitude.* In solitudes I've ever loved to abide By woods and streams, and shunn'd the evil-hearted. Who from the path of heaven are foully parted ; Sweet T6scany has been to me denied. Whose sunny realms I would have gladly haunted. Yet still the Sorgue his beauteous hills among Has lent auxiliar murmurs to my song, And echoed to the plaints my love has chanted. Here triumph 'd, too, the poet's hand that wrote These lines — the power of love has witness'd this. Delicious victory ! I know my bliss. She knows it too— the saint on whom I dote. Of Petrarch's poetry that is not amatory, Ugo Foscolo says with justice, that his three political canzoni, exquisite as they are in versification and style, do not breathe that enthiusiasm which opened to Pindar's grasp all the wealth of imagination, all the treasures of historic lore and moral trutli, to illustrate and dignify his strain. Yet the vigour, the arrangement, and the perspicuity of the ideas in these canzoni of Petrarch, the tone of conviction and melancholy in which the patriot upbraids and mourns over * Cercato ho sempre solitarla vita.— Sonnet 221, De Sade, vol. ii. p. 8. I I I I LIFE OF PETK4T1CH. hin connttv. strike the heaxt with such force, as to atone for the ence at grand and exuberaitt imagery, and of tlie in'eaistible letuH which peculiarly belongs to tlie ode. 'etrarch's principal Italian poem that is not throivn into the shape of the sonnet ia his Trionfi, or Triumphs, in five parts. Thongh not consisting of sonnets, however, it has ths same amatory and constant allusiona to l^aura as tho gi'eater part of his poetry. Here, as elsewhere, he recurs from time to time to the history oi bis pasaioD, its rise, its prosresa, and ita end. For this pur- pose, he describes Imman life in its successiTe stages, omitting no opportimily of introducing his miatresa and himaelf. 1. Man in his youthful state is the slave of lore. 2. As he advances in age, he feels tlie inconveniencea of his amatory pro- pensities, and endeavours to conquer tliem by chastity. 3. Amidst the victory which he obtains over himself, Death steps in, and levels alihe the victor and the vanquiahed. 4. But Fame arrives after death, and nialies nian as it were hve again after deatli, and Burvive it for ages by his fame. 6. But man even by fiune can- not live for ever, if God has not granted him a happy existence throughoat eternity. Thus Love triumphs over Man ; Chastity triumphs over Love ; Death trinmpha over both ; Fame triumplw over Death ; Time triumphs over Fame ; and Eternity triumpha over Time. ITie subordinate parts and imagery of the Trionfi have a beauty rather arabesque tlian classical, and resembling the florid tracery of the later oriental Gotliic arclij lecture. But tlie whole effect of the poem is pleasing, from the general grandeur of its design. In summing up Petrarch's character, moral, pohtical, and poetical, I ahould not stint myself to the equivocal phrase used by Tacitus respecting Agrjcola: Bonum virum facile dixerii, mag- num lihenter, but slioulii at once claim for his memory the titlo botli of great and good. A restorer of ancient learning, a rescuer of its treasures from obhvion, a despiaer of many contemporary superstitions, a mail, who, though no reformer iijmaelf, certainly contributed to the Beformation, an Itiilian patriot who was above provincial partiahtiea, a poet who still hvea in the hearts of his country, and who is shielded from oblivion by more generations than there were hides in the sevenfold sliield of Ajax — if tliis wa^ not a great man, many who are ao called must bear the title i t a great irthily. He was a faithful friend, and a devoted lover, and ap- pears to have been one of tlie most fascinating beings that ever existed. Even when his fiulings were admitted, it must still be said that even hit failing! leaned to virtue'^ tide, and, altogether ire may pronounce tliat ill Ihe wot) { PETKARCH'S SONNETS, TO LAUEA IN LIFE. SONNET I. Vvi, A' foeeliaU in rime apar tho in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed When early youth my maiy wauderinga led, Fondly diverse from what I now appear, Fluttering 'twist frantic hope and frantic feaj. From thoae by whom my various style is read, I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled, Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear. But now I clearly see tliat of mankind Long time I was the tale ; whence bitter thought And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem ; While of my fi'enjy, shame the fruit I find, And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought, That the world's joy is but a flitting dream. Cbasleuoht. 0 TK, who list in eeatter'd verse the sound Of all those sighs with which my heart 1 fed. When I, by youthful error first misled, Unlike my present self in heart was found ; Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred; If e'er true love its influence o'er ye ahed, Oh I let your pity be with pardon crown 'd. ^ But now full well I see how to the crowd For length of time 1 proved a public jest : E'en by myself my folly is allow'd : And of my vanity the fruit is shame, Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest. That worldly pleasure is a passing dream. Ye, who may listen to each idle strain Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was ted In life's first mom, by youthliil error led, (Far other then from what I now remain !) That thus in vaiying numbers I complain, Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred. If any in love's lore be practised. His pardon, — e'en his pity I may obtain : But now aware that to mankind my name Too long has been a bye-wonl and a scorn, I blush before my own severer thought; Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame. And deep repentance, of the knowledge bom That all we value m this world is naught. SONNET II. Prr far una Ug^odra mia vatdtttn. Fob many a crime at once to make me smart, And a delicious vengeance to oblnin. Love secretly took up his bow again, As one who acts the cunning coward's part ; My courage had retired within my heart, There to defend the pass bright eyes might gain; When his dread aTcheiy was pour'd amain Where blunted erst had fallen every dart. Scared at the sudden brisk attack, I found Nor time, nor vigour to repel the foe With weapons suited to the dirofiil need; No kind protection of rough rising gi-ound. Where from defeat I might securely speed, Which fain I would e'en now, but ah, no method know! NOTI. TO LAUEA IN LIFE One sweet and signal vengeance to obiam, To punish in a day ciy life's long crime, As one who, bent on harm, waits place and time. Love craftily took up his bow again. My virtue had retired to watch ray heart. Thence of weak eyes the danger to rejiell, When momently a mortal blow there fell Where blunted hitherto dropt every dait. And thus, o'erpower'd in that first attack, She had nor vigour left enough, nor room Even to arm her for my pressing need. Nor to the steep and painful mountain back To draw me, safe and scathJess from that doom, Whence, though alas ! too weak, she fain had freed Maccreoob. SONNET III. Era 'I giamo cli' al lol si leoloraro. TwA3 on the mom, when heaven its blessed ray In pity to its suffering master veil'd. First did I, Lady, to your beauty yield. Of your victorious eyes th' unguai'ded prey. Ah ! little reck'd I that, on such a day. Needed against Love's arrows any shield; And trod, securely trod, the fatal £eld : Whence, with the world's, began my heart's dismay. On every side Love found his victim bare. And through mine eyes tranafix'd my throbbiiij; heart Those eyes, which now with constant sorrows liow : But poor the triumph of his boasted art, "Who thus could pierce a naked youth, nor dare To you in armour mail'd even to display his bow ! Wran^ TwAs on the blessed morning when the snn In pity to our Maker hid his light. That, unawares, the captive I was won. Lady, of your bright eyes which chaiu'd me quite; That seem'd to me no time against the blows Of love to make defence, to frame relief : Secure and unsuspecting, thus my woes PETRAltCH. Sate their commen cement from the Love found me feeble Clien and fenceless all, Open the way and easy to my heart Through eyes, where since my sorrows ebb and flow But tberein was, metbinks, his triuinph small, On me, in that weak state, to strike his dart, Yet hide from you bo strong bis very bOw. Macgi ' SONNET IV. QadcK it\jiniUi prmrideiwi erf arte. grief. ^H He that with wisdom, goodness, power