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THE LIBRARY
The Ontario Institute
for Studies in Education
Toronto, Canada
LIBRARY
TH€ ONTARIO INSTITUTE
FOR STUDIES H4 EDUCATION
TORONTO. CANADA
'T't<f
PETRARCH.
See ^age I'x.
o^b-^,s»-<^^.-^^-<a_ ^^^VT-, '^^^-it-la.jg.-^-^
-i;
Petrarch
The First Modern Scholar
and Man of Letters
A Selection from his Correspondence with
Boccaccio and other Friends, Designed to Il-
lustrate the Beginnings of the Renaissance.
Translated from the Original Latin, together
with Historical Introductions and Notes
BY
JAMES HARVEY ROBINSON
Professor of History in Columbia University
WITH THE COLLABORATION OF
HENRY WINCHESTER ROLFE
Sometime Professor of Latin in Swarthmore
College
SECOND lAfPKIiSSION
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Zhc Hiinchcrbochcr ipcess
MDCCCXCIX
Copyright, 1898
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
Ubc ftntcfeecbocfeer press, 'Hew l^rl!
TO
G. R. R.
AND
B. C. R.
PREFATORY NOTE
THE purpose of this volume is essentially
historical. It is not a piece of literary
criticism ; it is only incidentally a biography.
It has been prepared with the single but
lively hope of making a little clearer the devel-
opment of modern culture. It views Petrarch
not as a poet, nor even, primarily, as a many-
sided man of genius, but as the mirror of his
age — a mirror in which are reflected all the
momentous contrasts between waning Medi-
ajvalism and the dawninpf Renaissance.
Petrarch knew almost everyone worth know-
ing in those days ; consequently few historical
sources can rival his letters in value and inter-
est ; their character and sicrnificance are dis-
cussed at leno^th in the introduction which
follows.
We have ourselves come to love the eager,
independent, clear-sighted, sensitive soul
through whose eyes we have followed the initial
spiritual struggle of modern times ; we would
that others might learn to love him too.
In the preparation of this volurhe the edit-
ors have naturally availed themselves of the
vi Prefatory Note
excellent edition of Petrarch's EpistolcB de
Rebus Familiaribus ct Varice, by Giuseppe
Fracassetti, 3 vols., 8°, Florence, 1859-63. For
the Epistolce de Rebus Senilibics, and the remain-
ing Latin works, they have necessarily relied
upon the lamentably incorrect edition of the
Opera printed at Basle in 1581, for in spite of
its imperfections it is the most complete col-
lection of Petrarch's writings that we possess.
The references in the foot-notes are, therefore,
to the pages of Fracassetti's edition or of that
of 1 58 1, as the case may be. Much aid has
been derived from Korting's standard work,
Petrarcds Leben uiid Werke ; from Fracas-
setti's elaborate notes to his Italian version of
the letters ; from Voigt's masterly analysis of
Petrarch's character and career, at the opening
of Die IViederbelebimg dcs c /assise hen Aiter-
thums ; and especially from M. Pierre de Nol-
hac's scholarly and fascinating study, Pdtrarqiie
et r Hiunanisme.
Part third of the present volume, upon Pe-
trarch's classical studies, is the work of Mr.
Rolfe, and the whole book has had the benefit
of his acute and painstaking revision.
J. H. R.
BiRCHWOOD, Jaffrey, X. H.,
September, 1898.
CONTENTS
PAGF
Prefatory Note v
List and Description of Illustrations. ix
Introductory i
I. — Biographical 57
II. — Petrarch and his Literary Con-
temporaries 159
III.— The Fatpier of Humanism . . 225
IV. — Travels .295
V. — Political Opinions ; Rienzo and
Charles IV 327
VI. — The Conflict of Monastic and
Secular Ideals 379
VII.— Finale 415
Index 429
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. — A Sketch of Vaucluse by Petrarch's
iiAND ....... Cover
II. — Portrait of Petrarch . . Frontispiece
in. — A Page from Petrarch's Copy of the
Iliad page 238
Through the kindness of M. de Nolhac, and with the generous
permission of the Ecole des hautes Etudes at Paris, the editors have
been enabled to reproduce three plates of unusual historical interest.
I. — The Sketch of Vaucluse with the inscription, Transalpina
soliiudo vtea jocundissima — my delightsome Transalpine retreat —
which appears on the front cover of this volume, was discovered by-
M. de Nolhac in Petrarch's own copy of Pliny's Natural History^
A reference in the book to the Fountain of the Sorgue suggested to its;,
owner the idea of recalling by a few strokes of the quill his memories,
of a spot where he had spent so many years. This sketch, his only-
essay at pictorial reproduction which has come down to us, is an/
interesting illustration of the versatility of self-expression which dis-
tinguished him from his predecessors and contemporaries.
II. — The Portrait, which forms the frontispiece, is taken from
a manuscript in the National Library at Paris, and its history has
been carefully traced by M. de Nolhac {op. cit., pp. 376 sqq.). It
adorns the first page of a copy of Petrarch's own work, 'I'he Lives of
Illustrious Men, which was transcribed with unusual care for his last
ix
X Illustrations
princely patron, the ruler of Padua, by one of the poet's most inti-
mate and trusted friends, Lombardo della Seta. A note at the end
of the work states that Lombardo completed his task January 25,
1379. We may, therefore, assume that this portrait was executed not
later than four and a half years after Petrarch's death, in the city
where he spent much of his time during the closing period of his life,
and by an artist selected by the poet's devoted friends. It is main-
tained by some modern historians of art that there was, in those
days, no real feeling for portraiture ; without, however, venturing
into the domain of art criticism, we may, at least, claim for this
sketch almost unimpeachable historical authenticity.
III. — The Facsimile of a page from one of Petrarch's own vol-
umes will give some idea, to those unfamiliar with manuscripts, of the
appearance of a book in the fourteenth century ; it shows us, too, the
untiring energy of the first modern scholar in emending and eluci-
dating the scattered and neglected fragments of ancient literature, for
which he made such diligent search.
INTRODUCTORY
La formule qui definit le mieux Petrarque est celle
qui le d^signe comme " le premier homme moderne."
. Par la direction de sa pensee, il echappe presque
entierenient k I'influence de son siecle et de son milieu,
ce qui est sans doute la marque la moins contestable du
genie." — Pierre de Nolhac.
FRANCESCO PETRARCA Is now known
to so few, save as a lyric poet whose
sonnets are somewhat out of fashion, that it
seems necessary to explain why his letters pos-
sess a singular interest for all who desire to
understand the progress of European culture
since the Middle Ages. That an Italian critic
should venture to rank him with Erasmus and
Voltaire, each in his age the intellectual arbiter
of Europe, will seem to many a surprising if
not absurd aberration of national pride. Yet,
in bringing these three names together, Car-
ducci claims for his countryman no higher
place than that accorded to him by modern
scholars in France and Germany. Those who
have most conscientiously studied the begin-
ninp^ of the transition from Mediaeval to Mod-
ern times, agree in recognising in him one of
those incomparable leaders of humanity who
have not only dominated the literary life of
their own generation, but have directed men's
thoughts into new channels for ages to follow.
3
4 Petrarch
If from the vantage-ground of to-day, we re-
view the course of enlightenment as exhibited
in Renaissance, Reformation, and Revolution,
we perceive that Petrarch stands forth among
his contemporaries as the cosmopolitan repre-
sentative of the first great forward movement.
With prophetic insight, he declared that he
stood between two eras. He was the first
to look back and realise all that the world had
lost since the age of Augustus : he was the
first to point out the way in which the lost
might be retrieved. With the frank self-ap-
preciation of genius, he wrote at the end of
his life, to his dearest friend Boccaccio : " I
certainly will not reject the praise which you
bestow upon me for having stimulated in many
instances, not only in Italy, but, perchance, be-
yond its confines, the pursuit of studies such as
ours, which have suffered neglect for so many
centuries. I am indeed one of the oldest of
those among us who are engaged in the culti-
vation of these subjects." '
In order to grasp the momentous import
of the renewed interest in Latin literature to
which Petrarch thus proudly refers, we must
remember that it was not simply a sign of im-
proved taste but that it involved the sub-
' EpistolcE de Rebus Senilibus, xvi., 2.
Introductory 5
stitution of a new conception of life and its
opportunities, for that accepted in the Middle
Ages. When men began once more to read
Virgil and Cicero, Horace and Juvenal, intelli-
gently, sympathetically, admiringly, they had
already left the Middle Ages behind them.
The mediaeval scholar placed his trust in dia-
lectic. He was habitually careless of his
premises so long as his logical deductions were
unimpeachable. He made no effort, in short,
to acquaint himself with the best that had
been thought and said in the world. Though
he might possess extraordinary intellectual
keenness, or, like Vincent of Beauvais, the
great encyclopaedist of the thirteenth century,
vast erudition, he was still hopelessly unformed
and ill-balanced, for, as Matthew Arnold re-
minds us, " Far more mistakes come from
want of fresh knowledge than from want of
correct reasoning ; and, therefore, letters meet
a greater want in us than does logic." This
is the secret of the Renaissance : it explains
the immense significance of the revival of
Latin learning.
Western Europe during the centuries fol-
lowing the Teutonic invasions had not only
forgotten Greek literature, but it had lost
its appreciation of most that was best in the
6 Petrarch
classics of Rome, and nothing had taken their
place. Treatises were written in great numbers,
but relatively little that can be called literature
in the higher sense of the word was produced,
even in the thirteenth century, except the often
elaborate but evanescent poems and romances
in the vernacular. To-day we can acquaint our-
selves with much of the best that has been
thought and said in the world without going
back to the masterpieces of antiquity. Each
nation of Europe now has its national literature,
its Shakespeare, its Dante, its Goethe, or its
Voltaire, with a noble company of lesser writ-
ers, to cherish and augment the literary heri-
tage of the Occident. But the Middle Ages
enjoyed no such advantage. When, therefore,
men tired of logic and theology, they turned
back with single-hearted enthusiasm to the
age of Augustus, and, in so doing, they took
a great step forward, for the valuable thing in
literature, to quote Arnold once more, is " the
judgment which forms itself insensibly in a
fair mind along with fresh knowledge .
this judgment comes almost of itself ; and what
it displaces it displaces easily and naturally, and
without any turmoil of controversial reason-
ings. The thing comes to look differently to
us, as we look at it by the light of fresh know-
Introductory 7
ledo-e. We are not beaten from our old opin-
ion by logic, we are not driven off our ground ; —
our ground itself chancres with us." So the
changre from the characteristic culture of the
Middle Ages to that of modern times took
place through the quietly operating agency of
Roman literature.
By the middle of the fourteenth century
Western Europe, under the guidance of Italy,
was already on its way to recover what had
been so long neglected. There was by that
time a considerable body of scholars in the
modern sense of the word, whose admiration
and enthusiasm for the works of the ancients
were far too sincere to permit them longer to
adhere to the then generally accepted views
of man and the universe. The secular concep-
tions and predilections which fill the literature
of Rome gradually displaced the theological
speculations which had previously engrossed
the educated class. The merely human sud-
denly asserted itself and absorbed the attention
of the new generation — the so-called Human-
ists. They no longer pored over the Sentences
of Peter Lombard, but eagerly turned to Cicero
for all those arts that go to the making of a
man of cultivation.^ The humanities became
' C/. Pro Archia, 2.
8 Petrarch
almost a new religion for them. When,
however, we are tempted to deprecate the
often absurd exasfSferations of which the
later Humanists were guilty, we must always
recollect the essential beneficence of their
first enthusiasm. "Culture, after freeing it-
self from the bonds of the Middle Ages,
could not at once and without aid find its way
to an understanding of the physical and intel-
lectual world. It needed a guide, and found
one in the ancient civilisation, with Its wealth
of truth and its knowledge of every spiritual
interest." ^
Of the leaders in this movement towards in-
tellectual enfranchisement, Petrarch was the
first, as in the independence of his thought and
the scope of his influence he was the greatest.
" Not only did he rouse classical antiquity from
its long winter sleep and infuse new life into
a paralysed world ; he led in the struggle
aeainst existinof inertia and foresaw a new era
as the outcome of this conflict. He pointed
out a field of arduous and endless effort, but
one yielding rich returns. He gave direction
to the talents of hundreds, and if he was, before
many generations, excelled in more than one
respect, it was only as the discoverer of the
' Burckhardt, The Civilisation of the Renaissance, Pt. III., ch I.
Introductory 9
New World would ere long have had to give
way before the knowledge of a schoolboy.
Not only in the history of literature in Italy
does the name of Petrarch shine as a star of
the first magnitude, but in the history of the
civilised world, yea, in the history of the human
intellect itself."^
His superior historic importance is not, how-
ever, generally recognised, owing partly to
the circumstance that the testimony which he
has left of his life's work, although abundant,
has hitherto been obscured for most of us by an
unfamiliar tongue, and partly to the want of
knowledge of the period in which he lived. For,
to grasp the full significance of a reformer, we
must know how he found the world and how
he left it, and such knowledge comes only by
laborious study. It is a sad commonplace to
the thoughtful student of the past that the suc-
cessful reformer is sometimes remembered for
his weaknesses rather than for his true strength.
Nothing is easier than to pronounce Voltaire
a shallow deist, Erasmus a timorous dyspeptic,
crying peace when there was no peace, and to
see in Petrarch only the lifelong victim of an
unfortunate love affair. It is most difficult, on
' Voigt, Die Wiederbelebung des classischen Alterthums, 3d. ed.,
vol. i., p. 22.
lo Petrarch
the other hand, critically to estimate the vast
influence which these three men have respect-
ively exercised over the world's history. For
the more completely a reformer accomplishes
his task, the more surely does he obscure his
own importance in the eyes of succeeding gen-
erations. His most startlingf innovations be-
come the ratified institutions of posterity. His
most original ideas merge into the common
stock of human thought and appear straight-
way so obvious and trite as to seem almost in-
nate. No one dreams of attacking them ; no
one any longer takes credit to himself for
defending them.
If we would understand any one of the great
periods of transition, we must view the conflict
of the old and the new at close range, consider
the strength and equipment of the combatants
and the precise results of the struggle. Carrying
ourselves back in thought to the fourteenth
century, we shall find that the name of Fran-
cesco Petrarca stands for a revolution in Euro-
pean thought. His existence, character, and
career constituted in themselves, as has been
said of Voltaire, ^ a new and prodigious era.
His was the most potent individual influence
in changing the whole trend of intellectual pur-
' Mr. Morley's Voltaire, p. i.
Introductory 1 1
suits, not only in his own country but ulti-
mately in Europe at large.
It may, therefore, be considered a peculiarly
fortunate circumstance that there is perhaps no
other historical character before the age of
Luther, with the possible exception of Cicero,
who has left so complete and satisfactory an ac-
count of his spiritual life and environment. It
was not customary until long after his time to
compose memoirs for posterity, but in the al-
most daily messages to his friends he has given
us something not very unlike the ''journal
intwie" of modern times. In his correspond-
ence and Confessions he is the first to exhibit a
passion for self-expression and the modern love
of self-analysis. From amid a shadowy throng
of worthies whose personality has been com-
pletely obliterated by the lapse of time, Petrarch
alone stands out in clear outline ; and as we
greet him across the gulf of centuries, we recog-
nise in him a man of like passions with our-
selves.
Petrarch the reformer, the first modern
scholar, the implacable enemy of ignorance
and superstition ; Petrarch the counsellor of
princes, the leader of men, and the idol of his
age, has been long forgotten. Were it not that
the melody of his graceful Italian verses still
1 2 Petrarch
echoes in our ears with the ever fresh pathos
of unrequited love, his name would be as little
known as that of many another good man who
ardently strove in his day and generation to
better the world. Yet to their author the in-
comparable sonnets seemed little more than a
youthful diversion. They earned for him, as
he admits, a despised notoriety among the il-
literate multitude, but could never constitute
the foundation of a scholar's fame. Had he
suspected that posterity would perversely brush
aside the great Latin works which cost him
years of toil, and keep only his " popular trifles "
{ii2igcllas measvtdgares)^ his chronic melancholy
might have deepened into dark despair. In
later life, his sonnets suggested to him only the
impotent cravings of a passion unworthy of a
philosophic nature. He had in his early days
fled to the solitude of Vaucluse to escape a
consuming fire kindled by a hopeless attach-
ment. But here he found no relief, and the
flame which was devouring his heart burst from
his lips, he tells us, and " filled the vales with a
mournful murmur, — not without sweetness, it
seemed to some." " Hence," he writes, " these
' Vulgaris, when taken at its best, means " popular" ; when used
of verses it implied, of course, that they were in the vulgar tongue.
There was no need in Petrarch's day to distinguish between " for the
people" and " in Italian."
Introductory 13
popular songs,' the result of my youthful
distress, now overwhelm me with shame and
regret, although, as we see, they are still ac-
ceptable enough to those suffering from the
same malady."
Near the close of his life Petrarch undertook
to prepare a copy of his Italian verses for a
friend. "Their heterogeneous character," he
apologetically explains, " may find an excuse
in the fitful madness of a lover, a theme which
is touched upon in their very first lines. The
crudeness of their style must seek its extenua-
tion in my youth, for I wrote a great part of what
you read in my early years. ... I look with
aversion, I must confess, upon the silly, boyish
things (vtilgari juveniles ineptias) I then pro-
duced in the vulgar tongue, of which I could
wish everyone ignorant, myself included.
Although their style may testify to a certain
ability, considering the period at which I com-
posed them, their subject-matter ill comports
with the gravity of age. But what am I to do ?
They are all in the hands of the public and
are read more willingly than the serious works
that, with more highly developed faculties, I
have written since.
' Vulgariacantica, cf. Ep. vi., in Yr2iC2.ssQi\.\'s Appendix Lit(efaru?n,
in his edition of the letters, vol. iii., p. 523.
2 Sen., xiii., 10 ; Opera (1581), p. 923.
14 Petrarch
Posterity continues to accept the verdict
of the vulgits, while Petrarch's scholarly trea-
tises have lonof suffered ncMect. More than
three centuries have elapsed since a publisher
has ventured to issue an edition of the collected
Latin works, and were it not for his " silly
lines " he would enjoy no greater fame than
the once illustrious Mussato or Salutati, his
contemporaries.
The recently revived attention to Petrarch's
role in the history of civilisation has led to an
inevitable depreciation of the beautiful lyrics,
which had so long been looked upon as his
sole claim to immortality. A German scholar
has gone so far as to declare that Petrarch
would be no less bright a star in the history of
the human mind, had he never written a verse
of Italian.^ This very obvious exaggeration is
perhaps both natural and salutary. The Latin
works, especially the letters, are so fascinat-
ing and exhibit such new and important phases
of his character and ideals, that those who
have enthusiastically busied themselves with
them have gradually come to accept the poet's
repeated assertion that his Italian works were
mere youthful trifles, of no interest as com-
pared with his great Latin epic or his various
' Voigt, op. cit., i., 22.
Introductory 15
treatises/ Yet the world has decided other-
wise, and decided rightly. It has allowed over
three hundred years to pass without demand-
ing a new edition of those Latin works, by
which the author sought to gain everlasting
renown, while, on the other hand, hundreds of
editions of the despised Canzoniere have been
published, not only in the original but in
many translations.
In our endeavour to understand the great
intellectual leader of the fourteenth century,
we must, as De Sanctis warns us,^ guard against
the temptation to regard the Petrarch of the
sonnets as traditional and mutilated, while we
pretend to reconstruct the real and complete
Petrarch from his inferior and long-neglected
writings. For the poet finds his fullest ex-
pression in his greatest literary work, the
Italian lyrics ; this the world at large shrewdly
guessed from the first, and it has never altered
its opinion. No one really familiar with the
letters will fail to recognise in them the author
of the sonnets. We find there the same
strength and weakness, the same genuine
feeling, often disguised by mannerisms and
' For Petrarch's attitude toward the Italian languac;e the reader is
referred to Part II., below.
^ Saggio Critico sul Petrarca, 2d. ed., Naples, 1883, p. I2.
1 6 Petrarch
traditional conceits, the same aspirations and
conBicts, the same subjectivity and self-analy-
sis. We have to do with a single great spirit
revealing itself with a diversity and mobility of
literary form known only to genius. Opening
the Canzoniere, we find in the following lines
sentiments which might have been despatched
in an elegant epistle to his friend Nelli, or to
" Lselius," or recorded in his Confessions.
Ma ben veggi' or si come al popol tutto
Favola fui gran tempo : onde sovente
Di me medesmo meco mi vergogno ;
E del mio vaneggiar vergogna e '1 frutto,
E '1 pentirsi, e '1 conoscer chiaramente
Che quanto piace al mondo h breve sogno.'
But even if it be admitted that the lyrics
form Petrarch's greatest claim to renown, and
that the letters often only reflect, as might be
anticipated, sentiments familiar to the thought-
ful reader of the Italian verses, yet the poems
alone can never tell the whole story of their
author's importance and influence. Literary
ideals which have no place in the sonnets are
to be found in the letters ; in them we may
study the reviver of a forgotten culture, and
the prophet of an era of intellectual advance
the direct results of which we still enjoy.
' From the first sonnet, beginning, Voi ch'ascoltate.
Introductory 17
The Middle Aq-qs furnish us no earHer ex-
ample of the psychological analysis which we
discover in both the verse and prose of Pet-
rarch. His writino-s are the first to reveal
completely a human soul, with its struggles, its
sufferings, and its contradictions. " Petrarch
was a master in one respect at least, he under-
stood how to picture himself ; through him the
inner world first receives recognition ; he first
notes, observes, analyses, and sets forth its phe-
nomena."' The all-pervading self-conscious-
ness that meets us in the letters is sure to
produce a painful impression as we first open
them. It may, for a time, indeed, seem little
better than common priggishness. But behind
a thin veil of vanity and morbid sensitiveness
we straightw^ay discover a great soul grappling
with the mystery of life. Baffled by the con-
tradictions that it feels within itself, it gropes
tremblingly towards a new ideal of earthly ex-
istence.
Petrarch was not content to live unquestion-
ingly, adjusting his conduct-.to the conventional
standard. He was constantly preoccupied with
his own aims and motives. Nor was the prob-
lem that he confronted a simple one, for the
old and the new were contending for supremacy
' Gaspary, Gesckichte der italienischen Literatur, 1885, i., 480.
1 8 Petrarch
within his breast. The mediaeval conception
of our mortal life was that of a brief period
of probation, during which each played his
obscure role in the particular group, guild,
or corporation to which Providence had as-
signed him, bearing his burdens patiently in
the beatific vision of a speedy reward in an-
other and better world. Petrarch formally as-
sented to this view but never accepted it. The
preciousness of life's opportunity was ever
before him. Li^e was certainly a preparation
for heaven, but, he asked himself, was it not
something more ? Might there not be worthy
secular aims ? Mieht not one raise himself
above those about him and earn the approval
of generations to come, as the great writers of
antiquity had done ? His longing to obtain an
earthly reputation, and the temptation con-
sciously to direct his energies toward achieving
posthumous fame, seemed to him now a noble
instinct, and again, when tradition weighed
heavily upon him, a godless infatuation. In
order to put the matter before himself in all its
aspects he prepared an imaginary dialogue, af-
ter the model offered by Plato and Cicero, be-
tween himself and Saint Augustine. This little
book he called his " Secret," as he did not desire
to have it enumerated among the works he had
Introductory 19
written for fame's sake : and here he recorded
his spiritual conflicts for his own personal good/
Of the contents of this extraordinary confession
something will be said later. Its very existence
is an historic fact of the utmost sio^nificance.^
Petrarch aspired to be both a poet and a
scholar, and it is not easy to determine defi-
nitely whether in his later years he looked
upon his great Latin epic or upon his histori-
cal works as his best title to fame. He often
refers to the high mission of the poet, and in
the address that he delivered at Rome, when he
received the laurel crown, he took for his sub-
ject the nature of poetry. For him poetry
embraced only Latin verse in its classical form.
The popular, rhyming cadences of the Middle
Ages, in which the rhythmic accent followed
not quantity but the prose accent,^ doubtless
' Cf. Preface to Dialogus de Contemptu Mundi, as the work is
called in the Basle editions. Many MSS. entitle the work more ap-
propriately De Secreto Conjliciu Curarum Sttarum. Cf. Voigt, op.
cit., p. 132.
- See below, pp. 93 sqq. and 404 sqq.
^ For example the familiar.
Dies irae, dies ilia,
Solvet saeclum in favilla.,
or Abelaid's lines :
In hac urbe lux solemnis,
Ver seternum, pax perennis.
In hac odor implens coelos,
In hac semper festum melos
20 Petrarch
seemed to him no more deserving of the name
of poetry than Dante's Co7nmedia or his own
Italian sonnets. We shall have occasion later
to describe his peculiar conception of allegory.^
As a scholar Petrarch had no definite bent.
" Among the many subjects which have inter-
ested me," he says, " I have dwelt especially
upon antiquity, for our own age has always re-
pelled me, so that, had it not been for the love
of those dear to me, I should have preferred to
have been born in any other period than our
own. In order to forget my own time I have
constantly striven to place myself in spirit in
other ages, and consequently I have delighted
in history."^ We shall not then be going far
astray if we style Petrarch a classical philologist,
using the term in a broad sense, and always re-
membering- that an enlightened and enthusias-
tic classical philologist was just what the world
most needed in the fourteenth century.
Although the letters are by far the most in-
teresting of Petrarch's Latin productions, the
reader may be curious to know something of
the character and extent of the other long-
forgotten books which the author trusted
would earn him eternal fame. No complete
' See below, p. 233 sqq.
* Letter to Posterity.
Introductory 21
edition of his works has ever been pubHshed/
but were they brought together, they would
fill some seventeen volumes of the size of the
present one, and we may imagine that the
publishers would issue them somewhat as
follows :
Vols. I-VIII, The Letters.
IX-X, Phisicke agamst Fortune, as well Prosperous
as Adverse " (De Remediis Utriusque Fortunas).
XI, Historical Anecdotes (Rerum Memorandum
Libri IV).
XII, Lives of Famous Men.
XIII, The Life of Julius C(2sar*
XIV, The Life of Solitude and On Monastic Lei-
sure.
XV, Miscellany, including the Confessions (De
Contemptu Mundi seu Suum Secretum), Invectives,
Addresses, and Minor Essays.
XVI, Latin Verse, comprising the Africa, the
Eclogues, and sixty-seven Metrical Epistles.
XVII, The Italian Verse, comprising the Sonnets,
Canzone, and Occasional Poems.
Of the Latin works only one can be said
to have enjoyed any considerable popularity.
' The wretchedly printed editions published at Basle in 1554 and
1 58 1 are the most complete, but they omit the work on Famous Men
and nearly half of the letters.
' As first (and last) Englished by Thomas Twyne, London, 1579.
' This is a part of the Lives of Famous Men, but is nearly as long
as all the others together.
22 Petrarch
Of the Antidotes for Good and Evil Fortune
there were over twenty Latin editions is-
sued from 147 1 to 1756.' And besides the
Latin original, translations exist in English,
Bohemian, French, Spanish, Italian, and
several in German. Yet only one or two new
editions have been demanded during the past
two hundred and fifty years. The first part
of the work is destined to establish the vanity
of all earthly subjects of congratulation, from
the possession of a chaste daughter to the pro-
prietorship of a flourishing hennery. In the
second part comfort is administered to those
who have lost a wife or child, or are suffering
from toothache, a ruined reputation, the fear
of lingering death, or are painfully conscious
that they are growing too fat. What seems to
us mere cant and cynical commonplace may well
have gratified a generation that delighted in
the frescos of the cemetery at Pisa, but the
popularity of the book naturally waned just as
Dances of Death lost their charm. Yet the
essays are not entirely without interest,^ and
their variety and paradoxicalness, if nothing
else, may still hold the attention.
' Cf. Ferrazzi," Bibliografia Petrarchesca," in vol. v. of \\\% Enciclo-
pedia Dantesca, Bassano, 1877.
* E. g., Book i., chap, xliii.: on the possession of a library.
Introductory 23
The two works upon which Petrarch pro-
bably based his Hterary reputation were the
long Latin epic, the Africa, and his Lives of
Famoiis j\Icn. These are often referred to in
his correspondence, especially the Africa.
This was, however, never finished, and in his
later years came to be a subject which the
author could not hear mentioned without a
sense of irritation. The poem was printed
half a dozen times in the sixteenth century/
The biographical work fared much worse, and
was, with the exception of the Life of Ccesar,
not printed until our own day.^
Among the lesser works, the Confessions
and an essay on The Life of Solitude were each
printed eight or nine times before the year
1700. The letters also found readers. We
have, however, but to glance at the list of
editions of the Canzoniere to see how " these
trivial verses, filled with the false and offen-
sive praise of women," rather than his Latin
epic and scholarly compilations, have served
to keep his memory green. Thirty-four edi-
' Conradini has edited the work in Padova a Petrarca, 1874, and
there are now two Italian versions and one in French.
^ Edited by A. Razzolini, Bologna, 1874-9, in Collezione di Opere
Inedite o Rare. Vols. 34-36. The Life of Ccesar was carefully edit-
ed by Schneider (Leipzig, 1827), with a discussion of Petrarch's
divergences from classical Latin.
24 Petrarch
tions of the Italian verses were printed before
1500, and one hundred and sixty-seven in the
sixteenth century. Since 1600 some two hun-
dred more have appeared.'
It is not, however, in his formal treatises that
the source of Petrarch's influence is to be found.
They may aid us better to understand their
author, but they can never explain the charm
which he exercised over his contemporaries.
He was not only an indefatigable scholar him-
self, but he possessed the power of stimulating,
by his example, the scholarly ambition of those
with whom he came in contact. He rendered
the study of the Latin classics popular among
cultivated persons, and by his own untiring ef-
forts to discover the lost or forgotten works of
the great writers of antiquity he roused a new
and general enthusiasm for the formation of
libraries and the critical determination of the
proper readings in the newly found manuscripts.
It is hard for us to imagine the obstacles
which confronted the scholars of the early
Renaissance. They possessed no critical edi-
tions of the classics in which the text had
been established by a com.parison of all the
' For this whole subject see Ferrazzi, op. cit., especially p. 760.
An excellent analysis of the Latin works may be found in Korting,
Fetrarca's Leben u. Werke, Leipzig, 1878, pp. 542 sqq.
Introductory 25
available codices. They considered themselves
fortunate to discover a single copy of even well-
known authors. And so corrupt was the
text, Petrarch declares, by reason of careless
transcriptions, that should Cicero or Livy re-
turn and stumblingly read his own writings
once more, he would promptly declare them
the work of another, perhaps of a barbarian.^
While copies of the yEnetd, of Horace's
Satires, and of certain of Cicero's Orations, of
Ovid, Seneca, and a few other authors, were ap-
parently by no means uncommon during the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries, it seemed to
Petrarch, who had learned through the refer-
ences of Cicero, Quintilian, Saint Augustine,
and others, something of the original extent of
Latin literature, that treasures of inestimable
value had been lost by the shameful indifference
of the Middle Ages. " Each famous author
of antiquity whom I recall," he indignantly ex-
claims, "places a new offence and another
cause of dishonour to the charo^e of later a-ener-
tions, who, not satisfied with their own dis-
graceful barrenness, permitted the fruit of other
minds and the writings that their ancestors had
produced by toil and application, to perish
through insufferable neglect. Although they
' De Rem. Utriusq. Fortuna:, i., 43 ; Opera (1581), p. 43.
26 Petrarch
had nothing of their own to hand down to
those who were to come after, they robbed
posterity of its ancestral heritage." ' The col-
lection of a library was, then, the first duty of
one whose mission it was to re-establish the
world in its literary patrimony.
A man's books are not a bad measure of the
man himself, provided he be what Lowell calls a
book-man, and his collections be really a genuine
expression of his preferences and not those of
his grandfather or his bookseller. If this is
true to-day, with the all-pervading spirit of
commercial enterprise which constantly im-
poses upon our tastes, how much more true
must it have been when Petrarch, with all his
self-sacrificing enthusiasm and industry,brought
together during a long life only two hundred
volumes.^ Books in those' days were of course
laboriously produced by hand. There was no
device to secure uniformity in the copies of a
work as they were slowly written off by the same
or different persons. Each scribe inevitably
made new mistakes which could be safely cor-
rected only by a comparison with the author's
manuscript. The average copyist was ap-
' Rerum Mem., i., 2, as corrected by M. de Nolhac : Petrarque et
r Humatiisme, p. 268.
' Cf. de Nolhac, op. cil. , p. 99.
Introductory 27
parently hardly more careful than the type-
setter of to-day. A book as it came from his
hands was little better than uncorrected galley
proof.
In one case, Petrarch tried for years to get
one of his shorter works, The Life of Solitude,
satisfactorily transcribed, so that he could send
a copy of it to the friend to whom he had dedi-
cated it. He writes :
" I have tried ten times and more to have it
copied in such a way that, even if the style
should not please either the ears or the mind,
the eyes might yet be gratified by the form of
the letters. But the faithfulness and industry
of the copyists, of which I am constantly com-
plaining and with which you are familiar, have,
in spite of all my earnest efforts, frustrated my
wishes. These fellows are verily the plague
of noble minds. What I have just said must
seem incredible. A work written in a few
months cannot be copied in so many years !
The trouble and discouragement involved in
the case of more important books is obvious.
At last, after all these fruitless trials, on leav-
ing home, I put the manuscript into the
hands of a certain priest to copy. Whether
he will, as a priest, perform his duty conscien-
tiously, or, as a copyist, be ready to deceive, I
28 Petrarch
cannot yet say. I learn from the letters of
friends that the work is done. Of its quality,
knowing- the habits of this tribe of copyists, I
shall continue to harbour doubts until I actually
see it. Such is the ignorance, laziness, or
arrogance of these fellows, that, strange as it
may seem, they do not reproduce what you
give them, but write out something quite
different." ^
Each copy of a work had, therefore, before
the invention of printing, its own peculiar vir-
tues and vices. A correct and clearly written
codex possessed charms which no modern
" numbered " edition on wide-margined paper
can equal. We have many indications of the
affection which Petrarch felt for his books and
which he instilled into others. Even his
rustic old servant at Vaucluse learned to dis-
tinofuish the various volumes, ofreat and small.
The old fellow would glow with satisfaction,
his master tells us, when a book was put into
his hands to be replaced upon the shelves ;
pressing it to his bosom, he would softly mur-
mur the name of the author.^ Petrarch's
' Sen., v., i; Opera (1581), p. 792. Compare, on the general subject,
G. H. Putnam's Books and their Makers in the Middle Ages, New
York, 1896.
' Episiolm de Rebus Familiaribus , xvi., i (Fracassetti's edition,
vol. ii., p. 363).
Introductory 29
interest was, however, no selfish one ; he fondly
hoped that his collection would become the
nucleus of a great public library, such as we
find a century or two after his time. When
he could no lonofer foster interest in his
favourite studies by his own potent presence
and by his letters to his friends and fellow-
scholars, his books, with their careful anno-
tations and textual corrections, would form a
permanent incentive to progress.
He chose Venice as the most appropriate
place to establish his library. The letter in
which he offers to leave his books to that city
gives us a clear notion of his purpose. Lay-
ing aside all regard for classical models, he
addressed the Venetian Government in the
current Latin of the chancery:
" Francesco Petrarca desires, if it shall please
Christ and St. Mark, to bequeath to that
blessed Evangelist the books he now possesses
or may acquire in the future, on condition that
the books shall not be sold or in any way scat-
tered, but shall be kept in perpetuity in some ap-
pointed place, safe from fire and rain, in honour
of the said saint and as a memorial of the
giver, as well as for the encouragement and
convenience of the scholars and grentlemen of
the said city who may delight in such things.
30 Petrarch
He does not wish this because his books are
very numerous or very valuable, but is impelled
by the hope that hereafter that glorious city
may, from time to time, add other works at
the public expense, and that private individuals,
nobles, or other citizens who love their coun-
try, or perhaps even strangers, may follow his
example and leave a part of their books, by
their last will, to the said church. Thus it
may easily fall out that the collection shall
one day become a great and famous library,
equal to those of the ancients. The glory
which this would shed upon this State can be
understood by learned and ignorant alike.
Should this be brouorht about, with the aid of
God and of the famous patron of your city,
the said Francesco would be greatly rejoiced,
and glorify God that he had been permitted to
be, in a way, the source of this great benefit.
He may write at greater length if the affair
proceeds. That it may be quite clear that he
does not mean to confine himself in so import-
ant a matter to mere words, he desires to
accomplish what he promises, etc.
"In the meantime he would like for himself
and the said books a house, not large, but re-
spectable \Jionesta7ii\, in order that none of the
accidents to which mortals are subject shall in-
Introductory 31
terfere with the reaHsation of his plan. He
would gladly reside in the city if he can con-
veniently do so, but of this he cannot be sure,
owing to numerous difficulties. Still he hopes
that he may do so." ^
September 4, 1362, the grand council deter-
mined to accept the offer of Petrarch, "whose
glory," the document recites, "was such
throughout the whole world that no one, in the
memory of man, could be compared with him
in all Christendom, as a moral philosopher and
a poet." The expense for a suitable dwelling
was to be met from the public treasury, and the
officials of St. Mark's were ready to provide a
proper place for the books.
Petrarch lived for several years, as we shall
see, in the house furnished by the Venetian
Government, and it was, until recently, believed
that his books were sent to the city, and, to the
disgrace of the Republic, allowed to perish
from negligence. Tommasini, the author of a
once esteemed life of Petrarch, reports the dis-
covery in 1634, in a room of St. Mark's, of cer-
tain stray volumes nearly destroyed by moisture
and neglect,^ which he assumed to be the re-
' The Latin original, transcribed from the archives of Venice, is to
be found in de Nolhac, op. cit., p. 8o.
'^ Petrarcha Redivivus, 2d ed. (Padua, 1650), p. 72.
32 Petrarch
mains of Petrarch's oriofinal collection. This
has recently been shown to be a mistake, for
the books in question never belonged to Pe-
trarch, many indeed dating from the next cen-
tury. There is, in fact, no reason to suppose
that his library ever reached Venice after his
death.
M, Pierre de Nolhac has succeeded, by the
most minute and painstaking study of Petrarch's
handwriting and habits of annotation, in par-
tially reconstructing a catalogue of his books.
The fate of the poet's collection was a matter
of vital interest to the literary men of his time.
Immediately after his death, Boccaccio wrote
to ask what had been done with the bibliotJieca
pretiosissima. Some, he said, reported one
thinof and some another. But the books evi-
dently found their way to Padua, for it was there
that Coluccio Salutati and others sent for
copies, not only of Petrarch's own works, but
of rare classics which he possessed, such as
Propertius and the less known orations of
Cicero. Petrarch's last tyrant-patron, Fran-
cesco di Carrara, Lord of Padua, had for sev-
eral years been upon bad terms with Venice,
and it is easy to understand why the famous
library, once in his possession, was never de-
livered to St. Mark's, as its owner had intended.
Introductory 33
The prince appears to have sold many of the
volumes, although he retained a choice selec-
tion for himself. A renewal of the wars with
his neighbours brought upon him, however, a
final calamity, and he was forced to cede all
of his possessions, in 1388, to Gian Galeazzo
Visconti. The latter carried off the precious
books to Pavia, where he added them to his
own important collection. One volume has
been discovered by M. de Nolhac, which bears
the half-obliterated name of Francesco di Car-
rara. But Pavia was in turn robbed of its
treasures, for in 1499 the French seized them
and transported them to Blois, whence they
have found their way to Paris. Some twenty-
six volumes in the National Library have been
satisfactorily proven actually to have belonged
to Petrarch, while Rome can boast of but six,
and Florence, Venice, Padua, and Milan of one
each. The rest may either have been destroyed,
or be wanting in those characteristic traits by
which they could be identified.
Petrarch's habit of annotating the books in
which he was most interested ' o-ives the volumes
which have come down to us a certain autobio-
graphical value, and M. de Nolhac's study of
these extempore and informal impressions will
' Cf. Fam., xxiv., i (vol. iii., p. 250).
34 Petrarch
fascinate every admirer of the premier human-
iste. We cannot, of course, infer from the frag-
ments of the library which can now be identified
what the original collection included, but a care-
ful study of his works and of the extant marginal
glosses has led M. de Nolhac to the following
conclusions. The library doubtless contained
almost all the great Latin poets except Lu-
cretius. Petrarch probably knew Tibullus
only from an anthology. There were serious
gaps in his Latin prose, but he had an especially
good collection of the Latin historians. Taci-
tus, although known to Boccaccio, was quite
missing, and he had only the more important
portions of Ouintilian's Institutes, which he
much admired. Seneca was nearly complete,
and he had most of the best-known works of
Cicero, although the letters Ad Fainiliares and
a number of the Oratiojis were wanting. Of
the early Christian Fathers, Ambrose, Jerome,
and Augustine were prominent, but this section
of his library contained relatively few au-
thors, while the mediaeval writers were very
scarce indeed. The Letters of Abelard, some
works of Hugh de Saint Victor, Dante's Com-
vtedia, and the Decameron of Boccaccio were,
we know, included. Petrarch could not read
Greek, but he possessed Latin versions of the
Introductory 35
Timcsus of Plato, the Ethics and Politics, at
least, of Aristotle, Josephus's Histories, and the
translation of the Iliad and Odyssey that he
and Boccaccio had had made. The want of
Greek literature was the greatest weakness in
his education ; for, having no means of com-
parison, he was led to estimate falsely the value
of the Latin classics.
In considering the powers of criticism which
Petrarch exhibits in his discussion of the Latin
language and literature, the study of which was
his main occupation during a long life, we must
not unconsciously allow ourselves to judge him
by the scientific standard of to-day. Before
we can give full credit to his genius we must
recollect the incredible ignorance of his time.
To give but one instance — an eminent profes-
sor in the University of Bologna, in a letter to
Petrarch, gravely ranked Cicero among the
poets, and assumed that Ennius and Statins
were contemporaries.^ A free fancy was the
only prerequisite for establishing derivations.
We find no less a student than Dante explicitly
rejecting a correct etymology in order to sub-
stitute for it one which suited him better,'^ when
' Fam., iv. , 15.
* // Convito, iv., 16. For the conceptions of c;rammar in the thir-
teenth centurj'see Turot's remarkable study in the Notices et Exlraits
des A/SS., vol. 22.
J
6 Petrarch
he claims that nobile is derived from non vile
instead of from nosco.
In order to understand the deep signifi-
cance of Petrarch's scholarship, one must turn
to a book like the Etymologies of the saintly
Isidore of Seville, whose work was a standard
treatise in the Middle Ages. To choose an
example or two at random, we find that the
lamb (Latin, agniis) owes its name to the fact
that " it recognises \agnoscit\ its mother at
a greater distance than other animals, so
that in even a very large herd it immediately
bleats response to its parent's voice." Equi
(horses) are so called because they were equal
{ceqiLabantiir) when hitched to a chariot.^ It
may well be that Petrarch knew but little
more about the science of language in the
modern sense of the word than Isidore or the
author of the GrcEcis^rms, another facious text-
book of the period, but his spirit is the spirit
of a scholar. Speculations of the kind above
noted seemed to him fatuous and puerile,
although he might have been entirely at a loss
to suggest any more scientific derivations to
replace the currently accepted ones. He dis-
tinguished instinctively between fact and fancy,
and the reader will discover in his letters much
' Migne, Patrologia Lat., vol. 82, pp. 40S, 426.
Introductory Z7
sound criticism and an innate sense of fitness
and proportion quite alien to the Middle Ages.
In no respect, indeed, is his greatness more
apparent than in his general rejection of the
educational ideals of his times. He was as
little in sympathy with the intellectual predi-
lections of the period as was Voltaire with the
contentions of Jansenist and Jesuit. He dis-
liked dialectics, the most esteemed branch of
study in the mediseval schools ; he utterly dis-
regarded Scotus and Aquinas, and cared not
for nominalism or realism, preferring to derive
his religious doctrines from the Scriptures and
the half-forgotten church Fathers, his partiality
for whom, especially for Augustine and Am-
brose, is evident from his numerous references
to their works. His necrlect of the Schoolmen
is equally patent. Lastly, he dared to assert
that Aristotle, although a distinguished scholar,
was not superior to many of the ancients, and
was inferior at least to Plato. He ventured to
advance the opinion that not only was Aris-
totle's style bad, but his views upon many
subjects were quite worthless.
It would be difficult to exaggerate the power-
ful fascination which Aristotle exercised over
the mediaeval mind. Only the Scriptures and
the stately compilations of the civil and canon
38 Petrarch
law were classed with his works. His know-
ledge seemed all-embracing, and his dicta were
accepted as unquestionable. He was "the
Vh-WosoT^h^r " {phiiosop/ms), "the master," as
Dante calls him, " of them that know." Nor
is his supremacy hard to understand. When
his works reached Western Europe, at the end
of the twelfth and the opening of the thir-
teenth century, partly through the Arabs of
Spain and partly from Constantinople, men
were filled with an eager, undiscriminating
desire for knowledge. His treatises afforded
both an acceptable method and the necessary
data for interminable dialectical activity. His
Metaphysics, Physics, Ethics, and the rest, sup-
plied abundant material upon which his princi-
ples of logic might be brought to bear by a
disputatious generation. So the greatest of
inductive philosophers became the hero of a
recklessly deductive age, which was both too
indolent and too respectful of authority to
add to or correct his observations. It was
assumed that nothing remained to be done
except to understand, expound, and comment
upon the writings of a genius to whom all the
secrets of nature and of man had been re-
vealed. Even theology, a characteristic crea-
tion of the Middle Ages, was greatly affected,
Introductory 39
if not dominated, by Aristotle, so that Luther's
first act of revolt took the form of an attack
upon " that accursed heathen."
Some of his acquaintances in Venice were
accustomed, during their conversations to-
gether, to suggest some problem of the Aristo-
telians or to talk about animals ; Petrarch says :
" I would then either remain silent or jest
with them or change the subject. Some-
times I asked, with a smile, how Aristotle
could have known that, for it was not proven
by the light of reason, nor could it be tested
by experiment. At that they would fall silent,
in surprise and anger, as if they regarded me
as a blasphemer who asked any proof beyond
the authority of Aristotle. So we bid fair to be
no longer philosophers, lovers of the truth,
but Aristotelians, or rather Pythagoreans, re-
viving the absurd custom which permits us to
ask no question except whether he said it.
I believe, indeed, that Aristotle was a
great man and that he knew much ; yet he
was but a man, and therefore something, nay,
many things, may have escaped him. I will
say more. ... I am confident, beyond a
doubt, that he was in error all his life, not only
as reofards small matters, where a mistake
counts for little, but in the most weighty ques-
40 Petrarch
tions, where his supreme interests were in-
volved. And although he has said much of
happiness, both at the beginning and the end
of his Ethics, I dare assert, let my critics ex-
claim as they may, that he was so completely
ignorant of true happiness that the opinions
upon this matter of any pious old woman, or
devout fisherman, shepherd, or farmer, would,
if not so fine-spun, be more to the point than
his."^
Commonplace as these reflections seem to
us, they resound in the history of culture like
a decisive battle in the world's annals. Nor
was it mere pettishness which led Petrarch to
speak thus of the supreme authority of his
ap'e : the instincts and training which made it
impossible for him to bow down and worship
the Stagirite, implied a great intellectual revo-
lution. Nowhere is the broadening effect of
his intelligent and constant reading of the clas-
sics more apparent than in his estimate of
Aristotle's relative greatness. He was far
too intimately acquainted with the history
of literature to feel for any one man the re-
spect entertained for their master by the
Schoolmen.
^ " De Sui ipsius et Multorum Ignorantia," Opera {1581), pp. 1042,
1043.
Introductory 41
The so-called natural science of his day was
scornfully put aside by Petrarch as unworthy
the attention of a man of culture. Those
fond of the subject, he tells us, " say much of
beasts, birds, and fishes, discuss how many
hairs there are on the lion's head and feathers
in the hawk's tail, and how many coils the
polypus winds about a wrecked ship ; they ex-
patiate upon the generation of the elephant
and its biennial offspring, as well as upon the
docility and intelligence of the animal and its
resemblance to human-kind. They tell how the
phoenix lives two or three centuries, and is
then consumed by an aromatic fire, to be born
again from its ashes." This characteristic
mediaeval lore he rejects as false, and sensibly
declares that the accounts of such wonders as
reach his part of the world relate to matters
unfamiliar to those who describe them. Hence,
such stories are readily invented and received
by reason of the distance from the places where
the phenomena are said to occur. " Even if
all these thino-s were true," he characteristic-
ally urges, " they help in no way toward a
happy life, for what does it advantage us to
be familiar with the nature of animals, birds,
fishes, and reptiles, while we are ignorant of
the nature of the race of man to which we
42 Petrarch
belong, and do not know or care whence we
come or whither we go ? " '
The astrologers, so highly esteemed in his
day, seemed to him mere charlatans, who were
supported by the credulity of those who were
madly curious to know what could not be
known, and should not be known if it could.
Cicero and Augustine had demonstrated the
futility of the claims made by the matJiematici,
as they were long called, and Petrarch ratified
their judgment ; yet so general was the be-
lief in their powers that astrology was taught
in the universities of Italy.* Even the hard-
headed despot of Milan once deferred a mili-
tary expedition because an astrological friend
of Petrarch's declared the proposed time to
be unpropitious. The army had, however,
scarcely started, with the approval of the as-
trologer, before such terrible and prolonged
rains set in that only the personal courage
and good fortune of the prince prevented a
disaster. When Petrarch inquired of his friend
how he made so grievous a miscalculation, the
astrologer replied that it was especially difficult
' opera (1581), p. 103S. Steele's extracts from Bartholomew Angli-
cus, in Medii^val Lore {Stock, London), give a good idea of the popu-
lar science of the thirteenth century.
* Cf. Rashdall, Universities of Etirope in the Middle Ages, Ox-
ford, 1895.
Introductory 43
to forecast the weather. He received the tri-
umphant retort : " It is easier, then, to know
what is going to happen to me alone or to
some other individual several years hence,
than that which threatens heaven and earth
to-day or to-morrow ! " ^
Petrarch's good sense was once or twice tested
to the utmost, and yet he refused to give a
supernatural explanation even to startling per-
sonal experiences, such as still occasionally dis-
turb the precarious adjustment of our generally
accepted scheme of the universe. He gives
two curious instances of prophetic visions that
came true. On one occasion, he had left the
bedside of a very dear friend, whose case had
been pronounced hopeless by the physicians.
Upon his falling into a troubled sleep the sick
man appeared to him and announced that he
would get the better of his malady if only he
were not deserted. There was one already
at hand, he said, who might save him. Here-
upon Petrarch awoke to find one of the doc-
tors at his door, who had come to comfort
him for the loss of his friend. He thereupon
compelled the reluctant physician to return
to the sick-room : they immediately perceived
hopeful signs in the condition of the patient,
' Sen., iii., i ; Opera (1581), pp. 768, 769.
44 Petrarch
who was in due time completely restored to
health.
The second dream that Petrarch narrates
concerned his noble friend, Giacomo of Colonna,
who while still a young man had been made
Bishop of Lombez, a town not far from Tou-
louse. Petrarch was, at the time of which we
are speaking, at Parma, separated from his
friend, as he points out, by no inconsiderable
stretch of country.
" Vague rumours of his illness had reached
me, so that, swayed alternately by hope and
fear, I was eagerly awaiting more definite news.
I shudder even now as I recall it all ; my eye
rests upon the very spot where I saw him in
the quiet of the night. He was alone, and
crossed the brook that is runninor before me
through my garden. I hastened to meet him,
and in my surprise and astonishment I over-
whelmed him with questions — whence he came,
whither he was going, why he was in such
haste, and entirely alone? He made no reply
to my queries, but, smiling as was his wont when
he spoke, he said : ' Do you remember how you
were troubled by the storms of the Pyrenees,
when you once spent some time with me be-
yond the Garonne?^ I am worn out by them
' See below, p. 66.
Introductory 45
now, and have left them never to return. I
go to Rome.' While saying this he had swiftly
reached the limits of the enclosure. I pressed
him to permit me to accompany him, but
twice he gently repulsed me with a wave of the
hand, and finally, with a strange change in his
face and voice, said : * Desist, I do not wish
your companionship now.' Then I fixed my
eyes upon him and recognised the bloodless
pallor of death. Overcome by fright and sor-
row, I cried out, so that, as I awoke at that
very moment, I heard the last echoes of my
own scream. I marked the day and told the
whole story to the friends who were within
reach and wTote about it to those absent.
Twenty-five days later the announcement of
his death reached me. Upon comparing the
dates, I discovered that he had appeared to me
upon the same day upon which he departed
this life. His remains were carried to Rome
three years later — I, however, neither suspected
nor anticipated anything of the kind at the
time of my dream. His spirit, as I ardently
hope, triumphs in heaven, to which it has re-
turned.
" But we 've dreamed enough, let us awake !
I will add but a word. It was not because, in
a period of anxiety, first my friend and then
46 Petrarch
my master appeared to me in a dream, that the
one recovered and the other died. In both
cases I simply seemed to behold what, in the
one case, I dreaded and, in the other, desired,
and fate coincided with my vision. I have, there-
fore, no more faith in dreams than Cicero, who
said that for a single one which accidentally
came true he was perplexed by a thousand
false ones." *
Petrarch's enlightenment and scholarship
would, however, have availed the world but
little, had he not possessed at the same time
certain quite different qualities which go to
make up the successful reformer. History
abundantly proves that one may be far in ad-
vance of one's age and yet leave not a solitary
disciple behind. In the fourteenth century, to
cite one or two instances, a certain Pierre Du-
bois eloquently advocated the higher education
of women and their instruction in medicine and
surgery, the study of the modern languages,
the marriage of the clergy and the secularisa-
tion of their misused property, the simplifica-
tion of judicial procedure, and a system of
international arbitration.^ But no one. so far
' Fam., v., 7.
- Cf. De Reciiperatione Terre 6'a«(r/t', excellently edited by Ch.-V.
Langlois, Paris, 1891.
Introductory 47
as is known, gave ear to his suggestions, how-
ever salutary : six centuries have elapsed and
the world has still but half carried out his pro-
gramme. While Petrarch was studying law at
Bolocrna, Marsis^-Ho of Padua issued one of the
most extraordinary treatises ever produced on
government, but, although the circumstances of
its publication were favourable to publicity, its
influence was imperceptible.
We have, therefore, but half explained the
secret of Petrarch's influence if we dwell only
upon his profound insight and his moral and
intellectual saneness. He might well have
been " the first modern " and yet have suffered
the fate of many another whom we know to
have conceived prophetic ideals. He was in
advance of his world, it is true, but he was of
it. There was a fundamental sympathy be-
tween him and his age. He was mediaeval as
well as modern. He belonged both to the
present and the future. Like Luther and Vol-
taire, he spoke to a generation that was eagerly
and expectantly awaiting its leader, and ready
to obey his summons when it should come.
Luther was a monk before he was a reformer.
Had he been less certain that the devil dis-
ported himself in the box of hazel-nuts that he
kept on his desk, he might, in just so far, have
48 Petrarch
exercised a less potent inHuence over a super-
stitious people. Had Voltaire been less blas-
phemous and more appreciative of the true
greatness of Hebrew literature, he might never
have advanced the cause of humanity.
Of Petrarch's affinities with the culture of
his time the reader may form his own judg-
ment from the abundant evidence furnished by
the letters. In one important respect he was
ever the child of the Middle Ages ; he never
freed himself from the monastic theorv of sal-
vation, although he frequently questioned some
of its implications.
His success was not, however, due solely to
the gospel that he preached and its fitness for his
day and generation. He enjoyed, in addition
to these, the inestimable advantage of personal
popularity. He was the hero of his age. He
was courted, as he says with perfect truth, by the
greatest rulers of his time, who omitted no in-
ducement that might serve to draw him to their
capitals. He was the friend of successive Popes
and of the far-away Emperor himself. The
King of France claimed the honour of his pres-
ence at the French Court, as Frederick the
Great sought that of Voltaire. Luther and
Erasmus were scarcely more widely known
than he.
Introductory 49
It was, however, with men of letters that
his influence was most potent. Among his
fellows he ruled supreme. His relations with
Boccaccio, the greatest of his Italian contem-
poraries, were especially sympathetic and affec-
tionate, but scarcely less cordial was his esteem
for aspiring young Humanists whose names are
now foro-otten. Of their feelingrs for him we
can judge from the few letters addressed to
him that have come down to us. A modest
Florentine scholar, Francesco Nelli, who had
won the great man's love, tells us of the rejoic-
ing which the arrival of Petrarch's messao^es
occasioned among his Florentine friends.
" Your circle," Nelli writes, " assembled to
partake of an elegant repast. . . . Those
who live and rejoice in the renown of your
name and profess your revered friendship
(you will understand me, although I express
myself but ill) each brought forth his treasure
and refreshed us with its sweetness.
Your poem was eagerly read with delight and
fraternal good-will. Then we joyously dis-
cussed your letters, by means of which you
were joined to each of us by a lasting bond of
friendship, so that we each silently proved your
affection for us by thus producing incontest-
able evidence. There was no envy, such as is
50 Petrarch
usually aroused by commendation, no detrac-
tion or aspersions ; each was bent upon adding
his part to the applause aroused by your elo-
quence." '
As the reader turns to the letters themselves,
he will soon discover that, in spite of their au-
thor's assertions to the contrary, each is a well-
rounded and carefully elaborated Latin essay,
hardly destined to perform the ordinary func-
tions of a letter. While he believed Cicero to
be his model, he allowed himself, whether by
some natural inclination or from the fact that
he knew them earlier, to follow Seneca's epis-
tles more closely. All trivial domestic matters
or questions of business, which he regarded as
beneath his own dignity and that of the Latin
language, were relegated to a separate sheet,
written presumably in Italian, which was much
better adapted to every-day affairs than the
intractable classical forms which he strove to
imitate.^ But none of these contemned post-
scripts, interesting as they would probably be
to us, have been preserved, and we have not
' Lettres de F. iVelli, ed. Cochin. Paris, i8g2, p. i66.
- He says distinctly in one letter : Ad epistolse tuns finem de fa-
miliaribus curis stilo alio et seorsum loquar, ut soleo. Fam.^ xx., 2
(vol. iii., p. ii). Again we find : Quidquid hodie aeconomicum mihi
domus attulit, seorsum altera perleges papyro. Fam., xviii., 7 (vol.
ii., p. 486). Cf. below, p. 230 sq.
Introductory 51
a single line of Italian prose from Petrarch's
pen/
Although he was fond of saying that he took
no pains with his style in his intercourse with
his friends, the constant traces of care and re-
vision will scarcely escape the reader. More-
over, these finished communications were not
to be treated lightly. " I desire," he says, " that
my reader, whoever he may be, should think
of me alone, not of his daughter's wedding,
his mistress's embraces, the wiles of his enemy,
his engagements, house, lands, or money. I
want him to pay attention to me. If his af-
fairs are pressing, let him postpone reading the
letter, but when he does read, let him throw
aside the burden of business and family cares,
and fix his mind upon the matter before him.
I do not wish him to carry on his business
and attend to my letter at the same time. I
will not have him gain without any exertion
what has not been produced without labour on
my part."^
The conditions were, indeed, very untoward in
those days for regular correspondence between
' There is one possible exception, a short address upon the death
of the Archbishop of Milan, delivered in 1354; given by Hortis,
Scritti Inediti, pp. 335 sqq. The reader will find a discussion of the
editing of the letters below, p. 150 sqq.
- Fam., xiii., 5 (vol. ii., pp. 232, 233).
52 Petrarch
friends, and it is natural that the modern note,
Hghtly dashed off and despatched for the most
trifling sum, with almost unfailing security, to
any part of the globe, should have had no
analogy in the fourteenth century. There was
in Petrarch's time no regular postal system.
Letters were intrusted to a special messenger,
or to someone going in the proper direction,
pilgrim or merchant. Sometimes a long pe-
riod might elapse without any opportunity
of forwarding a letter, for the scarcity of mes-
sengers was as familiar an evil to those living
in a great city like Milan as to the solitary
sojourner in the wilderness.^ Once Petrarch
resorted to his cook as a messenger. When
once under way, there was no assurance that
the letter would reach its destination. Many
are Petrarch's laments, over the loss of his own
and his friends' messages. They were often
intercepted and opened, sometimes apparently
by autograph-mongers ; they might then be
returned or not as it pleased those who violated
them. Once, as he was returning to Padua,
Petrarch came upon two letters from his friend
Nelli, in the hands of certain fellows — " not
bad men indeed," but those whom he was as
much surprised to find interested in such things
^ Fai?i., XX., 6 (vol. iii., p. 25).
Introductory 53
as if he had discovered " a mole amusing itself
with a mirror."
At last Petrarch's patience was quite ex-
hausted and he resolved to give up writing
letters altogether. About a year before his
death he imparted his purpose to Boccaccio, as
follows :
" I know now that neither of two longf letters
that I wrote to you have reached you. But
what can we do ? — nothing but submit. We
may wax indignant, but we cannot avenge our-
selves. A most insupportable set of fellows
has appeared in northern Italy, who nominally
guard the passes, but are really the bane of
messengers. They not only glance over the
letters that they open, but they read them with
the utmost curiosity. They may, perhaps,
have for an excuse the orders of their masters,
who, conscious of being subject to every
reproach in their restless careers of insolence,
imagine that everyone must be writing about
and against them ; hence their anxiety to know
everything. But it is certainly inexcusable,
when they find something in the letters that
tickles their asinine ears, that instead of de-
taining the messengers while they take time
to copy the contents, as they used to do, they
should now, with ever increasing audacity.
54 Petrarch
spare their fingers the fatigue, and order the
messengers off without their letters. And,
to make this procedure the more disgusting,
those who carry on this trade are complete
ignoramuses, suggesting those unfortunates
who possess a capacious and imperious appe-
tite together with a weak digestion, which keeps
them always on the verge of illness. I find
nothing more irritating and vexatious than
the interference of these scoundrels. It has
often kept me from writing, and often caused
me to repent after I had written. There is
nothing more to be done against these letter-
thieves, for everything is upside down, and the
liberty of the state is entirely destroyed.
" To this obstacle to correspondence I may
add my age, my flagging interest in almost
everything, and not merely satiety of writing
but an actual repugnance to it. These rea-
sons taken together have induced me to give
up writing to you, my friend, and to those others
with whom I have been wont to correspond.
I utter this farewell, not so much that these
frivolous letters shall, at last, cease to interfere,
as they so long have done, with more serious
work, but rather to prevent my writings from
falling into the hands of these paltry wretches.
I shall, in this way, at least escape their inso-
Introductory 55
lence, and when I am forced to write to you
or to others I shall write to be understood and
not to please.' I remember already to have
promised, in a letter of this kind, that I would
thereafter be more concise in my correspond-
ence, in order to economise the brief time
which remained to me. But I have not been
able to keep this engagement. It seems to
me much easier to remain silent altogether
with one's friends than to be brief, for when
one has once beeun, the desire to continue the
conversation is so great that it were easier
not to begin than to check the flow."^
If the letters of Erasmus can, as Mr. Froude
suggested, be properly regarded as the most
important single source for the history of
the Reformation, those of Petrarch must, by
reason of the scantiness of other material,
be looked upon as indispensable to an un-
derstanding of the intellectual life of Italy
at the opening of the Renaissance. Still his
entire correspondence is by no means avail-
able as yet in even a tolerable Latin edition,
and, except for an Italian translation, his letters
are quite out of the reach of those who cannot
' Perhaps with a hope that simple notes would escape the fate of
his more polished missives.
^ Opera (i^Si), p. 546 j^.
56 Petrarch
read them in the oritrinal/ The editors of the
present volume therefore feel no hesitation in
offering to the English-reading public a version
of some of the more characteristic examples of
a correspondence possessing such exceptional
interest. They were unfortunately forced to
select, since the letters that have been pre-
served would, if reproduced in cxtenso, fill no
less than eight volumes of the size of this.
The choice has been determined by a desire
to shed all possible light upon the historical
role of Petrarch and upon the times in which
he lived. Some explanations have necessarily
been added to the text, but a constant effort has
been made to exclude all that was mere erudi-
tion or interesting only to the special student.
The letters selected have nearly always been
given in their entirety and with all possible
literalness for condensation would inevitably
have interfered with the true impression which
the original produces, even if it served at times
to render the book more readable. We can but
hope that the choice that we have made will, so
far as is possible in so brief a compass, give a
correct notion, at first hand, of the extraordi-
nary character with whom we have to do.
' M. Victor Develay has turned a part of the correspondence into
French, with conscientious fidelity to the original.
BIOGRAPHICAL
57
Vestro de grege unus fui autem, mortalis homuncio.
Epistola ad Posteros.
58
Francesco Petrarca to Posterity.
Greeting. — It is possible that some word of me
may have come to you, though even this is doubtful,
since an insignificant and obscure name will scarcely
penetrate far in either time or space. If, however,
you should have heard of me, you may desire to
know what manner of man I was, or what was the
outcome of my labours, especially those of which
some description or, at any rate, the bare titles may
have reached you.
To begin with myself, then, the utterances of men
concerning me will differ widely, since in passing
judgment almost every one is influenced not so
much by truth as by preference, and good and evil
report alike know no bounds. I was, in truth, a
poor mortal like yourself, neither very exalted in
my origin, nor, on the other hand, of the most
humble birth, but belonging, as Augustus Caesar says
of himself, to an ancient family. As to my disposi-
tion, I was not naturally perverse or wanting in
modesty, however the contagion of evil associations
may have corrupted me. My youth was gone before
I realised it ; I was carried away by the strength of
manhood ; but a riper age brought me to my senses
and taught me by experience the truth I had long
before read in books, that youth and pleasure are
59
6o Petrarch
vanity— nay, that the Author of all ages and times
permits us miserable mortals, puffed up with empti-
ness, thus to wander about, until finally, coming to
a tardy consciousness of our sins, we shall learn to
know ourselves. In my prime I was blessed with a
quick and active body, although not exceptionally
strong; and while I do not lay claim to remarkable
personal beauty, I was comely enough in my best
days.' I was possessed of a clear complexion, be-
tween light and dark, lively eyes, and for long
years a keen vision, which however deserted me,
contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth
birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance,
to resort to glasses.' Although I had previously
enjoyed perfect health, old age brought with it the
usual array of discomforts.
My parents were honourable folk, Florentine in
their origin, of medium fortune, or, I may as well
admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty.
They had been expelled from their native city,^ and
' None of the portraits of Petrarch, not even the well-known one
in a codex of the Laurentian library, are authentic, unless it be the
one reproduced at the beginning of this volume. See page vii.
' Eye-glasses were a somewhat new invention when Petrarch re-
sorted to them. Poggendorf (Geschichtc der Physik, pp. 93 sqq^ cites
the first reference to them (1299), which reads as follows : " I found
myself so oppressed by age that without the so-called eye-glasses,
which have recently been discovered as a godsend to poor old persons,
I could neither read nor write." We know little of the construction
of these first spectacles. An early German painting (15th century), in
the National Gallery at London, shows a saint with a completely
developed pince-nez.
^ Petrarch's father and Dante were banished forever from Florence
upon the same day, January 27. 1302.
Biographical 6i
consequently I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in
the year 1304 of this latter age which begins with
Christ's birth, July the twentieth, on a Monday, at
dawn. I have always possessed an extreme con-
tempt for wealth ; not that riches are not desirable
in themselves, but because I hate the anxiety and
care which are invariably associated with them. I
certainly do not long to be able to give gorgeous
banquets. I have, on the contrary, led a happier
existence with plain living and ordinary fare than
all the followers of Apicius, with their elaborate
dainties. So-called convivia, which are but vulgar
bouts, sinning against sobriety and good manners,
have always been repugnant to me. I have ever
felt that it was irksome and profitless to invite
others to such affairs, and not less so to be bidden
to them myself. On the other hand, the pleasure
of dining with one's friends is so great that nothing
has ever given me more delight than their unex-
pected arrival, nor have I ever willingly sat down to
table without a companion. Nothing displeases me
more than display, for not only is it bad in itself,
and opposed to humility, but it is troublesome and
distracting.
I struggled in my younger days with a keen but
constant and pure attachment, and would have
struggled with it longer had not the sinking flame
been extinguished by death — premature and bitter,
but salutary.' I should be glad to be able to say
' This is doubtless one of the two or three obscure references to
Laura, in Petrarch's correspondence. His frigid statement of the case
is characteristic of Petrarch the Humanist as contrasted with Petrarch
62 Petrarch
that I had always been entirely free from irregular
desires, but I should lie if I did so. I can, how-
ever, conscientiously claim that, although I may
have been carried away by the fire of youth or by
my ardent temperament, I have always abhorred
such sins from the depths of my soul. As I ap-
proached the age of forty, while my powers were
unimpaired and my passions were still strong, I not
only abruptly threw off my bad habits, but even the
very recollection of them, as if I had never looked
upon a woman. This I mention as among the
greatest of my blessings, and I render thanks to God,
who freed me, while still sound and vigorous, from
a disgusting slavery which had always been hateful
to me.' But let us turn to other matters.
the singer. Compare the fervour of the sonnets with the original of
this passage : — Amore acerrimo, sedunicoet honesto, in adolescentia
laboravi, at diutius laborassem, nisi iam tepescentem ignem mors
acerba, sed utilis, extinxisset.
' Petrarch, although a churchman, was the father of two illegiti-
mate children, a son, Giovanni, born in 1337, and a daughter,
Francesca, born, probably of the same mother, some six years later.
The unfortunate mother was, according to Petrarch's own story, very
harshly treated by him. This obscure liaison seems not to have
afflicted him with the remorse which his purer attachment for Laura
caused him. Only the latter is spoken of, and that at great length, in
his imaginary confession to St. Augustine (see below, p. 93 sgq.). The
son proved an idle fellow who caused his father a world of trouble,
even entering into collusion with a band of thievish servants to rob
him. The plague cut short his unpromising career in his twenty-
fourth year. Petrarch noted in his copy of Virgil, which he used as a
family record : " Our Giovanni was born to be a trial and burden to
me. While alive he tormented me with perpetual anxiety, and his
death has wounded me deeply." The daughter was of a happier
disposition. She married, and Petrarch rejoiced in two grandchil-
Biographical 63
I have taken pride in others, never in myself, and
however insignificant I may have been, I have al-
ways been still less important in my own judgment.
My anger has very often injured myself, but never
others. I have always been most desirous of honour-
able friendships, and have faithfully cherished them.
I make this boast without fear, since I am confident
that I speak truly. While I am very prone to take
offence, I am equally quick to forget injuries, and
have a memory tenacious of benefits. In my familiar
associations with kings and princes, and in my
friendship with noble personages, my good fortune
has been such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel
fate of those who are growing old that they can com-
monly only weep for friends who have passed away.
The greatest kings of this age have loved and
courted me. They may know why; I certainly do
not. With some of them I was on such terms that
they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather
than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embar-
rassing me, but, on the contrary, bringing with it
many advantages. I fled, however, from many of
those to whom I was greatly attached ; and such
was my innate longing for liberty, that I studiously
dren. One of these, the little Francesco, was, when but a year old,
a " perfect picture " of his illustrious grandfather, but the great hopes
for the child's future were cut short by its early death. Petrarch com-
forts himself with the thought that the child "has gained eternal
happiness without effort, and by his departure has freed me from a
continual source of solicitude." Se>i., x., 4. See Fracassetti's Italian
translation of Petrarch's letters, Lettere delle Cose Fatniliari, ii.,
256 ; Korting, Petra7-ca's Leben und Werkc, Leipzig, 1878, pp.
143 sqq.
64 Petrarch
avoided those whose very name seemed incompatible
with the freedom that I loved.
I possessed a well-balanced rather than a keen
intellect, one prone to all kinds of good and whole-
some study, but especially inclined to moral philo-
sophy and the art of poetry. The latter, indeed,
I neglected as time went on, and took delight in
sacred literature. Finding in that a hidden sweetness
which I had once esteemed but lightly, I came to
regard the works of the poets as only amenities.
Among the many subjects which interested me, I
dwelt especially upon antiquity, for our own age has
always repelled me, so that, had it not been for the
love of those dear to me, I should have preferred to
have been born in any other period than our own.
In order to forget my own time, I have constantly
striven to place myself in spirit in other ages, and
consequently I delighted in history; not that the
conflicting statements did not offend me, but when
in doubt I accepted what appeared to me most
probable, or yielded to the authority of the writer.
My style, as many claimed, was clear and forcible ;
but to me it seemed weak and obscure. In ordi-
nary conversation with friends, or with those about
me, I never gave any thought to my language,
and I have always wondered that Augustus Cae-
sar should have taken such pains in this respect.
When, however, the subject itself, or the place or
listener, seemed to demand it, I gave some atten-
tion to style, with what success I cannot pretend to
say; let them judge in whose presence I spoke. If
only I have lived well, it matters little to me how
Biographical 65
I talked. Mere elegance of language can produce
at best but an empty renown.
My life up to the present has, either through fate
or my own choice, fallen into the following divisions,
A part only of my first year was spent at Arezzo,
where I first saw the light. The six following years
were, owing to the recall of my mother from exile,
spent upon my father's estate at Ancisa, about four-
teen miles above Florence. I passed my eighth
year at Pisa,' the ninth and following years in
Farther Gaul, at Avignon, on the left bank of the
Rhone, where the Roman Pontiff holds and has
long held the Church of Christ in shameful exile.
It seemed a few years ago as if Urban V. was on the
point of restoring the Church to its ancient seat, but
it is clear that nothing is coming of this effort, and,
what is to me the worst of all, the Pope seems to
have repented him of his good work, for failure
came while he was still living. Had he lived but a
little longer, he would certainly have learned how I
regarded his retreat.'' My pen w^as in my hand
when he abruptly surrendered at once his exalted
office and his life. Unhappy man, who might have
died before the altar of Saint Peter and in his own
' Petrarch's father, being still an exile, could not return with the
family to Ancisa, in Florentine territory, but joined them when they
moved to Pisa, which did not in those days belong to Florence.
^ Urban V. (1362-1370) had transferred the papal court back to
Rome after it had remained for sixty years in France and Avignon,
but after a year or two the disorder in Italy, as well as his own longing
and that of his cardinals for their native land, overcame his good in-
tentions and he returned to Avignon, where he died almost imme-
diately, in December, 1370.
66 Petrarch
habitation! Had his successors remained in their
capital he would have been looked upon as the cause
of this benign change, while, had they left Rome,
his virtue would have been all the more conspicuous
in contrast with their fault.'
But such laments are somewhat remote from my
subject. On the windy banks of the river Rhone
I spent my boyhood, guided by my parents, and
then, guided by my own fancies, the whole of my
youth. Yet there were long intervals spent else-
where, for I first passed four years at the little
town of Carpentras, somewhat to the east of Avi-
gnon : in these two places I learned as much of
grammar, logic, and rhetoric as my age permitted,
or rather, as much as it is customary to teach in
school : how little that is, dear reader, thou knowest.
I then set out for Montpellier to study law, and
spent four years there, then three at Bologna. I
heard the whole body of the civil law, and would,
as many thought, have distinguished myself later,
had I but continued my studies. I gave up the
subject altogether, however, so soon as it was no
longer necessary to consult the wishes of my parents."
' Petrarch had not only exhorted Urban V. to return to Rome, but
had previously sent metrical epistles to his predecessors, Benedict XII.
and Clement VI., urging them to restore the papacy to its ancient
seat. The letters which Petrarch wrote to his friends in regard to
the abominations of the "Babylonish Captivity" form a separate
collection of his correspondence, Epistohv sine Titulo, in which the
names of those to whom they were addressed are suppressed for fear of
compromising them.
- The news of the death of Petrarch's father recalled him and his
brother from Bologna in April, 1326. Cf. Fam., iv., i.
Biographical 67
My reason was that, although the dignity of the
law, which is doubtless very great, and especially
the numerous references it contains to Roman an-
tiquity, did not fail to delight me, I felt it to be
habitually degraded by those who practise it. It
went against me painfully to acquire an art which
I would not practise dishonestly, and could hardly
hope to exercise otherwise. Had I made the latter
attempt, my scrupulousness would doubtless have
been ascribed to simplicity.
So at the age of two and twenty ' I returned home.
I call my place of exile home, Avignon, where I
had been since childhood ; for habit has almost the
potency of nature itself. I had already begun to be
known there, and my friendship was sought by
prominent men; wherefore I cannot say. I confess
this is now a source of surprise to me, although it
seemed natural enough at an age when we are used
to regard ourselves as worthy of the highest respect.
I was courted first and foremost by that very dis-
tinguished and noble family, the Colonnesi, who, at
that period, adorned the Roman Curia with their
presence. However it might be now, I was at that
time certainly quite unworthy of the esteem in
which I was held by them. I was especially
honoured by the incomparable Giacomo Colonna,
' It seems strange that at twenty-two Petrarch should already have
spent some seven years at the universities. It was not, however,
unusual then. There were no entrance requirements, and the stu-
dents were often mere boys. Rashdall places the age of freshmen at
thirteen to sixteen years, but they might enter still younger. See
Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, vol. ii., p. 604.
68 Petrarch
then Bishop of Lombez,' whose peer I know not
whether I have ever seen or ever shall see, and was
taken by him to Gascony; there I spent such a
divine summer among the foot-hills of the Pyrenees,
in happy intercourse with my master and the mem-
bers of our company, that I can never recall the
experience without a sigh of regret.'