divint Did ample Nature's perfect book design, Adom'd thifi beauteous world, and those above. Kindled fierce Mars, and soften 'd milder Jove: When seen on earth the shadows to fulfill Of the less volume which conceal'd his will, Took John and Peter from their homely cai-e, And made them pillars of his temple fair. Nor in imperial tiome would He be bom. Whom servile Judnli yet received with scorn : "E'en Bethlehem could ber infant King disown. And the rude manger was bis early throne. Victorious sufferings did his pomp display, Kor other chariot or triumphal way. At once by Heaven's example and decree. Such honour waits on such humility. Basil Kenkkt. The High Eternal, in whose works supreme The Master's vast creative power bath spoke; At whose command each circling sphere awoke, Jove mildly rose, and Mars with fiercer beam : To earth He come, to ratify the scheme Eeveal'd to us through prophecy's dark cloak. To sound redemption, speak man's fallen yoke ; He chose the humblest for that heavenly theme. But He conferr'd not on imperial Bome His birth's renown ; He chose a lowlier sky, — To stand, through Him, the proudest spot on earth t And now doth shine within its humble bome A star, that doth each other so outvie, That grateful nature hails its lovely birth. Wollaston, I Who show'd such infinite providence aiid skill In hia eternal government divine, Who launch'd the spheres, gave sun and moon to si And brightest wonders the dark void to fill; On earth who came the Scriptures to maint^n. Which for long years the truth had buried yet, Took John and Peter from the fisher's net And gave to each his pFwt in the heavenly reign. He for his birth fair Eume preferr'd not then, But lowly Bethlehem ; thus o'er proudest atat« He ever loves hmnilily to raiae. Now rises iVom small spot like sun again, Whom Nature hails, the place grows bright and great Which birth so heavenly to our earth displays, MlcoitEaoB I SONNET V, Quanie ID mora i aoapt'ri a cMaraar noi. Is sighs when I oulbreathe jour cheriRh'd name. That name which love has writ upon my heart, LADd instantly upon my doting tongue, At the first thought of its sweet sound, is heard ; Your EEgal state, which I encounter next. Doubles my valour in that high emprize : But TAcil ends the word ; your pruiae to tell Is fitting load for better backs than mine. Thus all who call you, by the name itself, Are taught at once to LAUd and to REvere, O worthy of all reverence and esteem ! IBave that perchanue Apollo may disdain That mortal tongue of his immortal boughs Should ever so presume as e'en to speak. A SONNET VI. I SI Iratiala i 'I folk mio rfesio. So watward now my will, and so unwise, To follow her who turns from me in flight. And, from love's fetters free hersell and light. Before my slow aod shackled motion flies. That less it lists, the more my sighs and cries ^^^| Would point where passes the safe path and right, ^^^| Nor aught avaih to check or to escite, ^^^H For Love's own nature uttrh and spuv defies. ^^^H Thus, when perforce the bridle he has won, ^^^^H And helpless at his mercy I remain, ^^^^| I Against my will he speeds me to mine end ^^^ "Neath yon cold laurel, whose false boughs upon Hauga Che harsh fruit, which, tasted, spreads (he pain / X sou^it to stay, and mars where it should mend. My tameless will doth recklessly pursue , ^|H Her, who, unshackled by love's heavy chain, ^^^| Flies swiftly from its chase, whilst I in vain ^^H ikii.. ^_<i. u ; ^^^^1 Against my will he speeds me to mine end "Neath yon cold laurel, whose false boughs upon Hangs the harsh fruit, which, tasted, spreads (he pain / X sou^it to stay, and mars where it should mend. Macuregob^ My tameless will doth recklessly pursue L Her, who, unshackled by love's heavy chain, I Flies swiftly from its chase, whilst I in vain My fetter'd journey pantingly renew; The safer track 1 offer to its view. But hopeless is my power to restrain. It rides regardless of the spur or rein ; Love makes it soum the hand that would suhdue. The triumph won, the bridle all its own, Without one curb I stand within its power, And my destruction helplessly presaf,'e ; It guides me to that laurel, ever known, To all who seek the healing of its flower. To aggravate the wound it should assuage. Wollaston SONNET VII. id 30(0 e 7 aOHno e C azioie } I ToRK is each virtue from its earthly throne By sloth, intemperance, and voluptuous ease ; E'en nature deviates from har wonted ways. Too much the slave of vicious custom grown. Far hence is every light celestial gone. That guides mankbd through life's perplexing n And those, whom Helicon's sweet waters please. From mocking crowds receive w.ntempt (done. Who now would laiwel, my rile- wreaths obtain ? Iiet want, let shame. Philosophy altend 1 Cries the base world, intent on sordid gain. TMiat though thy favourite path be trod by few ; I.el it but urge tliee more, dear gentle irieiid '. Thy great design of glory to pursue. Asos. ] Intemperasoe, slumber, and the alothfiil doira Have chased each virtue from ibis world away; Hetice is our nature neai-ly led astray From its due course, by habitude o'erthrown ; Those kindly lights of heaven so dim ate grown, Which shed o'er human life instruction's ray ; That him with scornful wonder they survey, Who would draw forth the stream of Helicon. " Whom doth the laurel please, or myrtle now ? Naked and poor. Philosophy, art thou I " The worthless crowd, intent on lucre, cries. Few on thy chosen road will thee attend ; Yet let it more incite thee, gentle friend, To prosecute thy high-conceived eniprize. ] SONNET Vni. A pii lU colli ow la belta irata. Beneath the verdant hiUa — where the fuir vest Of earthly mould tirst took the Lady dear, Who him that sends us. feather'd captivei, here Awakens often from his tearful rest — Lived we in freedom and in quiet, blest With everything which life below might chf — , No foe suspecting, harass'd by no fear That aught our wanderings ever could molest ; Em snatch 'd from that serener life, and thrown To the low wretched state we here endure. One comfort, short of death, survives alone : Vengeance upon our captor full and sure 1 Who, slave himself at others' power, remains Pent in worse prison, bound by sterner chains. Ma CO BBS OR. Beneath those very hills, where beauty threw Her mantle first o'er that earth-motdded fair, Who oft from sleep, while shedding many a tear. Awakens him that sends us imto you. Our lives in peaceful new and freedom flew. E'en as all creatures wi-=li ivho hold life dear; M re brcught, .^^^H □ere ^^^| Nor deem'd we aught could in its course come n ■Whence to our wanderings danger might ai But from the wretched state to which we 'ri Leaving another with sereneness fraught, Nay, e'en from death, one comfort we obtain That vengeance follows him who sent us here ; Another'a utmost thraldom doomed to hear, Bound he now lies with a sliU stronger chain. Nott, SONNET IX. Qitando 'tpianela cite dislitiffae r oi-e. Wben the great planet which directs the hours To dwell with Taurus from the North is borne, Such virtue rays from each enkindled horn, Bai-e beauty instantly all nature dowers ; *TJor this alone, which meets our sight, that flowers Eichly the upland and the vale adorn, But Earth's cold womh, else lustreless and lorn, ^ quick and warm with vivifying powers, ■ Till herbs and fruits, like these I send, are rife. — So she, a sun amid her fellow fair. Shedding the rays of her bright eyes on me. Thoughts, acts, and words of love wakes into life— But, ah ! for me is no new Spring, nor e'er, ■ Smile they on whom she will, again can be. MACfiKEGOR. WiiEN Taurus in his house doth Phcebus keep, There pours so bright a virtue from his crest That Nature wakes, and stands in beauty drest, vThe flow'ring meadows start with joy from sleep : Nor they alone rejoice^ earth's bosom deep (Though not one beam illumes her night of rest) Besponsive smiles, and from her fruitful breast Gives forth her treasures for her sons to reap. ^T^hus she, who dwells amid her sex a sun, t Shedding tipon my soul her eyes' fuU light. Each thought creates, each deed, each word of love • But though my heart's proud mastery she hath won Alas ! widiin me dwells eternal night : My spirit ne'er Spring's genial biealh doth prove. Wor.i-nSTos, n SONNET X. Qlfrriosa Colonna, in cut t a^ I Globious Colonna ! still the strengtli and stay Of our best hopeB, and the great Latin name Whom power could never from ihe true right way Seduce by flatteiy or by terror tame : No palace, theatres, nor arches here. But, in their stead, the fir, llie beeeh, and pine V Oo the green sward, with the fair mountain near Paced to and fro by poet friend of thine ; Thus unto heaven the soul from earth is caught; While Philomel, who sweetly to the shade The livelong night her desolate lot complains, Fills the soft heart with many an amorous thought ; — Ah I why is so rare good imperfect ninde While severed from us still my lord remains. Macgbegob. Glomoub Colonna 1 thou, the Latins' hope. The proud Bupporter of our lofty name. Thou hold'at thy path of virtue still the same. Amid the Ihnnderings of Rome's Jove — the Pope. Not here do human structures interlope The fir to rival, or the pine-trees claim, The soul may revel in poetic flame Upon yon mouut^n's gi'een and gentle slope. And thus from earth to heaven the spirit soars, Whilst Philomel her tale of woe repeals Amid the sympathising shades of night, Thus through man's breast love's cuirent sweetly pours ; Yet still thine absence half the joy defeats, — Alasl my friend, why dim such radiant light? WoLi.AST(nr;f BALLATA I. Lnisare il veto o per mle o per orabra. Never thy veil, in sun or in the shade, Lady, a moment I have seen Quitted, since of my heart the queen Mine eyes confessing thee my heart betray'd. 10 PETE ARCH. While my enamour'd thoughts I kept conceal' Those fond vain hopes bj which 1 die. In tliy Bweet features kindness beam'd inged was the gentle language of thine Soon as my foolish heart itself reveal'd ; And all that mildness which I changeles) All, all withdrawn which most my soul esteem d. Tet still the veil 1 must obey, Which, whatsoe'er the aspect of the day, Thine eyes' fair radiance hides, ray life to ovt ( Whbbefobb, my unkind fair one. say, Whether the snu fierce darts bis ray. Or whether gloom o'erspreads the sky, That envious veil is ne'er thrown by ; Though well you read my heart, and knew w much I long'd your charms to view? While I conoeal'd each tender thought. That' my fond mind's destruction wrought, Your face with pity sweetly shone ; But, when love made my passion known. Your sunny locks were seen no more. Nor smiled your eyes as heretofore ; Behind a jealous cloud retired Those beauties which I most admired. And shall a veil thus rule my fate? O cruel veil, that whether heat Or cold be felt, art doom'd to prove Fatal to me, shadowing the lights I love ! SONNET Xr. Se la mia tfita dalC aspro tortnenlo. eye ^^M ieem'd — ^^H If o'er each hitter pang, each hidden throe Sadly triumphant I my years drag on. Till even the radiance of those eyes is gone, Iiady, which star-like now illume thy brow ; And silver'd are those locks of golden glow, And wreaths and robes of green aside are throvra, And from thy cheek those hues of beauty flown, Which check'd so long the u Haply my bolder tongue may then reveal The bosom'd annais of my heart's fierce fire, The martyr- throb a that now in night I veil : And should the chill Time frown on young Desirt Still, still some late remorse that breast may feel. And heave a tardy sigh— ere love with lil'e expire Wbanoraw. Ladt, if grace to me so long be lent From love's sharp tyranny and trials keen. Ere my last days, in life's far vale, are seen, To know of thy bright eyes the lustre spent, The fine gold of thy hair with silyer sprent, Neglected the gay wreaths and robes of green. Pale, too, and thin the face which made me, e'en 'Gainst injury, slow and timid to lament : Then will I, for such boldness love would give, Lay bare my secret heart, in martyr's fire Years, days, and hours that yet has known to live ; And, though tlie time then suit not fair desire, At least there may arrive to my long grief. Too iate of tender sighs the poor relief. Macohegob. SONNET XII. Qiuivdo fra P altre doiiae ad ora ad ora. Thboked on her angel brow, when Love displays His radiant form among all other fair. Far as eclipsed their choicest charms appear, I feel beyond its wont ray passion blaae. And still I bless the day, the hour, the place, When firat bo high mine eyes I dared to rear ; And say, " Fond heart, thy gratitude declare, if That then thou had'st the privilege to gaze. yjl 'Twas she msph-ed the tender thought of love, • V Which points to heaven, and teaches to despise \i The earthly vanities that others prize : She gave the soul's light grace, which to the skies Bids ihee straight onward in the right path move ; Whence buoy'd by hope e'en now 1 soar to worliis above." Wkakgham 1 19 PETRARCH. When Love, whose proper throne is that sweet fao At times escorts her 'mid the sisters fair, Aa their each beauty is than here less rare. So swells Id me the fond desire apace. I bless the hour, the season and the place. So high and heavenward when my eyes could dare ; And ».ij : " My heart ! in grateful memory bear This lofty honour and surpassing grace : i'rom her descends the teuder truthful thought, Which follow d, hlisa supreme shall thee repay, Who spurn 'st [he vanities that win the crowd : From her that gentle graceful love is caught. To heaven which leads thee by the right-hand way, And crowns e'en here with hopes both pure and proud." ^___^ MAceaEOOH. EALLATA TI. Is wearied eyes ! while looking thus On that fair fatal face to us, wise, be hiief, for— hence my sighs — Already Love our bliss denies. Death only can the amorous track Shut from my thoughts which leads them hack To the sweet port of all their weal ; But lesser objects may conceal Our light from you, that meaner far In virtue and perfection are. Wherefore, poor eyes ! ere yet appears. Already nigh, the time of tears. Now, after long privation past. Look, and some comfort take at last. M. SONNET SIIL /o nf rimlgo indietra a eiaieun ptata. ON qtnTTnia lauka. Wtth weary frame which painfully 1 bear, I look behind me at each onwai'd pace. And then take comfort from your native uir, Which lollowing funs my melancholy face; I D LADHA JN LIFE. The far way. ray frail life, the cherish'd fair Whom Urns I leave, as then my thoughts retrace I fix my feet in silent pale despair, And on the earth my tearful eyes abase. At times a doubt, too, rises on my woes, " How ever can this weak and wasted frame Live from life's spirit and one source alar ?" Love's answer aooii the truth foi^otien shows — " This high pure privilege true lovers claim. Who from mere human feelings franchised are ! " Macobegoi I LOOS behind each step I onward trace. Scarce able to support my wearied frame. Ah, wretched me I I pantingly ejiclaim, And from her atmosphere new strength embrace ; I think on her I leave — my heart's best grace — My lengthen 'd journey — life's capricious flame — I pause in withering fear, with purpose tame. Whilst down my cheek tears quick each other chase. My doubting heart thus questions in my grief: " Whence comes it that existence thou canst know When from thy spirit thou dost dwell entire ?" Love, holy Love, my heart then answers brief: " Such piivilege I do on all bestow Who feed my flame with nought of earthly fire I " WOLLASTOl^ BONNET XIV. Mtmein 'I veechierel caniUo e bianat. The palmer bent, with locks of silver gray. Quits tlie sweet spot where he has pass'd his years. Quits his poor family, whose anxious fears P^nt the loved father fainting on his way ; And trembling, on his aged limbs slow borne. In these last days that close his earthly course, He, in his soul's strong purpose, finds new force. Though weak with age, though by long ti-avel worn: Thus reaching Borne, led on by pious love. He seeks the image of that Saviour Lord Whom soon he hopes to meet in bliss above : H PETBABCH 80, oft in other forms I seek to trace Some charm, that to my heait may jet afford A faint resemblance of thy matchless grace. Da( aK As parts the aged pilgrim, worn and gray, From the dear spot his life where he had spent. From his poor family by sorrow rent, Whose love still feara him fainting in decay : Thence dragging heavily, an life's last day. His suffering frame, on pious journey bent. Pricking with earnest prayers his good intent Though bow'd with years, and weary with the way. He reaches Eoma, still following his desire The likeness of his Xiord on earth to see. Whom yet he hopes in heaven above to meet; So I, too, seek, nor in the fond quest tire, Lddy. in other fair if aught there he That faintly may recall thy beauties sweet. Macgbegob SONNET XV. ~ Pioronmi amarc lagriine dal visa. Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain. And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs. When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes. For whom the world's allurements I disdain. But when I see that gentle smile again. That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise. It pours on every sense a blest smprise ; Lost in delight is all my torturing pain. Too soon tliis heavenly transport sinks and dies : When all thy soothing charms my fate removes At thy departure from my ravish 'd view. To that sole refiige its firm faith approves My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies, And wing'd with fond remembrance follows yon. Cape Tears, bitter tears adowa my pale cheek rain. Bursts from mine anguish 'd breast a storm of sighs, Whene'er on you I turn my passionate eyes. For whom alone this bright world I disthuo. I True 1 to my ardent wishes and old pain That mild sweet smile a peaceful balm supplies, Bescues me frum the martyr £re tfaat tries, Rapt and intent on you whilst I remain ; Thus in your presence- — but my spirits freeze When, ushering with fond acta a warm adieu. My fatal stars from hfe's quench 'd heaveu decay. My sout released at last wiih Love's apt keys But issues from my heart to follow you, Nor tears itself without much thought away. Macgregob H SOXNET XVI. H QuaiuT ID nm tutto vuUa in qudla parte. When 1 reflect and turn me to that port Whence my sweet lady beam'd in purest light. And in my inmost thought remains that light Which bums me and consumes in every part, I, who yet dread lest from my heart it part And see at hand the end of this my light, Go lonely, like a man deprived of light, Ignorant where to go ; whence to depart. Thus flee I from the stroke which lays me dead. Yet flee not with sucli speed but that desire Follows, companion of my flight alone. Silent I go ; — but these my words, though dead, Others would cause to weep— this I desire, ' That I may weep and waste myself alone. Capel LoffI Whek all my mind I turn to the one part Where sheds my lady's face its beauteous light. And lingers in my loving thought the light That bums and racks within me ev'ry part, I from my heart who fear that it may part, And see the near end of my single light, Go, as a hiind man, groping without light. Who knows not where yet presses to depart. Thus from the blows which ever wish me dead I flee, hut not so sniftly that desire Ceases to come, as is its wont, with me. Silent I move : for accents of the dead Would melt the general age : and I desire That sighs and tears should, only fall fmm mi SONNET XVII. lo di si altera. Cbbatubes there are in life of such keen sight That no defence they need from noonday sun, And others dazzled by excess of light Who issue not ahroad till day is done. And, with weak fondness, some because 'tis bright, Who in the dealh-flame for enjoyment run, Thus proving theirs a different virtue quite — Alas ! of this last liind myself am one ; For, of this fair the splendour to regard, m but weak and ill— against late hours And darkness gath'ring round — myself to ward. Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers, My desUny condemns me still to turn Where following faster I but fiercer bum. MAca: BONNET XVIII. Vergognando talor ch' ancor ei t Abhamet) sometimes thy beauties should remain As yet unsung, sweet lady, in my rhyme ; When first I saw thee I recaU the time, Pleasing as none shall ever please again. But no fit polish cem my verse attain, t mine is slrength to try the task sublime : My genius, measuring its power to climb. From such attempt doth prudently refrain. Full oft I oped my lips to chant thy name; Then in mid utterance the lay was lost: But say what muse can dare so bold a flight? Full oft I strove in measure to indite ; But ah, the pen, the hand, the vein I boast, At once were vanquish'd by the mighty theme,' i TO LACBA IN UFE. 17 I Ashamed at times tliat I am silent, yet, Lady, though your rare beauties prompt my rhyme, When first I saw thee I recall the time Such as ogam no other can he met. But, witli such buithen on my shoulders set. My mind, its frailty feeling, cannot climb, And sfarlnlis alike from polish 'd and sublime. While my vain utterance frozen terrors let Often already have I suught to sing, But midway in ray breast the voice was atay'd. For ah ! so high what praise may ever spring ? And oft have I the tender verse essayd, But still in vain ; pen. hrtuiJ, and intellect lu the first effoit conquer'd are and check'd. MAcoRKiioB. SONNET XIX. Ifille Jiate, o dolce mitt gtur, nes,.aKeet warrior, have I tried, Proifering my heait to thee, some peace to gain From those bright eyes, hut still, ^aa ! in vain, Tu such low level stoops not thy chaste pride. If others seek the love thus thrown aside, Vain were their hopes and labours to obtain ; The heart thou spumest I alike disdain, To thee displeasmg, 'tis hy me denied. But if, discarded thus, it £nd not thee Its joyless exile willing to befriend, Alone, untaught at others' will to wend. Soon from life's weary burden will it flee. How heavy then the guilt to both, but more To thee, for thee it did the most adore. Macoheook A THOUSAND times, sweet warrior, to obtain Peace with those beauteous eyes I've vainly tried. Proffering my heart; but with that lofty pride To bend your looks so lowly you refrain : Expects a stranger fair that heart to gain. In frail, fallacious hopes will she confide : It never more to me can be allied ; Since what you scorn, dear lady, I disdain. n ^L But guilty you the most, for you it most doth love . Nott ' IS PETKABCH. In its sad exile if no aid you lend, Banish "d by me ; and it can neither stay Alone, nor yet another's call obey ; Its vital course must hasten to its end : Ah me. how guilty then we both should proi L But guilty you the most, for you it most doth love . Nott I SESTINA .1. A gwdunqve ammaU alherga in ffrro. To every animal that dwells on earth, Except to those which have in hate the sun, Their time of labour ia while lasts the day ; But when high heaven relumes its thousand stars. This seeks his hut, and that its native wood, Each Unds repose, at least until the dawn. But I, when fresh and fair begins the dawn To chase the lingering shades that cloak'd the earth. Wakening the animals in every wood, No truce to sorrow find while rolls the sun ; And, when again I see the glistening stars, Btill wander, weeping, wishing lor the day. When sober evening chases the bright day. And this our darkness makes for others dawn, Pensive I look upon the cruel stara Which framed me of such pliant passionato eai-th, And curse the day that e'er I saw the sun. Which makes me native seem of wildest wood. And yet methinks was ne'er in any wood, Bo wild a denizen, by night or day, As she whom thus I blame in shade and sun : Me night's first sleep o'ercomes not, nor the dawn. For though in mortal coil I tread the earth. My firm and fond desire is from the stars. Ere up to you I turn, O lustrous stars, Or downwaids in love's labyrinthine wood. Leaving my fleshly frame in mouldering eai'lh. Could I but pity find in her, one day 1 ■ TO LAURA IN Lli-E. Iff ] 'Would many years redeem, and to Ihe dawn With bliss eoricli me from the setting sun ! Oh ! might I be with her where sinks the sun, No other eyes upon us but the stars, Alone, one sweet night, ended by no dawn. Nor ahe again transfigured in green wood, To clieat my clasping arms, as on the day, When Phcebus vainly foUow'd her on earth. I shall lie low in earth, in crumbhng wood, And clustering stars shall gem the noon of day. Ere on so sweet a dawn shall rise that sun. Macgregok Each creature on whose wakeful eyes The bright sun pours his golden fire. By day a destined toil pursues ; And, when heaven's lamps illume the siiies, AH to some haunt for rest retire, Till a fresh dawn that toil renews. But I, whena new mom doth rise. Chasing from earth its nkurky shades. While ring the forests with delight, Find no remission of tny sighs ; And, soon as night her mantle spreads, I weep, and wish returning light Again when eve bids day retreat. O'er other climes to dart its rays ; Pensive those cruel stars I view, "Which inHuence thus my amorous fate ; And imprecate that beauty's blaze, Which o'er my foiin such wildness threw. No forest surely in its glooms Nurtures a savage so unkind As she who bids these sorrows flow : Me, nor the dawn nor sleep o'ereomea ; For, though of mortal mould, my mind Feels more than passion's mortal glow. Ere up to you, bright orbs, 1 fly, Or to Lbve's bower speed down my way, While here my mouldering