Returning thence, I passed many years in the
house of Giacomo's brother, Cardinal Giovanni
Colonna, not as if he were my lord and master, but
rather my father, or better, a most affectionate
brother — nay, it was as if I were in my own home/
About this time, a youthful desire impelled me to
visit France and Germany. While I invented certain
reasons to satisfy my elders of the propriety of the
journey, the real explanation was a great inclination
and longing to see new sights. I first visited Paris,
as I was anxious to discover what was true and what
fabulous in the accounts I had heard of that city.*
On my return from this journey I went to Rome,*
which I had since my infancy ardently desired to
' Some thirty miles southwest of Toulouse.
' It was on this occasion that Petrarch formed his life-long friend-
ship with " Socrates," who lived at Avignon, and with " Ltelius," a
Roman, who also resided at Avignon until the death of Cardinal
Colonna, in 1348. To these two a great many of his letters are
addressed.
^ Petrarch was a commensal chaplain in the house of the Cardinal,
as we learn from the Papal document granting him his first benefice,
apud De Sade, M^moires sur la Vie de P^trarque, " Pieces justifica-
tives," vol. iii.. No. 15.
* Petrarch's letters relating to Paris and Cologne are given below,
Part iv.
^ Probably some three years after the journey to the north.
Biographical 69
visit. There I soon came to venerate Stephano, the
noble head of the family of the Colonnesi, like some
ancient hero, and was in turn treated by him in
every respect like a son. The love and good-will of
this excellent man toward me remained constant to
the end of his life, and lives in me still, nor will it
cease until I myself pass away.
On my return, since I experienced a deep-seated
and innate repugnance to town life, especially in
that disgusting city of Avignon which I heartily ab-
horred, I sought some means of escape. I fortu-
nately discovered, about fifteen miles from Avignon,
a delightful valley, narrow and secluded, called
Vaucluse, where the Sorgue, the prince of streams,
takes its rise. Captivated by the charms of the place,
I transferred thither myself and my books. Were
I to describe what I did there during many years,
it would prove a long story. Indeed, almost every
bit of writing which I have put forth was either ac-
complished or begun, or at least conceived, there,
and my undertakings have been so numerous that
they still continue to vex and weary me. My mind,
like my body, is characterised by a certain versatility
and readiness, rather than by strength, so that many
tasks that were easy of conception have been given
up by reason of the difficulty of their execution.
The character of my surroundings suggested the
composition of a sylvan or bucolic song. I also
dedicated a work in two books upon The Life of Soli-
tude,' to Philip, now exalted to the Cardinal-bishopric
' See below, p. 373 -f?-
JO ^ Petrarch
of Sabina. Although always a great man, he was,
at the time of which I speak, only the humble
Bishop of Cavaillon.' He is the only one of my old
friends who is still left to me, and he has always
loved and treated me not as a bishop (as Ambrose
did Augustine), but as a brother.
While I was wandering in those mountains upon a
Friday in Holy Week, the strong desire seized me to
write an epic in an heroic strain, taking as my theme
Scipio Africanus the Great, who had, strange to say,
been dear to me from my childhood. But although I
began the execution of this project with enthusiasm,
I straightway abandoned it, owing to a variety of
distractions. The poem was, however, christened
Africa, from the name of its hero, and, whether
from his fortunes or mine, it did not fail to arouse
the interest of many before they had seen it.
While leading a leisurely existence in this region,
I received, remarkable as it may seem, upon one and
the same day,'' letters both from the Senate at Rome
and the Chancellor of the University of Paris, press-
ing me to appear in Rome and Paris, respectively, to
receive the poet's crown of laurel. In my youthful
elation I convinced myself that I was quite worthy
of this honour; the recognition came from eminent
judges, and I accepted their verdict rather than that
of my own better judgment. I hesitated for a time
which I should give ear to, and sent a letter to
Cardinal Giovanni Colonna, of whom I have already
' The castle of Cavaillon is close by the valley of the Sorgue.
^ September i. 1340, when Petrarch was thirty-six years old.
Biographical 71
spoken, asking his opinion. He was so near that,
although I wrote late in the day, I received his reply
before the third hour on the morrow. I followed
his advice, and recognised the claims of Rome as
superior to all others. My acceptance of his counsel
is shown by my twofold letter to him on that oc-
casion, which I still keep. I set off accordingly;
but although, after the fashion of youth, I was a
most indulgent judge of my own work, I still blushed
to accept in my own case the verdict even of such
men as those who summoned me, despite the fact
that they would certainly not have honoured me in
this way, had they not believed me worthy."
So I decided, first to visit Naples, and that cel-
ebrated king and philosopher, Robert, who was not
more distinguished as a ruler than as a man of cul-
ture." He was, indeed, the only monarch of our age
who was the friend at once of learning and of virtue,
and I trusted that he might correct such things as he
found to criticise in my work. The way in which
he received and welcomed me is a source of astonish-
ment to me now, and, I doubt not, to the reader
' The invitations to Rome and Paris to receive the laurel crown
have a history, as the reader will easily infer. See below, p. loo sqq.
* Robert (who died in 1343) was the grandson of that Charles of
Anjou (the brother of St. Louis) who had been called in by the
popes to succeed the house of Hohenstaufen in the kingdom of
Naples and Sicily. He was Petrarch's sovereign (Fam., iv., 3), for
Avignon belonged to him as Count of Provence, until sold to the
popes by Robert's successor in 1348. Robert had resided at Avi-
gnon, 1318-1324. A letter from Petrarch to Robert, dated December
26, 133S, is preserved, as well as a second one (Pisa, April 21, 1341),
describing his coronation at Rome : Fam., iv., 3, 7.
72 Petrarch
also, if he happens to know anything of the matter.
Having learned the reason of my coming, the King
seemed mightily pleased. He was gratified, doubt-
less, by my youthful faith in him, and felt, per-
haps, that he shared in a way the glory of my
coronation, since I had chosen him from all others
as the only suitable critic. After talking over a
great many things, I showed him my Africa, which
so delighted him that he asked that it might be
dedicated to him in consideration of a handsome
reward.' This was a request that I could not well
refuse, nor, indeed, would I have wished to refuse
it, had it been in my power. He then fixed a day
upon which we could consider the object of my
visit. This occupied us from noon until evening,
and the time proving too short, on account of the
many matters which arose for discussion, we passed
the two following days in the same manner. Hav-
ing thus tested my poor attainments for three days,
the King at last pronounced me worthy of the laurel.
He offered to bestow that honour upon me at
Naples, and urged me to consent to receive it there,
but my veneration for Rome prevailed over the in-
sistence of even so great a monarch as Robert. At
length, seeing that I was inflexible in my purpose,
he sent me on my way accompanied by royal mes-
sengers and letters to the Roman Senate, in which
' The Latin — ut earn (scil. Africam) sibi inscribi magno pro munere
posceret — may perhaps mean that the king asked that the book be
dedicated to him as a great favour. If, however, Petrarch was
rewarded for the attention, he was only one of the first to enjoy a
source of revenue which was well known to later Humanists.
Biographical li
he gave enthusiastic expression to his flattering
opinion of me. This royal estimate was, indeed,
quite in accord with that of many others, and espe-
cially with my own, but to-day I cannot approve
either his or my own verdict. In his case, affection
and the natural partiality to youth were stronger
than his devotion to truth.
On arriving at Rome, I continued, in spite of my
unworthiness, to rely upon the judgment of so
eminent a critic, and, to the great delight of the
Romans who were present, I who had been hitherto
a simple student received the laurel crown.' This
occasion is described elsewhere in my letters, both
in prose and verse. ^ The laurel, however, in no way
increased my wisdom, although it did arouse some
jealousy — but this is too long a story to be told
here.
On leaving Rome, I went to Parma, and spent
some time with the members of the house of Cor-
reggio, who, while they were most kind and gener-
ous towards me, agreed but ill among themselves.
They governed Parma, however, in a way unknown
to that city within the memory of man, and the
like of which it will hardly again enjoy in this
present age.
I was conscious of the honour which I had but
just received, and fearful lest it might seem to have
been granted to one unworthy of the distinction;
consequently, as I was walking one day in the
' Upon Easter Sunday, April 8, 1341.
" See below, p. 105 sq.
74 Petrarch
mountains, and chanced to cross the river Enza to a
place called Selva Piana, in the territory of Reggio,
struck by the beauty of the spot, I began to write
again upon the Africa, which I had laid aside. In
my enthusiasm, which had seemed quite dead, 1
wrote some lines that very day, and some each day
until I returned to Parma. Here I happened upon
a quiet and retired house, which I afterwards bought,
and which still belongs to me. I continued my task
with such ardour, and completed the work in so
short a space of time, that I cannot but marvel now
at my despatch.' I had already passed my thirty-
fourth year when I returned thence to the Fountain
of the Sorgue, and to my Transalpine solitude. I
had made a long stay both in Parma and Verona,'
and everywhere 1 had, I am thankful to say, been
treated with much greater esteem than I merited.
Some time after this, my growing reputation pro-
cured for me the good-will of a most excellent man,
Giacomo the Younger, of Carrara, whose equal I do
not know among the rulers of his time. For years
he wearied me with messengers and letters when I
was beyond the Alps, and with his petitions when-
ever I happened to be in Italy, urging me to accept
' The great epic was never really finished (cf. Fam., xiii., ii), and
Petrarch came in his old age to dislike even the mention of it. Cor-
radini's edition is the best we have of the poem. An analysis of the
Africa may be found in Korting, op. at., 654 sqq.
'' Petrarch returned to Vaucluse in 1342, when he was toward
thirty-eight years old. There is an air of Wahrhcit und Dichtung
noticeable elsewhere in the letter. It was, for example, probably
later, in 1344, on a second visit to Parma, that he bought his house,
and then went to Verona, where he found the letters of Cicero.
Biographical
/D
his friendship. At last, although I anticipated little
satisfaction from the venture, I determined to go to
him and see what this insistence on the part of a
person so eminent, and at the same time a stranger
to me, might really mean. I appeared, though
tardily, at Padua,' where I was received by him of
illustrious memory, not as a mortal, but as the
blessed are greeted in heaven — with such delight
and such unspeakable affection and esteem, that I
cannot adequately describe my welcome in words,
and must, therefore, be silent. Among other things,
learning that I had led a clerical life from boyhood,
he had me made a canon of Padua, in order to bind
me the closer to himself and his city. In fine, had
his life been spared, I should have found there an
end to all my wanderings. But alas! nothing mor-
tal is enduring, and there is nothing sweet which
does not presently end in bitterness. Scarcely two
years was he spared to me, to his country, and to the
world. God, who had given him to us, took him
again." Without being blinded by my love for him,
I feel that neither I, nor his country, nor the world
was worthy of him. Although his son, who suc-
ceeded him, was in every way a prudent and distin-
guished man, who, following his father's example,
always loved and honoured me, I could not remain
after the death of him with whom, by reason espe-
cially of the similarity of our ages, I had been much
more closely united.
I returned to Gaul, not so much from a desire to
' 1349-
' Giacomo was killed by his nephew, December, 1350.
76 Petrarch
see again what I had already beheld a thousand
times, as from the hope, common to the afflicted, of
coming to terms with my misfortunes by a change
of scene.*
The preceding brief autobiography, written
at the close of his life,^ does not extend beyond
Petrarch's forty-seventh year, and in spite of
its pecuHar interest it is but a very imperfect
sketch, which must be supplemented by the
abundant data scattered through the corre-
spondence. In order that the reader may ap-
proach the letters with a fuller understanding
of the circumstances in which they were writ-
ten, it is therefore desirable to touch upon cer-
tain points which Petrarch neglected in his
account of himself, and then to trace his life
from his return to Vaucluse in 1351, the last
event mentioned in the Letter to Posterity, to
his death, twenty-three years later.
Of his parents he tells us but little. His
father had, before his exile, held a responsible
position in the Florentine Republic, and his
readiness of speech had caused him to be chosen
upon more than one occasion to perform im-
' The autobiography breaks off abruptly here ; we know not why.
' The fact that Petrarch mentions the death of Urban V., which
occurred in December, 1370, indicates that the autobiography was
written during the last three years of its author's life.
Biographical 11
portant public missions. His name, Petracco,
was changed by his son to Petrarca ; wh)', we
do not know. It has been suggested that
Francesco invented the latter as more rhythmi-
cal, or adopted it on account of some hidden
symbolic meaning, as four centuries later
young Arouet mysteriously chose to call him-
self Voltaire. It is perhaps safer to look upon
the alteration as merely an instance of the
Latinisation of proper names, which was quite
natural and almost necessary at a time when
Latin was so generally employed.
Petracco pere was a friend of Dante while
they lived in Florence together, and when it
pleased the citizens of that most beautiful and
most famous daughter of Rome to cast them out
from her sweet bosom, and they were, as Dante
tells us, borne to divers ports " by the dry wind
that blows from grievous poverty,"^ the bonds
of friendship were knit the closer, for a com-
munity of misfortune as well as of tastes and
interests served to bring them together. Pe-
trarch's father was, however, forced by the care
of his family to give up his studies. We know
nothing of his literary tastes, except that he was
an ardent admirer of Cicero; and, although his
interest was probably legal rather than literary,
* See the pathetic passage in the Convito, i., ch. 3.
78 Petrarch
his son confidently assumes that, had he been
permitted by circumstances to continue his
intellectual pursuits, he would have reached a
high degree of scholarship/ Almost the only
anecdote recorded of him is a trifling instance
of his personal vanity. When somewhat past
his fiftieth birthday, he was one day horrified
to discover, upon looking into the glass, a
single hair verging upon grey. Amazed at
this indication of premature decay, he not only
filled his own home but roused the whole
neiehbourhood with his laments. Petrarch
adds, with an air of conscious virtue, that
his own hair began to grow grey before he
reached five and twenty.^
The only other kinsman to whom we need
refer is Petrarch's brother, Gherardo, who was
apparently two or three years his junior. A
considerable number of the letters are addressed
to him. The two spent much of their early
life together, but Gherardo, when about thirty-
five years old, turned his back upon the world
and entered a Carthusian monastery. Some
years later the elder brother felicitated him
upon his escape from the exacting cares of a
life of fashion : he no longer suffered the
' Fam., xxi., 15 (vol. iii., p. no).
' Fam., vi., 3 (vol. i., p. 324).
Biographical 79
" piratical tortures " of the curling-iron, and his
close-cropped hair left eyes and ears free to
perform their functions ; the elaborate costume
of the fourteenth-century dandy, whose scrupu-
lous folds were liable to be discomposed by
every careless movement, had been exchanged
for a simple monastic garment, readily donned
or laid aside, and affording its wearer no
anxiety. Petrarch admits that he is himself still
held in bondage, that he still has a partiality for
good clothes, though this passion grows hope-
fully less from day to day. He had, however,
worse sins to reflect upon than the elaborate
coiffures and tight boots of their frivolous
days at Avignon. " What," he asks, for ex-
ample, " have trivial verses, filled with the false
and offensive praise of women,' in common with
songs of praise and holy vigils ? " We shall
refer later to these letters addressed to Ghe-
rardo, for they afford a convenient illustra-
tion of Petrarch's views of that most cherished
of mediaeval ideals, the monastic life.^
Petrarch, like Erasmus and Voltaire, had no
place that he could call home, unless it were
the hated Avig-non, whither he was taken when
' Cantiunculse inanes, falsis et obscoenis muliercularum lautiibus
refertse. — Fain., x., 3 (vol. ii., p. 73).
** See below, Part VI.
8o Petrarch
about nine years old. This migration to Pro-
vence, to which Avignon then belonged, im-
portant as it was in the life of our poet, did
not involve so complete a separation from
Italian influences as would at first sight ap-
pear. The boy had in his earliest years learned
the Tuscan dialect, which, Dante impatiently
declares, was unreasonably held by the Floren-
tines to be the highest form of Italian.^ There
was on the Rhone a considerable Italian colony,
with which Petrarch's family associated, and at
Carpentras, not far from Avignon, whither the
family moved on account of the cheaper living,
the little Checco, as he was familiarly called,
had an Italian schoolmaster from Prato.
Moreover, his later friends and patrons of the
noble Roman house of Colonna undoubtedly
maintained their national traditions, in spite of
the growing French influences at the papal
court.
At school (13 1 5-19) Petrarch soon dis-
covered an extraordinary fondness for Latin.
While the other boys were still struggling with
the simple yEsop, he was poring over Cicero's
works, which fascinated him with their sonorous
periods before he could grasp their meaning.^
' De Vulgari Eloquio, lib. i., cap. 13
' See Sen., xv., i {Opera, 946).
Biographical 8i
His old schoolmaster, Convennevole, was very
proud of his pupil, and singled him out as the
most illustrious of those whom he had instructed
during his sixty years as pedagogue.
Petracco was anxious to provide a career
for his son, and not unnaturally chose for him
his own profession of the law. Like so many
other notable literary spirits since his day,
Petrarch began his career in a law school, first
at the neighbouring University of Montpellier,
and later at Bologna. But while Schumann
began composing symphonies at Heidelberg,
and intercalated a waltz "here and there be-
tween Justinian's Institutes and the Pandects,"
Petrarch appears to have made some progress
in his uncongenial subject, and to have gained
the esteem of one at least of his teachers. Of
his four years at Montpellier we know prac-
tically nothing. The boy was only about
nineteen when he removed to Boloena, the
greatest of mediaeval law schools. His three
years here were pleasantly spent with the con-
genial friends he made among his fellow-
students. They took long excursions into the
country, often not returning until late at night,
but such was the happy security of the time
that, even if the gates were closed, they had no
difficulty in getting over the dilapidated forti-
82 Petrarch
fications, which presented no very formidable
barrier to active young students. It was dur-
ing this period that he first visited Venice,
then at the height of her glory.
The motives that induced Petrarch promptly
to give up the law as soon as he heard of his
father's death, are not far to seek. Some of
them are noted in his Letter to Posterity.
One of his professors, whom in later life he
sharply criticised for his ignorance of classical
philology, accused him, in turn, of cowardly
desertion. He replied that it was never wise
to oppose nature, who had made him a devotee
of solitude, not of the courts ; and while he
conceded it to be a happy circumstance that he
had spent some time in Bologna, he believed
himself to have been equally fortunate in leav-
ing it when he did.^ As an old man, however,
he judged these seven years at the universities
to have been " not so much spent, as totally
wasted." ^
Once at least (in 1335) Petrarch put his
legal knowledge to the test, by acting as coun-
sel for the Correggi in a case involving the
control of the city of Parma. The merits of
the case need not occupy us ; Petrarch be-
' Fain., iv., i6 (vol. i., p. 246).
- Sen., XV., I {Opera. <547).
Biographical 83
lieved the claims of his client to be just, and
he assures us that only the fairest means were
employed in his successful defence before the
papal consistory/ He certainly won the
friendship of Azzo di Correggio ; and his cor-
dial relations with this equivocal person afford
the first example of the sympathetic intercourse
which he maintained throughout his life with
the distinguished despots of the time.
It is probable that Petrarch's mother soon
followed his father to the grave. The modest
property which Petracco had accumulated in
exile was dishonestly appropriated by the ex-
ecutors, and the brothers were left to shift for
themselves. Petrarch almost immediately took
orders, but probably did not, as has been gen-
erally supposed, ever become a priest. ~ He
had to face the same problem that in succeed-
ing centuries confronted those who wished to
devote themselves to literature. At a time
when an author could expect no remuneration
for his work, except perhaps for dedications,
he might secure a livelihood by putting himself
in the way of preferments in the church, or, as
was the custom of the Humanists of the fifteenth
^ Fam., ix., 5 (toward the end). Cf. Korting, op. cit., 99 sqq.
'See Pastor, Geschichte de?- Papste, vol. i., p. 3. n. i, who asserts
that " officium quotidianum celebrare," in De Otio Religiosorutti, does
not refer to the celebration of the mass, as previous writers inferred.
84 Petrarch
century, he might rely upon the patronage of
some great prince or prelate, Petrarch en-
joyed the advantages of both these sources of
income. He was, very early in life, so fortu-
nate as to gain the esteem of the Colonnesi,
the most influential of the noble Italian fami-
lies at the papal court. Giacomo, the youngest
of the seven sons of old Stephano Colonna,
had been struck by Petrarch's appearance when
they were students together at Bologna, and
on returning to Avignon and learning of Pe-
trarch's situation he made advances which led
to one of the most enthusiastic friendships
which the poet records. With his aid and that
of his eldest brother, Cardinal Giovanni Co-
lonna, the young writer gained immediate re-
cognition, and did not thereafter want for
friends and admirers. It was through the
influence of Cardinal Colonna that he received
his first benefice, in 1335.
Although Petrarch had, as Dante says of him-
self, "drunk the waters of the Arno before he
had cut his teeth," fate made him, like Dante,
a citizen of the world. ^ His life was inter-
rupted by frequently recurring journeys and
changes of residence. Scarcely two years had
' Nos autem cui mundus est patria, velut piscibus sequor. — De
Vulgari Elognio, lib. i., cap. 6.
Biographical 85
elapsed after his return to Avignon before an
invitation from Giacomo Colonna, newly ap-
pointed Bishop of Lombez, enabled him to
visit Toulouse and spend a " celestial summer "
within sight of the Pyrenees.
But before we trace his various pilgrimages,
a word must be said of the curious city in
which he and several of his most intimate
friends spent much of their life. Avignon,
although a town of no great importance when
Petracco first brought his wife and family
thither, was destined to become one of the
great European capitals. Clement V., a Gas-
con, who had been chosen pope in 1305, sum-
moned the cardinals to Lyons to celebrate his
coronation, instead of going himself to Rome.
During his pontificate he held his court at
various French towns, and resided for a time
in the Dominican cloister at Avignon. He
was succeeded by the energetic old French-
man, John XXII. (13 1 6-1 334), who was fol-
lowed by six other French popes, all of whom
maintained their court at Avignon. Although
they appear to have been, upon the whole,
good and upright men, they were all French-
men, and deliberately chose to reside in a city
but just across the Rhone from France ; they
thus inevitably sacrificed the cosmopolitan
86 Petrarch
character that their predecessors had enjoyed
at Rome. Moreover, the college of cardinals
became largely French, so that the curia soon
came to be regarded as a servile exponent of
French interests. The national jealousy in
Germany was augmented by the long struggle
between the popes and Louis of Bavaria, while
the outbreak of the Hundred Years' War pro-
duced in Enorland a revolt ao-ainst the claims
not only of " French popes," but of popes in
general. An added explanation of the ill-re-
pute into which the head of the Church fell is
to be found in the extortions of the papal
treasury ; for it became necessary to repair in
some way the deficiency caused by the diminu-
tion of the Italian revenue, and to meet the
ever-increasing expenses of a scandalously lux-
urious court. The most loudly decried of the
financial expedients of the popes owe their
origin, or at least their outrageous extension,
to this period,
Petrarch's span of life exactly coincided with
the exile of the popes from Rome, and his
" fate or his sins " made him a most unwilling
citizen of their new home, " the Babylon of the
West." He never tires of execrating the city,
but we may safely assume that he paints too
lurid a picture of its condition when he de-
Biographical 87
clares that it was " filled with every kind of
confusion, the horror of darkness overspread-
ing it, and contained everything fearful which
had ever existed or been imagined by a disor-
dered mind." Although the popes were build-
ing a magnificent palace, calling a Giotto to aid
in their artistic undertakings, and collecting a
large library,^ Petrarch describes their capital
as "a hell on earth," and no longer what it
was in his earlier days, although even then the
most foul and filthy of places.^ But doubtless
he owed more to his residence in the " windy
city" than he was ready to admit. He was
willingf to share in the g^ood thing's at the
pope's disposal, so long as no duties were in-
volved which would interfere with his cher-
ished freedom. To his sojourn in this great
centre of international intercourse may be as-
cribed, in large part, his wide acquaintance with
men of all nations, as well as the profound in-
fluence which he exercised over his contempo-
raries.
It was not lonof after his return from Bo-
logna that Petrarch first saw his Laura.
Twenty-one years later he made a note upon
' Described by M. Faucon, in the Bibliotheque des Scales Fran-
daises d' Athcncs et de Rome, Kas. 43, 50.
^ Ep. sine Titulo, No. 7 ; also Sen., x., 2.
88 Petrarch
a fly-leaf of his favourite copy of Vir2:il, in
which he was accustomed to record his be-
reavements. Placed apart from the others, in
order that it might often catch his eye, it reads
as follows : " Laura, who was distinguished by
her own virtues, and widely celebrated by my
songs, first appeared to my eyes in my early
manhood, in the year of our Lord 1327, upon
the sixth day of April, at the first hour, in the
church of Santa Clara at Avignon ; in the same
city, in the same month of April, on the same
sixth day, at the same first hour, in the year
1348, that light was taken from our day, while
I was by chance at Verona, ignorant, alas ! of
my fate. The unhappy news reached me at
Parma, in a letter from my friend Ludovico,
on the morning of the nineteenth of May, of
the same year. Her chaste and lovely form
was laid in the church of the Franciscans,
on the evening of the day upon which she
died. I am persuaded that her soul returned,
as Seneca says of Scipio Africanus, to the
heaven whence it came. I have experienced
a certain satisfaction in writing this bitter
record of a cruel event, especially in this place
where it will often come under my eye, for
so I may be led to reflect that life can
afford me no farther pleasures ; and, the most
Biographical 89
serious of my temptations being removed, I
may be admonished by the frequent study of
these hnes, and by the thought of my vanish-
ing years, that it is high time to flee from
Babylon. This, with God's grace, will be
easy, as I frankly and manfully consider the
needless anxieties of the past, with its empty
hopes and unforeseen issue." ^
This meaere notice contains all that we
really know of the woman whose name is as-
sociated for all time with that of Francesco
Petrarca. While she is, it is hardly necessary
to say, the theme of nearly all his Italian
lyrics, little or no reference is made to her in
the Latin works, with two notable exceptions,
to be spoken of later. In the vast collection
of prose letters two or three vague allusions
to his love for her may be found. Once only
is Laura mentioned by name, — in a letter to
Giacomo Colonna, who had begun to suspect
that the much besung sweetheart was but a
play upon words — a personification of the
longed-for poet's laurel {Latcrea). " Would
that your humorous suggestion were true,"
Petrarch replies ; " would to God it were all
' See the facsimile of this famous entry in Geiger's Humanis»tus, p.
44, and the corrected transcription furnished by M. de Nolhac, op.
cit., pp. 407, 40S.
90 Petrarch
a pretence, and not a madness ! " ' From none
of these sources do we learn anything of the
lady herself. Many ingenious theories have
been based upon the descriptions in the Ca7i20-
niere, which, though often sufficiently detailed,
are however poetic, allegorical, and conflict-
ing. The futility of such deductions can be
made clear by a single example. Upon no
other topic does the poet dwell with more evi-
dent pleasure, or more varied detail, than the
eyes of his mistress ; yet it cannot be deter-
mined whether these were blue or dark.^
' Fam., ii., 9 (vol. i., p. 124).
"^ Many attempts have been made to establish some theory of Laura's
life ; the most plausible, by reason of the documentary evidence which
he adduces, is that given in the eighteenth centurj' by De Sade, in his
well-known Memoires pour la Vie de Petrarque (vol. i., pp. ill sqq.,
and appendix ; also Pieces yustificatives, at the end of vol. iii., con-
taining Laura di Noves's marriage contract, etc.). Even if the docu-
ments were not forged or modified by the lawyers of Avignon, in
view of De Sade's asserted descent from Laura, and even if, as is not
certain, they refer at all to Petrarch's Laura, we learn little or noth-
ing from them. It may be inferred from the Canzoniere that Laura
belonged to a good family, and almost everyone (except Geiger)
agrees, nowadays, that there is every reason to suppose that she
was married, since the freedom she appears to have enjoyed and the
ornaments she wore, as well as Petrarch's use of the word Mitlier, all
seem to render the assumption a natural one. Any other view would
indeed be out of harmony with the habits of an Italian lover of the
fourteenth century. The reader who wishes to pursue a somewhat
fruitless line of research may compare the views of De Sade with
those of Geiger, Petrarka, pp. 211 sqq., and Korting, op. cit., pp. 687
sqq., and may proceed from the references there given to the sources
themselves, such as they are.
Biographical 91
While it must, therefore, be acknowledged
that attempts to learn more of the object of Pe-
trarch's devotion have proved unavailing, it is
possible, from the material at our disposal, to
study satisfactorily and profitably the poet's
attitude toward one great preoccupation of
humanity, the love of woman. The genuine-
ness of the passion that fills the sonnets, no
one who reads the Latin works can doubt, al-
though it is touched upon in only a very few
instances. Its reality is attested by two pas-
sages of considerable length, which also serve
to explain the conflict of emotions depicted in
the Italian lyrics. One of these, a Latin met-
rical epistle to Giacomo Colonna, we may neg-
lect^ ; the other bit of self-analysis it behooves
us to examine somewhat carefully, since it casts
a flood of light, not only upon the extraordi-
nary man with whom we are dealing, but upon
a fundamental contrast between mediaeval and
modern thought.^
Petrarch was, as we have seen, engaged in
a lifelong struggle to reconcile the opposing
' Ep. Poet. Lat., i., 7, lines 38 sq(f. A German version of these
will be found in Korting, op. cit.^ pp. 689 sqq.
' The passage here referred to is in the third book of the Confes-
sions {Sutim Secretum), Opera, pp. 352 sqq. Those portions which
relate to his love for Laura have been translated into German by
Geiger, Petrarka, 231 sqq., and summarised by Korting, op. cit.,
pp. 639 sqq. The whole work is translated by Develay into French.
92 Petrarcti
ideals, both moral and intellectual, toward which
he felt himself drawn. During his best years
the most terrible of his inward conflicts was
that between the monk and the self-respecting
lover; between the mediaeval, ecclesiastical, and
the modern, secular, conception of love. By the
ecclesiastical, or monkish, conception, we mean
the belief in the inherent sinfulness of love,
regardless of the relations that may exist be-
tween the lover and the object of his affection.
This belief was, of course, part of a complex
theological system, which owes its formulation,
in large measure, to Petrarch's spiritual guide,
St. Auo-ustine.^ A g^reat deal of the unnatu-
ral and often indecent twaddle about women
which fills the theological works of the Middle
Ages may be traced more or less directly to
him. It was woman who brought sin into the
world in the beginning ; it is she who is re-
sponsible for its propagation ever since. Man,
it is assumed, would be a pure, God-fearing,
well-nigh angelic being were it not for the per-
verse seductions of the other sex. The most
scandalous tales were not considered out of
place by the preachers of the thirteenth cen-
' Peter Lombard reproduces, in the middle of the twelfth century,
much of Augustine's reasoning, in his Sentences, a work destined
to be the standard theological manual for generations to follow.
Biographical 93
tury, to illustrate the diabolical origin of wo-
man's charms and the disastrous effects of the
only kind of love of which a Jacques de Vitry
or the retired inquisitor, Stephen of Bourbon,
could form a conception.^
In order to discuss the matter in all its bear-
ings, Petrarch chose the form of an imaginary
dialogue. His Secret, between himself and his
favourite ghostly adviser, St. Augustine ; and
a most extraordinary bit of modern introspec-
tive and psychological acumen it is.
In this dialogue, of which only the most
meagre description can be given here, Pe-
trarch defends, with refreshing earnestness,
the higher conception of love ; but his re-
spect for Augustine, who vigorously asserts
the debasing nature of the passion, is too great
to permit him ultimately to reject the monkish
notions. Much he freely confesses to the
Bishop ; much is extorted from him by a
clever process of cross-questioning. This love
for a woman, toQ^ether with his loneine for
fame, ^ Augustine declares to be the poet's
most conspicuous failings, which serve to bar
' Cf. Anecdotes historiques tires du recueil inedit d'Etienne de
Bourbon, publiijs pour la Societe de V Histoire de France par Leroy de
la Marche, 1867. Professor Crane, of Cornell, has edited the Ex-
etnpla of Jacques de Vitry lor the Folk-Lore Society, London, 1890.
^ This subject will be considered later. See below, Part VI.
94 Petrarch
his way to a higher Hfe, Upon Augustine's
expressing his astonishment that so superior
a mind should languish for so many years in
the shameful bonds of love, Francesco passion-
ately declares that it is the soul, the innate
celestial goodness, that he loves and admires ;
that he owes all to her, who has preserved
him from sin and stimulated him to develop
his greatest powers.^ These arguments are,
however, easily met. The poet is forced to ac-
knowledge that his life has shown only degen-
eration since he first saw Laura ; it was her
virtue, not his, which maintained a purely pla-
tonic relation between them. His confessor
points out that if he looks in the glass he can-
not fail to see how the fire of passion and the
loss of sleep have made him old before his
time. However, he must not despair ; let him
travel, that may furnish a remedy. But Pe-
trarch has already vainly fled from temptation.
Then let him meditate upon the infirmity of
the body, and the shortness of life. " Think
shame of yourself," his mentor exclaims, "that
' Cf. the lines : —
Onde s' alcun bel frutto
Nasce di me, da voi vien prima il seme,
lo per me son quasi un terreno asciutto,
Colto da voi ; e' 1 pregio e vostro in tutto —
in the canzone beginning, Perche la vita.
Biographical 95
you are pointed at, and have become a subject
of gossip with the common herd ! Think how
ill your morals correspond with your profes-
sion ; how this passion has injured you in soul,
body, and estate ; how much you have need-
lessly suffered on its account ; how often you
have been deluded, despised, and neglected !
Think how proud and distant your mistress
has always shown herself toward you, how you
have made her famous and yet have sacrificed
yourself, solicitous for her good name when
she spent no thought upon your welfare !
Separated from God by this earthly love, you
have subjected yourself to a thousand miseries.
Consider the useful and honourable tasks that
you have so long neglected, the many incom-
pleted works that lie before you and that de-
mand your whole energy, not merely the odd
moments which your passion leaves free."
" Few indeed there be," Augustine character-
istically remarks, " who, having once imbibed
the sweet passion of desire, manfully endeavour
to grasp the truly foul character of woman's
person." ^ Consequently they easily relapse
with every new temptation. If the poor victim
' For Petrarch's views of marriage see Fam., xxii., i, as well as
several unworthy dialogues in De Remediis Utriusquc ForhittiT, e. g. ,
i., 45-47 ; ii., i8, 20, 22.
96 Petrarch
would be free, he must banish the past from
his thoughts ; no day or night must elapse
without tearful prayers which may, perchance,
at last brinof divine relief.
It is only by remembering the general con-
demnation of the love of woman amono- the
ecclesiastical class, which was, up to Petrarch's
time, nearly synonymous with the literary
class, that we can understand the general form
which the discussion takes in the dialogue just
outlined. It is his pure affection for a pure
woman that fills Petrarch with apprehension.
He studiously neglects all other considera-
tions, however important. One possible vague
reference to his connection with the church
occurs ^ ; but there is none at all to the fact
that the object of his devotion was, as we
may assume, a married woman. If Laura was
unmarried, the arguments against the attach-
ment become still more unnatural, as measured
by a modern or secular standard. Of that
liaison which resulted in two illegitimate child-
ren no notice is taken, although it would
seem a natural subject for criticism upon the
part of a confessor like Augustine. The dia-
logue is therefore a discussion of love at its
best. The arguments which Petrarch puts in
' Cogita quantum professio tua discordet a moribus. — Opera, p. 363.
Biographical 97
the mouth of St. Augustine are mainly conven-
tional and 'monastic, with some suggestions of
the interference with work which a literary
bachelor would be likely to apprehend/ The
defence, on the other hand, is purely modern,
—modern enough fully to grasp, and even de-
fend against the perversions of monasticism
and the current theological speculation, one of
the noblest of man's attributes. But Petrarch
was too thoroughly conservative in everything
touching religion to reject a view of love so
systematically inculcated by the church.
Turning again to the course of Petrarch's life,
we find him undertaking his first long journey
in 1333. He visited Paris, the Netherlands,
and the Rhine, and described his experiences
in two charming letters to his friend, Cardinal
Colonna, who probably supplied him with the
means necessary for the expedition. The
poet exhibited the same love of travel for
travel's sake that was characteristic of his
countrymen from Marco Polo to Columbus,
but unfortunately the letters describing his
impressions of foreign lands are relatively
few.^
' Magnse corporis magnse animi vires sunt, quae simul et litteris
sufficiant et uxori. — Fain., xx., 4 (vol. iii., p. 21).
'^ Two or three examples of such descriptions will be found below,
Part. IV.
7
98 Petrarch
Three years after the journey to the north
Petrarch first visited Rome. Both as a Hu-
manist and as a mediaeval Christian he had
longed to behold that holy city, " which never
had and never would have an equal." It was
there that Scipio Africanus, the hero of his epic,
had dwelt, and there, too, was the resting-place
of innumerable other men whose names would
never die. He might also, he hoped, wander
among the tombs of the saints, and gaze upon
the spots that had been hallowed by the pre-
sence of the Apostles.' Petrarch was much
too ardent and sincere a Catholic to allow
Brutus and Cato to crowd out Peter and Paul.
Indeed there was no break, in his mind, between
the history of pagan and Christian Rome. It
was to him, as it had been to Dante, a single
divine epic: "When David was born, Rome
was born ; then it was that yEneas came from
Troy to Italy, which was the origin of the
most noble Roman city, e\'en as the wTitten
word bears witness. Evident enough, there-
fore, is the divine election of the Roman
Empire, by the birth of the holy city, which
was contemporaneous with the root of the race
from which Mary sprang.'
" i
' See his enthusiastic letter to Giacomo Colonna, who had invited
him to undertake the journey. — Fam., ii., 9. '^ Conznto, iv., 5.
Biographical 99
Petrarch might have rejected as fauky
Dante's pr'oof from chronology, but they would
have agreed that ' Rome was always peopled
not with human, but with heavenly citizens,
who were inspired by divine love in loving
Rome. " Wherefore," Dante exclaims, " one
should not need to inquire further to see that
an especial birth and an especial destiny were
decreed, in the mind of God, to that holy city.
I am of the firm opinion that the stones that
remain in her walls are deserving of reverence,
and that she is worthy, beyond all that is
praised and glorified by men." ^ A similar
conviction in Petrarch's mind helps to explain
his unquestioning devotion to Cicero and
Augustine alike, and his mystical trust in the
eternal youth of the hopelessly senile Holy
Roman Empire.^
He was not disappointed in what he saw, in
spite of the apprehension expressed by Cardinal
C£)lonna that the city, in its terrible state of
ruin,^ would seem sadly different from the
picture the poet had formed of it in his antici-
pations. On the contrary, his wonder and
admiration were but increased by the sight of
' Convito, iv., 5. - See below, Part V.
^ All authorities agree as to the fearful degradation of Rome during
the absence of the popes.
loo Petrarch
what remained of the ancient mistress of the
earth. That she should have conquered the
world no longer affords him surprise, but only
that she did not conquer it sooner/
Upon his return to Avignon, Petrarch found
the city more disgusting than ever, and in
turning over the question of a more agreeable
home he bethought him of a valley not far
away, which he had visited in his boyhood,
and there he determined to take up his abode.
Of the beauties of Vaucluse, where he spent
most of the following fifteen years, and of his
life and surroundings there, he has given us
many a charming picture. This life of literary
seclusion in the suburbs of a great city is so es-
sentially modern in character that it serves to
bridge the five centuries that separate us from
Petrarch and to bring him into sympathy with
the scholar and litterateur of to-day.
The form which Petrarch's desire for glory
assumed in his earlier days was the aspiration
publicly to receive the laurel crown of the poet.
One of his most intimate friends came to the
conclusion, as we have seen, that this yearn-
ing for the laurel had led the poet, by a skil-
ful personification, to delude the world into the
belief that it was a woman's charms that held
,' Fam., ii., 14.
Biographical loi
him captive. Augustine is made to say in the
Confessions that Petrarch's worldly madness
reaches its climax in the worship that he paid,
not only to Laura's person, but even to her
name, so that he cherished, "with incredible
levity," everything that resembled it in sound.
" Wherefore thou hast so loved the imperial
or poetic laurel, which was called by her name
[Latirea'j, that since that time thou hast let
scarcely a song escape thee without mention-
ing it."
However thoroughly convinced he may have
become in later life of the vanity of such a dis-
tinction, Petrarch appears to have been willing
as a young man to resort even to somewhat
undignified, if not actually dishonest, expedi-
ents to accomplish his end. When he tells us
that upon the same day (September i, 1340) in-
vitations to receive the laurel chaplet reached
him from both Rome and Paris, we may safely
look, primarily at least, to the poet's own con-
trivances, for an explanation of this double
honour. Up to the time of his coronation he
was known only by his Italian verses, since
his great epic, the Africa, had but just been got
under way. He had influential friends, how-
ever. At Paris his fellow-citizen Roberto de'
Bardi, chancellor of the renowned university,
I02 Petrarch
was ready to do him a good turn ; and at Rome
his powerful friends the Colonnesi were in a
position to help him to realise his cherished
ideal. He seems, nevertheless, to have relied
chiefly upon the aid of King Robert of Naples/
He was, it must be remembered, a subject of
this monarch, to whom Avignon at that time
beloneed. It was doubtless his friend Dio-
nisio da Borgo San Sepolcro who first brought
the comparatively unknown poet to the atten-
tion of the King, and Robert showed- his
awakened confidence by despatching to him
an epitaph of his own composition for criticism.
Petrarch was, not unnaturally, dazzled by the
royal verses : " Happy the pen," he exclaims,
" to which such words were committed ! " Far
from venturing any strictures, he is doubtful
what he should most admire, the classic brevity
of the diction, the elevation of the thought, or
the grace of expression.^ It occurred to him
later that he might employ the favour of Robert
to gratify his own ambition. The following ex-
tract from a letter to Dionisio (January 4, 1 339)
tells us more, perhaps, than we should wish to
know of his plans : " As for me, I intend soon
to follow you [to Naples]. You well know
' Petrarch confesses that he owed the crown to Robert. Eel., x.,
370 sqq. '^ Fam., iv., 3 (the opening Hnes).
Biographical 103
how I regard the laurel. I have resolved, all
things being considered, to be indebted for it
to no one else than the Kingf of whom we have
just been speaking. If I shall seem sufficiently
worthy in his eyes for him to invite me, all will
be well. Otherwise, I may pretend to have
heard something which will explain my coming,
or I will, as if in doubt, so interpret the letter
which he sent me containing such friendly and
flattering recognition of an unknown man,
that I shall appear to have been summoned."^
Happily, however, subterfuges were unneces-
sary, as two invitations to receive the laurel
came without applying to Robert.
After some feigned hesitation Petrarch
chose Rome rather than Paris, There is in
reality little doubt that nothing would have in-
duced him to give the preference to any other
place than the Capitol, which exercised an un-
rivalled fascination over his mind. Poets had,
during his time, been crowned elsewhere, —
Mussato, a poet and historian, at Padua, and
his old master, Convennevole, at Prato ; but
centuries had passed since anyone had been
granted cosmopolitan recognition by having
the laurel placed upon his head by a Roman
senator. In imitation of the Olympian games
' Fam., iv. , 2 (vol. i., p. 206).
I04 Petrarch
Domitian had, toward the end of the first cen-
tury, estabhshed similar periodical contests in
Rome in honour of Jupiter Capitolinus. The
victor's brow, according to Martial, was encir-
cled by an oak chaplet ; but in other contests
held at the Emperor's villa, the laurel crown
was given. The later history of the insti-
tution is obscure, but the custom doubtless
perpetuated itself, and may have lasted until
the destruction of the Empire. A vague tra-
dition was current that many poets had received
the laurel upon the Capitol. This Petrarch ac-
cepted, evidently assuming that the great
Augustan writers, whom he so much admired,
had enjoyed this distinction ; and in his address
upon the occasion of his coronation he refers
to the numerous distinguished poets who had
been crowned before him upon that spot. Sta-
tius, who died circa 96 a.d., and who must have
been one of the first to gain the honour,he cites
as the last person recorded to have received it.^
As he tells us in his Letter to Posterity, Pe-
trarch first betook himself to Naples, where,
as a preparation for his coronation, he sub-
' Recolo ... in hoc ipso capitolio roniano ubi nunc insistimus tot
tantosque vates ad culmen preclari magisterii provectos emeritam
lauream reportasse. . . . post statium pampineum illustrem poetam
qui domitiani temporibus floruit nullum legimus tali honore decora-
turn. — Hortis, Scritti Incditi, p. 310.
Biographical 105
mitted to an examination by the King. Rob-
ert was somewhat of a phiHstine, as we may
infer from the fact that Petrarch found it neces-
sary carefully to explain to him the nature
of poetry, the function of the poet, and the
significance of the laurel, and to defend his
noble art against the aspersions of a theologi-
cal aofe. However skilled in other matters,
the King was but slightly versed in literature.
Yet he expressed the conviction that, could he
earlier have heard Petrarch's defence, he would
have devoted no inconsiderable portion of his
time to poetry.^ Of the details of the corona-
tion very little is known. Petrarch describes
it in very general terms in a metrical epistle,^
and we have besides two or three brief and inac-
curate contemporary accounts.^ The address
which he made upon the Capitol has, how-
ever, recently been discovered and printed,*
but it is, unfortunately, a very disappointing
composition quite unworthy of Petrarch's
powers. His text is a line or two from Virgil :
" But I am caught by ravishing desire, above the lone
Parnassian steep," *
' Rerum Mem., end of book i. ; an interesting estimate of Robert.
^ Ep. Poet. Lat., ii., i.
3 Cf. Hortis, op. cit., chap, i., " La Laurea del Petrarca."
•* Ibid., 311 sqq.
* Georgics, iii., 291, 292, as translated by Rhoades.
io6 Petrarch
but instead of developing his subject, as does
Cicero in his defence of Archias, he adopts
the repellent, conventional form of the times,
pedantically classifying his ideas by headings
and numbers, like a scholastic theologian.
He extols the laurel in a truly mediaeval
fashion for its magfic virtues in causing its
wearer to dream true dreams, and in protect-
ing him from lightning, etc. The most sig-
nificant part of the address is his defence of
poetry.
" The coronation of Petrarch as poet," Kort-
ing declares, "is an episode standing alone,
not only in the annals of the city of Rome,
but in the whole history of mankind. It is an
epoch-making event in the fullest acceptance
of the word."^ This may very well be some-
what exaggerated, but the coronation was cer-
tainly a solemn attestation of a new interest in
culture, although as we have seen by no means
a spontaneous tribute, unsought by the poet.
Later in life he deprecated the whole affair as
a piece of youthful arrogance which left him,
in Faust's words, so king als wie zuvor. At
the time, however, he was confident that the
revival of the custom of Imperial Rome would
' op. cit., p. 174. Cf. Gregorovius, Geschichte der Stadt Rom., vi.,
pp. 207 sc]q.
Biographical 107
be a source of glory, not only to the city, but
to Italy as a whole.
From Rome Petrarch went northward to
Parma, where he arrived most opportunely,
since his old friend Azzo di Correggio and his
three brothers had just obtained possession
of the town. The poet's relations with the
professional despot of the time are so cor-
dial and constant as naturally to arouse as-
tonishment in one unfamiliar with the pohtical
and social conditions of the period. Yet he
but furnishes an illustration of one of the
most curious characteristics of the Renais-
sance, the comradery between the blood-
stained tyrant and the man of letters. The
"age of despots" and the palmy days of
humanism coincide. Tyranny and the re-
vival of classical learning are historically so
closely affiliated as to suggest some causal
relation. Certain it is that they flourished
together, and early in the sixteenth century
disappeared together.
The fate of Parma, where Petrarch resided
at intervals, and the future career of his be-
loved and respected Azzo, are too typical of
the period to be completely ignored even in
this brief sketch. Azzo had first taken or-
ders, but married later, and entered upon the
io8 Petrarch
then recognised metier of tyrant' It will be
remembered that Petrarch had earher repre-
sented him in a lawsuit involving the pos-
session of a town, and the friendship formed
at Avignon remained constant to the end. A
lull in the business of the Correggio family led
Azzo to make what our less picturesque bosses
of the present day would call a " deal." Parma
was, at the moment, under the control of the Sca-
ligeri of Verona. Azzo, anxious for even tem-
porary occupation, promised Luchino Visconti
of Milan, another of Petrarch's friends, to turn
over the town to the Visconti after four years,
if he would aid him to dispossess the present
proprietors. It was under these conditions
that, with the incidental approbation and sup-
port of the citizens, the Scaligeri were ousted.
Petrarch celebrated the occasion in an enthusi-
astic ode to Liberty!^
The administration of the Scalicreri had been
execrable, and there was some reason for look-
ing upon the coup de main as a deliverance.
The brothers, says a chronicler, began to reign
not as lords but as fathers, without partiality
or oppression of any kind. Had they but per-
' Cf. Fracassetti, Let. delle Cos. Fam., i., 525 sqq.
^ The canzone beginning, Quel c' ha nostra natura in se piu
degno.
Biographical 109
severed, they might have continued to hold
the town forever, but at the end of a year they
changed their policy/ The most fair-minded
of the brothers died, and, regardless of the
arrangement for the speedy transfer to Milan,
Azzo sold the town, in 1344, to the Marquis of
Este, for 60,000 gold florins, hoping to retain
the position of governor. This led to a strug-
gle between half a dozen neighbouring despots,
and two years later the town was ceded to
Milan, on condition that the Marquis of Este
should be reimbursed for the sum he had paid
to Azzo. Azzo soon made up with his ene-
mies, the Scaligeri, and so far gained their
confidence that he was twice appointed gov-
ernor of Verona. During his master's absence,
however, a revolt broke out, which was natur-
ally attributed to him, and the shifty adven-
turer found that no excuses or explanations
would serve to pacify the offended Can Grande.
He was obliged to flee, leaving his wife and chil-
dren in the hands of his incensed lord. For a
time he wandered helplessly about among the
towns of northern Italy, until Petrarch, who
was at that time residing at the court of the
Visconti, procured him a comfortable refuge
at Milan. As a salve for his wounds, the poet
' SeeFracassetti, op. cit., i., 527.
no Petrarch
dedicated to the ill-starred ex-tyrant, his Anti-
dotes for Good and Evil Fortune} We have
abundant proof, in both his Latin and Italian
verses, of Petrarch's partiality and admiration
for this strange character. Upon Azzo's death,
he addressed letters of consolation to the widow
and children of the deceased, and asserted that
in him he had lost that which gave life its es-
pecial charm — Perdidi propter qiiod pnecipue
me vivere delectabat ! ^ We must recollect that
the affinities which lead to friendship are often
obscure, even where our opportunities for ob-
servation are most favourable. Petrarch doubt-
less saw something more than a mere adventurer
in this man, who has left so despicable an his-
torical record.
Petrarch lingered in Parma, or its suburbs,
about a year, but the election of a new pope,
Clement VI. (May, 1342), made it expedient
for him to return to Avignon and present his
compliments to the head of the church, with a
hope, perhaps, of securing some favour that
might increase his precarious income from the
prebend at Lombez. As we have seen, bene-
fices were regarded, and with justice, as found-
' In the dedicatory preface to that work the reader will find an in-
teresting review of Azzo's career.
^ Var., 16 (vol. iii., p. 337), also l^ar., 4. For the whole matter
see Fracasselti, Le/. delle Cos. Fam., i., pp. 525 sqq.
Biographical
1 1 1
ations for the support of indigent scholars.
Before returning to Avignon the poet ad-
dressed a lengthy metrical epistle ^ to Clement,
urging his return to Rome. The Pope ac-
cepted some, at least, of the suggestions con-
tained in the letter, and furthermore granted
its author a priorate near Pisa.
The quiet life at Vaucluse was resumed only
to be again interrupted by a journey to Naples,
as representative of the Pope. The mission
was not particularly successful, but the letters
written from Naples, describing the savage
state of the inhabitants and the continued cele-
bration of gladiatorial contests, are of great in-
terest.^ It was on his return from Naples,
while visiting some of the towns of Lombardy
(1345), that he discovered at Verona a codex
containing Cicero's letters to Atticus, Brutus,
and Ouintus. They came, however, too late
to exercise any important influence upon his
own epistolary style.^ The following two years
(1346-7) were spent at Vaucluse, where he
made certain improvements in his villa and
' Ep. Poet. Lat., ii., 5.
^ Fam., v., 3, 4, and 5. In the last of these there is a fine descrip-.
tion of a terrible storm.
^ Fain., xxiv., 3 ; also Voigt, op. cit., p. 42. It has been satisfac-
torily proved that Petrarch was unaware of the existence of the im-
portant collection Ad Familiares. Cf. de Nolhac, op. cit., 94 and
211 sqq.
1 1 2 Petrarch
began his work In praise of the life of sohtude.
But soon an extraordinary and absorbing po-
Htical crisis distracted his attention from the
amenities of his country home.
Cola di Rienzo, with whose ideas he had
been fascinated upon their first meeting, three
years before, had suddenly proclaimed himself,
in the name of the people, ruler of Rome (May
20, 1347). An explanation of Petrarch's inter-
est in this famous coup d'etat will be given later
in connection with some of the letters which
passed between him and the tribune.' So fully
was his sympathy aroused that late in the year
1347, some six months after Rienzo's accession
to power, he resolved to go to Rome and join
in the glorious movement of enfranchisement.
But, on reaching Genoa, he was arrested by the
news of Rienzo's mad conduct, and abruptly
gave up the journey southward. After de-
spatching a letter of expostulation and warn-
ing, he turned toward Parma, where another
prebend had recently been granted him by the
Pope. The town, which had fared hardly dur-
ing the later years of Azzo's rule, was now under
the undisputed sway of Luchino Visconti, and
Petrarch found the conditions there much im-
proved. We may infer that he now enjoyed a
' See below, Part V.
Biographical 1 1 3
tolerable income from his benefices ; he was at
any rate able to build himself a house, which still
stands at the corner of Borg-o di San Giovanni
and Vicolo di San Stephano. He seems always
to have had a orenuine fondness for outdoor life
as a relief and recreation. In his garden at
Parma he raised choice fruits, and he took pride
in the specimens of his horticulture that he sent
to Luchino, the lord of the city.
But, in spite of the seemingly favourable con-
ditions, his residence at Parma marks a crisis
of affliction and bereavement in Petrarch's life,
from which he never entirely recovered.
"This year, 1348," he declared long after, "I
now perceive to have been the beginning of
sorrow." Rienzo, in whose fate he was so
deeply concerned, soon weakly abdicated, but
not before Petrarch's former friends the Colon-
nesi had been slaughtered at the gates of
Rome. Then came the fearful plague which
swept over Italy and far beyond, and which
Boccaccio has pictured in his introduction to
the Decamero7i. " Life is but one long agony"
— Magnus dolor est vivere — our poet cried in
desperation, as bereavement after bereavement
was announced to him. The death of Laura
and of Cardinal Colonna severed the two dom-
inant attachments of his earlier life. Manv
8
114 Petrarch
other friends fell victims to the same fearful
disease, amono^ them Roberto de' Bardi, who
had procured him the invitation to receive the
laurel at Paris, and Luchino Visconti himself.
We may infer that the once attractive Parma
now aroused only sombre associations. Petrarch
wandered for a time hither and thither, but at
the end of 1348 he appears to have taken up
a transitory residence at Padua, at the urgent
invitation of its ruler, Giacomo II. of Carrara.
Here, as he tells us, he was received as the
blessed are welcomed in heaven. His new
friend was a typical despot, who had murdered
his cousin, the legitimate successor, and was
himself murdered a few years later (December,
1350), by his nephew. He proved himself,
nevertheless, a wise ruler and an enthusiastic
friend of literature ; he, too, gave Petrarch a
prebend, in order to keep him at his court. In
the poet's admiration for this man we perceive
the same instinctive deference to political sa-
gacity that led Machiavelli to declare Caesar
Borgia to be the model of princes.
The year 1350 had been designated as a
year of jubilee, a timely occasion for the ex-
hibition of the devotion stimulated by the ter-
rible calamities of the preceding years. With
mediaeval fervour Petrarch joined the pilgrims
Biographical 115
bound for Rome. On his way southward he
visited Florence for the first time, and for the
first time saw face to face his greatest literary
contemporary and most sympathetic friend,
Giovanni Boccaccio. At Rome he did not
neoflect to visit the various churches and per-
form the usual devotions. Writing to a friend
a little later, he declares that it was providen-
tially arranged that they did not meet in Rome,
else, instead of visiting the churches devotione
catholica, they would, careless of their souls,
have wandered about the city curiositate poct-
zca, for, however delightful intellectual pur-
suits may be, they are as nothing unless they
tend to the one great end.' But the stay in Rome
was short, and we have no picture of the impres-
sions which this international mediaeval " re-
vival " produced upon the enlightened traveller.
This visit to his father's native city of Flor-
ence had suggested to its people the idea of
re-establishing the distinguished son of their
exiled fellow-citizen in his rights ; they even
extended to him an invitation to occupy a po-
sition in their newly founded university. For
these attentions the poet thanked the Floren-
tines warmly, but discreetly put aside the sug-
gestion of the university position. He had
^ Fam., xii., 7 (vol. ii., p. i86).
ii6 Petrarch
estimated fairly the quality of Florentine ad-
miration, and preferred the patronage of the
despots. He felt, instinctively, the danger to
his reputation from continued contact with his
carping, novelty-loving, outspoken compatriots.
Some years later (1363), in a moment of irrita-
tion at the comments made by the Florentines
upon a portion of his great epic which had, by
accident, fallen into their hands, he writes to
Boccaccio that the wise prince, Frederick II.,
who knew the nation well, concluded that "all
familiarity with the Italians should be avoided,
since they are extremely curious and perceive
all too quickly the defects of others. They
pass judgment upon everything, not only upon
the truth, but upon what they have entirely
misconceived, so that everything is turned to
ridicule that is not just what they would have
it. Such is their presumption that they es-
teem themselves capable of criticising anything
and everything." " I will not," Petrarch con-
tinues, " discuss the truth of this opinion, but
I believe myself to be right in saying that if
these words were applied not to the Italians
at large but to our fellow-citizens, nothing
could be truer or more to the point. With
them there is no such thingr as intimacv and
friendship, but only censure, and that by no
Biographical 1 1 7
means mild and benevolent, but harsh and in-
exorable. There is no one among them who,
although he may be more lax than Sardanapa-
lus in his conduct, does not outdo Fabricius
or Cato in the severity of his judgments.
But I will not discuss their views of things
which have nothing to do with my case. In
dealing with literature they seem to assume
that nothing is properly expressed which does
not tickle their own great spreading ears. . . .
Elsewhere, even beyond the Alps and the
Danube, my poor verses have encountered no
fault-finders ; but nothing fills the Florentines
with such horror as the mention of a fellow-
citizen. It is not I alone who suffer; anyone
who would rise above the common level be-
comes thereby a public enemy. Believe me,
my friend, you who sympathise so fully in my
indignation at the wrong I suffer, believe me,
we were born in a city^ where to praise one, is
to reproach many."^ Petrarch had doubtless
' Ex ea urbe nati sumus, an inexact expression, since neither was
born in Florence, but a confession that they both felt themselves to
be Florentine citizens.
^ Sen., ii., i (Opera, p. 751). Note Dante's bitterly sarcastic char-
acterisation of the Florentine readiness to express an opinion, in the
Purgatorio, vi., especially lines 127 sqq. :
Molti han giuslizia in cuor ; ma tardi scocca.
Per non venir senza consiglio all' arco :
Ma '1 popol tuo r ha in sommo della bocca.
1 1 8 Pelrarch
long harboured such feehngs, and wisely chose
not to risk the danger, upon which both he
and Dante dwell, of the contempt which comes
from close intercourse.
In June, 1351, after four years filled with
bereavement and anxiety, we find Petrarch
back in his old surroundings at Vaucluse.
During his brief stay here he was called upon
to co-operate in no less a task than the draft-
ing of a constitution for Rome. The Pope,
convinced by the disorders of the past years
that some change was necessary, deputed a
commission of cardinals to prepare a new form
of government, and they, aware of Petrarch's
familiarity with the conditions in Rome, asked
his co-operation. Those curious to study the
poet as constitution-monger will find his plan
among his letters.^ The power, he urged,
should be given back to the people, and the
barons should be excluded, for the time being,
from the government. It was about this time
that he avoided accepting an onerous papal
secretaryship which his friends were anxious
to force upon him, by ingeniously submitting
so elegant a sample of his style that he was
rejected on the ground that he could not write
in the barbarous but official forms of the curia.'
' Fam., xi., i6 and 17. ^ Fam., xiii., 5.
Biographical 119
Pope Innocent VI., who followed Clement
VI. at the close of the year 1352, was an ex-
ceptionally unenlightened person, who, from
Petrarch's well-known fondness for Virgil, in-
ferred that he must be addicted to maofic.
After the confidence and respect that he had
enjoyed under the preceding popes. Innocent's
suspicions appeared to him intolerable, and
doubtless supplied one of the motives which
led him definitely to abandon his old haunts.
The death, or departure from Avignon, of many
of his friends, and the loss of his trusted and
faithful housekeeper at Vaucluse, had helped
to render the city and its surroundings more
distasteful than ever, and in May, 1353, he left
the region forever and joyfully saluted his own
dear Italy :
Salve cara Deo tellus sanctissima salve,
. agnosco patriam gaudensque saluto,
Salve pulchra parens, terrarum gloria salve.'
Luchino Visconti had, at his death in 1349,
been succeeded in Milan by his brother, the
famous Bishop Giovanni, from all accounts one
of the greatest rulers of his century. Like his
brother, he was an admirer of literature, or at
least he realised that the presence of distin-
' Ep. Poet. Lat., iii., 24.
1 20 Petrarch
guished scholars at his court might enhance
his influence ; and by the mild but potent aid
of science and letters he sought, as Rousseau
declares the tyrant is wont to do, " to over-
spread his iron chains with garlands of flow-
ers." His rule could not but receive a certain
sanction, which would serve to give it an air of
legitimacy in the eyes of the Italians, if Pe-
trarch, the exponent of Italian patriotism,
could be induced to come and reside in his
capital. The now homeless poet, while doubt-
less flattered by the august attentions of the
Bishop, evidently felt some hesitation in ac-
cepting his hospitality. He objected on the
ground that the noise of a city disturbed him ;
he feared, too, that his duties towards his new
lord might restrict his now inveterate and
somewhat vagrant fondness for liberty and
change. But upon his inquiring what was
expected of him, the Bishop replied that he
asked only his presence, "which, he believed,
would orrace both himself and his reig-n."'
To his scandalised friends in republican Flor-
ence the poet confesses that he was induced
to stay, partly because he was quite at a loss
where else to go, and partly out of respect
for the ill-disoruised commands of " the grreatest
' Fam., xvi., 12 (vol. ii., p. 403). Cf. also Fam., xvii., 10.
Biographical 121
of the Italians." He defends himself against
the reproaches of Boccaccio and other friends
on the ground that he has in no way sacri-
ficed his freedom ; but he admits that it will
be no such easy matter to convince the public
of the purity of his motives/
A commodious house was selected for the
new-comer in the retired western portion of
the city, where he could look out upon the
church of St. Ambrose, and, far beyond the
walls, could see the snowy circle of the Alps.
Eight years were spent in Milan, which, under
the Visconti, was rapidly becoming the busy
capital of a small but important European state.
There is no reason to think that Petrarch did
not sincerely love the solitude and quiet de-
lights of the country, but, like many a modern
man of letters, he recognised that urban life, if
an evil, was after all a necessary one. It is
probable, too, that, like the later Humanists, he
was dependent upon princely patronage for the
funds required to support himself and to hire
the necessary copyists, since his benefices ap-
pear to have afforded him an insufficient in-
come. Whatever his motives, the precedent
' Cf. close of Fam., xvi., 12. For Boccaccio's words of protest, see
Corazzini's edition of his letters, p. 47 sqq. Nelli did not join in the
criticisms of the other friends, but advised him to do as he pleased.
See his letter (x.), in the edition of Cochin.
122 Petrarch
was established, and later Humanists were not
only subservient to princes, but even resorted
to a species of blackmail, by threatening, if
money was not forthcoming for dedications,
to blast the reputation of the offender to all
coming generations/
That Petrarch was a member of the Bishop's
council of state is not probable, but he certainly
delivered more than one address upon solemn
occasions, and undertook several embassies for
the Visconti. Bishop Giovanni lived but a
year and a half after his arrival, and was suc-
ceeded by his three notorious nephews, Matteo,
Bernabo, and Galeazzo, the first of whom soon
died, leaving the possessions of the Visconti to
be divided between the two other brothers.
No very satisfactory history of the Visconti
has been written ; the opinions of their con-
temporary judges, as well as of later writers,
are exceedingly contradictory. In reaching a
conclusion as to the character of the more
prominent members of the family, the reader
may always choose between the seemingly ir-
reconcilable epithets of vir diabolicus and pa-
ter patiH(S. There is nothing extraordinary in
this, however, and when the earnest investi-
gator has examined all the testimony he will
' See the amusing instances cited by Voigt, op. cit., i., 446 sqcj.
Biographical 123
doubtless accept both titles, for they are not
really incompatible. All periods offer instances
of the most conflicting qualities in the leaders
of men, and the Renaissance was especially
rich in examples, from the conduct of Boniface
VI., that upright and conscientious savage,
who read the hours in a loud voice as he
walked up and down near the place of tor-
ture, listening to the cries of his aged victims,^
to the licentious pranks which Cellini narrates
of himself and his fellow-artists. Especially
common are the examples of bad men who
were unquestionably great statesmen. It may
be true that Galeazzo Visconti introduced the
most hideous system of producing death, by a
carefully graduated process of mutilation, but
it may be equally true that he himself suffered
tortures of gout little inferior to those of the
unfortunate criminal with a fortitude and equa-
nimity which brought tears to the eyes of his
attendants. For years he not only endured
these torments with patience, but, according
to Petrarch, carried on his government with
magnanimity and foresight, and when fortune
went against him,^ exhibited a high degree of
philosophical resignation. The same man who
' Cf. Dietrich von Niehm, De Scismatc, ed. Erler, p. 94.
^ Sen., viii., 3 (Opera, p. 836).
1 24 Petrarch
induced his courtiers to play at dice to their
undoing, might concihate the learned by sup-
porting scholars or establishing a university.
The magnificent palace at Pavia, although one
of the most beautiful in the whole world, as
Corio declares,^ may well have sadly afflicted
the tax-payer. The public man, whatever his
character and aims, is pretty sure, if he rises
above mediocrity, to be accused of unscrupu-
lousness. The expedients of a fifteenth-cen-
tury tyrant were doubtless of a fiercer stamp
than the shifts of to-day, but that need not
prevent our understanding the admiration ex-
pressed by Petrarch or Machiavelli for the
better qualities of a Giacomo di Carrara, a
Galeazzo Visconti, or a Caesar Borgia.
The sojourn at Milan was interrupted, as we
have said, by several diplomatic missions. In
November, 1353, Petrarch was sent to Venice
to try to arrange a peace between that city
and Genoa. But his eloquence was vain, and
the war was continued, in spite of a personal
letter of expostulation to the Doge.^ Of Pe-
trarch's relations with the Emperor Charles
IV. something will be said later.^ In 1356,
' Historia di Milano (ed. of 1565), p. 567.
'^ Fam., xviii., 16.
* See below, Part V.
Biographical 125
the year after he first met Charles in Italy, Pe-
trarch was sent to Prague as the representa-
tive of the ruler of Milan. He tells us little or
nothing of his experiences, but he evidently
made several friends in this northern centre
of culture, with whom he continued to corre-
spond after his return, thereby greatly widen-
ing the scope of his influence/ Still a third
mission remained, which was to carry him be-
yond the Alps. King John of France had, in
1356, been defeated by the Black Prince and
carried a prisoner to England, where, four
years later, he gained his freedom only by the
payment of an enormous ransom. At this
juncture Galeazzo Visconti offered him timely
pecuniary aid, upon condition that his son,
Gian Galeazzo, should marry King John's
daughter. The match was promptly arranged,
and the nuptials took place in October, 1360.
It then seemed only proper that Galeazzo
should give some formal proof of the satisfac-
tion he felt at King John's release, and Pe-
trarch was chosen as a fitting person to carry
his congratulations. The King and his court
were so delighted with the poet that they would
' For the humanistic tendencies at Prague, see Voigt, op. cit., ii.,
261 sqq., and Friedjung, Kaiser Karl IV. und sein Antheil atn geisti-
gen Leben seiner Zeit, Vienna, 1876.
126 Petrarch
gladly have induced him to remain at Paris.
This was, as Petrarch complacently points out
in a letter to the Emperor Charles, but another
proof of the skill of the astrologer who had
long before predicted that he would be upon
terms of intimacy with almost all the great
princes of his age.'
A new outbreak of the plague, the invasion
of the mercenary troops {compagnics) which
had been left without resources by the tempo-
rary cessation of the Hundred Years' War, and
personal bereavement in the death of his son
and of his friend " Socrates," all served to cast
a shadow over the opening years of the period
covered by the Letters of Old Age (1363-
1374). The plague, which had spared Milan
in 1348, raged there with especial fury in 1361,
and compelled Petrarch to leave the city.
After a time of hesitation, during which he re-
solved first to return to Vaucluse, and then to
accept Charles's invitation to Prague, he was
forced, by the uncertainty of the roads, to give
up both plans. He decided in the fall of
1362 to establish himself in Venice. Here he
was furnished with a mansion, on the Riva
degli Schiavoni, upon the condition that he
should leave his library to the city. But,
' Fam., xxiii.. 2 (vol. iii., p. 184).
Biographical
12
while Venice fulfilled her part of the bargain,
the books, as we have seen, were never deliv-
ered. ^ The quiet of the city and its freedom
from the martial turmoil of Lombardy, as well
as the circumstance that it was the home of
his daughter, who was happily married to a
young nobleman, — all served to make Venice
an attractive refuge. The city was naturally
much visited by travellers, and Petrarch often
had the pleasure of entertaining distinguished
guests in his charming home, from the win-
dows of which he could look off upon the busy
harbour. Boccaccio came to see him more
than once, but would not consent, in spite of
Petrarch's entreaties, to make his permanent
home with him.
The rest of the story is soon told. After
five years at Venice the restless old man
moved to Padua, where Francesco di Carrara,
the son of his former friend, was in power. It
was for this younger prince, with whom he
lived upon the happiest terms, that he com-
posed his little work upon T/ie Best Forvi of
Govern77ient} This affords, as may readily be
inferred, a marked contrast to the practical
suggestions of Machiavelli's famous hand-book.
The latter, however, only formulated princi-
' See above, p. 31 sqq. " Opera, pp. 372 sqq.
128 Petrarch
pies of conduct already discovered by the very
house of Carrara for which Petrarch prepared
his manual.
Distracted by the noise of the city, which
his failing health rendered the more distress-
ing, the poet found a charming home at Ar-
qua, pleasantly situated in the Euganean Hills,
some twelve miles south of Padua. In this
new Vaucluse he passed, with few interrup-
tions, the last four years of his life. He was
found by his attendants upon the i8th of July,
1374, his face bowed upon the book before
him, dead.
During the long life that we have just re-
viewed Petrarch allowed scarcely a day to pass
without writing^ one or more letters. The
historical importance and multiform interest
of his correspondence have already been dwelt
upon. Letter-writing was, as he was aware, a
veritable passion with him, which was destined
to retain its hold until the very end. He fre-
quently reasoned about it with characteristic
self-consciousness, and the reader will note
many allusions to the subject throughout the
present collection. There is, however, one
particularly full discussion of his feelings to-
Biographical 129
wards his favourite Hterary occupation, which is
to be found in the following dedicatory preface,
written, probably in 1359, as an introduction to
his first collection of letters. In many ways
it is one of the most suggestive of the epistles
and merits careful study.
Petrarch's Preface to his First Collection of
Letters
To J lis Friend ' ' Socrates " '
What now, brother ? We have tried almost
everything, and nowhere have we found peace.
When may we hope for that, and where shall we
seek it ? Time, as the saying is, has slipped be-
tween our fingers. Our early hopes are buried
with our friends. The year 1348 has left us solitary
and bereaved ; and has taken from us what all the
wealth of Ormus and of Ind could never replace."
Such final losses are irreparable, and the wounds
inflicted by death can never be healed. There is
but one source of consolation ; we shall soon follow
those who have gone before. How long we must
wait we know not. But this we do know, it can-
' Of " Socrates," as Petrarch chose to call one of his most intimate
friends whose real name was Ludovico, we know almost nothing.
He was born in the Netherlands but appears to have spent most of
his life in Avignon, where he died in 1362. Although he never
visited Italy he would seem to have been thoroughly Italian in his
tastes.
^ Laura, Cardinal Giovanni Colonna, and other friends of Petrarch
fell victims to the plague in that year.
no
Biographical 131
not be for long; and the delay, however short,
will not be without its trials. Yet let us, here at
the outset at least, refrain from lamentation.
I do not know, brother, what anxieties are weigh-
ing upon you or what your present preoccupations
may be. As for me, I am making up my bundles
and, as those on the verge of departure are wont to
do, I am trying to decide what to take with me,
what to distribute among my friends, and what to
throw into the fire. At any rate, I have nothing
to sell. I possess, or rather am burdened by, more
than I supposed. I found, for example, a vast
store of scattered and neglected writings of different
kinds in the house. I have laboriously exhumed
boxes, buried in dust, and bundles of manuscript,
half-destroyed by time. The importunate mouse
as well as the insatiable bookworm, have plotted
against me, and, a devotee of Pallas, I have been
entangled in the toils of Pallas's enemy, the spider.
There is, however, no obstacle which may not be
overcome by persistent effort. Surrounded by the
confused masses of letters and manuscripts I began,
following my first impulse, to consign everything to
the flames, with a view to escaping from the in-
glorious task of assorting the papers. Then, as one
thought springs from another, it occurred to me
that, like a traveller weary by reason of the long
road, I might well look back as from an eminence,
and step by step review the history of my younger
days.
This counsel prevailed. It seemed to me, if
not an exalted undertaking, at least not a dis-
132 Petrarch
agreeable one, to recall the shifting feelings and
sentiments of earlier times. But, taking up the
disordered papers at random, I was astonished to
see how distorted and blurred the past appeared to
me, not of course that it, but rather that my men-
tal vision, had changed, so that I hardly recognised
my former self. Still, some things that I hap-
pened upon called up pleasant reminiscences of long
ago. Some of the productions moved with the free
step of prose, some were held in check by Homeric
reins (I have rarely used those of Isocrates),' others,
destined to charm the ear of the people, also obeyed
their own appropriate laws. The last mentioned
style of verse, revived, it is said, not many genera-
tions ago, among the Sicilians, spread in a short time
throughout Italy, and even beyond. This kind of
poetry was held in great repute by the earliest
writers among the Greeks and Romans, and the
common people of Rome and Athens are said to
have been accustomed to the rhythmical lyrics only.
This chaotic medley kept me busy for several
days, and, although I felt the potent charm and
natural partiality which are associated with all one's
own productions, the love for my more important
works finally got the upper hand. These had suf-
fered a long interruption and were still uncom-
pleted, although they were anxiously awaited by
not a few. The shortness of life was borne in upon
me. I feared, I must confess, its snares and pit-
' It was probably Cicero's expressions of admiration in De Oratore
which led Petrarch to choose Isocrates as typifying the oratorical
stvle.
Biographical 133
falls. What indeed is more transient than life, and
what more certain than death ? It occurred to me
to ask what foundation I had laid, and what would
remain to me for all my toil and vigils. It seemed
a rash, an insane thing, to have undertaken such
long and enduring labours in the course of so brief
and uncertain an existence, and thus to scatter my
talents, which would scarcely suffice for the success-
ful accomplishment of a single undertaking. More-
over, as you well know, another task awaits me
more glorious than these in proportion as actions
merit more enduring praise than words.'
But why dwell longer upon this matter ? It will
perhaps seem incredible to you, but it is none the
less true, that I committed to Vulcan for correction
a thousand or more scattered poems of all kinds
and letters of friendly intercourse, not because I
found nothing in them to my liking, but because
they involved more work than pleasure. I did this,
however, with a sigh, as I am not ashamed to con-
fess. But with a mind so occupied it was necessary
to resort even to somewhat harsh measures for relief,
just as an overburdened ship must sometimes be
lightened by the sacrifice of valuable cargo.
After disposing of these I noticed, lying in a
corner, a few papers which had been preserved rather
by accident than intention, or had, at some former
time, been copied by my assistants, and so in one
way or the other had escaped the perils of advanc-
ing age, I say a few — I fear they will seem a great
'many to the reader, and far too numerous to the
' This reference is ot^scure.
1 34 Petrarch
copyist. I was more indulgent to these, and
allowed them to live, not so much on account of
their worthiness as of my convenience, for they did
not involve any additional labour of my own.
As I considered them with regard to the natural
inclinations of two of my friends, the prose fell to
you, while the verse I decided to dedicate to our
friend Barbato. I recollected that this used to be
your preference, and that I had promised to follow
your wishes. My mood was such that I was on the
point of destroying everything which I came across,
not even sparing those writings just mentioned,
when you both seemed to appear to me, one on my
right and one on my left, and, grasping my hands,
you admonished me in a friendly manner not to do
violence at once to my good faith and your anticipa-
tions. This was the chief reason why these were
spared, for otherwise, believe me, they would have
gone up in smoke like the rest.