limbs remain ; Iiet me her pity once espy ; Thus, rith in bliss, one little day Shall recompense whole years of pain. Be Laura mine at set of buti ; Let heaven's fires only mark our loves, And the day ne'er its light renew ; My fond embrace may she not shun ; Nor Phoebus-like, throu^ laurel groves, May I a nymph transform 'd pursue ! But I shall cast this mortal veil on earth, e such bright scenes have Norr, CANZONE r. Nd do/ce tempo ddta prima eL 1 Is the sweet season when my life was new, Which saw the birth, am) still the beiog sees Of the fierce passion for my ili that grew. Fain would I sing— my sorrow to appease — How then I lived, in liberty, at ease. While o'er my heart held slighted Ijove no sway ; And how, at length, by too high scorn, for aye, I sank his slave, and what befell me then, ~ Whereby to all a warning I remain ; Although my sharpest pain Be elsewhere written, so that many a pen la tired already, and, in every vale. The echo of my heavy sighs is rife. Some credence forcing of my anguish 'd life ; And, as her wont, if here my memory fail, Be my long martyrdom its saving plea, And the one thought which so its torment made, is every feeling else to throw in shade, - And make me of myself forgetful be — Ruling life's inmost core, its bare rind left for me. Long years and many had pass'd o'er my head. Since, in Love's first assault, was dealt my wound, And from my brow its youthful air had fled, While cold and cautious thoughts ray heart around Had made it almost ailamauline ground. To loosen which hard pnsaion i/ifiye no rest : Ko sorrow yet wjtii tcais had bathed my breast. iKor broke my sleep : and what was not in mine I A miracle to me in otfaera seeni'd. [ Life's sure test death is deem'd, As clouiiless eve best proves the past day fine ; Ah met the tjTant whom I sing, descried Ere long his eiroi-, that, till then, his dart Kot yet beneath the gown had pierced my heart. And brought a puissant laily as his guide, 'Gainst whom of small or no avail has been Genius,' or force, to strive or supplicate. These two transform'il me to my present state. Making of breathing man a laurel green, Which loses not its leaves though wintry blasts be keei What my amaze, when first T fully learn 'd The woudrous change upon my person done. And saw my thin hairs to those green leaves tiim'd (Whence yet for them a crown I might have won] ; My feet wherewith 1 stood, and moved, and run — Thus to the soul the subject members bow — Become two roots upon the shore, not now Of fabled I'eiieus, but a stream as proud. And stiffen "d to a branch my either arm ! Nor less was my alarm. When next my frame white down was seen to shroud, While, 'neath the deadly leven, shatler'd lay My first green hope that sqar'd. too proud, in air. Because, in sooth, I knew not when nor where I left my latter state ; but. night and day, Where it was struck, alone, in tears, 1 went. Still seeking it alwhere, and in the wave; And, for its fatal fall, while able, gave My tongue no respite from its one lament, For the sad snowy swan botli form and language lent. Thus that loved wave — my mortal speech put by For biriilike song — I track 'd with constant feet. Still asking mercy with a stranger cry ; But ne'er in tones so tender, nor so sweet, Knew I my amorous soitow to repeat, As might her hai'd and cruel bosom melt : Judge, still if memory sting, wliat then 1 felt t yi I I I S'i But ah ! not now tlie past, it rather needs Of her my lovely and invetprate foe The present power to show, Though such she he all language as exceeds. She with a glance who rules us as her own, Opemng my breast niv heart in hand to take, Thus said to me: " Of this no mention make,' I saw her then, in alter 'd air, alone. So that I recogniseil her not^ — O shame Be on my truant mind and faithless sight! And when the trath I told her in sore fright, She soon resumed her old accustom 'd frame, While, desperate and half dead, a hard rock mine became. As spoke she, o'er her mien such feeling stin-'d. That from the solid roek, with lively feai', " Haply I am not what you deem," I heai-d ; And then methought, " If she but help me here. No life can ever weary be, or drear ; To make me weep, return, my banish'd Lord ! " I know not bow, but thence, the power restored. Blaming no other than myself, 1 went, And, nor alive, nor dead, the long day past. But, beeauae time flies fast. And the pen answers ill my good intent. Full many a thing long written in my mind I here omit ; and only mention such Whereat who hears them now will marvel much. Death so his hand around my vitals twined. Not silence from its gi'Sfp my heart could save. Or suceoTU' to its outraged virtue bring: As speech to me was a forbidden thing. To paper and to ink my griefs I gave — life, not my own, is lost ihi'ongh you who Jig my gmva I fondly thought before her eyes, at length. Though low and lost, some mercy to obtain ; h And this the hope which lent my spirit strength, I Sometimes humility o'ercomes disdain, * Sometimes inflames it to worse spite again ; 8 knew 1, who so long was left in night, That from such prayers hud disappear 'd my light; TO LAURA IH LIFE. Till I, who sought her still, nor found, alaa ! Even her shade, nor of her feet a sign, Outwearied and SQ|]ine, As one who midway sleeps, upon the grass Threw me, and there, accusing the brief ray. Of bitter tears I loosed the prison'd flood. To flow and fall, to them as seeiu'd it good. Ne'er vanish 'd snow before the sun away, As then to melt apace it rae befell. Till, 'neath a spreading beech a fountain swell'd ; Long in that change my humid course I held, — "Who ever saw from Man a true fonut well ? And yet, though strange it sound, things known a The eoul from God its nobler nature gains (For none save He such favour could bestow) And like our Maker its high state retains. To pardon who is never tired, nor slow. If but with humble heart and suppliant show. For mercy for past sins to Him we bend ; And if, against his wont, He seem to lend, Awhile, a cold ear to our earnest prayers, Tis that right fear the sinner more may fill ; For he repents but ill His old crime for another who prepares. Thus, when my lady, while her bosom yearn 'd With pity, deign"d to look on me, and knew That equal with my fault its penance grew, To my old state and shape I soon return 'd. But nought there is on earth in which the wise May trust, for, wearying braving her afresh, To rugged stone she changed my quivering flesh, So that, in their old strain, my broken cries In vain ask'd death, or told her one name to deaf skies. A sad and wandering shade, I next recall, Tiirough many a distant and deserted glen. That long I mourn 'd my indissoluble ihralL At length my malady seem'd ended, when I to my earthly frame re turn 'd again. Haply but greater gi-ief therein to feel ; p w StiU following my desire with such fond zeal r 34 FETSAHCH. That once (beneaili the proud sun's fiercest blaze, lieturnlng from the chase, aa was my wont) Naked, where gush'd a font, Mj fair and fatal tyrant met my gaze ; 1 whom noughL else could pleasure, paused to look. While, touch'd with shanie as naturaj as intense. Herself to hide or punish my offence, She o'er my face the crj-stal waters shook — I still speak true, though truth may seem a lustantly from my proper person torn, A> solitary siag, I felt me borne In winged terrors the dark forest through. As still of my own dogs the rushing storm I flew. My song ! 1 never was that cloud of gold Which once descended in such precious rain, - Easing awhile with bliss Jove's amorous pain ; 1 was a flame, kindled by one bright eye, 1 was the bird which gladly soar'd on high. Exalting her whose pi-aise in song I wake; Nor, for new fancies, knew I to forsate My first fond laurel, 'neath whose welcome shado Ever irom my firm heart all meaner pleasures fade. ^_ MacgreoohT" SONNET XX. Se r onorala fronde, che pracri'ee. TO muuizzo or fibuqu, who nviTEQ siu to whitb tOK If the world-honour'd leaf, whose g^^en defies The wrath of Heaven when thunders mighty Jove, Had not to me pmhibited tVie crown Which wreathes of wont the gified pnet's brow, I were a friend of these your idols too, Whom our vile ago so shamelessly ignores ; But that sore insult keeps me now aloof From the first patron of tlie olive bough : For Ethiop earth beneath its tropic sun Ne'er bum'd with such fierce heat, as I with rage At losing thing so comely and beloved. Resort then to some calmer fuller fount. For of all moisture mine is drain'd and diy, Save that which falleUi from mine eyes in tears. Mai:gbe(K SONNET XXI. Avtor piaiiyeva, ed in con lui bUvoUa. f ^^P LoTE grieved, and I with hlni ut time?, to see By what strauge practicea and uunuing art, You still continued I'rum his fetters Iree, From whom my feet were never far apart. Since to the right way brought by God's decree. Lifting my hands to heaven with pious heart, T thank Him for his love and gi-ace, for He The Boul-prayer of the just will never thwart : And if, returning to the amorous strife. Its fair desire to teach us to deny, Hollows and hillocks in thy path abound, 'Tis but to prove to us with thorns how rife I The narrow way, the ascent how hard and high, Where with true virtue man at last is crown 'd. Mac oil EG 08. SONNET XXII. Pill di me liet i vede a teira. Thau me more joyful never reach d the shore A. vessel, by the winds long tost and tried, Whose crew, late hopeless on the waters wide. To a good God their thanks, now piosti'ate. pour ; Nor captive from his dungeon ever tore, Around whose neck the noose of death was tied. More glad than me. that weapon laid aside Which to my lord hostility long bore. All ye who honour love in poet strain. To the good minstrel of the amorous lay Return due praise, though once he went astray; For greater glory is, in Heaven's fjlest reign. Over one sinner saved, and higher praise, Than e'en for ninety -nine of perfect ways. MAfOREOoa s r SONNET XXIII. n saecaiar di Carlo, che la chioma. The high successor of oiir Charles,* whose hair The crown of his great ancestor adorns, Ah^ady has ta'en arms, to bruise the horns Of Babylon, aud all her name who hear; Christ's holy vicar with tlie honour'd load Of keys and cloak, retm'niiig to his home, Shall see Boiogna and our nohle Rome, If no ill fortune bar his farther road. Beat to yeur meek and high-bom lamb belongs To beat the fierce wolf down : ho may it be With aU. who loyalty and iove deny. Console at length your waiting country's wrongs, And Rome's, who longs once more her spouse to see, "And gird for Christ tlie good sword on thy thigh. x/ Macokeoob CANZONE II. 0 afjjet'Oia m eld, btala e Mia. BUPPDRT OF THE PKOPOBBD ORCEAJ>B 40JIK9T THE IX ipiRiT wish'd and waited for in heaven, iThat wearest gi-acefully our human clay. Sot as with loading sin and earthly Ktain, Who lov'st our Lord's high bidding to obey, — Henceforth to thee the way is plain and even By which from hence to bliss we may attain. To waft o'er yonder main tThy bark, that bids the world adieu for aye To seek a better strand. western winds their ready wings expand ; Which, through the dangers of that dusky way. Where all deplore the fii-st infringed conimanJ. "Will guide her safe, from primal bondage free, / BecklesB to stop or stay, ^■To that true East, where she desires to be. • Charlemaene. I TO LiTJFlA ]N LIFE. Haply the faithful vows, and zealous prayers, And pious tears by holy mortalB shed, Have come before the mercy-seat above : Yet vows of ours but little can bestead. Nor human orison such merit bears As heaveuly justice from its course can TJiove. But He, the King whom angeis serve and love. His gracious eyes hath tiim'd upon tlie land Where on the cross He died ; And a new Charlemagne hatli qualified To woi'k the vengeance that on hiah was plaiin'd. For whose delay bo long hath Eui'ope sigh'd. Such mighty aid He brings his faitbhil spouse. That at its sound the piiile Of Babylon with trembling terror bows. All dwellers 'twixt the hills and wild Garonne. The Rhodanus, and Rhine, and briny wave, Are banded under red-cross banners brave ; Lnd all who honour'd guerdon fain woulil have ■ -om PjTenees to the utmost west, are gone, aving Iberia lorn of warriors keen, .d Britain, with the islands that are seen itween tlie columns and the starry wain, ' in to that land where shone far-famed lore of aaured Helicon,) Diverse in langimge, weapon, garb and strain. Of valour true, with pious zeal i-ush on. What cause, what love, to this compared may be? What spouse, or infant train E'er kindled such a righteous enmity ? There is a portion of the world that lies Far distant from the sun's all-cheering ray, For ever wrapt in ice and geUd snows; There under cloudy skies, in stinted day, A people dwell, whose heart their clime outvies ; By nature framed stem foemen of repose. Now new devotion in their bosom glows, With Gothic fury now they grasp the sword. Turk. Arab, and Chaldee, With all between us and that sanguine sea, , US petrahch. Who trust in idol-gods, and slight the Lord, Thou know'st how soon their feeble strength would jield ; A naked race, fearful and indolent, Unused the brand to wield, Whose distant aim upon the wind is sent. Now is the time to shake the ancient yoke From off our necks, and rend the veil aside Thut long in darkness hath involved our eyes ; Let all whom Heaven with genius hath supplied, And all who great Apollo's name invoke. With fiery eloquence point out the prize, With tongue and pen call on the brave to rise ; If Oi'pheua and Amphion, legends old, No marvel cause in thee. It were small wonder if Ausonia see Collecting at thy call her children hold, Lifting the spear of Jesus joyfully. Nor, if our ancient mother judge aright, Dolh her rich page unfold Such noble cause in any former fight. Thou who hast seann'd, to heap a treasure fair. Story of ancient day and modem time, Soaring with eailJily frame to heaven sublime, Thou know'st, from Mars' bold son, her niier prime. To great Augustus, he whose waving hair Was thrice in triumph wreathed wit£ laurel green. How Rome hath of her blood still lavish been To right the woes of many an injm'ed land ; And shall she now be slow. Her gratitude, her piety to show? In Christian zeal to buckle on Uie brand. For Mary's glorious Son to deal the blow ? What ills the impious foeman must betide Who trust in monal hand. If Christ himself lead on the adverse side '. And turn thy thoughts to Xeraes' rash einpri/.e. Who dared, in haste to tread our Em-ope 's shore. Insult the sea with bridge, and strange caprice ; And thou shalt see for husbands then no more The Persian matrons robed in mournful guise. » And dyed with blood the seas uf Salamis. Nor Bole example this ; (The ruin of tlmt Eaatera king's design), That tells of victory nigh : See Marathon, and stein ThennopylfB, Closed by those few, and chieftain leonine, And thousand deeds that blaze in history. Then bow in thankfulness both heart and knee his holy shrine, Who such bright guerdon hath reaerved for thee. Thou shall see Italy and that honour'd shore, 0 song ! a land debBri''d and hid from me By neither flood nor hill! But love alone, whose power hath virtue still To wit^h, though all his wiles be vanity, Nor Nature to avoid the snare hath skill. Go, bid thy sisters hush their jealous fears, For other loves there he b Than that blind bo^ , who causeth smiles and tertrs. y Miss * * « (FoscoLo's Essay), 0 THOU, in heaven expected, bright and blest. Spirit ! who, from the common frailty free Of human kind, in human foi-m art drest, God's hajidmaid, dutiful and dear to thee Henceforth the pathway easy lies and plain, By which, from earth, we bless eternal gain: Lo ! at the wish, to waft, thy venturous prore From the blind world it fain would leave behind And seek that better shore, Springs the sweet comfort of the western wind. Which safe amid this davk and dangerous vale. Where we our own, the primal sin deplore, Bight on shall guide her, from her old chains freed, And. without let or fail, Where havens her best hope, to the true East shall lead. Haply the suppliant tears of pious men, Their earnest vows and loving prayers at last Unto the throne of heavenly grace have past ; Yet, breathed by human helplessness, ah ! when Had purei^t orison the sliill and force To bend eternal justice from its course ? But He, heaven's bounieoua nilei- from on high," On the sad sacred spot, whera eret He bled, WiU turn hi3 pitying eye, And through the spirit of our new Charles spread Thirst of that vengeance, whose too long delay From general Europe wakea the bitter sigh ; To his loved spouse such aid will He convey. That, his dread voice to hear. Proud Babylon shall shrink assail'd with secret fear. All, by the gay Garonne, the kingly Rhine. Between the blue Rhone and salt sea who dwell. All in whose bosoms worth and honour swell. Eagerly haste the Christian cross to join ; Spain of her warlike sous, from the far west Unto the Pyrenee, pours forth her best : Britannia and the