You will read your portion of what remains, such
as it is, not only patiently, but even eagerly. I do
not venture to repeat the boast of Apuleius of
Madaura, " Reader, you have but to listen to be
charmed " ; for on what grounds could I venture to
promise pleasure to the reader ? But, you at least,
will read the letters, my good Socrates, and, as you
are very fond of your friends, you may discover some
charm in them. Your partiality for the author will
make his style pleasing (indeed what beauty of style
is likely to be perceived by an unfriendly judge?);
it is vain to adorn what already delights. If any-
thing gratifies you in these letters of mine, I freely
Biographical 135
concede that it is not really mine but yours; that is
to say, the credit is due not to my ability but to your
good-will. You will find no great eloquence or vig-
our of expression in them. Indeed I do not possess
these powers, and if I did, in ever so high a degree,
there would be no place for them in this kind of com-
position. Even Cicero, who was renowned for these
abilities, does not manifest them in his letters, nor
even in his treatises, where, as he himself says, the
language is characterised by a certain evenness and
moderation. In his orations, on the other hand, he
displayed extraordinary powers, pouring out a clear
and rapid stream of eloquence. This oratorical
style Cicero used frequently for his friends, and
against his enemies and those of the republic' Cato
resorted to it often on behalf of others, and for him-
self four and forty times. In this mode of composi-
tion I am wholly inexperienced, for I have been far
away from the responsibilities of state. And while
my reputation may sometimes have been assailed by
slight murmurs, or secret whisperings, I have so far
never suffered any attack in the courts which I must
needs avenge or parry. Hence, as it is not my pro-
fession to use my weapons of speech for the defence
of others, I do not frequent the tribunals, nor have
I ever learned to loan my tongue. I have, indeed,
a deep repugnance for such a life, for I am by nature
a lover of silence and solitude, an enemy of the
courts, and a contemner of wealth. It was fortun-
ate for me that I was freed from the necessity of
resorting to a weapon which I might not have been
' Reading reipublica for reinpublicam.
136 Petrarch
able to use if I had tried. I have therefore made
no attempt to employ an oratorical style, which,
even if it had been at my disposal, would have been
uncalled for in this instance. But you will accept
this homely and familiar language in the same
friendly spirit as you do the rest, and take in good
part a style well adapted to the sentiments we are
accustomed to express in ordinary conversation.
All my critics, however, are not like you, for they
do not all think the same, nor do they all love me as
you do. But how can I hope to please everybody,
when I have always striven to gratify a few only ?
There are three poisons which kill sound criticism,
love, hate, and envy. Beware lest through too
much love you should make public what might bet-
ter be kept concealed. As you are guided by love, so
others may be influenced by other passions. Between
the blindness of love and that of jealousy there is
indeed a great difference in origin, but not always
in effect. Hate, to which I have assigned a middle
place, I neither merit nor fear. Still it can easily be
so arranged that you may keep and read my trifling
productions for your own exclusive pleasure, think-
ing of nothing except the incidents in our lives and
those of our friends which they recall. Should you
do this, it would be most gratifying to me. In this
way your request will have been satisfied and my
reputation will be safe. Beyond this I do not de-
ceive myself with the vain hope of favour. For
how can we imagine even a friend, if he be not an
alter ego, reading without weariness such a mass of
miscellaneous and conflicting recollections ? There
Biographical 137
is no unity in the themes or composition of the
letters, and with the various matters treated went
varying moods, which were rarely happy and usually
despondent.
Epicurus, a philosopher held in disrepute among
the vulgar but esteemed by those better able to
judge, confined his correspondence to two or three
persons — Idomeneus, Polyaenus, and Metrodorus.
Cicero wrote to hardly more, to Brutus, Atticus,
and the other two Ciceros, his brother and son.
Seneca wrote to few except his friend Lucilius. It
obviously renders felicitous letter-writing a simple
matter if we know the character of our correspond-
ent and get used to his particular mind, so that we
can judge what he will be glad to hear and what we
may properly communicate. But my lot has been
a very different one, for heretofore almost my whole
life has been passed in journeying from place to
place. I might compare my wanderings with those
of Ulysses; and certainly were we only on the same
plane in reputation and in the fame of our adventures,
I might claim that he had not wandered farther or
been cast upon more distant shores than I. He was
already well advanced in years when he left his
native land, and, since nothing is long in our lives,
the experiences of his old age were necessarily brief
indeed: I, on the other hand, was conceived and
born in exile, costing my mother such grievous
pangs, and in such critical circumstances, that not
only the midwives but the physicians long believed
her to be dead. Thus I began to encounter dangers
before I was born, and attained the threshold of life
138 Petrarch
under the auspices of death. The event is com-
memorated by the no means insignificant city of
Arezzo,' whither my father, driven from his country,
had taken refuge, together with many another worthy
man. Thence I was taken in my seventh month
and carried about all over Tuscany by a certain
sturdy youth, who wrapped me up in a cloth, just
as Metabus did Camilla, and bore me suspended from
a knotty staff, so as not to injure my tender body
by any rough contact. But once, in crossing the
Arno (I delight to recall with you the beginnings of
my tribulations), his horse stumbled and he fell into
the water, and while striving to save the burden en-
trusted to him he nearly sacrificed his own life in
the raging flood.
Our wanderings through Tuscany finally ended at
Pisa. From here, however, I was dragged away
again, in my seventh year,^ and in our journey to
France by sea we were wrecked by winter storms,
not far from Marseilles, and I was on the verge of
being summoned away anew from the vestibule of
life. — But I am straying from my subject. From
then until now I have had little or no opportunity
to stop and take breath. How many and how
various the dangers and apprehensions I have suf-
fered in my migrations no one, after myself, better
' Petrarch learned upon visiting Arezzo, as he was returning from
the Jubilee in 1350, that the magistrates had ordered that no altera-
tions should be made in the humble house where he was born. See
Sen., xiii., 3.
'^ Petrarch refers this journey to his ninth year in his Letter to
Posterity.
Biographical 139
knows than you. Hence I have felt free to recall
these events, that you may keep in mind that I was
born among perils and among perils have grown old,
— if old I am, and there are not worse trials ahead.
Although similar vicissitudes may be common to
everyone entering this life, since existence is a war-
fare— nay more, a battle, — each nevertheless has his
peculiar experiences, and the fighting differs greatly
in kind. Each has his own burdens to bear, but it
still makes a great difference what these burdens are.
Well then, to return to the matter in hand, — since
amid the tempests of life I have never for long cast
anchor in any one port, I have naturally made innu-
merable acquaintances. How many true friends I
know not, for friends are not only exceedingly few,
but difficult to distinguish. It has fallen to my lot,
in consequence, to write to a great many who dif-
fered so widely from one another in mind and con-
dition that on re-reading my letters it sometimes
seemed to me as if I had said in one precisely the
opposite from what I had in another. Yet anyone
who has been in a similar position will readily admit
that I was almost forced into such contradictions.
The first care indeed in writing is to consider to
whom the letter is to be sent; then we may judge
what to say and how to say it. We address a
strong man in one way and a w^eak one in another.
The inexperienced youth and the old man who has
fulfilled the duties of life, he who is puffed up with
prosperity and he who is stricken with adversity, the
scholar distinguished in literature and the man in-
capable of grasping anything beyond commonplace.
HO Petrarch
— each must be treated according to his character or
position. There arc infinite varieties among men ;
minds are no more alike than faces. And as the
same stomach does not always relish the same kind
of food, the same mind is not always to be fed upon
the same kind of writing. So the task becomes a
double one, for not only have we to consider the
person to whom we propose to write, but how those
things we are planning to say are likely to affect him
when he reads them. Owing to these difficulties I
have often been forced into apparent contradictions.
And in order that unfavourable critics may not turn
this against me, I have relied in a measure upon the
kind aid of the flames for safety, and for the rest,
upon your keeping the letters secret and suppressing
my name.
But friends are lynx-eyed, and nothing is likely
to escape them ; so that if you cannot keep the
letters from the few who still remain, be sure to urge
them to destroy immediately any of my communi-
cations that they may possess, lest the}^ be disturbed
by any changes which 1 have made in the words or
matter. These changes are due to the fact that,
since it never occurred to me that you would ask or
that I would consent to have the letters brought
together in a single collection, I was accustomed, in
order to avoid labour, to repeat now and then some-
thing I had said in a previous letter, using my own
as my own, as Terence says. Now that letters
sent off years ago to the most distant regions are
brought together at once in a single place, it is easy
to perceive deformities in the whole body which
Biographical 1 4 =
were not apparent in the separate parts. Phrases
which pleased when they occurred but once in a
letter, begin to annoy one when frequently repeated
in the same collection ; accordingly they must be re-
tained in one and expunged from the others. Many
things, too, which related to every-day cares and
which deserved mention when I wrote, would now
weary even the most eager reader, and were there-
fore omitted. I recollect that Seneca laughed at
Cicero for including trivial matters in his letters,
and yet I am much more prone in my epistles to fol-
low Cicero's example than Seneca's. Seneca, in-
deed, gathered into his letters pretty much all the
moral reflections which he had published in his
various books: Cicero, on the other hand, treats
philosophical subjects in his books, but fills his
letters with miscellaneous news and the gossip of
the day. Let Seneca think as he likes about this;
as for me, I must confess that I find Cicero's letters
very agreeable reading. They relax the tension
produced by weighty matters, which if long con-
tinued strains the mind, though if occasionally
interrupted it becomes a source of pleasure.
I cannot sufficiently wonder at the boldness of
Sidonius, although I may be a bit rash myself in
denouncing this boldness when I do not very well
understand his sarcasms, either because of my slow
wit or his obscure style, or, as is not impossible, by
reason of some error in the text. One thine, how-
ever, is clear ; Cicero is ridiculed, and by a Sidonius ! '
What liberty! — effrontery I would say, did I not
' Sidonius Apollinaris, a Christian writer of the fifth century, is
142 Petrarch
fear to exasperate those whom I have already-
offended by calling him bold. Here is one of the
Latin people who finds it in his heart to attack
Cicero. Nor does he speak of some single weak-
ness, for if that were all I should have to ask pardon
for both Seneca and myself; human frailty, indeed,
can hardly escape criticism. But this Sidonius has
dared to make sport of Cicero's eloquence, — his
whole style and his method in general. This
Arvernian ' orator does not simply imagine himself,
as he says, a brother of the Latin orator, which
would be audacious enough, but he assumes the
role of a rival, and, what is worse, of a scoffer. He
would deprive him of the renown which all but a
few of his contemporaries and fellow-citizens unani-
mously concede to him : even those few were doubt-
less warped in their judgment and goaded on by
envy, the constant attendant upon contemporary
here the innocent victim of Petrarch's doubtless excusable ignorance.
In speaking of his own letters Sidonius says that he has modestly re-
frained from attempting to imitate Cicero's style, and cites the fate
of Titianus, who brought derision upon himself by so doing. Unless,
as is quite possible, the text which Petrarch used was corrupt, it is
difficult to explain how, even if, as he admits (see below p. 143), he
had never heard of Fronto, the tutor of Marcus Aurelius, he could
have so completely missed the point. The offending passage reads :
" Nam de Marco Tullio silere me in stylo epistolari melius puto,
quern nee Julius Titianus totum . . . digna similitudine ex-
pressit. Propter quod ilium caeteri quique Frontonianorum [?'. e.,
admirers of Fronto], utpote consectaneum asmulati, cum veter-
norum dicendi genus imitaretur, oratorum simiam nuncupaverunt." —
Migne, Patrologia Latina, vol. Iviii., pp. 444-5.
' Sidonius was born in Lyons ; the epithet " arvernus" refers to his
bishopric of Clermont, anciently called Arverni
Biographical 143
fame. But neither time nor place afford any ex-
tenuation in the case of Sidonius. Consequently I
wonder more and more what manner of person this
was who thus attacked the undoubted prince of
orators, although he was himself a disciple of oratory,
and belonged to another age, and was born in another
land. Upon turning the whole matter over in my
mind, I find it impossible to accept in the case of so
learned a man the excuse of ignorance, and to ascribe
his perverted opinions to a weakness of the head
rather than of the heart. I may be mistaken in this
matter, as in many others, but if I am I rejoice that
I am mistaken in company with many, and those by
far the most distinguished, judges in believing that
Cicero leaves all fault-finders far behind, and that
to him belongs the palm for prose eloquence.
From this point of view the moral and intellectual
perversity of those who deny him pre-eminence be-
comes as clear as day.
Sidonius brings forward, it is true, a certain Julius
Titianus and certain Frontoniani,' of whom I have
never heard, as the authorities for his sarcasms. To
these, and to all those holding such views, I make
one and the same reply, namely, that Seneca was
right when he said, " Whatever strength or advan-
tage Roman eloquence may have to oppose to the
arrogance of Greece was developed by Cicero."
Moreover, Quintilian, among the many glorious
things which he says of Cicero, well observes: " He
was sent by the special gift of providence, with such
' See note above, p. 141.
144 Petrarch
extraordinary powers that in him eloquence might
manifest all her resources," And after many proofs
of this, he continues: " It was therefore but right
that his contemporaries should declare with one ac-
cord that he reigned supreme in the courts. With
succeeding generations it has come to pass that
Cicero is no longer regarded as the name of a man,
but of eloquence itself. To him, therefore, let us
look, placing him before us as our model. When a
student comes to admire Cicero greafU-, he may
know that he is making progress."' I hold more-
over that, conversely, it is quite true that one to
whom Cicero's style is displeasing either knows
nothing of the highest eloquence or hates it.
Anxious as I was to hasten on, I could not pass
over this calumny altogether. To return again to
the letters, you will find many written in a familiar
style to friends, including yourself; sometimes re-
ferring to matters of public or private interest, some-
times relating to bereavements, which form, alas ! an
ever recurring theme, or to other matters which cir-
cumstances brought into prominence. I have
discussed almost nothing else, except as I have
spoken of my state of mind, or have imparted some
bit of news to my friends. I approve, you see,
what Cicero says in his first letter to his brother,
that it is the proper aim of a letter to inform the
one to whom it is addressed of something of which
he was ignorant. These considerations account for
the title which I have selected. For, on thinking
' Quititilian's Institutes, bk. x., ch. i., §§ 109-II2.
Biographical i45
over the matter, although the simple rubric " epis-
tles " was quite appropriate, I rejected it, both be-
cause many older writers had chosen it, and because
I myself had applied it to the verses to my friends
which I mentioned above,' and consequently disliked
to resort to it a second time. So I chose a new
name, and entitled the volume Letters of Familiar
Intercourse,^ letters, that is, in which there is little
anxious regard to style, but where homely mat-
ters are treated in a homely manner. Sometimes,
when it was not inappropriate, there may be a bit of
simple narration or a few moral reflections, such as
Cicero was accustomed to introduce into his letters.
To say so much about a small matter is justified
by the fear of censorious critics, who, instead of pro-
ducing work of their own to be judged, set them-
selves up as the judges of others' talents — a most
audacious and impudent set, whose only safety lies
in holding their tongues. Sitting upon the shore
with folded hands, we are safe in expressing any
opinions we please upon the art of navigation. By
keeping the letters secret you will at least shield
these crude productions, that I have carelessly
thrown off, from such impudence. If ever I put the
last touches to this work, I will send you, not a
Phidian Minerva, as Cicero says, but an image, in
some sort, of my mind and character, hewn out with
great labour. When it reaches you, place it in some
safe niche.
So far, so good. The next matter I would gladly
' /. f. , the metrical epistles.
s Familiarum rerum liber. See below, p. 153 sqq.
146 Petrarch
say nothing about, but a serious ailment is not easily-
concealed ; its very symptoms betray it. I am
ashamed of a life which has lapsed into weakness.
As you will see, and as the order of the letters testi-
fies, the language of my earlier years was sober and
strong, betokening a valiant heart. I not only stood
firm myself, but often consoled others. The suc-
ceeding letters become day by day weaker and more
dispirited, nor have the lamentations with which
they are filled a sufficiently manly tone. It is these
that I would ask you to guard with special care.
For what would others say to sentiments which I
myself cannot re-read without a blush ? Was I in-
deed a man in my youthful days, only to become
a child when I reached maturity ?
With a disingenuousness which I reprehend and
deplore, I conceived the plan of changing the order
of the letters, or concealing from you entirely those
that I condemn. Neither subterfuge would have
deceived you, since you possess the originals of
these melancholy missives, and are aware of the
year and day upon which each was written. Con-
sequently I must arm myself with excuses. I have
grown weary in the long and arduous battle. While
courage and valour stood by me, I made a stand
myself and encouraged others to resist ; but when,
by reason of the strength of the enemy and the
fierceness of his onset, I began to lose my footing,
and my spirits began to droop, that fine, bold tone
promptly deserted me, and I descended to those
weak laments which are so displeasing. My affec-
tion for my friends may perhaps extenuate my
Biographical 147
offence, for while they remained unharmed I never
groaned on account of any wound of fortune. But
when almost all of them were hurried away in a
single great catastrophe, nay when the whole world
seemed about to perish,' it would have been in-
human, rather than courageous, to remain unmoved.
Before that who ever heard me complain of exile,
disease, litigation, elections, or the whirl of public
affairs ? * Who ever heard a tearful regret for my
father's house, for lost fortune, diminished fame,
squandered money, or absent friends ? Cicero, how-
ever, shows such a want of manliness in the way he
writes of such grievances that his sentiments often
offend as much as his style delights me. Add to this
his litigious epistles, and the complaints and insults
which, with the utmost fickleness, he directs against
distinguished men whom he himself has but just
been lauding to the skies! On reading these I was
so shocked and discomposed that I could not refrain
in my irritation from writing to him and pointing out
what offended me in his writings, as if he were a
friend and contemporary.' Ignoring the space of
time which separates us, I addressed him with a
familiarity springing from my sympathy with his
genius. This letter suggested others of the kind.
For instance, on re-reading, after some years, Sen-
eca's tragedy of Octavia,* I felt the same impulse to
' A reference to the plague of 1348 ; see above, pp. 113, 114.
'^ This list of woes seems to have been suggested by Cicero's ex-
perience rather than his own.
^ See the letters to Cicero, given below, p. 239 sqq.
* Petrarch elsewhere expresses doubts whether Seneca really wrote
148 Petrarch
write to him, and later I wrote, on various themes,
to Varro, Virgil, and others.' A few of these, which
I have inserted in the latter part of this work, might
produce the utmost astonishment in the mind of the
reader, were he not forewarned. The rest I burned
up in that general holocaust of which I told you
above.
Just as Cicero was absorbed in his trials, so was I
at one time in mine. But to-day — that you may
know my present temper — it would not be inappro-
priate to attribute to me that serenity which comes,
as Seneca says, even to the most untried, the serenity
of despair itself. Why indeed fear, when one has
so many times striven with death itself ?
Una salus victis nullani sperare salutem.
You will see me work and speak with growing cour-
age from day to day. If I should hit upon any
subject worthy of my pen, the style itself will be
more vigorous. Many themes will undoubtedly
offer themselves. My writing and my life I foresee
will come to an end together.
But while my other works are finished, or bid fair
to be, these letters, which I began in an irregular
fashion in my early youth, and am now bringing to-
gether in my old age and arranging in a volume, —
this work the love of my friends will never permit me
to finish, since I must conscientiously reply to their
messages ; nor can I ever persuade them to accept the
this tragedy which, it is now generally believed, is by another hand.
See Fam., xxiv., 5.
' See below, Part III., for examples of these letters.
Biographical 149
oft-repeated excuse of my other occupations. When
you shall learn that I have at last begged to be freed
from that duty, and have brought this work to an end,
then you may know that I am dead and freed from
all life's burdens. In the meantime I shall continue
to follow the path which I have entered upon, not
looking for its end until darkness comes upon me.
Pleasant work will take the place of repose with me.
Moreover, having placed the weakest of my forces
in the centre, as orators and generals are wont to
do, I shall take care that, as I showed a solid front
in beginning my book, so my rear-guard too shall not
be wanting in courage. Indeed, I may make better
head against the attacks and buffets of fortune,
thanks to a gradual process of hardening which has
gone on through life. In short, although I dare not
assert how I shall demean myself in the stress of
circumstances, I am firmly resolved not to succumb
to any trial hereafter. " Beneath the crash of worlds
undaunted he appears." You may picture me thus
armed with the good thoughts of Virgil and Horace,
which I used often to read and praise in my earlier
years, and which, in my latter days of calamity,
stern necessity has forced me to make my own.
My communion with you has been very pleasant,
and I have, in my enjoyment, been led half un-
consciously to prolong it. It brought back your
face over land and sea, and kept you with me until
evening. I took up my pen this morning, and the
day and this letter are coming to an end together.
Well, this which I dedicate to you, my brotlier, is
a fabric, so to speak, of many coloured threads.
1 50 Petrarch
But should I ever find a resting-place, and the lei-
sure I have always sought in vain (and there is the
promise of such a change), I intend to weave for you
a more worthy and certainly more uniform web. I
should be glad to think that I am among the few
who can promise and confer fame; but you can lift
yourself into the light without my aid, borne on the
wings of your own genius. However, if I am able
to rise, in spite of all the difficulties which beset me,
you hereafter shall assuredly be my Idomeneus, my
Atticus, and my Lucilius. Farewell.
The selection and copying of the letters,
which Petrarch appears to have begun about
1359, when he was fifty-five years old, proved
to be a trying task that dragged through five or
six years. Writing to Boccaccio, in 1365, he de-
scribes a clever youth of Ravenna who had come
to him two years before and, among other du-
ties, had assisted him in editing the correspond-
ence.' " My prose epistles to my friends,"^ he
says, " are very numerous ; would that they
were proportionately valuable ! What with
the confusion of the copies and the pressure
of my other occupations I had almost de-
spaired of editing them. Four friends had
promised me their aid, but after a trial had
left the task half done ; yet this young man
' Fain., xxiii., 19 (vol. iii., pp 237, 238). - Familiares epistolae.
Biographical 151
has, quite by himself, completed the collec-
tion, which does not include all indeed, but as
many of them as will go into a not too huge
volume. Counting this one, they amount to
three hundred and fifty,' which, if it please
God, you shall sometime behold, written in his
hand. You will not find the ill-defined though
sumptuous penmanship affected by our copy-
ists, or rather painters, of to-day, which de-
lights us at a distance, but, as if invented for
any other purpose than to be read, strains and
tires the eyes when we look at it intently, thus
belying the saying of the prince of grammar-
ians that the word letter comes from legere,
to read. This youth's characters are, on the
contrary, compressed^ and clear, carrying the
eye with them, nor will you discover any faults
of orthography or grammatical errors."
It is safe to infer that the additional labour
involved in duplicating from the outset all his
letters, so that he might retain copies of them,
was not undertaken without the expectation of
ultimately bringing them together into a col-
lection for publication, like the correspondence
' There are but three hundred and forty-seven in the codices used
by Fracassetti. See Let. delle Cos. Fam., v., p. no.
'■* Castigata, i. <?. , without any flourishes such as disfigure the manu-
scripts of the period. See the facsimile of Petrarch's own clear
handwriting, p. 238.
152 Petrarcn
of Seneca and that of Abelard, with both of which
he was famihar. (Of Cicero's letters he knew
little if anything- until he himself discovered a
copy of part of them at Verona, in 1345, when
he was already forty-one years old, too late for
them to exercise any decisive influence upon
the formation of his epistolary style/) He
had, moreover, long before the editing began,
promised his friend " Socrates " that these prose
epistles should be dedicated to him."^ There
can even be no doubt that individual letters
were destined for a more or less wide circle of
readers, as is shown by their careful composi-
tion and, here and there, by a naive confession,
as in the repetition for the benefit of others
of the earlier part of the story of the gold-
smith, with which the friend to whom he was
writing was already familiar.^ Indeed he
closes his collection with an explicit appeal
to the " candid reader, whoever thou art," ex-
horting him by their common love for the
same studies not to allow himself to be dis-
turbed by the confusion and unstudied lan-
guage of the work, but to recall the excuses
offered in the Preface. ^
' The other great classical collections of letters, Pliny's, appears to
have been unknown to Petrarch. See, further, p. 230 sq.
^ See above, p. 134. ^ See below, p. 172.
* Fam., xxiv., 13 (vol. iii., p. 307).
Biographical 153
The entire prose correspondence of Petrarch
falls into four divisions. The largest group,
the one that he discusses in the Preface given
above, embraces three hundred and forty-seven
letters, which were written between the years
1332 and 1362/ To this collection, which
filled the " not too huge volume," he decided
to give the unassuming general title of De
Rebus Familiaribus, by which he meant to
imply that every-day topics were therein dis-
cussed with his friends, with no especial atten-
tion to style. He evidently wished to avoid
any possible inference that he supposed that
so miscellaneous and heterogeneous a mass of
work could possess real literary form and merit.
The title may fairly enough, if not literally, be
translated Letters of Friendly Intercourse.
A second and much smaller collection was
formed from those which could not be included
in the main volume without unduly increasing
its bulk.^ About seventy of these have been
re-discovered, and constitute the so-called Mis-
cellaneous Letters {Epistola Varies).
But the editing of this earlier correspondence
did not bring the work to a close ; the love of
his friends admitted no conclusion to the task.
' One earlier letter (1326), and a half dozen written later, have
found their way into this group. '^Fam., xxiv., 13 (vol. iii., p. 306).
154 Petrarch
"Their messages," he declares, "will still con-
tinue to come and I must continue to reply to
them." Consequently a new division of the
correspondence was formed, the important
EpistoliB de Rebus Scnilibus, — Letter's of Old
Age, — which were written during the last
twelve years of the poet's life. A short dedi-
cation to " Simonides " {i.e., Francesco Nelli)
is prefixed to them.' There are one hundred
and twenty-four in this group, some of them
very long.
Lastly, there is a little group of about
twenty letters, some of which contained such
frank strictures upon the regime of the popes
at Avignon that Petrarch found it expedient
to put them by themselves and to suppress the
names of those to whom they were addressed.
These, the EpistolcB sine Titiilo, ^ are so acrid
in tone, and so unmeasured in the abuse which
they heap upon the degraded churchmen, that
their author has sometimes mistakenly been
reckoned as a forerunner of the Reformation ;
but, as we shall see, he had no thought of
questioning a single dogma of the Catholic
Church.
' Sen., i., I, and iii., i.
' In the Basle editions of the works, and in the editions of the let-
ters published in 1601, some letters are included among the EpistoliS
sine Titulo which apparently do not belong there.
Biographical 155
Of the Letters of Fric7idly Intercourse,
scarcely half appear in the most complete of
the older printed editions/ but they have, not
long since, been edited in full by Giuseppe
Fracassetti, who includes no less than one hun-
dred and twenty-eight never before printed.
The Epistolce Varies — Miscellaneous Letters —
are also to be found in his excellent edition.^
The Letters of Old Age were early printed
in their entirety, but unfortunately have not
been reproduced since 1581. If one would
read them in the original he must still turn to
the miserable Basle editions of the works,
which would almost appear to have been
printed by persons unfamiliar with the rudi-
ments of Latin, so numerous and incredible
are the typographical errors which not only
try the reader's temper but often entirely
obscure the meaning.
How far Petrarch modified the original form
of the letters in editing them is an important
question, but one upon which we have but lit-
tle information. He says in the Preface that
the unworthy expedient occurred to him of
suppressing such letters as exhibited his past
' Not more than one-third are to be found in the Basle editions of
1554 and 1581.
* Francisci PetrarccB Epistola de Rebus Familiaribus et Varies,
studio et cura Josephi Fracassetti, Tom. iii., 8°, Florentias, 1859-63.
15^ Petrarch
weakness, or so chano;ino; their order that he
should at least appear in a more favourable
light. But this, he decided, would be quite
useless, since his friends possessed the properly
dated originals. On the other hand, he cert-
ainly destroyed a large number of his papers.
What canons he adopted in his selection we
cannot determine, but obviously the temptation
to exclude those which might seem to place
him in a false position must have been almost
irresistible. Moreover, he did not hesitate, as
we have seen, in order to avoid repetition and
monotony, to so alter the language that he felt
it necessary to ask his friends, in some in-
stances, to destroy their original copies lest
they should be hurt by the changes he had
made.
There seems to be no doubt that the Letters
of Friejidly Intercoiwse are arranged in the
codices, and published by Fracassetti, in the
order in which Petrarch first placed them.
His intention was to observe chronological se-
quence, for he says explicitly that with the ex-
ception of the letters to dead authors, which he
put together at the end of the volume, almost
all the rest remained in the order in which they
were written. ' While this is true in general,
' Fam., xxiv., 13 (vol. iii., p. 306).
Biographical 157
there are many obvious exceptions. Unfortun-
ately he did not ordinarily indicate the year,
but only the day and the month upon which
he wrote. It is very probable, therefore, that
in arranging the letters years later he was
often unable to determine just where a letter
belonged. Fracassetti has devoted a crreat
deal of attention to establishing the dates,
where it is possible,^ and has in this way done
much to make the course of the poet's life
clearer.
There is but one letter amongf those which
have been preserved to which an earlier date
than 1 33 1 can be ascribed. The series be-
gins, therefore, in Petrarch's twenty-seventh
or twenty-eighth year. Some ninety of the let-
ters were probably written before he was forty,
but the great bulk of them belong to his later
years. Almost one-half of those included in
the various collections were composed after he
had reached fifty.
It will naturally be asked if any of the re-
plies called forth by Petrarch during toward
half a century of indefatigable letter-writing
have come down to us. A few only have been
preserved. Recently a little volume contain-
ing thirty letters from his Florentine friend
' In the notes to his Italian version of the letters.
158 Petrarch
Francesco Nelli, has been pubHshed.' Besides
these, there are four letters from Boccaccio,^
one from Rienzo,^ one from the Emperor
Charles IV./ three from Guglielmo di Pas-
trengo,^ five from the enthusiastic young Hu-
manist, Coluccio Salutati,*' and perhaps a very
few others. With these exceptions, Petrarch's
correspondence includes only his own letters ;
and his friends often exist for us only in his
kindly allusions to them. This is pre-emi-
nently true of "Socrates" and " Lselius," to
whom so many of the letters are addressed.
' Lettres de Francesco Nelli h Pitrarque, publiees par Henry
Cochin, Paris, 1892.
^ In Le Lettere di Boccaccio, edited by Corazzini, Florence, 1877.
^ In the Epistolario di Cola di Rienzo, edited by Gabrielli, Rome,
1890.
^ In Mehus's Vita Ambrosii, p. 191. Translated into Italian by
Fracassetti, Let. delle Cos. Fam., iv., 85 sq.
^ These were formerly attributed to Petrarch, and are printed in
the Venetian edition of his letters (1503). See Fracassetti, Let. delle
Cos. Fam., ii., 439 sqq.
' In the Epistolarium de Coluccio Sahitati, edited by Novati, vol. i.
II
PETRARCH AND HIS LITERARY
CONTEMPORARIES
159
Quotidie epistolas, quotidie carmina omnis in caput
hoc nostri orbis angulus pluit ; . . . jam nee Gallis
modo, sed Graiis et Teutonis et Britannis tempestatibus
litterarum pulsor, omnium ingeniorum arbiter, mei ipsius
ignarus. — Fatn., xiii., 7.
160
THE following letters have been selected
with a view to illustratinof Petrarch's atti-
tude toward the Italian language and litera-
ture, his estimate of the other writers of his
time, especially Dante and Boccaccio, and, in
general, his literary ideals, and habits of work.
An effort has been made to secure some con-
tinuity by the arrangement of the matter and
the accompanying explanations, but any strictly
logical presentation is precluded by the mis-
cellaneous contents of the letters themselves.
The reader is left, in most cases, to make his
own deductions from Petrarch's words, but a
brief excursus is added here and there, with
the hope of emphasising some of the more
important points.
The first two letters would indicate that there
was a wide-spread interest in literature during
the fourteenth century, and that Petrarch was
looked upon as the highest tribunal before
which the aspirant could lay his work. Few
of his letters are more instructive or are written
i6i
102 Petrarch
in a lighter and more fehcitous tone than the
one which follows.
PetrarcJis Passion for Work — The Trials of a
Man of Letters
To the Abbot of St. Benigiio '
Strangely enough I long to write, but do not
know what or to whom. This inexorable passion
has such a hold upon me that pen, ink, and paper,
and work prolonged far into the night, are more to
my liking than repose and sleep. In short, I find
myself always in a sad and languishing state when
I am not writing, and, anomalous though it seems,
I labour when I rest, and find my rest in labour.
My mind is hard as rock, and you might well think
that it really sprang from one of Deucalion's stones.
Let this tireless spirit pore eagerly over the parch-
ment, until it has exhausted both fingers and eyes by
the long strain, yet it feels neither heat nor cold, but
would seem to be reclining upon the softest down.
It is only fearful that it may be dragged away, and
holds fast the mutinous members. Only when
sheer necessity has compelled it to quit does it begin
to flag. It takes a recess as a lazy ass takes his
pack when he is ordered up a sharp hill, and comes
back again to its task as a tired ass to his well-filled
manger. My mind finds itself refreshed by pro-
longed exercise, as the beast of burden by his food
' Fam.. xiii., 7. This is the only letter that is preserved of
Petrarch to this person.
Literary Contemporaries 163
and rest. What then am I to do, since I cannot
stop writing, or bear even the thought of rest ? I
write to you, not because what I have to say touches
you nearly, but because there is no one so accessible
just now who is at the same time so eager for
news, especially about me, and so intelligently in-
terested in strange and mysterious phenomena, and
ready to investigate them.
I have just told you something of my condition
and of my indefatigable brain, but I will tell you now
an incident which may surprise you even more, and
will at the same time prove the truth of what I
have said. It happened at a time when, after a
long period of neglect, I had just taken up my
Africa again, and that with an ardour like that of
the African sun itself. This is the task which, if
anything will help me, I trust may some time
moderate or assuage my insatiable thirst for work.
One of my very dearest friends, seeing that I was
almost done for with my immoderate toil, suddenly
asked me to grant him a very simple favour. Al-
though I was unaware of the nature of his request, I
could not refuse one who I knew would ask nothing
except in the friendliest spirit. He thereupon de-
manded the key of my cabinet. I gave it to him,
wondering what he would do, when he proceeded to
gather together and lock up carefully all my books
and writing materials. Then, turning away, he
prescribed ten days of rest, and ordered me, in view
of my promise, neither to read nor write during that
time. I saw his trick ; to him I now seemed to be
resting, although in reality I felt as if I were bound
1 64 Petrarch
hand and foot. That day passed wearily, seeming
as long as a year. The next day I had a headache
from morning till night. The third day dawned
and I began to feel the first signs of fever, when my
friend returned, and seeing my plight gave me back
the keys. I quickly recovered, and perceiving that
I lived on work, as he expressed it, he never repeated
his request.
Is it then true that this disease of writing, like
other malignant disorders, is, as the Satirist claims,
incurable, and, as I begin to fear, contagious as
well ? How many, do you reckon, have caught it
from me ? Within our memory, it was rare enough
for people to write verses.' But now there is no one
who does not write them ; few indeed write anything
else. Some think that the fault, so far as our con-
temporaries are concerned, is largely mine. I have
heard this from many, but I solemnly declare, as I
hope some time to be granted immunity from the
other ills of the soul — for I look for none from this
— that I am now at last suddenly awakened for the
first time by warning signs to a consciousness that
this may perhaps be true ; while intent only upon
my own welfare, I may have been unwittingly injur-
ing, at the same time, myself and others. I fear that
the reproaches of an aged father, who unexpectedly
came to me, with a long face and almost in tears,
may not be without foundation. " While I," he
said, " have always honoured your name, see the
return you make in compassing the ruin of my only
son!" I stood for a time in embarrassed silence,
' HcEC, here used, we may safely infer, means verses.
Literary Contemporaries 165
for the age of the man and the expression of his
face, which told of great sorrow, went to my heart.
Then, recovering myself, I replied, as was quite true,
that I was unacquainted either with him or his son.
"What matters it," the old man answered, "whether
you know him or not ? He certainly knows you. I
have spent a great deal in providing instruction for
him in the civil law, but he declares that he wishes
to follow in your footsteps. My fondest hopes have
been disappointed, and I presume that he will never
be either a lawyer or a poet." At this neither I nor
the others present could refrain from laughter, and
he went off none the better humoured. But now I
recognise that this merriment was ill-timed, and
that the poor old man deserved our consolation, for
his complaints and his reproaches were not un-
grounded. Our sons formerly employed themselves
in preparing such papers as might be useful to them-
selves or their friends, relating to family affairs,
business, or the wordy din of the courts. Now we
are all engaged in the same occupation, and it is
literally true, as Horace says, " learned or unlearned,
we are all writing verses alike."
It is after all but a poor consolation to have
companions in misery. I should prefer to be ill by
myself. Now I am involved in others' ill-fortune
as well as in my own, and am hardly given time to
take breath. For every day letters and poems from
ev^ery corner of our land come showering down upon
my devoted head. Nor does this satisfy my foreign
friends. I am overwhelmed by floods of missives,
no longer from France alone, but from Greece,
1 66 Petrarch
from Germany, from England. I am unable to
judge even my own work, and yet I am called upon
to be the universal critic of others. Were I to an-
swer the requests in detail, I should be the busiest
of mortals. If I condemn the composition, I am a
jealous carper at the good work of others; if I say
a good word for the thing, it is attributed to a men-
dacious desire to be agreeable; if I keep silence
altogether, it is because I am a rude, pert fellow.
They are afraid, I infer, that my disease will not
make way with me promptly enough. Between their
goading and my own madness I shall doubtless
gratify their wishes.
But all this would be nothing if, incredible as it
may seem, this subtle poison had not just now begun
to show its effects in the Roman Curia itself. What
do you think the lawyers and doctors are up to ?
Justinian and yEsculapius have palled upon them.
The sick and the litigious cry in vain for their help,
for they are deafened by the thunder of Homer's
and Virgil's names, and wander oblivious in the
woody valleys of Cirrha, by the purling w^aters of
the Aonian fountain. But it is hardly necessary to
speak of these lesser prodigies. Even carpenters,
fullers, and ploughmen leave the implements of their
calling to talk of Apollo and the Muses. I cannot
say how far the plague, which lately was confined to
a few, has now spread.
If you would find an explanation for all this, you
must recollect that although the delights of poetry
are most exquisite, they can be fully understood
only by the rarest geniuses, who are careless of
Literary Contemporaries 167
wealth and possess a marked contempt for the things
of this world, and who are by nature especially en-
dowed with a peculiar elevation and freedom of soul.'
Consequently, as experience and the authority of
the most learned writers agree, in no branch of art can
mere industry and application accomplish so little.
Hence — and you may find it comical although it dis-
gusts me — all the poets are nowadays to be found
on the street corner, and we can descry scarcely one
on Helicon itself. They are all nibbling at the Pierian
honeycomb, but no one can manage to digest it.
How delightful indeed must this gift be to those who
really possess it, when it can exercise such a fascina-
tion over sluggish minds, and in our vain and de-
generate age can induce even the most avaricious to
leave the pursuit of gain ! On one thing, at least,
our country may be congratulated : in spite of all the
tares and sterile stalks which cumber the earth, some
signs of true youthful genius are to be discovered.