Islands, which are found Northward from Calpe, studding Ocean's breast. E'en to that land renown 'd In the rich lore of sacred Helicon. Various in arms and language, garb and guise, With pious fury urge the bold erapriae. What l(We was e'er so just, so worthy, known ? Or when did holier flame Kindle the mind of man to a more noble aim ? Far in the hardy north a land there lies. Buried in thick-ribb'd ice and constant snows, Where scant the days and clouded ai'e the skies. And seldom the bright sun his glad warmth throws; There, enemy of peace by nature, springs A people to whom death no terror brings ; If these, with new devotedness, we see In Gothic fury baring the keen glaive, Turk, Arab, and Chaldee ! All, who, between us and the Eed Sea wave. To heathen gods how the idolatrous knee, Arm and advance I we heed not your blind rage ; A naked race, timid in act, and slow, Unskill'd the war to wnge. Whose far aim on the wind conti-ives a coward blow. TO LAURA IK UFE. » I Now is the hour to free from the old yoke I galled Decks, to rend the veil away Too long permitted our dull sight to cloak ; Now too, should all whose breasts the heavenly ray Of genius lighta, exert its powers sublime. And or in bold harangue, or burning rhyme, Point the proud prize and fan the generous flame. If Oi-pheus and Amphiou credit claim. Legends of distant time. Less marvel 'twere, if, at thy earnest call, Italia, with her children, should awake, And wield the willing lance for Christ's dear sake. Our ancient mother, read she right, in all Her fortune's history ne'er A cause of combat knew so glorious and so fair! Thou, whose keen mind has every theme explored. And truest ore from Time's rich treasury won, On earthly pinion who hast heavenward soard. Well knowest, from her founder, Mars' bold son, To great Augustus, he, whose brow aroimd Thrice was the laurel gi'een in triumph bound, How Rome was ever lavish of her blood, The right to vindicate, the weak redress ; And now, when gratitude. When piety appeal, shall she do less To avenge the injury and end the scorn By blessed Mary's glorious offspring home? What fear we, while the heathen for success Gon^de in human powers, If, on the adverse side, te Christ, and his side ours ? Turn, too, when Xerxes our free shores to tread Bush'd in hot haste, and dream 'd. tlie perilous main With scourge and fetter to chastise and chain, — What see'st ? Wild wailing o'er their husbands dead, Persia's pale matrons wrapt in weeds of woe, And red with gore tlie gulf of Salamis ! To prove our triumph certain, to foreshow The utter ruin of our Eastern foe, No this ; Uiltiades and Marathon recall. [ I 82 PETBARCH. See, with his patriot few, !Le6nida3 Closing, ThentiopjlEB, thy bloody pass ! Like tnem to dare and do, to God lot all With heart and knee bow down, "Who for our arms and age has kept this gres Thou shalt see Italy, that honour'd land, Which from my eyes, O Snng ! nor seas, atroams, I So long have hair'd and bann'd. But love aione, who with his haughty lights The more aJlures me as he worse excif Till nature fails against his constant w Go th.en, and join thy comrades ; not alone Beneath fair female zone Dwells Love, who, at his will, moves us to tears or smiles. ______ MACGBEOOtt. 1 renown. ^^^H 3ams, height^^^^H CANZONE in. Verdi panrti, aangaigai, oscnri o ptraL Gbeen robes and red, purple, or brown, or No lady ever wore, Nor hair of gold in sunny tresses twined, 80 beautiful as she, who spoils my mind Of judgment, and from freedom's lofty path So draws me with her that I may not bear Any less heavy yoke. And if indeed at times~for wisdom fails Where martyrdom breeds doubt — The soul ithould ever arm it to complain Suddenly from each reinless rude desire Her smile recalls, and razes from my heart Every rash enterprise, while all disdain Is soften 'd in her sight. For all that I have ever home for love. And still am doom'd to bear, Tiit she who wounded it shall heal my heart, Bejecting homage e'en while she invites. Be vengeance done ! but let not pride nor irs 'Gwnst my humility the lovely pass By which I enter'd bar. The hour and day wherein I oped mj eyes On the bi-ight bla«k and white, Whifih drive me thence where eager love impell'd Where of that life which now my sorrow makes New roots, and she in whom our age is proud, Whom to behold without a tender awe Needs heart of lead or wood. The tear then from these eyes that frequent falls — HE thus my pale cheek bathes Who plimted first within my fenceless flank . / Love's shaft — diverts me not from my desire; And in just part the proper sentence fails ; For her my spirit sighs, and worthy she To staunch its secret wounds. Spring from within me these conflicting thoughts. To weary, wound myself, Each a sure sword against its master tum'd : Nor do I pray hpr to be therefore freed, For less irect to heaven all other paths. And to that glorious kingdom none can soai Certes in sounder burk. Benignant stars their bright companionship Gave to the fortunate side When came that fair birth on our nether world. Its sole star since, who, as the laurel leaf, The worth of honour fresh and fragrant keeps, Where lightnings play not, nor ungrateful winds Ever o'ersway its head. Well know I that tlie hope to paint in vorse Her prMses would but tire The worthiest hand that e'er put forth its pen: Who, in all Memory's richest cells, e'er saw Such angel virtue so rare beauty shrined. As in those eyes, twin symbols of all worth. Sweet keys of my gone heart? Lady, wherever shines the sun, than you " ive has no dearer pledge. Macosegob. ^Love SESTINA II Qiovane dortaa lotf u» verde laa J A YOUTHFUL lady 'neath a laurel green Was seated, fairer, colder than the snow On which no sun has shone for many years: Her sweet speech, her bright face, and flowing hair So pleased, sh^ jet is preseuLio. mj-eyeB, And aye must be, whatever fale prevail. These my fond thoughts of her shall fade and fail When foliaj3;e ceases on the laurel green ; Nor calm can be my heart. Bor check 'd these eyes Until the fire shall freeze, or burns the snow ; Kasier upon my head to count each hair Than, eie that day shall da^vn, the parting years. But, since time flies, and roll the rapid yeai-s. And death may, in the midst of life, assail, -With full brown locks, or scant and silver hair, .1 still the shade of that sweet laurel green .'Follow, throiJgh fiercest sun and deepest snow. Till the last day shall close my weary eyes. Oh! never sure were seen such brilliant eyes, In this our age or in the older years. Which mould and melt me. as the sun melts snow. Into a stream of tears adown the vale, Watering the hai'd roots of that laurel green. Whose boughs are diamonds and gold whose liair. I fear that Time my mien may change and hair. Ere, with true pity touch 'd, sliall greet my eyes My idol imaged in that laurel green : "I^jr, uoless memory err, tlirough seven long years Till now, ftiU many a shore has heard my wtul. By night, at uoon, in summer and in snow. Thus fire within, without the cold, cold snow, ^ona, with these my thoughts and her bright beur, Alway and eveiywhere I bear my ail. Haply to find some mercy in the eyes Of unborn nations and far future years. If so long flourishes our laurel green. The gold and topaz of the sun on snow Are shamed by the bright hair above those eyes, Searing the short green of my life's vain years. SONNET XXIV. Queal' anima gtnlil die si diparte. That graceful soul, in mercy cali'd away Before her time to bid the world farewell, If welcomed as she ought in the realms of day. In heaven's most blessed regions sare shall dtcell. There between Mars and Venus if ehe stay. Her sight the brightness of the sun will qiiell. Because, her infinite beauty to survey. The spirits of the blest will round her swell. If she decide upon the fourth fair neat Each of the three to dwindle will begin. And she alone the fame of beauty win. Nor e'en in the fifth circle may she rest; Thence higher if she soar, I surely trust Jove with all other stars in darkness will be thrusi MACdEEGOl I SONNET XXV. Quaulo jiid m' amidiK a? giomo etlrmo. Near and more near as life's last period draws. Which oft is hurried on by human woe, I see the passing hours more swiftly flow. And all my hopes in disappointment close. And to my heart I say. amidst ite throes, " Not long shall we discourse of love below; For this my earthly load, like new-fall'n snow Fast melting, soon shall leave us to repose. With it will aink in dust each towering hope, Cherish'd