Some, if I am not misled by my hopes, will not
drink in vain of the Castalian spring. — I felicitate
thee, Mantua, beloved of the Muses, thee, Padua,
thee, Verona, thee, Cimbria,^ thee, Sulmo, and
thee, Parthenope, home of Maro, when I see else-
where the thirsty herd of upstart poetasters wander-
ing drearily among uncertain byways!
It pricks my conscience that I should be responsi-
^ I.e., a soul able to free itself from the influence of the mere word
and perceive the hidden allegorical meaning which to Petrarch was
the essence of real poetry. See below, p. 233 sqq.
■ This name is perhaps incorrect, owing to some error in the MSS.
upon which Fracassetti based his edition.
1 68 Petrarch
ble in great part for fostering all these forms of liter-
ary madness, and should have misled others through
my example, — by no means the least of offences. I
fear lest those laurel leaves, which in my eagerness I
tore prematurely from the branch, may in a way be
answerable for the trouble. While, as many believe,
they have been the means of bringing true dreams
to me, they have caused in others a multitude of
delusive visions, which were allowed to escape while
all the world was asleep, through the ivory gates, into
the autumnal air. But never mind, I suffer for my
sins, for I am in a rage if I stay at home, and yet
hardly dare nowadays to venture into the street.
If I do, wild fellows rush up from every side and
seize upon me, asking advice, giving me suggestions,
disputing and fighting among themselves. They
discover meanings in the poets of which the Man-
tuan shepherd, or the old blind man of McEonia never
dreamed. I become more and more irritated, and
at last begin to fear that I may be dragged off before
a magistrate for breaking the peace.
But how I am running on ! I have spun a whole
letter out of mere trifles. . . .' I have just
arrived here,' and will await you as long as I possibly
can. I know not whether it be that the air here
renders the mind less susceptible to foreign impres-
sions, or whether this " closed valley " does, as its
name indicates, shut out alien preoccupations, but
certain it is that, although I have from my earliest
' About a page is omitted here relating to some lucrative or honour-
able appointment which Petrarch's friends were anxious to obtain for
him. ' /. e., at Vaucluse.
Literary Contemporaries 169
manhood spent many years here, none of the in-
habitants have yet become poets through contagious
contact with me, with the sole exception of one of
my farm-hands. Although advanced in years he, as
Persius hath it, is beginning to dream on the two-
peaked Parnassus. If the disease spreads I am un-
done. Shepherds, fishermen, hunters, ploughboys,
— all would be carried away, even the cows would
low in numbers and ruminate sonnets. Do not
forget me. Farewell.
Fountain of the Sorgue.
The Visit to the Goldsmith at Bei'gamo
To Neri Morando '
Enough has been said of my own trifling ex-
periences, and the story of the wound inflicted upon
me by Cicero has reached an unconscionable length.^
But I will add another incident to prove that Cicero
is not the only one who enjoyed the affection of
those who had never seen him. Although an old
story to you, it may nevertheless arouse new in-
terest when you hear it again.
From here I have always in sight a certain Alpine
town, the Italian Pergamum,' to distinguish it from
an Asiatic city of the same name, which, as you
' Fam., xxi., ii. The events here narrated probably occurred in
1359-
'■* Petrarch had just finished one letter to Morando, in which he
had told him of a wound received on the heel from a great copy of
Cicero's works, which had fallen down and struck him.
3
Berga
mo.
1 70 Petrarch
know, was once the capital of Attalus, who be-
queathed his possessions to Rome. In our Perga-
mum there lives a certain man, who, while he has
but a slight knowledge of literature, possesses a
good mind, — had he earlier applied himself to study.
By profession he is a goldsmith, remarkably success-
ful in the practice of his art; he enjoys moreover
the best gift that nature can bestow, for he is an
admirer and lover of all that is good and beautiful.
The gold in which he works, and other forms of
worldly wealth, appeal to him only in so far as they
are means to higher ends. This old man, having
heard of me by reputation, was immediately seized
with a most ardent desire to win my friendship.
It would be a long story were I to recount all the
devices he used in order to gratify this modest
wish. By constant, courteous attentions and com-
pliments to me and to those about me, he at last
succeeded in his ardent efforts to bridge the chasm
between us. While I had never seen him before, I
knew his name and object, indeed his longing was
plainly depicted in his face and expression. No one
surely would have been so rude and surly as to refuse
to see him under the circumstances. How could
I have done otherwise ? I was completely van-
quished by the man's attractive countenance and
his sincere and persistent attentions, and received
him with hearty and unreserved good-will; indeed,
it would have been inhuman to have rejected such
proofs of genuine affection. His exultation and
pride were at once obvious in every accent and ges-
ture. He seemed to have reached the very summit
Literary Contemporaries 171
of his fondest hopes and to be metamorphosed by
his joy.
He began long ago to spend no small part of
his patrimony in my honour. In every corner of
his house he placed the arms, name, and portrait
of his new friend, whose face was even more deeply
graven in his heart. Another portion of his wealth
he devoted to procuring copies of anything of mine
which he could get hold of, no matter what might
be its character. I could not be very hard-hearted
when it came to letting so enthusiastic and novel a
collector have what I certainly would have denied a
man of more consequence. He moreover gradually
weaned himself from his previous life, habits, and
interests, and so completely altered his whole former
self as to be a source of utter astonishment to his
friends.
In one matter, however, he refused to be guided
by me, and, in spite of my opposition and frequent
admonitions that he should not, at so late a day, ex-
change his customary vocations for a life of study,
he finally left his shop and began to frequent the
schools and cultivate teachers of the liberal arts.
He took the greatest delight in his new life and was
extremely sanguine as to the results. I cannot say
how he actually got along, but he certainly merited
the highest degree of success in his fond undertak-
ing. No one could have shown greater ardour in a
good cause, or more contempt for the less worthy
objects of desire. He was at least equipped with
a good mind and great enthusiasm, and could find
plenty of teachers in his city. His age seemed to
172 ~ Petrarch
be the only obstacle, although I well know that Plato
took up the study of philosophy late in life, and
Cato made no little progress in Greek literature
when he was already an old man. Perhaps it is but
right that this man should for this very reason find
a niche in some of my works. So I will add that he
is called Henry, his surname being Capra,' a most
energetic and lively animal, fond of leaves and al-
ways climbing upwards. For these reasons Varro
believes that the name is, by a transposition of
letters, derived from this animal's tendency to
nibble twigs, and certainly carpa and capra are not
very unlike. If anyone ever deserved the name it
is our friend, who, if he had got at the woods in the
morning would have returned with a full paunch
and plenty of milk. All this you yourself have
heard often enough, but I tell it for the benefit of
others.^ The rest of my story you do not yet
know.
This fellow, whose character and devotion to me
I have so carefully portrayed, had long been urging
me to honour him and his lares with a visit, and by a
sojourn of at least a single day to render him, as he
put it, happy and renowned to all future generations.
I continued, however, not without difficulty, to
postpone his desire for several years. But at last,
influenced by the nearness of the place, and over-
' Namely, she-goat.
** . . . sed noscenda aliis dicta sint. Petrarch always wished
his letters to be complete even at the risk of repetition. We have
here a frank confession that he was not writing for the benefit of the
friend alone to whom the letter was addressed. Fracassetti has per-
versely translated this passage, odi adesso quel che ancora non sai.
Literary Contemporaries 173
come not only by prayers but by objurations and
tears, I consented to accompany him, in spite of the
objections of my more haughty friends, to whom he
seemed unworthy of the honour.
I reached Bergamo on the evening of October
thirteenth. My host had accompanied me the
whole of the way, and, in constant fear lest I might
perhaps change my mind, he and those with him
exerted all their powers of invention to discover
topics of conversation which might make the way
less wearisome. Thus we traversed a short and
easy road without fatigue. A few gentlemen had
accompanied me with the special purpose of finding
out what this enthusiastic person might have in
store.
Well, when we approached the town I was cordially
received by friends who had come out to meet me.
They, with the Podestk, the Captain of the People,
and other local magistrates, vied with each other in
urging me to put up at the palazzo or at some
gentleman's house. All this time my poor gold-
smith was trembling for fear I might give in to such
insistence. But I did w^hat I believed to be proper
under the circumstances, and alighted with my com-
panions at the house of my more humble friend.
There I was received with great pomp, and sat down
to a kingly banquet rather than to the good cheer
of an artisan or philosopher. My couch of purple
was spread in a room glittering with gold, where,
as my host swore by all that was holy, no one else
had ever slept or ever would sleep. The books I
found were not technical, but such as would be
1 74 Petrarch
dear to a student and a lover of good literature.
Here I passed the night. Certainly no one ever
enjoyed the hospitality of so delighted a host. In
fact his delight was so great that his friends began
to fear for his sanity, or lest, as has happened to
not a few, he should actually die of joy.
The next day I departed, loaded with honours
and surrounded by a great crowd. The Podesta
and many others whose society I did not care for
accompanied me much farther on my way than was
agreeable. It was late before I had finally shaken
off my fervid host and was again at my country
place.
You have now heard, good Neri, what I had in
mind to tell you, and this nocturnal epistle must
come to an end, — for my anxiety to get my letter
done has kept me writing straight on until nearly
dawn. I am weary now and the morning quiet
invites me to enjoy the best part of the night for
slumber. Farewell, remember your friend.
Written with a rural pen, just before light, on
October 15.
The three following letters furnish a very
clear expression of Petrarch's feelings towards
the Italian lanoruao-e and his g-reat collaborat-
ors in its formation, Dante and Boccaccio,
Grieved by a certain indifference which his
friend exhibited towards Dante, Boccaccio, soon
after his return from a visit to Petrarch, sent
Literary Contemporaries 175
him a copy of the Divine Comedy} Accom-
panying the vokime was a Latin poem, in which
he requested that Petrarch read the work of his
distinguished fellow-citizen and place it among
his other books.^
The letter that Petrarch wrote in acknow-
ledgment of the gift is one of the most import-
ant in his correspondence. Strangely enough,
there are but two in all the vast collection of
prose letters in which he makes any allusions to
Dante, and then never by name. In one of his
lesser works he narrates one or two anecdotes
of Dante's brusqueness towards the despots
whose hospitality he enjoyed.^ It is neverthe-
' A MS. of the Divine Comedy in the Vatican has, it would ap-
pear, been at last satisfactorily proven to be the very one which
Boccaccio sent. See Pakscher's scholarly paper in Zeitschrift fur
romanische Philologie, vol. x., p. 226 sqq. De Nolhac has reached
the same conclusion ; cf. La Bibliotheque de Fulvio Orsini, p. 304.
* The little poem closes with the lines :
Hunc oro, mi care nimis spesque unica nostrum,
Concivem doctumque satis pariterque poetam
Suscipe, junge tuis, lauda, cole, perlege. Nam si
Feceris hoc, magnis, et te decorabis et ilium
Laudibus, O nostrse eximium decus urbis et orbis."
Corazzini, Le Lettere di Boccaccio, p. 54. Also in Fracassetti's Let.
delle Cos. Fam., iv., pp. 399, 400.
* " Rerum Memorandum," Opera, p. 427. The misprints in the
Basle editions give the anecdotes an ill-natured turn which Petrarch
did not intend. The opening of the passage should read : Dante
Algherius et ipse concivus nuper meus, vir vulgari eloquio clarissi-
mus Jiat sed moribus parumper contumacior [the Basle editions have
par urn per contumaciam] et oralione liber ior quam delicatis et fastid-
1 76 Petrarch
less probably unfair to accuse Petrarch of jeal-
ousy. In the first place, the assumption that
he had never read the Divine Comedy is hardly
justifiable. It is true that he did not possess a
copy of the work, and that Boccaccio urged him
to read and cherish it. But he must assuredly
have been acquainted with the writings of an
author whom he declared to be without ques-
tion the greatest master of the vernacular.
The reader can, however, reach his own con-
clusions, as all the data which we have are
given below. He should remember that Pe-
trarch was placed in a trying position. It is
impossible to appear wholly unconstrained and
natural when one is meeting the charge of jeal-
ousy towards a popular contemporary. Then,
a scholar or an author may not be completely
or enthusiastically in sympathy with some of his
fellow-workers to whom he would nevertheless
accord a very high rank. We may safely infer
that Petrarch was not drawn towards Dante, al-
though he frankly acknowledged his greatness.
The two men had much in common, their
Christian humanism for example,' but Dante's
iosis (Tiatis nostnr priucipttrtt auribus atque octtlis acceptnm ftiit,
etc. See Hortis, StuJi sulle Opere Latine del Boccaccio, Trieste,
1879, p. 303.
' See the close of the fourth canto of the " Inferno," and especially
the Coiivito, iv., ch. 4.
Literary Contemporaries 177
devotion to mediaeval theology and science
must have repelled the younger poet, whose
studies were exclusively literary, including per-
haps moral philosophy and history, but utterly
foreiorn to the lucubrations of Peter Lombard
or Thomas Aquinas. An able Italian critic ^ has
suggested that we may find an analogy between
Petrarch's attitude toward Dante, and that of
Erasmus toward Luther, or Voltaire' s toward
Rousseau, Once, when but eight years old, he
had seen the dark, emaciated poet of the Ghi-
bellines. The harsh manner and the haughty
profile of the man may, as Carducci says, have
impressed the rosy youngster with fear and
created a feeling of dislike which he did not
entirely outgrow.
The second letter to Boccaccio upon the Ital-
ian poets was written some five years after the
one of which we have been speaking, and a dif-
ference in the tone of the references to Dante
is perhaps perceptible. The Trwuji, the latest
of Petrarch's Italian poems, somewhat resemble
in style the Divine Comedy, and were perhaps
written partly with the aim of showing that he
could rise to the same high strain.
Petrarch entertained much less regard for
the vulgar tongue than Dante and Boccaccio,
' Carducci, Studi Letterari, 2d ed., p. 334.
178 Petrarch
because more completely engrossed by the
strength of the Latin. To him "prose and
verse," as we shall see, meant compositions in
Latin, which was alone adapted to the highest
purposes of expression. From his scornful
treatment of the Italian language the reader
will naturally turn to the first book of Dante's
Convito^ or to his little treatise, The Vernacular
{De Vulgari Eloquio), where the advantages
and weaknesses of the mother tongue are sym-
pathetically discussed.
Pet rare lis Disclaims all jealousy of Dante
To Boccaccio *
There are many things in your letter which do not
require any answer; those, for example, which we
have lately settled face to face. Two points there
were, however, which it seemed to me should not
be passed over in silence, and I will briefly write
down such reflections concerning them as may occur
to me. In the first place, you excuse yourself with
some heat for seeming to praise unduly a certain
poet, a fellow-citizen of ours, who in point of style
is very popular, and who has certainly chosen a
noble theme. You beg my pardon for this, as if I
regarded anything said in his, or anyone else's
praise, as detracting from my own. You assert, for
' The best edition is that of Dr. Moore (Clarendon Press, Oxford).
- Fam., xxi., 15 (probably written in 1359).
Literary Contemporaries 179
instance, that if I will only look closely at what you
say of him, I shall find that it all reflects glory upon
me. You take pains to explain, in extenuation
of your favourable attitude towards him, that he
was your first light and guide in your early studies.
Your praise is certainly only a just and dutiful ac-
knowledgment of his services, an expression of what
I may call filial piety. If we owe all to those who be-
got and brought us forth, and much to those who
are the authors of our fortunes, what shall we say of
our debt to the parents and fashioners of our minds ?
How much more, indeed, is due to those who refine
the mind than to those who tend the body, he will
perceive who assigns to each its just value; for the
one, it will be seen, is an immortal gift, the other,
corruptible and destined to pass away.
Continue, then, not by my sufferance simply, but
with my approbation, to extol and cherish this poet,
the guiding star of your intellect, who has afforded
you courage and light in the arduous way by
which you are pressing stoutly on towards a most
glorious goal. He has long been buffeted and
wearied by the windy plaudits of the multitude.
Honour him now and exalt him by sincere praise
worthy alike of you and of him, and, you may be
sure, not unpleasing to me. He is worthy of such
a herald, while you, as you say, are the natural one
to assume the office. I therefore accept your song
of praise with all my heart, and join with you in
extolling the poet you celebrate therein.'
' This refers to the poem, spoken of above, with which Boccaccio
accompanied his copy of Dante.
i8o Petrarch
Hence there was nothing in your letter of explan-
ation to disturb me except the discovery that I am
still so ill understood by you who, as I firmly be-
lieved, knew me thoroughly. You think, then, that
I do not take pleasure in the praises of illustri-
ous men and glory in them ? Believe me, nothing
is more foreign to me than jealousy ; there is no
scourge of which I know less. On the contrary, in
order that you may see how far I am from such
feelings, I call upon Him before whom all hearts
are open to witness that few things in life have
caused me more pain than to see the meritorious
passed by, utterly without recognition or reward.
Not that I am deploring my own lot, or looking for
personal gain; I am mourning the common fate of
mankind, as I behold the reward of the nobler arts
falling to the meaner, I am not unaware that al-
though the reputation which attaches to right con-
duct may stimulate the mind to deserve it, true virtue
is, as the philosophers say, a stimulus to itself; it is
its own reward, its own guide, its own end and aim.
Nevertheless, now that you have yourself suggested
a theme which I should not voluntarily have chosen,
I shall proceed to refute for you, and through you for
others, the commonly accepted notion of my judg»
ment of this poet. It is not only false, as Quintilian
says of the construction put upon his criticism, of
Seneca,' but it is insidious and, with many, out-and-
' Quintilian's strictures on Seneca's style had given rise to the
opinion that he not only disapproved of Seneca's works, but hated
him personally. He reiules {/nstitutes, x., i) that " vulgatam falso de
me opinionem, qua damnare eum [sc. Senecam] et invisum quoque
Literary Contemporaries i8i
out malevolent. My enemies say that I hate and
despise him, and in this way stir up the common
herd against me, for with them he is extremely
popular. This is indeed a novel kind of perversity,
and shows a marvellous aptitude for harming others.
But truth herself shall defend me.
In the first place, there can be no possible cause
for ill-will towards a man whom I never saw but
once, and that in my very earliest childhood. He
lived with my grandfather and my father,' being
younger than the former, but older than my father,
with whom, on the same day and by the same civil
commotion, he was driven from his country into
exile. At such a time strong friendships are often
formed between companions in misery. This proved
especially true of these two men, since in their case
not only a similar fate but a community of taste
and a love for the same studies, served to bring
them together. My father, however, forced by
other cares and by regard for his family, succumbed
to the natural influences of exile, while his friend
resisted, throwing himself, indeed, with even greater
ardour into what he had undertaken, neglecting
everything else and desirous alone of future fame.
habere sum creditus." This naturally seemed to Petrarch a very
exact analogy to the charges of jealousy brought against him.
' Cum avo patreque meo vixit. The reader is left to conjecture
how intimate Dante and Petracco may have been when they lived
together in Florence. Petrarch, in a reference to his father in Sen.,
X., 2, would lead us to infer that he was born about 1252, twelve or
thirteen years before Dante. There seems to be no means of decid-
ing whether that statement or the one given in this letter, which
makes Dante the older, is nearer the truth.
1 82 Petrarch
In this I can scarce admire and praise him enough,
— that neither the injustice of his fellow-citizens,
nor exile, nor poverty, nor the attacks of his ene-
mies, neither the love of wife, nor solicitude for his
children, could divert him from the path he had
once decided upon, when so many who are highly
endowed are yet so weak of purpose that they are
swerved from their course by the least disturbance.
And this most often happens to writers of v^erse, for
silence and quiet are especially requisite for those
who have to care not only for the thought and the
words but the felicitous turn as well. Thus you
will see that my supposed hate for this poet, which
has been trumped up by I know not whom, is an
odious and ridiculous invention, since there is abso-
lutely no reason for such repugnance, but, on the
contrary, every reason for partiality, on account of
our common country, his friendship with my father,
his genius, and his style, the best of its kind, which
must always raise him far above contempt.
This brings us to the second reproach cast upon
me, which is based upon the fact that, although in
my early years I was very eager in my search for
books of all kinds, I never possessed a copy of this
poet's work, which would naturally have attracted
me most at that age. While exceedingly anxious
to obtain other books which I had little hope of
finding, I showed a strange indifference, quite foreign
to me. towards this one, although it was readily pro-
curable. The fact I admit, but I deny the motives
which are urged by my enemies. At that time I too
was devoting my powers to compositions in the
Literary Contemporaries 183
vernacular; I was convinced that nothing could be
finer, and had not yet learned to look higher. I
feared, however, in view of the impressionableness
of youth and its readiness to admire everything,
that, if I should imbue myself with his or any other
writer's verses, I might perhaps unconsciously and
against my will come to be an imitator. In the
ardour of youth this thought filled me with aversion.
Such was my self-confidence and enthusiasm that I
deemed my own powers quite sufficient, without any
mortal aid, to produce an original style all my own,
in the species of production upon which I was en-
gaged. It is for others to judge whether I was right
in this. But I must add that if anything should be
discovered in my Italian writings resembling, or
even identical with, what has been said by him or
others, it cannot be attributed to secret or conscious
imitation. This rock I have always endeavoured to
avoid, especially in my writings in the vernacular,
although it is possible that, either by accident or,
as Cicero says, owing to similar ways of thinking, I
may ignorantly have traversed the same path as
others.' If you ever believe me, believe me now;
accept this as the real explanation of my conduct.
Nothing can be more strictly true; and if my mod-
esty and sense of propriety did not seem to you
sufficient to vouch for this, my youthful pride at
any rate certainly might have explained it.
To-day, however, I have left these anxieties far
' This matter of plagiarism is a subject to which Petrarch often
reverts in his letters. He realised the difficulty of producing anything
essentially new after the great works of classical antiquity.
1 84 Petrarch
behind, and, having done so, I am freed from my
former apprehension, and can now unreservedly ad-
mire other writers, him above all. At that time I
was submitting work of my own to the verdict of
others, whereas now I am merely passing my own
silent verdicts upon my fellows. I find that my opin-
ion varies as regards all the rest, but in his case there
can be no room for doubt ; without hesitation I yield
him the palm for skill in the use of the vulgar tongue.
They lie, then, who assert that I carp at his renown ;
I, who probably understand better than the major-
ity of these foolish and immoderate admirers of his
what it is that merely tickles their ears, without
their knowing why, but cannot penetrate their thick
heads, because the avenues of intelligence are ob-
structed. They belong to the same class that Cicero
brands in his Rhetoric, who " read fine orations or
beautiful poems, and praise the orators or poets, and
yet do not know what it is that has aroused their
admiration, for they lack the ability to see where the
thing is that most pleases them, or what it is, or how
it is produced." If this happens with Demosthenes
and Cicero, Homer and Virgil, among learned men
and in the schools, how will it fare with our poet
among the rude fellows who frequent the taverns
and public squares ?
As for me, far from scorning his work, I admire
and love him, and in justice to myself I may venture
to add that if he had been permitted to live until
this time he would have found few friends more
devoted to him than myself, provided, of course,
that I had found his character as attractive as his
genius. On the other hand, there are none to
Literary Contemporaries 185
whom he would have been more obnoxious than
these same silly admirers, who, in general, know
equally little about what they praise and what they
condemn, and who so mispronounce and lacerate
his verses that they do him the greatest injury that
a poet can suffer. I might even strive to the best
of my powers to rescue him from this abuse, did not
my own productions give me enough to think about.
As it is, I can only give voice to my irritation, when
I hear the common herd befouling with their stupid
mouths the noble beauty of his lines.
Just here it may not be out of place to say that
this was not the least of the considerations which
led me to give up a style of composition to which I
devoted myself in my early years. I feared for my
writings the same fate which I had seen overtake
those of others, especially those of the poet of
whom we are speaking. I could not in my own
case look for more musical tongues or more flexible
minds among the common people than I noted in
the rendering of those authors whom long favour
and habit have made popular in the theatres and
public squares. That my apprehensions were not
idle is clear from the fact that I am continually
tortured by the tongues of the people, as they
sing the few productions which I allowed to escape
me in my youth. I indignantly reject and hate
what I once loved ; and day by day walk the
streets with vexation and execrate my own talents.
Everywhere a crowd of ignorant fellows, every-
where I find my Damcetas ready at the street cor-
ner " to murder with his screeching reed " my poor
song.
1 86 Petrarch
However, I have already said more than enough
concerning a trifling matter which I ought not to
have taken so seriously, for this hour, which will
never return, should have been devoted to other
things. And yet your excuse did seem to me to
have just a little in common with the accusations of
these critics, some of whom are constantly asserting
that I hate, some that I despise, this person, — whose
name I have intentionally refrained to-day from
mentioning, lest the mob, who catch up everything
without understanding it, should cry out that I was
defaming it. Others again claim that I am actuated
by envy ; — men who are jealous of me and my fame;
for, although I scarcely am an object for envy, I
yet have noticed late in life that there are those
who entertain this feeling towards me, a thing that
at one time I could not have believed possible. In
answer to this charge of envy brought against me,
I might reply that, many years ago, in the ardour
of youth, and with an approving conscience, I ven-
tured to assert, not in any ordinary manner, but
in a poem addressed to a certain illustrious per-
sonage, that I envied no man.' Suppose, though,
that I am not worthy of belief. Still, even then,
what probability is there that I should be jealous of
a writer who devoted his whole life to those things
' This is probably a reference, as M. Develay suggests, to a metrical
epistle addressed to Giacomo Colonna, the Bishop of Lombez, in
which the following lines occur :
Nil tisquam invideo, titdlum fervcntius odi,
Nullum despicio nisi me.
Literary Contemporaries 187
which with me were but the flower and first-fruits
of my youth. What to him was, if not his only oc-
cupation, certainly the supreme object of his life, to
me was mere sport, a pastime, the first essay of my
powers,'
What occasion is there here for rancour ? What
ground is there for even a suspicion of jealousy ?
When you say, in praising him, that he might have
devoted himself to another kind of composition, had
he washed, I heartily agree with you. I have the
highest opinion of his ability, for it is obvious from
what he has done that he would have succeeded in
anything he might have chosen to undertake. But
suppose that he had turned his powers in another
direction, and successfully — what then? What
would there be in that to make me jealous ? Why
should it not rather be a source of satisfaction to
me ? Who indeed could excite envy in me, who do
not envy even Virgil ? — unless perhaps I should be
jealous of the hoarse applause which our poet enjoys
from the tavern-keepers, fullers, butchers, and others
of that class, who dishonour those whom they would
praise. But, far from desiring such popular recog-
nition, I congratulate myself, on the contrary, that,
along with Virgil and Homer, I am free from it,
inasmuch as I fully realise how little the plaudits
of the unschooled multitude weigh with scholars.
Should it be suggested that the citizen of Mantua
is, when all is said, dearer to me than my fellow-citi-
zen of Florence, I must urge that, although I will
' Namely, literary productions in the Italian tongue.
1 88 Petrarch
not deny that jealousy does flourish most rankJy
between neighbours, the mere fact of common origin
cannot by itself justify such an inference. Indeed
the simple fact of our belonging to different genera
tions would make this latter supposition absurd, for
as one has elegantly said, who never speaks other-
wise than elegantly, " The dead are neither hated
nor envied."
You will accept my solemn affirmation that I de-
light in both the thought and style of our poet, nor
do I ever refer to him except with the greatest admira-
tion. It is true that I have sometimes said to those
who wished to know precisely what I thought, that
his style was unequal, for he rises to a higher plane
of excellence in the vernacular than in poetry and
prose.' But you will not deny this, nor will it,
if rightly understood, carry with it any disparage-
ment of his fame and glory. Who, indeed — I will
not say at the present time, when eloquence has
so long been mourned as dead, but at the time when
it flourished most — who, I say, ever excelled in all
its various branches ? Witness Seneca's Declama-
tions ^ No one dreams of attributing inexhaustible
versatility even to Cicero, Virgil, Sallust, or Plato.
Who would lay claim to a degree of praise which
' Quod in vulgari eloquio, quam in carminibus aut prosa clarior
atque altior assurgit. The literal form is retained in the rendering
above, as Petrarch's very language is significant of his contempt for
the Italian. Prose and verse could only be Latin.
'^ The work here referred to, which Petrarch supposed to be an
inferior production of Seneca the Philosopher, is now attributed to
his father, the Rhetor, of whose existence Petrarch was unaware.
Literary Contemporaries 189
must be denied even to such genius ? It is enough
to have excelled in one kind of composition. This
being true, let those be silent who attempt to twist
my words into calumnies, and let those who have
believed my calumniators read here, if they will, my
opinion of them.
Having disposed thus of one matter which has been
troubling me, I come now to a second. You thank
me for my solicitude for your health. While you
do this from courtesy, and in accordance with con-
ventional usage, you well know that such acknow-
ledgment is quite unnecessary. For who is ever
thanked for his interest in himself, or his own affairs ?
and you, dear friend, are part and parcel of myself.
Although, next to virtue, friendship is the most
sacred, the most God-like and divine thing in human
intercourse, yet I think that it makes a difference
whether one begins by loving or by being loved, and
that those friendships should be more carefully fos-
tered where we return love for love than where we
simply receive it. I have been overwhelmed in a
thousand instances by your kindness and friendly
oi^ces, but among them all there is one that I can
never forget
In days gone by, I was hurrying across central
Italy in mid-winter; you hastened to greet me, not
only with affectionate longings, which are the wings
of the soul, but in person, impelled by a wondrous
desire to behold one whom you had never yet seen,'
but whom you were nevertheless resolved to love.
' This would seem sufficient proof that Petrarch and Boccaccio
first met on this occasion of Petrarch's visit to Florence.
iQO Petrarch
You had sent before you a piece of beautiful verse,
thus showing me first the aspect of your genius, and
then of your person. It was evening, and the light
was fading, when, returning from my long exile,' I
found myself at last within my native walls. You
welcomed me with a courtesy and respect greater
than I merited, recalling the poetic meeting of An-
chises and the King of Arcadia, who, " in the ardour
of youth, longed to speak with the hero and to press
his hand."^ Although I did not, like him, stand
" above all others," but rather beneath, your zeal
was none the less ardent. You introduced me, not
within the walls of Pheneus, but into the sacred
penetralia of your friendship. Nor did I present
you with " a superb quiver and arrows of Lycia,"
but rather with my sincere and unchangeable affec-
tion. While acknowledging my inferiority in many
respects, I will never willingly concede it in this,
either to Nisus, or to Pythias, or to Lselius. Fare-
well.
' Petrarch had never been in Florence before, although reckoned
as a Florentine. He uses here the phrase longo postliminio redeun-
tem, — referring to the right in the Roman law to return home and re-
sume one's former rank and privileges — a reminiscence possibly of the
law school.
^ Cf- the ^-Eneid, viii., 162 sqq,, for this and the succeeding allu-
sions.
Literary Contemporaries 191
The Story of Griselda
To Boccaccio^
Your book, written in our mother tongue and
published, I presume, during your early years, has
fallen into my hands, I know not whence or how.
If I told you that I had read it, I should deceive
you. It is a very big volume, written in prose and
for the multitude. I have been, moreover, occupied
with more serious business, and much pressed for
time. You can easily imagine the unrest caused by
the warlike stir about me, for, far as I have been
from actual participation in the disturbances, I could
not but be affected by the critical condition of the
state. What I did was to run through your book,
like a traveller who, while hastening forward, looks
about him here and there, without pausing. I have
heard somewhere that your volume was attacked by
the teeth of certain hounds, but that you defended it
valiantly with staff and voice. This did not surprise
me, for not only do I well know your ability, but I
have learned from experience of the existence of an
insolent and cowardly class who attack in the work
of others everything which they do not happen to
fancy or be familiar with, or which they cannot
themselves accomplish. Their insight and capabili-
ties extend no farther; on all other themes they are
silent.
' This letter, written in 1373 and containing a Latin translation
of Boccaccio's story of Griselda, is printed as a separate work in
the Opera (1581), p. 540 sqq., but appears as Sen., xvii., 3. in Fracas
setti's Italian version.
192 Petrarch
My hasty perusal afforded me much pleasure. If
the humour is a little too free at times, this may be
excused in view of the age at which you wrote, the
style and language which you employ, and the fri-
volity of the subjects, and of the persons who are
likely to read such tales. It is important to know
for whom we are writing, and a difference in the
character of one's listeners justifies a difference in
style. Along with much that was light and amus-
ing, I discovered some serious and edifying things
as well, but I can pass no definite judgment upon
them, since I have not examined the work thor-
oughly.
As usual, when one looks hastily through a book,
I read somewhat more carefully at the beginning and
at the end. At the beginning you have, it seems to
me, accurately described and eloquently lamented
the condition of our country during that siege of
pestilence which forms so dark and melancholy a
period in our century. At the close you have placed
a story which differs entirely from most that pre-
cede it, and which so delighted and fascinated me
that, in spite of cares which made me almost oblivi-
ous of myself, I was seized with a desire to learn it
by heart, so that I might have the pleasure of re-
calling it for my own benefit, and of relating it to
my friends in conversation. When an opportunity
for telling it offered itself shortly after, I found that
my auditors were delighted. Later it suddenly oc-
curred to me that others, perhaps, who were unac-
quainted with our tongue, might be pleased with so
charming a story, as it had delighted me ever since
Literary Contemporaries 193
I first heard it some years ago, and as you had not
considered it unworthy of presentation in the mother
tongue, and had placed it, moreover, at the end of
your book, where, according to the principles of
rhetoric, the most effective part of the composi-
tion belongs. So one fine day w^hen, as usual, my
mind was distracted by a variety of occupations, dis-
contented with myself and my surroundings. I sud-
denly sent everything flying, and, snatching my pen,
I attacked this story of yours. I sincerely trust that
it will gratify you that I have of my own free-will
undertaken to translate your work, something I
should certainly never think of doing for anyone
else, but which I was induced to do in this instance
by my partiality for you and for the story. Not
neglecting the precept of Horace in his A?-t of
Poetry, that the careful translator should not at-
tempt to render word for word, I have told your
tale in my own language, in some places changing or
even adding a few words, for I felt that you would not
only permit, but would approve, such alterations.'
Although many have admired and wished for my
version, it seemed to me fitting that your work
should be dedicated to you rather than to anyone
else; and it is for you to judge whether I have, by
this change of dress, injured or embellished the
original. The story returns whence it came; it
knows its judge, its home, and the way thither. As
you and everyone who reads this knows, it is you
' The additions are so considerable that Fracassetti, in translating
this letter into Italian, could make use of the words of Boccaccio's
original in scarcely more than half of the tale.
1 94 Petrarch
and not I who must render account for what is essen-
tially yours. If anyone asks me whether this is all
true, whether it is a history or a story, I reply in
the words of Sallust, " I refer you to the author " —
to wit, my friend Giovanni. With so much of in-
troduction I begin. . . .'
My object in thus re-writing your tale was not to
induce the women of our time to imitate the pa-
tience of this wife, which seems to me almost beyond
imitation, but to lead my readers to emulate the
example of feminine constancy, and to submit
themselves to God with the same courage as did this
woman to her husband. Although, as the Apostle
James tells us, " God cannot be tempted with evil,
and he himself tempteth no man," he still may
prove us, and often permits us to be beset with
many and grievous trials, not that he may know our
character, which he knew before we were created,
but in order that our weakness should be made plain
to ourselves by obvious and familiar proofs. Any-
one, it seems to me, amply deserves to be reckoned
among the heroes of mankind who suffers without
a murmur for God, what this poor peasant woman
bore for her mortal husband.
My affection for you has induced me to write at
an advanced age what I should hardly have under-
taken even as a young man. Whether what I have
narrated be true or false I do not know, but the fact
that you wrote it would seem sufficient to justify
the inference that it is but a tale. Foreseeing this
' Petrarch's version of the tale is here omitted.
Literary Contemporaries 195
question, I have prefaced my translation with the
statement that the responsibility for the story rests
with the author; that is, with you. And now let
me tell you my experiences with this narrative, or
tale, as I prefer to call it.
In the first place, I gave it to one of our mutual
friends in Padua to read, a man of excellent parts
and wide attainments. When scarcely half-way
through the composition, he was suddenly arrested
by a burst of tears. When again, after a short
pause, he made a manful attempt to continue, he
was again interrupted by a sob. He then realised
that he could go no farther himself, and handed the
story to one of his companions, a man of education,
to finish. How others may view this occurrence I
cannot, of course, say; for myself, I put a most
favourable construction upon it, believing that I
recognise the indications of a most compassionate
disposition; a more kindly nature, indeed, I never
remember to have met. As I saw him weep as he
read, the words of the Satirist came back to me :
" Nature, who gave us tears, by that alone
Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own ;
And 't is our" noblest sense." '
Some time after, another friend of ours, from
Verona (for all is common between us, even our
friends), having heard of the effect produced by the
story in the first instance, wished to read it for him-
self. I readily complied, as he was not only a good
friend, but a man of ability. He read the narrative
' Juvenal, xv., 13 1-3, as translated by William Gifford.
196 Petrarch
from beginning to end without stopping once.
Neither his face nor his voice betrayed the least
emotion, not a tear or a sob escaped him. " I too,"
he said at the end, " would have wept, for the sub-
ject certainly excites pity, and the style is well
adapted to call forth tears, and I am not hard-
hearted; but I believed, and still believe, that this
is all an invention. If it were true, what woman,
whether of Rome or any other nation, could be com-
pared with this Griselda ? Where do we find the
equal of this conjugal devotion, where such faith,
such extraordinary patience and constancy?" I
made no reply to this reasoning, for I did not wish to
run the risk of a bitter debate in the midst of our
good-humoured and friendly discussion. But I had
a reply ready. There are some who think that what-
ever is difficult for them must be impossible for
others; they must measure others by themselves, in
order to maintain their superiority. Yet there have
been many, and there may still be many, to whom
acts are easy which are commonly held to be im-
possible. Who is there who would not, for example,
regard a Curtius, a Mucins, or the Decii, among our
own people, as pure fictions ; or, among foreign
nations, Codrus and the Philaeni; or, since we are
speaking of woman, Portia, or Hypsicratia, or Al-
cestis, and others like them ? But these are actual
historical persons. And indeed I do not see why
one who can face death for another, should not be
capable of encountering any trial or form of suffer-
ing. . . . '
' The close of this letter is given above, pp. 53 sqq.
Literary Contemporaries 197
On the Italian La?iguage and Liieyature
To Boccaccio '
" I have somewhat to say unto thee," if a poor
sinner may use the words of his Saviour, and this
something for which you are Hstening, what should
it be but what I am wont to tell you ? So prepare
your mind for patience and your ears for reproaches.
For, although nothing could be more alike than our
two minds, I have often noticed with surprise that
nothing could be more unlike than our acts and re-
solutions. I frequently ask myself how this happens,
not only in your case but in that of certain others
of my friends, in whom I note the same contrast.
I find no other explanation than that our common
mother, nature, made us the same, but that habit,
which is said to be a second nature, has rendered us
unlike. Would that we might have lived together,
for then we should have been but one mind in two
bodies.
You may imagine now that I have something
really important to tell you, but you are mistaken ; —
and, as you well know, a thing must be trivial in-
deed which the author himself declares to be unim-
portant, for our own utterances are so dear to us
that scarcely anyone is a good judge of his own per-
formances, so prone are we to be misled by partiality
for ourselves and our works. You, among many
thousands, are the only one to be betrayed into a false
estimate of your compositions by aversion and con-
' Sen., v., 3. Written, Fracassetti believes, about 1366.
198 Petrarch
tempt, instead of inordinate love, — unless, mayhap,
I am myself deceived in this matter, and attribute
to humility what is really due to pride. What I
mean by all this you shall now hear.
You are familiar, no doubt, w4th that widely dis-
tributed and vulgar set of men w'ho live by words,
and those not their own, and who have increased to
such an irritating extent among us. They are per-
sons of no great ability, but of retentive memories;
of great industry too, but of greater audacity. They
haunt the antechambers of kings and potentates,
naked if it were not for the poetic vesture that they
have filched from others. Any especially good bit
which this one or that one has turned ofi, they seize
upon, more particularly if it be in the mother tongue,
and recite it with huge gusto. In this way they strive
to gain the favour of the nobility, and procure
money, clothes, or other gifts. Their stock-in-trade
is partly picked up here and there, partly obtained
directly from the writers themselves, either by beg-
ging, or, where cupidity or poverty exists, for money.
This last case is described by the Satirist: " He will
die of hunger if he does not succeed in selling to
Paris his yet unheard Agave." '
You can easilv imagine how often these fellows
have pestered me, and I doubt not others, with their
disgusting fawning. It is true I suffer less than
formerly, owing to my altered studies, or to respect
for my age, or to repulses already received ; for, lest
they should get in the habit of annoying me. I have
' Juvenal, vii., 87.
Literary Contemporaries 199
often sharply refused to aid them, and have not
allowed myself to be affected by any amount of in-
sistence. Sometimes indeed, especially when I
knew the applicant to be humble and needy, a cer-
tain benevolent instinct has led me to assist the poor
fellow to a living, with such skill as I possessed. My
aid might be of permanent use to the recipient, while
it cost me only a short hour of work. Some of
those whom I had been induced to assist, and who
had left me with their wish fulfilled, but otherwise
poor and ill-clad, returned shortly after arrayed in
silks, with well-filled bellies and purses, to thank me
for the assistance which had enabled them to cast
off the burden of poverty. On such occasions I
have sometimes been led to vow that I would never
refuse this peculiar kind of alms; but there always
comes a moment, when, wearied by their importun-
ities, I retract the resolve.
When I asked some of these beggars why they
always came to me, and never applied to others, and
in particular to you, for assistance, they replied
that so far as you were concerned they had often
done so, but never with success. While I was
wondering that one who was so generous with his
property should be so niggardly with his words,
they added that you had burnt all the verses which
you had ever written in the vulgar tongue. This, in-
stead of satisfying me, only served to increase my
astonishment. When I asked the reason of your
doing this, they all confessed ignorance and held
their tongues, except one. He said that he believed
— whether he had actuallv heard it somewhere or
200 Petrarch
other, I do not know — that you intended to revise
all the things which you had written both in your
earlier days, and, later, in your prime, in order to
give your works, in this revision, the advantage of
a mature, — I am tempted to say hoary, mind. Such
confidence in the prolongation of our most uncertain
existence, especially at your age, seemed to both of
us exaggerated. Although I have the greatest con-
fidence in your discretion and vigour of mind, my
surprise was only increased by what I had heard.
What a perverted idea, I said, to burn up what you
wished to revise, so as to have nothing left for
revision !
My astonishment continued until at last, on
coming to this city, I became intimate with our
Donato, who is so faithful and devoted a friend of
yours. It was from him that I learned recently, in
the course of our daily conversation, not only the
fact which I had already heard, but also the explana-
tion of it, which had so long puzzled me. He said
that in your earlier years you had been especially
fond of writing in the vulgar tongue, and had de-
voted much time and pains to it, until in the course
of your researches and reading you had happened
upon my youthful compositions in the vernacular.
Then your enthusiasm for writing similar things
suddenly cooled. Not content simply to refrain
from analogous work in the future, you conceived a
great dislike to what you had already done and
burned everything, not with the idea of correcting
but of destroying. In this way you deprived both
yourself and posterity of the fruits of your labours
Literary Contemporaries 201
in this field of literature, and for no better reason
than that you thought what you had written was in-
ferior to my productions. But your dislike was ill-
founded and the sacrifice inexpedient. As for your
motive, that is doubtful. Was it humility, which
despised itself, or pride, which would be second to
none ? You who can see your own heart must judge.
I can only wander among the various possible con-
jectures, writing to you, as usual, as if I were talking
to myself.
I congratulate you, then, on regarding yourself as
inferior to those whose superior you really are. I
would far rather share that error than his who,
being really inferior, believes himself to be on a
higher plane. This reminds me of Lucan of Cor-
dova, a man of the ardent spirit and the genius
which pave the way alike to great eminence and to
an abyss of failure. Finding himself far advanced
in his studies while still young, he became, upon
turning over in his mind his age and the successful
beginnings of his career, so puffed up that he ven-
tured to compare himself with Virgil. In reciting a
portion of a work on the Civil War, which was in-
terrupted by his death, he said in his introductory re-
marks, " Do I in any way fall short of the Cidex f " '
Whether this arrogant speech was noticed by any
friend of the poet, or what answer he received, I do
not know; for myself, I have often, since I read the
passage, inwardly replied indignantly to this brag-
gart: " My fine fellow, thy performance may in-
' A trifling poem once universally attributed to Virgil.
202 Petrarch
deed equal the Culcx, but what a gulf between it
and the y^ncid ! " But why, then, do I not praise
your humility, who judge me to be your superior,
and praise it the more highly in contrast with the
boast of this upstart, who would believe himself
superior, or at least equal, to Virgil ?
But there is something else here which I would
gladly discover, but which is of so obscure a nature
that it is not easily cleared up with the pen. I will,
however, do the best I can. I fear that your re-
markable humility may after all be only pride. This
will doubtless seem to many a novel and even sur-
prising name for humility, and if it should prove
offensive I will use some other term. I only fear
that this signal exhibition of humility is not alto-
gether free from some admixture of haughtiness. I
have seen men at a banquet, or some other assembly,
rise and voluntarily take the lowest place, because
they had not been assigned the head of the table,
and this under cover of humility, although pride
was the real motive. I have seen another so weak
as even to leave the room. Thus answer sometimes,
and sometimes pride, leads men to act as though one
who did not enjoy the highest seat, which in the
nature of things cannot be assigned to more than a
single individual, was necessarily unworthy of any
place except perhaps the lowest. But there are de-
grees of glory as well as of merit.
As for you, you show your humility in not assum-
ing the first place. Some, inferior to you both in
talents and style, have laid claim to it, and have
aroused our indignation, not unmixed with merri-
Literary Contemporaries 203
ment, by their absurd aspirations. Would that the
support of the vulgar, which they sometimes enjoy,
weighed no more in the market-place than with the
dwellers on Parnassus. But not to be able to take
the second or third rank, does not that smack of
genuine pride ? Suppose for the moment that I sur-
pass you, I, who would so gladly be your equal;
suppose that you are surpassed by the great master
of our mother tongue; beware lest there be more
pride in refusing to see yourself distanced by one
or the other, especially by your fellow-citizen,
or, at most, by a very few, than in soliciting the
distinction of the first place for yourself. To long
for supremacy may be regarded as the sign of a
great mind, but to despise what only approaches
supremacy is a certain indication of arrogance.
I have heard that our Old Man of Ravenna,' who
is by no means a bad judge in such matters, is ac-
customed, whenever the conversation turns on these
matters, to assign you the third place. If this dis-
pleases you, and if you think that I prevent your
attaining to the first rank — though I am really no
obstacle — I willingly renounce all pretensions to pre-
cedence, and leave you the second place. If you
refuse this I do not think that you ought to be
pardoned. If the very first alone are illustrious, it
is easy to see how innumerable are the obscure, and
how few enjoy the radiance of glory. Consider,
moreover, how much safer, and even higher, is the
' It is not known who is meant here. Cf. Fracassetti, Lettere
Senile, vol. i., p. 283.
204 Petrarch
second place. There is someone to receive the first
attacks of envy, and, at the risk of his own reput-
ation, to indicate your path; for by watching his
course, you will learn when to follow it, and when
to avoid it. You have someone to aid you to throw
off all slothful habits through your effort to over-
take him. You are spurred on to equal him, and
not be forever second. Such an one serves as a goad
to noble minds and often accomplishes wonders.
He who knows how to put up with the second place
wnll ere long deserve the first, while he who scorns
the second place has already begun to be unworthy
. even of that. If you will but consult your memory,
you will scarcely find a first-rate commander, philo-
sopher, or poet, who did not reach the top through
the aid of just such stimulus.
Furthermore, if the first place is to most persons a
source of complacent satisfaction with themselves,
and of envy on the part of others, it is certainly also
liable to produce inertia. The student as well as
the lover is spurred on by jealousy: love without
rivalry, and merit without emulation are equally
prone to languish. Industrious poverty is much to
be preferred to idle opulence. It is better to
struggle up a steep declivity with watchful care than
to lie sunk in shameful ease; better and safer to
trust to the aid of active virtue than to rely upon
the distinction of an idle reputation.
These are good reasons, it seems to me, for cheer-
fully accepting the second place. But what if you
are assigned to the third or the fourth ? Will
this rouse your anger ? or have you forgotten the
Literary Contemporaries 205
passage where Seneca defends Fabianus Papirius
against Lucilius ? After assigning Cicero a higher
rank, he remarked: "It is no sHght thing to be
second only to the highest." Then, naming Asinius
Pollio next to Cicero, he added, " Nor in such a
case is the third place to be despised." Lastly,
placing Livy in the fourth rank, he concluded,
What a vast number of writers does he excel who
is vanquished by three only, and these three the
most gifted!" Does not this apply very well to
you, my dear friend ? Only, whatever place you
occupy, or whomsoever you may seem to see ahead
of you, it cannot, in my judgment, be I who pre-
cede you. So, eschew the flames, and have mercy
on your verses.
If, however, you and others are, in spite of what
I say, thoroughly convinced that I must, willy-nilly,
be your superior in literary rank, do you really feel
aggrieved, and regard it as a shameful thing to be
ranked next to me ? If this be true, permit me to
say that I have long been deceived in you, and that
neither your natural modesty nor your love of me
is what I had hoped. True friends place those whom
they love above themselves. They not only wish to
be excelled, but experience an extreme pleasure in
being outstripped, just as no fond father would
deny that his greatest pleasure consisted in being
surpassed by his son. I hoped and hope still that I
am inferior to you. I do not claim to be like a
dear son to you, or to believe that my reputation is
dearer to you than your own. I remember, though,
that you, in a moment of friendly anger, once re-
2o6 Petrarch
proached me for this. If you were really sincere,
you ought to grant me the right of way with joy.
Instead of giving up the race, you should press
after me with all your might, and so prevent any
other competitor from thrusting himself between
us and stealing your place. He who sits in the
chariot or runs by his friend's side does not ask
who is first, but is only anxious that they two shall
be as near as possible. Nothing is sweeter than the
longed-for closeness of companionship. Love is
everything, precedence next to nothing, among
friends. The first are last and the last first, for all
are really one in friendship.
So much for the case against you. Let us now
turn to the excuses for your conduct. In spite of
your own explanation and that which comes to me
through such a very good friend of yours, I have
tried to discover some higher motive for your action
than that which you mention ; for the same act may
be good or bad according to the motives which
dictate it. I will tell you, then, what has occurred
to me.
You did not destroy your productions, in a man-
ner so unfair both to you and to them, through
false pride, which is quite foreign to your gentle
character; nor because you were jealous of some-
one else, or dissatisfied with your own lot. You
were actuated by a noble indignation against the
emptiness and vanity of our age, which in its crass
ignorance corrupts or, far worse, despises everything
good. You wished to withdraw your productions
from the judgment of the men of to-day. and,
Literary Contemporaries 207
as Virginius once slew his own daughter to save her
from shame, so you have committed to the flames
your beautiful inventions, the children of your in-
tellect, to prevent their becoming the prey of such
a rabble. And now, my dear friend, how near the
truth have I guessed ? I have indeed often thought
of doing the same for my own compositions in the
vulgar tongue, few as they are; and it was my own
experience which suggested this explanation of your
conduct. I should perhaps have done so, had they
not been so widely circulated as to have long ago
escaped my control. And yet, on the other hand, I
have sometimes harboured quite the opposite design,
and thought of devoting my whole attention to the
vernacular.
To be sure, the Latin, in both prose and poetry,
is undoubtedly the nobler language, but for that
very reason it has been so thoroughly developed by
earlier writers that neither we nor anyone else may
expect to add very much to it. The vernacular, on
the other hand, has but recently been discovered,
and, though it has been ravaged by many, it still
remains uncultivated, in spite of a few earnest labour-
ers, and still shows itself capable of much improve-
ment and enrichment. Stimulated by this thought,
and by the enterprise of youth, I began an exten-
sive work in that language. I laid the foundations
of the structure, and got together my lime and
stones and wood. And then I began to consider a
little more carefully the times in which we live, the
fact that our age is the mother of pride and indo-
lence, and that the ability of the vainglorious fellows
2o8 Petrarch
who would be my judges, and their pecuHar grace
of delivery is such that they can hardly be said to
recite the writings of others, but rather to mangle
them. Hearing their performances again and again,
and turning the matter over in my mind, I concluded
at length that I was building upon unstable earth
and shifting sand, and should simply waste my
labours and see the work of my hands levelled by
the common herd. Like one who finds a great ser-
pent across his track, I stopped and changed my
route, — for a higher and more direct one, I hope.
Although the short things I once wrote in the vul-
gar tongue are, as I have said, so scattered that
they now belong to the public rather than to me, I
shall take precautions against having my more im-
portant works torn to pieces in the same way.
And yet why should I find fault with the unen-
lightenment of the common people, when those who
call themselves learned afford so much more just and
serious a ground for complaint ? Besides many
other ridiculous peculiarities, these people add to
their gross ignorance an exaggerated and most dis-
gusting pride. It is this that leads them to carp at
the reputation of those whose most trivial sayings
they were once proud to comprehend, in even the
most fragmentary fashion. O inglorious age ! that
scorns antiquity, its mother, to whom it owes every
noble art, — that dares to declare itself not only equal
but superior to the glorious past. I say nothing of
the vulgar, the dregs of mankind, whose sayings and
opinions may raise a laugh but hardly merit serious
censure. I will say nothing of the military class
Literary Contemporaries 209
and the leaders in war, who do not blush to assert
that their time has beheld the culmination and per-
fection of military art, when there is no doubt that
this art has degenerated and is utterly going to ruin
in their hands. They have neither skill nor intelli-
gence, but rely entirely upon indolence and chance.
They go to war decked out as if for a wedding,
bent on meat and drink and the gratification of their
lust. They think much more of flight than they do
of victory. Their skill lies not in striking the advers-
ary, but in holding out the hand of submission; not
in terrifying the enemy, but in pleasing the eyes of
their mistresses.' But even these false notions may
be excused in view of the utter ignorance and want
of instruction on the part of those who hold them.
I will pass over the kings, who act as if they
thought that their office consisted in purple and gold,
in sceptre and diadem, and that, excelling their pre-
decessors in these things, they must excel them
likewise in prowess and glory. Although they were
put upon the throne for the single purpose of
ruling (whence their title, rex, is derived), they do
not in reality govern the people over whom they are
placed, but, as their conduct shows, are themselves
governed by their passions. They are rulers of men,
but, at the same time, slaves of sloth and luxury.
Still ignorance of the past, the ephemeral glory
that fortune bestows and the vanity that always at-
tends undue prosperity, may serve to excuse in some
' Machiavelli's Prince, chap, xii., contains a similar description of
war in his day.
2IO Petrarch
measure even these. But what can be said in de-
fence of men of education who ought not to be
ignorant of antiquity and yet are plunged in this
same darkness and delusion ?
You see that I cannot speak of these matters
without the greatest irritation and indignation.
There has arisen of late a set of dialecticians, who
are not only ignorant but demented. Like a black
army of ants from some old rotten oak, they swarm
forth from their hiding-places and devastate the
fields of sound learning. They condemn Plato and
Aristotle, and laugh at Socrates and Pythagoras.
And, good God' under what silly and incompetent
leaders these opinions are put forth ! I should pre-
fer not to give a name to this group of men. They
have done nothing to merit one, though their folly
has made them famous. I do not wish to place
among the greatest of mankind those whom I see
consorting with the most abject. These fellows
have deserted all trustworthy leaders, and glory in
the name of those who, whatever they may learn
after death, exhibited in this world no trace of power,
or knowledge, or reputation for knowledge. What
shall we say of men who scorn Marcus Tullius Cicero,
the bright sun of eloquence ? Of those who scoff at
Varro and Seneca, and are scandalised at what they
choose to call the crude, unfinished style of Livy and
Sallust ? And all this in obedience to leaders of
whom no one has ever heard, and for whom their
followers ought to blush ! Once I happened to be
present when Virgil's style was the subject of their
scornful criticism. Astonished at their crazy out-
Literary Contemporaries 211
break, I turned to a person of some cultivation and
asked what he had detected in this famous man to
rouse such a storm of reproach. Listen to the reply
he gave me, with a contemptuous shrug of the
shoulders : " He is too fond of conjunctions."
Arise, O Virgil, and polish the verses that, with the
aid of the Muses, thou didst snatch from heaven, in
order that they may be fit to deliver into hands
like these !
How shall I deal with that other monstrous kind
of pedant, who wears a religious garb, but is most
profane in heart and conduct ; who would have us
believe that Ambrose, Augustine, and Jerome were
ignoramuses, for all their elaborate treatises ? I do
not know the origin of these new theologians, w^ho
do not spare the great teachers, and will not much
longer spare the Apostles and the Gospel itself.
They will soon turn their impudent tongues even
against Christ, unless he, whose cause is at stake, in-
terferes and curbs the raging beasts. It has al-
ready become a well-established habit with these
fellows to express their scorn by a mute gesture or
by some impious observation, whenever revered and
sacred names are mentioned. " Augustine,'' they
will say, " saw much, but understood little." Nor
do they speak less insultingly of other great men.
Recently one of these philosophers of the modern
stamp happened to be in my library. He did not,
like the others, wear a religious habit, but, after
all, Christianity is not a matter of clothes. He was
one of those who think they live in vain unless they
are constantly snarling at Christ or his divine teach-
2 1 2 Petrarch
ings. When I cited some passage or other from the
Holy Scriptures, he exploded with wrath, and with
his face, naturally ugly, still further disfigured by
anger and contempt, he exclaimed: " You are wel-
come to your two-penny church fathers; as for me, I
know the man for me to follow, for I know him
whom I have believed." " You," I replied, " use
the words of the Apostle, I would that you would
take them to heart!" " Your Apostle," he an-
swered, " was a sower of words and a lunatic."
You reply like a good philosopher," I said.
The first of your accusations was brought against
him by other philosophers, and the second to his
face by Festus, Governor of Syria. He did indeed
sow the word, and with such success that, cultivated
by the beneficent plough of his successors and
watered by the holy blood of the martyrs, it has
borne such an abundant harvest of faith as we all be-
hold." At this he burst forth into a sickening roar
of laughter. " Well, be a ' good Christian ' ! ' As
for me, I put no faith in all that stuff. Your Paul
and your Augustine and all the rest of the crowd
you preach about were a set of babblers. If you
could but stomach Averroes you would quickly see
how much superior he was to these empty-headed
fellows of vours. " I was verv angrv, I must con-
fess, and could scarcely keep from striking his filthy,
blasphemous mouth. " It is the old feud between
me and other heretics of your class. You can
go," I cried, " you and your heresy, and never re-
' Luther reports that in his time, in Rome, they called an earnest
believer " bon Christian."
Literary Contemporaries 213
turn," With this I plucked him by the gown, and,
with a want of ceremony less consonant with my
habits than his own, hustled him out of the house.
There are thousands of instances of this kind,
where nothing will prevail, — not even the majesty
of the Christian name nor reverence for Christ him-
self (whom the angels fall down and worship, though
weak and depraved mortals may insult him), nor
yet the fear of punishment or the armed inquisitors
of heresy. The prison and stake are alike impotent
to restrain the impudence of ignorance or the au-
dacity of heresy.
Such are the times, my friend, upon which we
have fallen ; such is the period in which we live and
are growing old. Such are the critics of to-day, as
I so often have occasion to lament and complain, —
men who are innocent of knowledge or virtue, and
yet harbour the most exalted opinion of themselves.
Not content with losing the words of the ancients,
they must attack their genius and their ashes. They
rejoice in their ignorance, as if what they did not
know were not worth knowing. They give full rein
to their licence and conceit, and freely introduce
among us new authors and outlandish teachings.
If you, having no other means of defence, have
resorted to the fire to save your works from the
criticism of such despotic judges, I cannot disap-
prove the act and must commend your motives. I
have done the same with many of my own produc-
tions, and almost repent me that I did not include
all, while it was yet in my power; for we have no
prospect of fairer judges, while the number and au-
2 14 Petrarch
dacity of the existing ones grow from day to day.
They are no longer confined to the schools, but fill
the largest towns, choking up the streets and public
squares. We are come to such a pass that I am
sometimes angry at myself for having been so vexed
by the recent warlike and destructive years, and
having bemoaned the depopulation of the earth. It
is perhaps depopulated of true men, but was never
more densely crowded with vices and the creatures
of vice. In short, had I been among the ^diles,
and felt as I do now, I should have acquitted the
daughter of Appius Claudius.' — But now farewell,
as I have nothing more to write to you at present.
Venice, August 28.
The belief that the Middle Age was an age
of faith has so long found universal accept-
ance that Petrarch's rencontj-e with a group of
men who freely made sport of Christianity may
seem anomalous to some. There was, how-
ever, a wide-spread and persistent tendency
toward rationalism and materialism in the uni-
versities durino- the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Christianity was evidently repudi-
ated by no inconsiderable number, for the
church found it necessary to promulgate a
sweeping condemnation of rationalistic theses
at Paris in 1277. Early in the thirteenth cent-
' Who was fined for speaking against the Roman people.
Literary Contemporaries 215
ury Arabic learning had begun to influence
Western Europe, and the writings of Arabic
philosophers, especially of Averroes,^ became
widely known. The orthodox schoolmen, like
Thomas Aquinas, gladly made use of his com-
mentary upon Aristotle, but rejected his philoso-
phic teachings with horror. Others, however,
became enamoured of the Arabic philosophy
and deserted their former religious beliefs, even
venturing somewhat publicly to denounce
Christianity, as fit only for those who were
incapable of following Averroes. Among the
simple and devout, the Arabian became an
object of mysterious abhorrence, so that Or-
cagna in his frescoes gives him a distinguished
place among the damned, with Mohammed
and Antichrist.^
During his residence in Venice and Padua
Petrarch came into close contact with the
Averroists, and was led more than once, in his
irritation at their unbelief, to attack them vio-
lently.^ Of their philosophical tenets nothing
' A corruption of the Arabic name of Ibn Roschd, who died in
1198.
"^ For this whole matter see Renan's charming book, Averroes.
Also, Renter's Religiose Atifkidriing des Mittelalters.
^ Especially remarkable in this connection is the curious work De
Suiipsius et Aliorttm Ignorantia, the origin of which may be briefly
described. A group of Petrarch's young Averroist friends happened
one day in a post-prandial conversation to discuss among them-
2i6 Petrarch
need be said here, as Petrarch probably
troubled himself but little about their doc-
trines. It was enough for him that they
called Paul a madman and looked upon Au-
gustine and Ambrose as prating fools. The
real interest of Petrarch's assault upon the
Averroists lies not so much in his rejection
of their heresies as in his attitude toward the
intellectual hero of the Middle Ages, Aris-
totle, who was the accepted authority of those
who rejected, as well as of those who implicitly
trusted, the Gospel. The importance of this
has, however, already been noted.^
We have seen how little Petrarch was in
sympathy with the intellectual interests of his
time. The vast theological literature of the
thirteenth century was neither represented in
his library nor noticed in his works. Pure
logic, which was then looked upon not only as
selves his real claim to distinction. They decided that his fame
rested largely upon the mistaken and ill-judged attentions of popes
and princes, and that, although a good man, he could not be regarded
as a person of great knowledge or literary power. This frank esti-
mate of his ability reached the ears of Petrarch and naturally irritated
the now failing old man, accustomed for many years to the world's
adulation. The reply, written a year later, shows unmistakable signs
of wounded pride and vanity. The criticism of the young men was, he
assumes, dictated purely by envy of his reputation. He is indeed ig-
norant, but others are still more hopelessly benighted — hence the
title, Of His Own Ignorance and That of Others. Opera (1581), pp.,
1035-1059. ' See above, pp. 37 sqq.
Literary Contemporaries 217
the necessary foundation of all sound learning
and the key to all science but as a legitimate
and worthy occupation of a lifetime, seemed
to him an essentially elementary subject, fit
only for boys. As he refused to recognise the
supremacy of Aristotle himself, so he rejected
the absurd claims made for Aristotle's dialec-
tic. The following letter, written apparently
while he was still a young man, shows how cor-
rectly he estimated the real educational value
of a study with which his predecessors and
contemporaries were so notoriously infatuated.
His Aversion to Logicians
To Tivnasso da Mess ma '
It is hazardous to engage an enemy who longs
rather for battle than for victory. You write to me
of a certain old logician who has been greatly ex-
cited by my letter, as if I condemned his art. With
a growl of rage, he loudly threatened to make war
in turn upon our studies, in a letter for which, you
say, you have waited many months in vain. Do not
wait longer; believe me, it will never come. Here-
tains some traces of decency, and this is a confession
that he is ashamed of his style or an acknowledg-
ment of his ignorance. The most implacable in
contests with the tongue will not resort to the pen.
They are reluctant to show how ill-armed they are,
' Fam., i,, 6.
2 1 8 Petrarch
and so follow the Parthian system of warfare, carried
on during a rapid retreat, by letting fly a shower of
winged words and committing their shafts to the
wind.
It is foolhardy, as I have said, to accept an en-
gagement with these fellows upon their own terms.
It is indeed from the fighting itself that they de-
rive their chief pleasure; their object is not to dis-
cover the truth, but to prolong the argument. But
'^ you know Varro's proverb: "Through over-long
contention the truth is lost." You need not fear,
then, that these warriors will come out into the
open fields of honest discussion, whether with
tongue or pen. They belong to the class of whom
Quintilian speaks in his Institutes of Oratory, whom
one finds wonderfully warm in disputation, but once
get them away from their cavilling, they are as
helpless, in a serious juncture, as certain small
animals which are active enough in a narrow space,
but are easily captured in a field. Hence their re-
luctance to engage in an open contest. As Quin-
tilian goes on to say, their tergiversations indicate
their weakness ; they seek, like an indifferent runner,
to escape by dodging.
This is what I would impress upon you, my
friend; if you are seeking virtue or truth, avoid per-
sons of that stripe altogether. But how shall we
escape from these maniacs, if even the isles of the
sea are not free from them ? So neither Scylla nor
Charybdis has prevented this pest from finding its
way into Sicily ? ' Nay, this ill is now rather
' His friend's home.
Literary Contemporaries 219
peculiar to islands, as we shall find if we add the
logicians of Britain to the new Cyclopes about ^Etna.
Is this the ground of the striking similarity between
Sicily and Britain, which I have seen mentioned in
Pomponius Mela's CosniograpJiia ? I had thought
that the resemblance lay in the situation of the
countries, the almost triangular appearance of both,
and perhaps in the perpetual contact which each en-
joys with the surrounding sea. I never thought of
logicians ; I had heard of the Cyclopes, and then of
the tyrants, both savage inhabitants; but of the
coming of this third race of monsters, armed with
two-edged arguments, and fiercer than the burning
shores of Taormina itself, I was unaware.
There is one thing which I myself long ago ob-
served, and of which you now warn me anew. These
logicians seek to cover their teachings with the
splendour of Aristotle's name ; they claim that
Aristotle was wont to argue in the same way. They
would have some excuse, I readily confess, if they fol-
lowed in the steps of illustrious leaders, for even
Cicero says that it would give him pleasure to err
with Plato, if err he must. But they all deceive
themselves. Aristotle was a man of the most exalted
genius, who not only discussed but wrote upon
themes of the very highest importance. How
can we otherwise explain so vast an array of works,
involving such prolonged labour, and prepared with
supreme care amid such serious preoccupations — es-
pecially those connected with the guardianship of his
fortunate pupil — and within the compass, too, of a
'life by no means long ? — for he died at about sixty-
2 20 Petrarch
three, the age which all writers deem so unlucky.
No\v why should these fellows diverge so widely from
the path of their leader ? Why is not the name of
Aristotelians a source of shame to them rather than
of satisfaction, for no one could be more utterly
different from that great philosopher than a man
who writes nothing, knows but little, and constantly
indulges in much vain declamation ? Who does not
laugh at their trivial conclusions, with which, al-
though educated men,' they weary both themselves
and others? They waste their whole lives in such
contentions. Not only are they good for nothing
else, but their perverted activity renders them
actually harmful. Disputations such as they de-
light in are made a subject of mirth by Cicero
and Seneca, in several passages. We find an
example in the case of Diogenes, whom a con-
tentious logician addressed as follows: " What I
am, you are not." Upon Diogenes conceding
this, the logician added, " But I am a man." As
this was not denied, the poor quibbler pro-
pounded the conclusion, " Therefore you are not a
man." " The last statement is not true," Dio-
genes remarked, " but if you wish it to be true,
begin with me in your major premise." Similar
absurdities are common enough with them. What
they hope to gain from their efforts, whether fame
or amusement, or some light upon the way to live
righteously and happily, they may know; to me, I
' Homines litterati, probably simply those versed in the l.atin
tongue.
Literary Contemporaries 221
confess, it is the greatest of mysteries. Money,
certainly, does not appeal at least to noble minds as
a worthy reward of study. It is for the mechanical
trades to strive for lucre ; the higher arts have a
more generous end in view.
On hearing such things as these, those of whom
we are speaking grow furious ; — indeed the chatter of
the disputatious man usually verges closely on anger.
" So you set yourself up to condemn logic," they
cry. Far from it; I know well in what esteem it
was held by that sturdy and virile sect of philo-
sophers, the Stoics, whom our Cicero frequently
mentions, especially in his work Dc Finibiis. I
know that it is one of the liberal studies, a ladder
for those who are striving upwards, and by no means
a useless protection to those who are forcing their
way through the thorny thickets of philosophy. It
stimulates the intellect, points out the way of truth,
shows us how to avoid fallacies, and finally, if it ac-
complishes nothing else, makes us ready and quick-
witted.
All this I readily admit, but because a road is
proper for us to traverse, it does not immediately
follow that we should linger on it forever. No
traveller, unless he be mad, will forget his destina-
tion on account of the pleasures of the way ; his
characteristic virtue lies, on the contrary, in reach-
ing his goal as soon as possible, never halting on the
road. And who of us is not a traveller ? We all
have our long and arduous journey to accomplish in
a brief and untoward time, — on a short, tempest-
uous, wintry day as it were. Dialectics may form a
222 Petrarch
portion of our road, but certainly not its end: it be-
longs to the morning of life, not to its evening. We
may have done once with perfect propriety what it
would be shameful to continue. If as mature men
we cannot leave the schools of logic because we have
found pleasure in them as boys, why should we blush
to play odd and even, or prance upon a shaky reed,
or be rocked again in the cradle of our childhood ?
Nature, with cunning artifice, escapes from dull
monotony by her wondrous change of seasons, with
their varying aspects. Shall we look for these
alternations in the circuit of the year, and not
in the course of a long life ? The spring brings
flowers and the new leaves of the trees, the summer
is rich in its harvest, autumn in fruit, and then
comes winter with its snows. In this order the
changes are not only tolerable but agreeable ; but
if the order were to be altered, against the laws of
nature, they would become distasteful. No one
would suffer with equanimity the cold of winter in
summer time, or a raging sun during the months
where it does not belong.
Who would not scorn and deride an old man who
sported with children, or marvel at a grizzled and
gouty stripling ? What is more necessary to our
training than our first acquaintance with the alpha-
bet itself, which serves as the foundation of all
later studies; but, on the other hand, what could be
more absurd than a grandfather still busy over his
letters ?
Use my arguments with the disciples of your an-
cient logician. Do not deter them from the study
Literary Contemporaries 223
of logic; urge them rather to hasten through it to
better things. Tell the old fellow himself that it is
not the liberal arts which I condemn, but only hoary-
headed children. Even as nothing is more disgrace-
ful, as Seneca says, than an old man just beginning
his alphabet, so there is no spectacle more unseemly
than a person of mature years devoting himself to
dialectics. But if your friend begins to vomit forth
syllogisms, I advise you to take flight, bidding him
argue with Enceladus.' Farewell.
Avignon, March ii.
' It is interesting to compare these views with those of John
of Salisbury who, writing almost two centuries before the time of
Petrarch's letter says : "It seemed to me pleasant to revisit my old
companions on the Mount [of St. Genevieve at Paris], whom I had
left and whom dialectic still detained, and to confer with them touch-
ing the old subjects of debate, that we might by mutual comparison
measure our respective progress. I found them as before, and where
they were before ; they did not appear to have advanced an inch in
settling the old questions, nor had they added a single proposition.
The aims that once inspired them inspired them still ; they had pro-
gressed in one point only, they had unlearned moderation, they knew
not modesty ; and that to such an extent that one might despair of
their recovery. So experience taught me a manifest conclusion, that,
while logic furthers other studies, it is by itself lifeless and barren,
nor can it cause the mind to yield the fruit of philosophy except the
same conceive from some other source." Migne, Pat. Lat., vol.
cxcix., p. 86g.
Ill
THE FATHER OF HUMANISM
225
Quae cum scholae atque sevi comitibus quaedam quasi
somnia viderentur, mihi jam tunc, omnia videntem testor
Deum, et vera et paene praesentia videbantur.
Fam.^ xxiv., i.
226
EVERY age has a philosophy of life, which
reaches and affects, in greater or less
degree, the thought and action of all of its
members. To the centuries before Petrarch
the world was a place in which to prepare for
a life beyond ; the noblest subject of thought
was theology ; the saving of the soul was the
one important task. The centuries since have
realised in some measure that the present life
is precious in itself, and is not to be thus sub-
ordinated. This shifting of the view is of im-
mense significance ; and it is owing to Petrarch,
more than to any other one man.
The process was, after all, not so much a
shifting as a blending, a powerful modifica-
tion of the mediaeval notions by those of the
ancient world. The ancients frankly delighted
in sensuous beauty, and felt an unrestrained
joy in mere living, and trusted nature and
the natural impulses. They were thoroughly
human, and the return to them humanised
227
2 28 Petrarch
the narrow conceptions of the Middle Ages.
And this return was largely Petrarch's work.
Men had conversed with the classics before
his day. They were by no means unstudied
in mediaeval times. John of Salisbury, for
example, in the twelfth century, had known
almost as many of the Roman poets and moral-
ists and historians as Petrarch himself. He
had known them, however, and used them, in a
very different fashion. He had read them with
no surrender to their charm, and no response
to their views concerning life and its uses.
We wonder at his knowledge of the text of
his classical authors, and at the aptness with
which he cites them in illustration of his
thought ; but we wonder still more at his utter
inability to understand their attitude, to find
their point of view. Lifelong intercourse with
them failed to widen his range of vision.
Despite their influence he remained mediaeval
in all his thought.
But with Petrarch it was otherwise. He
first, among the men of the Middle Ages, was
endowed with a passionate love for the beauty
of ancient literature, and an entire sympathy
with its ruling ideas, and at the same time,
it must be observed, with a saving incapacity
to foresee the disintegration of thought and
The Father of Humanism 229
faith that in the long run would inevitably
result from such sympathy. Both in his
strength and in his weakness he was eminently
fitted to be the founder, or furtherer, of
Humanism,
Petrarch's love of the classics began in
admiration of their more superficial charm,
which is just what would be expected of the
youth who wrote the graceful lyrics of the
Canzoniere. But this feeling developed soon
into a perception of their deeper beauty and sig-
nificance. At the time when he first becomes
thoroughly known to us as a student of anti-
quity we are amazed at the justness of his appre-
ciation. Only occasionally does he betray the
fact that he is a man of the Middle Ages, ham-
pered by a narrow intellectual inheritance ; and
that his work is that of a pioneer, in a country
which is absolutely unexplored.
Of these rare limitations we detect the few-
est traces in his criticism of Cicero. This may
be accounted for largely on the ground that
CiceTo and Petrarch were men of the same
temperament and cast of mind. They were
both typical men of letters. The man of
letters is intellectually alert ; sensitive to im-
pressions and able to report them ; hospitable
to all the ideas of his time ; sometimes incon-
230 Petrarch
sistent, because of this very catholicity ; and
often despised in consequence by practical
men, although in reality more practical than
they, inasmuch as he has the art of communi-
cating his flashes of insight and his generous
enthusiasm to others, who in the end reconcile
his inconsistencies and make his dreams come
true. This is an exceptional character, but
Cicero sustained it fully, and so did Petrarch
too. They were thus of the same stamp.
Moreover, their circumstances were similar
in many respects. Cicero's task as an inter-
preter of Greek thought was not unlike Pe-
trarch's life-work. It was impossible, with all
these likenesses, that the one, however defect-
ive his knowledge, should fail to comprehend
the other.
Petrarch's letters afford countless illustrations
of the truth of these statements. In outward
form, to be sure, and once in a while in their
material and the treatment of it, they suggest
rather Seneca than Cicero. That, however, is
easily explained. Petrarch's epistolary ways
had been fully determined before ever he saw
Cicero's correspondence, or any portion of it.^
' He did not discover the group Ad Atticum until 1345, when he
was more than forty years old. And Voigt and Viertel have shown
that the very existence of the Ad Familiares was unknown to him.
The Father of Humanism 231
So it was quite impossible that he should fol-
low him in matters of fashion and form. But
in spirit and intention, in all their deeper
affinities, the letters are distinctly Ciceronian,
akin to Cicero's essays and treatises, Cicero's
style is plainly Petrarch's ideal, although he is
too wise to imitate it slavishly. And he falls,
at his best, not very far short of Cicero's clear-
ness and animation, his variety, his aptness of
quotation and illustration. A clearer case of
sympathetic comprehension of another, and
of reproduction without imitation, it would be
hard to find.