so long mthin my faithftil breast; No more shall we resent, fear, smile, complain : Then shall we clearly trace why some are blest, Through deepest misery raised to Fortune's top, And why so many sighs so oft ore heaved in vuin." Whang HAK. u 14 so The nearer I approach my life's last day. The curtain dny that limits human woe, I better mark, in Time's swift silent flow, How the fond hopes he bi'ought all pasa'd awny. Of love no longer — to myself I say — We now may commune, for, as virgin snow. The hard and heavy load we drag below Dissolves and dies, ere rest in heaven repay. And prostrate with it must each fair hope lie Which here beguiled us and betray 'd so long. And joy, grief, fear and pride alike shall cease : And then too shall we see with clearer eye How oft we trod in weary ways and wrong, And why bo long in vain we sigh'd for peace, Macgbeoob. SONNET XXVI. (Tilt fiammeggiava V amorma ttdla. WOai, WHO 18 ILt, APPBSES TO BTU IB A HKSAB, AND A3SUBB1 Throughout the orient now began to flame Xiie_sj8i:j}f_love ; while o'er the northern sky Thtit, which has oft raised Juno's jealousy, Pour'd forth its beauteous acintillalinj; beam : Beside her kindled henrth the housewife dame, Half-dress'd, and slipshod, 'gan her distaff ply : And now the wonted hour of woe drew nigh. That wakes to tears the lover from his dream : When my sweet hope unto my mind appear'd. Not in the custom 'd way unto my sight ; For grief had bathed my lids, and sleep ha<l weigh'd; Ah me, how changed that form by love endear'd ! " Why lose ihy fortitude? " methought she said, " These eyes not yet from thee witlidraw their light." Ai-READT in the east the amorous star Illumined heaven, while from her northern height Great Juno's rival through the dusky night Her beamy radiance shot. Returning care Had roused th' industrious hag. with footstep bare. And loins ungirt, the sleeping fire to light: And lovers thrill'd that season of despight, Which wont renew tlteir tears, and wake despair. I 1 .RA IS LIFB. 3T \ When my soul's hope, now on the verge of fate, (Not by th' accustomed way; for iliat in sleep Was closed, and moist with griefs,) attain 'd my heart. Alaa, how changed! " Servant, no longer weep," She seem'd to say ; " resume thy wonted state ; Not yet thine eyes from mine are doom'd to pari." Chablemosx. Already, in the east, the star of love Was flaming, and that other in the north, Which Juno's jealousy is wont to move, Its beautiful aud lusti'ous rays shot forth ; Barefooted and half clad, the housewife old Had atirr'd her fire, and set herself to weave ; Eai^h tender heart tlie thoughtful time controll'd Which evermore the lover wakes to grieve, When my fond hope, already at life's last. Came to my heart, not by the wonted way, Where sleep its seal, its dew where sorrow cast — Alaa ! how changed — and said, or seem'd to say, " Sight of these eyes not yet does Heaven refuse, Then wherefore should thy tost heart courage lose?" Macobggob. SONNET XXVII. ApoUo, i aticor vive it bd detio, EH TU i LIBBIL, WHICH 0 Ph(ebus, if that fond desii-a rem Which fired tby breast neai' the 'J'hes If those bright tresses, which such pleasui Through lapse of years thy memory not d From sluggish frosts, from rude inclement rains, Which last the while thy beams our region leave. That honour'd sacred tree from peril save, Whose name of dear accordance waked our pains ! And, by that amorous hope which soothed thy cart What time expectant thou wert doora'd to sigh Dispel those vapours which disturb our skyl So shall we botii behold our favorite fair With wonder, seated on the grassy mead, r-And forming with her ai'ms herself a shade. 1 If live the fair desire, Apollo, jet Which fired thy spirit once on Peneus' shore. And if the bright hair loved so well of yore In lapse of years thou dost not now forget. From tlie long frost, jrom seasons rude and keen. Which last while hides itself thy kindling brow, Defend this consecrate and honour'd bough, Which snared thee erst, whose slave I since have beeft And, by the virtue of the love so dear Which soothed, snstain'd thee in that early strife, Our air from raw and lowering vapours clear; So shall we see our lady, to new life Restored, her seat upon the greensward take. Where her own graceful arms a sweet shade o'er her make, Macisheoob. SONNET XXVIII. Solo e pnnMO i pii daerii campi. Alone, and lost in thought, the desert glade Measuring I roam with ling 'ring steps and slow ; And still a watchful glance around me throw, Anxious to shun the print of human tread : No other means I find, no surer aid From llie world's prying eye to hide my woe : So well my wild disorder'd gestures show, And love lorn looks, the fire nitbiu me bred. That well I deem each mouuiain. wood and plain, And river knows, what I from man conceal, What dreary hues my life's fond prospects iliia. Yet whate'er wild or savage paths I ve taeu. Where'er I wander, love attends me still, Soft whisp'iing to my soul, and I to him. AsoN. Ox. 17IH Alone, and pensive, near some deseit shore, Far from the haunts of men I love to strnj, And. cautiou'ily, my distant path explore Where nevi* human footsteps mark'd tlie way. Thus from the public ^ze I strive to fiy. And to the winds alone my griels impart: While in my hollow cheek and daggard eye Appeal's tlife fire that bums my ibmost heiirt. But ah, in vain to distaot scenes I go ; No solitude my troubled thonghts allays. Methirjks e'en things inanimate nmsc know The flame that on my soul in secret preys ; Whilst Love, un conquer d, with resistless sway Still hovers round my path, still meets me on my wny. J. B. Tavio^J Aloke Euid pensive, the deserted plain. With tardy pace and sad, I wander by ; And mine eyes o'er it rove, intent to fly Where distant shores no trace of man retain ; No help save this 1 And, some cave to gain Where never may intrude man's curious eye, Lest on my brow, a stranger long to joy. He read the secret Are which makes my pain For here, niethinks, the mountain and the flood, Valley and forest the strange temper know Of ray sad life eonceal'd fram others' sight — Yet where, where shall I find so wild a wood, A way so rough that there Love cannot go Communing with me the long day and night ? Maoqbeqob. P SONNET XXIX. H.^D T believed that Death could set me free From the anxious amorous thoughts my peace tliat mar. With tliese my own hands which yet staiuless ai'e. Life had I loosed, long hateful grown to me. Yet, for I fear 'twould but a passage be From grief to grief, fl-om old to oth^r war, Hither the dark shades my escape that bar, I still remain, nor hope relief to see. High time it surely is that he had sped The fatal arrow from his pitiless bow. In others' blood so often bathed and red ; And I of Love and Death have pray'd it so — He listens not. but leaves ne here half dead. Nor cares to cull me to himself below. M.^cgreoob 40 FETRAKGH. Oh ! hod I deem'd that Death had freed mjr sotil From liOve'B tormenting, overwhelming thought, To crush its iiching burthen I had sought, My wearied life had hasten 'd to its goal ; My shivering bai-k yet fear'd another shoal, To iind one tempest with another bought, Thus poised 'twixt eaTth and heaven 1 dwell as i Not daring to assume my life's control. But sure 'tis time that Death's relentless how Had wing'd that fatal arrow to my heart. So often bathed in life's dark crimson tide: But though I crave he would this boon hestow. He to my cheek his impress doth impart, And yet o'erlooks me in his fearful stride, Wollastok. CANZONE IV. Si i Mile il Jilo a cui a' aitent. The thread on which my weary life depends So fragile is and weak. If none kind succour lends. Soon 'neath the painful burden will it break ; Since doom'd to take my sad farewell of her. In whom begins and ends My bliss, one hope, to stir My sinking spirit from its black despair. Whispers, " Though lost awhile That form so dear and fair, Sad soul ! the trial bear. For thee e'en yet the sun may brightly shine. And days more happy smile. Once more the lost loved treasure may be thine." This thought awhile sustains me, but again To f^l me and forsake in worse excess of pain. . Time flies apace : the silent hours and swift So m^ his journey on. Short span to me is left Even to think how quick to death I run ; Scarce, in the orient heaven, yon mountain crest Smiles in the sun's first ray, When, in the adverse west. His long round jnm, we see his light decay. I lo amaJl of life the space, ^So frait ajid clogg'd with, woe. To mortal man