Next to Cicero, Petrarch cared most amone
Roman writers for Virgil, One would have
expected to find this order reversed, — to find
the poet of the Africa far more devoted to
his great forerunner than to one who was
essentially unpoetical, a rhetorician and pro-
saist. The explanation of the seeming anomaly
is twofold. In the first place, it was In tem-
perament only that Petrarch was a poet, and
not, after the splendid lyrical outburst of the
Ca7izoniere, in the whole compass of his
thought and feeling. He could not have
done the work which he did if it had been
otherwise. It was necessary that the first
Humanist should combine with the poet's
232 Petrarch
openness of mind, and love of whatever is
beautiful, scholarly patience and a willingness
to lead a scholar's life. And then, in the sec-
ond place, Petrarch was debarred from full
appreciation of Virgil by an inability to escape
from the dominion of certain mediaeval con-
ceptions of poetry.
For one thing, he valued poetry largely in
proportion as it is made the vehicle of criticism
of life, of the more obvious sort. One is sur-
prised, in examining the numerous quotations
from Virgil that are scattered throughout the
letters, to find how invariably they are chosen
either because they are strikingly rhetorical in
form or in consequence of their didactic
quality. Poetry seems to have become to Pe-
trarch, as his life and his studies advanced and
he drew farther away in time and temper from
his early creative period, little more than a
somewhat finer form of prose. Virgil, with all
his reverence for him, was not unlike another
Cicero. He says in one of his letters : " Our
beloved Cicero is beyond doubt the father of
Latin eloquence. Next to him comes Virgil.
Or perhaps, since there are some who dislike
the order in which I am placing them, I had
better say that Tullius and Maro are the two
parents of Roman literature." Such remarks,
The Father of Humanism 233
which are not infrequent, are indicative of an
incapacity to feel keenly and enjoy deeply what
is finest in Virgil. Petrarch seems to us to-
day like a child, who values the beautiful
commonplaces of the poet more highly than
his occasional soundings of the depths and
mysteries of life. He had no adequate ap-
preciation of Virgil's ' majestic sadness,' his
'pathetic half lines,' his 'tears for the things
that are.'
To this same insensitiveness on the aesthetic
side we must ascribe Petrarch's inability to free
himself from the mediaeval delusion as to the
profound allegorical significance of the y^neid,
and of all other noble poetry as well. A true
poet may entertain very strange theories con-
cerning the nature of his art, but in his better
moments he will rise above them and uncon-
sciously belie them, both in his practice and in
his criticism of others. This Petrarch, after
his early youth, never did. His highest aim
in his own poetical compositions was to set
forth moral truths under an obscure veil of
allegory, and his greatest delight in studying
the poets of antiquity was to penetrate the veil
under which he believed they had hidden their
wisdom. Dante's chance lines in the ninth
book of the Inferno give exact expression
234 Petrarch
to this ruling thought of his :
O voi che avete gl' intelletti sani,
Mirate la dottrina che s'asconcle
Sotto il velame degli versi strani !
Dante's application of this idea, however, was
one thing and Petrarch's another. Petrarch
aimed at nothing worthier than a multitude of
minute and trivial correspondences. The ef-
fect upon his verse is indicated by the letter to
his brother Gherardo which is given toward
the close of this chapter. The effect upon his
criticism may be learned by examining certain
other letters, in the Seniles. In one of these
he says : ^
" Virgil's subject, as I understand the matter,
is The Perfect Man, ... In the passage
that you ask me to explain I look upon the
wands as nothing more nor less than blasts of
anger and mad desire, which disturb with their
wild storms the quiet of our life, as tempests
do some tranquil sea, yEolus is our reason,
which curbs and controls these headstronof
passions. If it did not do so they would sweep
away sea and land and the overarching sky,
that is, our blood and flesh and bones and our
very souls, and plunge them down to death
' Sen., iv. , 4
The Father of Humanism 235
and destruction :
. . . maria ac terras coelumque profundum
quippe ferant rapidi secum.
The dark caverns where Virgil represents
them as being hidden away, what are they but
the hollow and hidden parts of our bodies,
where, according to Plato's determination, the
passions dwell in abodes of their own, in the
breast and entrails ? The mountain mass which
is placed above them is the head, where Plato
thinks the reason has its home. . . . Venus,
who meets them in the middle of the wood,
is pleasure, whose pursuit by us becomes hot-
ter and keener toward the middle of our life.
Her assumption of a maidenly look and air
is for the purpose of deceiving the unwary.
If we saw her as she is we should fiee from her
in fear and trembling ; for, as there is nothing
more tempting than pleasure, so there is no-
thing more foul. Her garments are girded up
because her flicrht is swift. For this same rea-
son she is compared to the swiftest of creatures
and things.^ It cannot be denied that nothing
swifter exists, whether you consider her com-
prehensively or part by part ; for pleasure as a
whole passes from us very soon, and even
' qualis equos Threissa fatigat
Harpalyce volucremque fuga praevertitur liebrum.
236 Petrarch
while it still abides with us each taste of it
lasts but a moment. And then, finally, she
appears in the garb of a huntress, because she
hunts for the souls of miserable mortals. And
she has a bow, and has flowing hair, in order
that she may smite us and charm us." ^
Petrarch's love for Cicero and Virgil sprang
from what one may call the fundamental hu-
manistic impulse, delight in the free play of
the mind among ideas that are stimulating and
beautiful. His devotion to Livy came, in part,
from a different source, from a singular sort of
patriotism. He felt that he, and every other
Italian of his day, was descended in a certain
sense from the Romans of old ; that their glory
was his rightful heritage ; that Rome, the an-
cient Rome, which he found still in existence
beneath the wretched mediaeval stronsj;-hold,
was the city of his love and allegiance. Livy's
pages accordingly were to him the record of
the great deeds of his forefathers. He studied
them with the utmost eaoferness.
Under the influence of one or the other of
these two passions, the thirst for new truth and
beauty and the love of the past, or of both of
them in conjunction, Petrarch laboured strenu-
ously, until he had gathered .together from a
' Petrarch sometimes applies this method of criticism more wisely
and with better results. Cf. Fani., xiv., i (vol. ii., pp. 26S, 269).
The Father of Humanism 2^"]
hundred obscure sources all the remains of Ro-
man literature that were obtainable in his day,
and had made himself familiar with them.
Greek literature, unfortunately, it was impos-
sible for him to know. In spite of a lifelong
desire, and at least one determined effort, he
was unable to acquire even a rudimentary
knowledgfe of the Greek lanoruag^e.^ He read
in barren Latin translations more or less of
Plato and Aristotle and Homer, but this could
afford him nothing like an adequate concep-
tion of the power and beauty of the literature
as a whole. It is a sad pity that he was so
handicapped, for if the first Humanist had
known and appreciated Homer and Plato and
Sophocles, as he did Cicero and Virgil and Sen-
eca and Livy, all our modern culture would be
something far finer. We should be simpler and
clearer in our conceptions, and better developed
aesthetically. If Hellenic influences have never
played their due part in our education, if the
proportion between the Greek and the Roman
elements has been unnatural, this Is owing
mainly to the insufficient opportunities of Pe-
trarch and his earliest disciples.
' There was no apparatus for the study of Greek at that time.
Oral instruction from Greek or Byzantine scholars was the only pos-
sible means of access to the great writers of the past. Such instruc-
tion was difficult to secure, as Petrarch's efforts and failure prove.
2:;8 Petrarch
o
To the classical authors that he did possess
he devoted a prolonged and intense study that
has very rarely been equalled. He followed
faithfully his own injunctions given in the De
Remediis Utriusq^ic Fo7'hince : "If you would
win glory from your books you must know
them, and not merely have them ; must
stow them away, not in your library, but in
your memory, not in your bookcases, but
in your brain." Annotations in his hand on
the manuscripts that have been traced back
to him ' show that he weighed with care every
word of his favourite writers. But external
evidence like this is not necessary. Every
page of his letters, and of all his other Latin
writings too, is proof in itself that as far as
his limitations permitted he had absorbed the
very spirit of his beloved classics.
The letters show also how eager he was to
hand on to others the light that he had gained
from these studies. He had as wide and varied
an acquaintance as any man of his time, thanks
to the fame that he had won in his youth by
his verses, and to the attraction that he exer-
cised upon everyone in later life, through his
personal charm and his remarkable intellectual
powers ; and one of the inevitable consequences
of such a connection was a correspondence that
' Through the patience and ingenuity of M. de Nolhac.
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The Father of Humanism 239
was both active and large. He wrote to the
emperor and the pope, to kings and their re-
gents, to churchmen of every degree, to schol-
ars in almost all parts of Europe, to men of
every profession, every age, every taste ; and
he wrote always as a Humanist, a lover of the
classics, who found in them the quintessence
of human wisdom. Men everywhere were
ready for broader views, deeper knowledge,
keener life, and he, through these letters and
through personal contact, stimulated their long-
ing and showed them where they might find
that which would satisfy it. The influence that
he thus exerted is incalculable. This volume is
but an effort to give some comprehension of it.
Of the letters that follow the first four are
given for the sake of showing the range and
quality of Petrarch's classical scholarship.
They are taken, with one exception, from the
letters to dead authors, which constitute a
large part of the twenty-fourth book of the
Famzliares. The first is addressed to Cicero.
To Marcus Tiillms Cicero}
Your letters I sought for long and diligently; and
finally, where I least expected it, I found them. At
once I read them, over and over, with the utmost
' Fam., xxiv., 3. This epistle was written very soon after
Petrarch's discovery, at Verona, of the Letters to Alticus and Quintus
240 Petrarch
eagerness. And as I read I seemed to hear your
bodily voice, O Marcus Tullius, saying many things,
uttering many lamentations, ranging through many
phases of thought and feeling. I long had known
how excellent a guide you have proved for others;
at last I was to learn what sort of guidance you gave
yourself.
Now it is your turn to be the listener. Heark-
en, wherever you are, to the words of advice, or
rather of sorrow and regret, that fall, not unaccom-
panied by tears, from the lips of one of your suc-
cessors, who loves you faithfully and cherishes your
name. O spirit ever restless and perturbed ! in old
age — I am but using your own words — self-involved
in calamities and ruin ! what good could you think
would come from your incessant wrangling, from all
this wasteful strife and enmity ? Where were the
peace and quiet that befitted your years, your pro-
fession, your station in life ? What Will-o'-the-wisp
tempted you away, with a delusive hope of glory;
involved you, in your declining years, in the wars
of younger men; and, after exposing you to every
form of misfortune, hurled you down to a death
that it was unseemly for a philosopher to die ?
Alas! the wise counsel that you gave your brother,
and the salutary advice of your great masters, you
and the Correspondence with Brutus, known collectively as the Letters
addressed to Atticus. It undoubtedly gives us the impressions derived
from the first eager perusal of these.
It will be observed that Petrarch is less at his ease here than in his
ordinary correspondence. One feels in all his letters to the great
men of the past a certain constraint. He was awe-struck, and his
style consequently is a little self-conscious and laboured.
The Father of Humanism 241
forgot. You were like a traveller in the night,
whose torch lights up for others the path where he
himself has miserably fallen.
Of Dionysius I forbear to speak; of your brother
and nephew, too; of Dolabella even, if you like.
At one moment you praise them all to the skies; at
the next fall upon them with sudden maledictions.
This, however, could perhaps be pardoned. I will
pass by Julius Caesar, too, whose well-approved
clemency was a harbour of refuge for the very men
who were warring against him. Great Pompey, like-
wise, I refrain from mentioning. His affection for
you was such that you could do with him what you
would. But what insanity led you to hurl yourself
upon Antony ? Love of the republic, you would
probably say. But the republic had fallen before
this into irretrievable ruin, as you had yourself ad-
mitted. Still, it is possible that a lofty sense of
duty, and love of liberty, constrained you to do as
you did, hopeless though the effort was. That we
can easily believe of so great a man. But why, then,
were you so friendly with Augustus ? What an-
swer can you give to Brutus ? If you accept Octa-
vius, said he, we must conclude that you are not so
anxious to be rid of all tyrants as to find a tyrant
who will be well-disposed toward yourself. Now,
unhappy man, you were to take the last false step,
the last and most deplorable. You began to speak
ill of the very friend whom you had so lauded, al-
though he was not doing any ill to you, but merely
refusing to prevent others who were. I grieve, dear
friend, at such fickleness. These shortcominus fill
242 Petrarch
me with pity and shame. Like Brutus, I feel no
confidence in the arts in which you are so proficient.
What, pray, does it profit a man to teach others,
and to be prating always about virtue, in high-
sounding words, if he fails to give heed to his own
instructions ? Ah! how much better it would have
been, how much more fitting for a philosopher, to
have grown old peacefully in the country, meditat-
ing, as you yourself have somewhere said, upon the
life that endures for ever, and not upon this poor
fragment of life; to have known no fasces, yearned
for no triumphs, found no Catilines to fill the soul
with ambitious longings ! — -AH this, however, is
vain. Farewell, forever, my Cicero.
Written in the land of the living; on the right
bank of the Adige, in Verona, a city of Transpadane
Italy; on the i6th of June, and in the year of that
God whom you never knew the 1345th.
With that should go the following interesting
little account of a controversy between Petrarch
and a certain as^ed scholar whom he met in the
course of one of his journeys. Nothing could
afford a clearer insig-ht into either the nature of
Petrarch's own feeling- for the classics or the
general humanistic conditions of the time.
This is one of the letters, as the opening sen-
tences show, that were carefully revised for
the public.
The Father of Humanism 24^
J
The Old G7^ammarian of Vicenza.
To Pulice di Vicenza}
On my way I stopped overnight in one of Vicenza's
suburbs, and there I found something new to write
about. It happened that I had left Padua not much
before noon, and so did not reach the outskirts of
your city until the sun was getting low. I tried to
make up my mind whether I had better put up there
or push on a little farther; for I was in a hurry, and
the days are long now, and it would be light for a
good while yet. I was still hesitating, when lo ! —
for who can remain hidden from the friends who
love him ? — all my doubts were happily resolved by
your arrival, in company with several other men of
mark, such as that little city has always produced
in great abundance. My mind was tossing this way
and that, but you and your companions, with your
pleasant varied talk, furnished the cable that bound
it fast. I planned to go, but still stayed on ; and
did not realise that the daylight was slipping away
from me until night was actually at hand. So I
discovered once again what I had observed often
before, that there is nothing that filches time away
from us, without our perceiving it, like converse
with our friends. They are the greatest of all
thieves of time. And yet we ought to deem no time
less truly stolen from us, less truly lost out of our
lives, than such as is expended (next to God) upon
them.
' Fam., xxiv., 2.
244 Petrarch
Well, not to review the story at too great length,
you remember that some one made mention of
Cicero, as will very often happen among men of
literary tastes. This name at once brought our de-
sultory conversation to an end. We all turned our
thoughts toward him. Nothing but Cicero was
discussed after that. As we sat and feasted to-
gether we vied with one another in singing his
praises. Still, there is nothing in this world that
is absolutely perfect ; never has the man existed
in whom the critic, were he ever so lenient, would
see nothing at all to reprehend. So it chanced that
while I expressed admiration for Cicero, almost
without reservation, as a man whom I loved and
honoured above all others, and amazement too at
his golden eloquence and his heavenly genius, I
found at the same time a little fault with his fickle-
ness and inconsistency, traits that are revealed
everywhere in his life and works. At once I saw
that all who were present were astonished at so un-
usual an opinion, and one among them especially so.
I refer to the old man, your fellow-citizen, whose
name has gone from me, although his image is fresh
in my memory, and I revere him, both for his years
and for his scholarship.
Well, the circumstances seemed to demand that
I fetch the manuscript of my correspondence with
my friends, which I had with me in my chest.
It was brought in, and added fuel to the flame.
For among the letters that were written to my
contemporaries there are a few, inserted with an
eye to variety and for the sake of a little diversion
The Father of Humanism 245
in the midst of my more serious labours, that are
addressed to some of the more illustrious men of
ancient times. A reader who was not forewarned
would be amazed at these, finding names so old and
of such renown mingled with those of our own day.
Two of them are to Cicero himself; one criticising
his character, the other praising his genius. These
two you read, while the others listened ; and then
the strife of words grew warmer. Some approved
of what I had written, admitting that Cicero de-
served my censure. But the old man stood his
ground, more stubbornly even than before. He was
so blinded by love of his hero and by the brightness of
his name that he preferred to praise him even when
he was in the wrong; to embrace faults and virtues
together, rather than make any exceptions. He
would not be thought to condemn anything at all in
so great a man. So instead of answering our argu-
ments he rang the changes again and again upon the
splendour of Cicero's fame, letting authority usurp
the place of reason. He would stretch out his hand
and say imploringly, " Gently, I beg of you, gently
with my Cicero." And when we asked him if he
found it impossible to believe that Cicero had made
mistakes, he would close his eyes and turn his face
away and exclaim with a groan, as if he had been
smitten, "Alas! alas! Is my beloved Cicero accused
of doing wrong ? " just as if we were speaking not of
a man but of some god. I asked him, accordingly,
whether in his opinion Tullius was a god, or a man
like others. " A god," he replied; and then, real-
ising what he had said, he added, " a god of elo-
246 Petrarch
quence. " " Oh, very well ! " I answered; " if he is
a god, he certainly could not have erred. However, I
never heard him styled so before. And yet, if Cicero
calls Plato his god, why should not you in turn
speak of Cicero as yours ? — except that it is not in
harmony with our religious beliefs for men to fashion
gods for themselves as they may fancy. " "I am only
jesting," said he; " I know that Tullius was a man,
but he was a man of godlike genius." " That is
better," I responded; " for when Quintilian called
him heavenly he spoke no more than the truth.
But then, if you admit that he was a man, it follows
necessarily that he could make mistakes, and did
so." As I spoke these words he shuddered and
turned away, as if they were aimed not at another
man's reputation but at his own life. What could
I say, I who am myself so great an admirer of
Cicero's genius ? I felt that the old scholar was to
be envied for his ardour and devotion, which had
something of the Pythagorean savour. I was re-
joiced at finding such reverence for even one great
man ; such almost religious regard, so fervent that
to suspect any touch of human weakness in its ob-
ject seemed like sacrilege. I was amazed, too, at
having discovered a person who cherished a love
greater than mine for the man whom I always had
loved beyond all others ; a person who in old age
still held, deeply rooted in his heart, the opinions
concerning him which I remember to have enter-
tained in my boyhood; and who, notwithstanding
his advanced years, was incapable of arguing that if
Cicero was a man it followed that in some cases, in
The Father of Humanism 247
many indeed, he must have erred, a conclusion that
I have been forced, by common sense and by know-
ledge of his life, to accept at this earlier stage of my
development, — although this conviction does not
alter the fact that the beauty of his work delights
me still, beyond that of any other writer. Why,
Tullius himself, the very man of whom we are
speaking, took this view, for he often bewailed his
errors, bitterly. If, in our eagerness to praise him,
we deny that he thus understood himself, we
deprive him of a large part of his renown as a phi-
losopher, the praise, namely, that is due to self-
knowledge and modesty.
To return, however, to that day; after a long
discussion we were compelled by the lateness of the
hour to desist, and separated with the question still
unsettled. But as we parted you asked me to send
you from my first resting-place, inasmuch as the
shortness of the time would not let me attend to
it just then, a copy of each of these letters of mine,
in order that you might look into the matter a
little more carefully, and be in a position to act
as a mediator between the parties, or, possibly, as
a champion of Cicero's steadfastness and consis-
tency. I approve of your intention, and send the
copies herewith. I do so, strange to say, with a fear
that I may be victorious, and a hope that I may be
vanquished. And one thing more: I must tell you
that if you do prove the victor you have a larger task
on your hands than you now imagine. For Annaeus
Seneca, whom I criticise in my very next letter in a
similar way, insists that you act as his champion too.
248 Petrarch
I have dealt familiarly with these great geniuses,
and perhaps boldly, but lovingly, but sorrowfully,
but truthfully, I think ' ; with somewhat more of
truthfulness, in fact, than I myself relish. There
are many things in both of them that delight me,
only a few that trouble me. Of these few I felt
constrained to write; perhaps to-day I should feel
otherwise. For, although I have grouped these
letters together at the end, it is only because their
subject-matter is so unlike the others; they came
from the anvil long ago.
The fact is, I still grieve over the fate of these
great men ; but I do not lament their faults any the
less because of that. Furthermore, I beg you to
note that I say nothing against Seneca's private life,
nor against Cicero's attitude toward the state. Do
not confuse the two cases. It is Cicero alone whom
we are discussing now ; and I am not forgetting that
he as consul was vigilant and patriotic, and cured
the disease from which the republic was suffering;
nor that as a private citizen he always loved his
country faithfully. But what of his fickleness in
friendship; and his bitter quarrels upon slight pro-
vocation,— quarrels that brought ruin upon himself
and good to no one; and his inability to understand
^his own position and the condition of the republic,
so unlike his usual acumen ; and, finally, the spec-
tacle of a philosopher, in his old age, childishly fond
of useless wrangling ? These things I cannot praise.
And remember that they are things concerning
' This artificial repetition of the adversative conjunction is a trick
of style that Petrarch is very fond of.
The Father of Humanism 249
which no unbiassed judgment can be formed, by
you or anyone else, without a careful reading of the
entire correspondence of Cicero, which suggested
this controversy.'
May 13th, en route.
Of the two letters addressed directly to
Cicero himself, and referred to in the preced-
ing epistle, one has already been given. The
other is, in part, as follows :
To Marcus Tullius Cicero}
If my earlier letter gave you offence, — for, as
you often have remarked, the saying of your con-
temporary in the Andria is a faithful one, that com-
pliance begets friends, truth only hatred, — you shall
listen now to words that will soothe your wounded
feelings and prove that the truth need not always
be hateful. For, if censure that is true angers us,
true praise, on the other hand, gives us delight.
You lived then, Cicero, if I may be permitted to say
it, like a mere man, but spoke like an orator, wrote
like a philosopher. It was your life that I criticised ;
not your mind, nor your tongue; for the one fills
me with admiration, the other with amazement.
And even in your life I feel the lack of nothing but
stability, and the love of quiet that should go with
your philosophic professions, and abstention from
' This last sentence, with its schoolmasterly tone, is an interesting
revelation of Petrarch's feeling of superiority, in point of scholarship,
to all of his associates. It was a feeling that the facts fully juslilied.
'■^ /a;«., xxiv., 4.
250 Petrarch
civil war, when liberty had been extinguished and
the republic buried and its dirge sung.
See how different my treatment of you is from
yours of Epicurus, in your works at large, and
especially in the De Finibus. You are continually
praising his life, but his talents you ridicule. I
ridicule in you nothing at all. Your life does
awaken my pity, as I have said ; but your talents
and your eloquence call for nothing but congratula-
tion. O great father of Roman eloquence! not I
alone but all who deck themselves with the flowers
of Latin speech render thanks unto you. It is from
your well-springs that we draw the streams that
water our meads. You, we freely acknowledge, are
the leader who marshals us; yours are the words
of encouragement that sustain us; yours is the
light that illumines the path before us. In a word,
it is under your auspices that we have attained
to such little skill in this art of writing as we may
possess.
You have heard what I think of your life and
your genius. Are you hoping to hear of your books
also; what fate has befallen them, how they are es-
teemed by the masses and among scholars ? They
still are in existence, glorious volumes, but we of to-
day are too feeble a folk to read them, or even to be
acquainted with their mere titles. Your fame extends
far and wide ; your name is mighty, and fills the ears
of men ; and yet those who really know you are very
few, be it because the times are unfavourable, or
because men's minds are slow and dull, or, as I am
the more inclined to believe, because the love of
The Father of Humanism 251
money forces our thoughts in other directions. Con-
sequently right in our own day, unless I am much
mistaken, some of your books have disappeared, I
fear beyond recovery. It is a great grief to me, a
great disgrace to this generation, a great wrong done
to posterity. The shame of failing to cultivate our
own talents, thereby depriving the future of the
fruits that they might have yielded, is not enough
for us ; we must waste and spoil, through our cruel
and insufferable neglect, the fruits of your labours
too, and of those of your fellows as well, for the
fate that I lament in the case.of your own books has
befallen the works of many another illustrious man.
It is of yours alone, though, that I would speak
now. Here are the names of those among them
whose loss is most to be deplored : the Republic, the
Praise of Philosophy, the treatises on the Care of
Property, on the Art of War, on Consolation, on
Glory, — although in the case of this last my feeling
is rather one of hopeful uncertainty than of certain
despair. And then there are huge gaps in the
volumes that have survived. It is as if indolence
and oblivion had been worsted, in a great battle, but
we had to mourn noble leaders slain, and others lost
or maimed. This last indignity very many of your
books have suffered, but more particularly the
Orator, the Aeademics, and the Laws. They have
come forth from the fray so mutilated and disfigured
that it would have been better if they had perished
outright.
Now, in conclusion, you will wish me to tell you
something about the condition of Rome and the
252 Petrarch
Roman republic : the present appearance of the city
and whole country, the degree of harmony that pre-
vails, what classes of citizens possess political power,
by whose hands and with what wisdom the reins of
empire are swayed, and whether the Danube, the
Ganges, the Ebro, the Nile, the Don, are our
boundaries now, or in very truth the man has arisen
who ' bounds our empire by the ocean-stream, our
fame by the stars of heaven,' or ' extends our rule
beyond Garama and Ind,' as your friend the Man-
tuan has said. Of these and other matters of like
nature I doubt not you would very gladly hear.
Your filial piety tells me so, your well-known love
of country, which you cherished even to your own
destruction. But indeed it were better that I re-
frained. Trust me, Cicero, if you were to hear of
our condition to-day you would be moved to tears,
in whatever circle of heaven above, or Erebus below,
you may be dwelling. Farewell, forever.
Written in the world of the living: on the left
bank of the Rhone, in Transalpine Gaul; in the
same year, but in the month of December, the 19th
day.
Over against the foregoing should be placed
a part at least of the long letter addressed to
Homer. This will serve to correct the some-
what too favourable impression of Petrarch's
critical insight that the letters to Cicero may
have induced, and will reveal some of the
limitations of his scholarship.
The Father of Humanism 253
To Home7\^
Long before your letter^ reached me I had formed
an intention of writing to you, and I should really
have done it if it had not been for the lack of a
common language. I am not so fortunate as to
have learned Greek,' and the Latin tongue, which
you once spoke, by the aid of our writers,* you seem
of late, through the negligence of their successors,
to have quite forgotten. From both avenues of
communication, consequently, I have been de-
barred, and so have kept silence. But now there
comes a man " who restores you to us, single-handed,
and makes you a Latin again.
Your Penelope cannot have waited longer nor
' Fam.^ xxiv., 12.
* Someone had sent Petrarch an epistle that purported to come
from the shade of Homer. It must have been even more interest-
ing than this reply, in its unconscious revelation of mediaeval limit-
ations. Petrarch took it very seriously. He often forgets in this
answer that he is not writing to Homer himself.
^ In Petrarch's day, as has been hinted above (p. 237), there was
no apparatus for the study of Greek. Oral instruction, from Greek
or Byzantine scholars, was the only possible means of access to the
great writers of the past. Such instruction was very difficult to
secure, as Petrarch's repeated efforts and final failure prove. For
his <nvn statements concerning this subject see Fam., xviii., 2.
■* The reference is of course to the Latin translations of Homer,
the Odyssey of Livius Andronicus and the abridgment of the Iliad
mentioned just below, p. 254, note i.
* Leo Pilatus (or Leontius Pilatus, as Boccaccio writes the name),
a Calabrian, who, at the instance of Petrarch and Boccaccio, was
making at Florence at about this time a Latin prose version of the
Iliad and the Odyssey. For a good brief account of what is known
concerning Pilatus, with a few specimens of his translation, see
Korting, op. cit., i., 474 sqq.
2 54 Petrarch
with more eager expectation for her Ulysses than I
did for you. At last, though, my hope was fading
gradually away. Except for a few of the opening
lines of certain books, from which there seemed to
flash upon me the face of the friend whom I had
been longing to behold, a momentary glimpse, dim
through distance, or, rather, the sight of his stream-
ing hair, as he vanished from my view, — except for
this no hint of a Latin Homer had come to me, and
I had no hope of being able ever to see you face to
face. For as regards the little book that is circu-
lated under your name, while I cannot say whose
it is I do feel sure that it is yours only as it has been
culled from you and accredited to you, and is not
your real work at all.' This friend of ours, however,
if he lives, will restore you to us in your entirety.
He is now at work, and we are beginning to enjoy not
only the treasures of wisdom that are stored away in
your divine poems but also the sweetness and charm
of your speech. One fragment has come to my
hands already, Grecian precious ointment in Latin
vessels.^ .
To turn now to details, I am very eager for
knowledge, and consequently was delighted be-
' The reference here is to the metrical abridgment of the Iliad hy
Silius Italicus. This contains 1070 lines, half of them condensed
translation of passages from books I.-V., the remainder little more
than the driest epitome. Poor as it is, it was widely accepted in the
middle ages, in some confused sort of a way, as ' Homer.' But
Petrarch was able to look below the surface and see just what it was.
- De Nolhac has shown (op. cii., pp. 342, 354) that Pilatus probably
had made for Petrarch alone, mere than a year before this epistle was
written, a preliminary translation of the first five books of the Iliad.
The Father of Humanism 255
yond all measure and belief by what you wrote
about your instructors, of whom I had never before
heard, although now I shall reverence them because
of the merits of their great pupil; and about the
origin of poetry, which you explain at the great-
est length ; and about the earliest followers of the
Muses, among whom, in addition to the well-known
dwellers upon Helicon, you place Cadmus, the son
of Agenor, and a certain Hercules, whether the
great Alcides or not I do not fully understand ;
and, finally, about the place of your nativity,
concerning which there used to be very vague and
misty views here in my country, and no great
clearness, so far as I can see, among your compa-
triots; about your wanderings, too, in search of
knowledge, into Phoenicia and Egypt, whither,
several centuries after you, the illustrious philo-
sophers Pythagoras and Plato also made their way,
and the Athenian law-giver who in his late years
wooed the Pierian Muses, wise old Solon, who while
he lived never ceased to admire you, and when he
died doubtless became one of your cherished
friends; and, last of all, about the number of your
works, the majority of which even the Italians,
your nearest neighbours, have never so much as
heard of. As for the barbarians, who bound us
upon two sides, and from whom I would that we
were separated not by lofty Alps alone but by the
whole wide sea as well, they scarcely have heard —
I will not say of your books, but even of your very
name. You see how trivial a thing is this wonder-
ful fame which we mortals sigh for so windily. . .
256 Petrarch
And now what shall I say about the matter of
imitation ? When you found yourself soaring so
high on the wings of genius you ought to have
foreseen that you would always have imitators.
You should be glad that your endowments are such
that many men long to be like you, although not
many can succeed. Why not be glad, you who are
sure of holding always the first place, when I, the
least of mortals, am more than glad, am in fact
puffed up with pride, because I have grown great
enough for others — though I scarcely can believe
that this is really true — to desire to imitate and copy
me ? In my case the pride and joy would only in-
crease if among these imitators there should be
found some few who were capable of surpassing me.
I pray — not your Apollo, but the true God of Intel-
lect whom I worship, to crown the efforts of all who
may deem it worth their while to follow after me,
and to errant that thev mav find it an easv thing- to
come up with me, and outstrip me too.
But I am wandering. It was my intention to
speak to you of Virgil, than whom, as Flaccus says,
this earth has produced no soul more spotless; and
to suggest to you, great master of us both, certain ex-
cuses for his conduct. ... I admit the truth of
everything that you say concerning him, but it does
not necessarily follow that I lend a sympathetic ear to
the charges that you base upon this failure of his to
make anywhere any mention of your name, laden and
bedecked though he is with your spoils, — mention,
you remind me, such as Lucan made, remembering
in grateful strains the honour due to Smyrna's bard.
The Father of Humanism 257
Far from that, I am even going to suggest to you
additional cause for complaint. Flaccus also remem-
bers you, in many a passage, and always with the
highest praise. In one place he exalts you above
the very philosophers ; in another he assigns to you
the highest seat among the poets. Naso remem-
bers you too, and Juvenal, and Statins. But why
try to mention all who mention Homer ? There is
scarcely one of our writers but that belongs in that
class. Why is it then, you will say, that I find
the one man from whom I deserved most gratitude
proving so utterly ungrateful ? Before I answer you
let me furnish you still another reason for complaint.
Observe that he was not equally ungrateful in every
case. Musjeus and Linus and Orpheus are referred
to more than once. So also, and with even greater
humility, Hesiod the Ascraean and Theocritus of
Syracuse. And finally, a thing that he never would
have done if he had had any touch of jealousy, he
takes pains to speak of Varus, and Gallus, and certain
others of his contemporaries.
Well, have I aggravated sufficiently the resent-
ment which I proposed to assuage, or entirely re-
move ? The natural conclusion, certainly, for anyone
to draw, if this were all that I had to say. But it is
not ; we have not considered yet the reasons for all
this, and given them their due weight, and that we
should always do, especially when we are sitting in
judgment upon others.
Is it not true, then, that he chose Theocritus for his
guide and model in the Bucolics, and Hesiod in the
Georgics, and, having done so, took pains to intro-
'7
258 Petrarch
duce the name of each in its appropriate place ?
Yes, you will say; but after choosing me for his
third model, in his heroic poem, what was there to
prevent his making some mention there, in like
manner, of my name ? He would have done so,
believe me, for he was the gentlest and most unas-
suming of men, as is proved by all that is written of
him and all that we know of his daily life; but im-
pious death forbade. The others he had referred
to wherever he thought of it or found it convenient;
fof you, to whom he owed so much more, he was
reserving a place that had been determined not by
mere chance but by the most careful consideration.
And what place, think you ? What but the most
prominent and conspicuous of all ? The end of his
glorious work ! — it was for that that he was waiting;
it was there that he was intending to exalt you and
your name to the stars in resounding verse, and to
hail you as his leader. What better place to praise
a leader than at the journey's end ? You have good
reason, then, for lamenting his too early death, and
so has the whole Italian world; but for reproaching
your friend, none whatever
Now, in conclusion, I must run over the various
little complaints that are scattered up and down
the whole length of your letter. You grieve be-
cause you have been mangled so by your imitators.
But do you not see that it could not possibly have
been otherwise ? No one could deal comprehen-
sively with so great a genius. Then you mourn be-
cause your name, which was held in great honour
by the lawyers and physicians of old, is despised by
The Father of Humanism 259
their successors of to-day. But you forget that
these professions are filled now by men of a very
different stamp from those who followed them in
former times. If they were of the same sort they
would love and cherish the same things. So put
away your indignation and your grief, and be of
good hope: for to have gained the disfavour of the
evil and the ignorant is to have given sure sign of
virtue and genius.
A word now with reference to your complaint that
the valley of Fiesole and the banks of the Arno can
furnish only three men who know you and love you.
You ought not to wonder at this. It is enough;
indeed, it is a very great deal, more than I should
have expected, to discover three Pierian spirits in a
city so entirely given up to gain. But even if you
think otherwise you need not be discouraged ; it is
a large and populous place, and if you seek you
will find there a fourth. And to these four I could
once have added a fifth, a man who well deserves to
be honoured thus, for the laurels of Peneus bind his
brow — or of Alpheus rather. But alas! the great
Babylon beyond the Alps has contrived to steal
him away from us. To find five such men at one
time and in one city, is that, think you, a little
thing ? Search through other cities. Your beloved
Bologna that you sigh for,' hospitable though she is
to all who are of studious mind, has yet but one
' Voigt argues from these words that the letter to which this of
Petrarch's is a reply came from Bologna. De Nolhac thinks it more
prohat)le that it was written from Florence, by Boccaccio and his
friends.
26o Petrarch
such person, though you seek in every corner and
crevice, Verona has two ; Solmonaone; and Man-
tua one, if the heavens have not tempted him quite
away from the things of earth, for he has left your
banner and enHsted under that of Ptolemy. Rome
herself, the capital of the world, has been drained
of such citizens almost to a man, strange though
it seems. Perugia did produce one, a man who
might have made a name for himself; but he has
neglected his opportunities, and turned his back
not on Parnassus only but on our Apennines and
Alps as well, and now, in old age, is leading a
vagabond life, in Spain, toiling as a copyist to
earn his daily bread. And other cities have given
birth to others, but all of these whom I have
known have before now left this mortal home and
migrated to that continuing city which one day
shall receive us all.
For a long while I have been talking to you just
as if you were present ; but now the strong illusion
fades away, and I realise how far you are from me.
There comes over me a fear that you will scarcely
care, down in the shades, to read the many things
that I have written here. Yet I remember that you
wrote freely to me.
And now farewell, forever. To Orpheus, and Li-
nus, and Euripides, and all the others, I beg you
to give my kindest greetings, when you come again
to your abode.
Written in the world above ; in the Midland be-
tween the famous rivers Po and Ticino and Adda
and others, whence some say our Milan derives its
The Father of Humanism 261
name; on the ninth day of October, in the year of
this last age of the world the 1360th.
With this, as throwing further light upon
Petrarch's limitations, may be placed the letter
to his brother, upon the nature of poetry, to
which reference was made above in discussing
the question of allegory :
On the Nature of Poetry.
To his BrotJicr Ghcrardo.^
I judge, from what I know of your religious fer-
vour, that you will feel a sort of repugnance toward
the poem which I enclose in this letter, deeming it
quite out of harmony with all your professions, and
in direct opposition to your whole mode of thinking
and living. But you must not be too hasty in your
conclusions. What can be more foolish than to
pronounce an opinion upon a subject that you have
not investigated ? The fact is, poetry is very far
from being opposed to theology. Does that sur-
prise you ? One may almost say that theology
actually is poetry, poetry concerning God. To call
Christ now a lion, now a lamb, now a worm, what
pray is that if not poetical ? And you will find
thousands of such things in the Scriptures, so very
many that I cannot attempt to enumerate them.
What indeed are the parables of our Saviour, in the
Gospels, but words whose sound is foreign to their
' Fani., X., 4.
262 Petrarch
sense, or allegories, to use the technical term ? But
allegory is the very warp and woof of all poetry.
Of course, though, the subject matter in the two
cases is very different. That everyone will admit.
In the one case it is God and things pertaining to
him that are treated, in the other mere gods and
mortal men.
Now we can see how Aristotle came to say that
the first theologians and the first poets were one and
the same. The very name of poet is proof that he
> was right. Inquiries have been made into the origin
of that word ; and, although the theories have varied
somewhat, the most reasonable view on the whole
is this: that in early days, when men were rude and
unformed, but full of a burning desire — which is
part of our very nature — to know the truth, and es-
pecially to learn about God, they began to feel sure
that there really is some higher power that controls
our destinies, and to deem it fitting that homage
should be paid to this power, with all manner of
reverence beyond that which is ever shown to men,
and also with an august ceremonial. Therefore,
just as they planned for grand abodes, which they
called temples, and for consecrated servants, to
whom they gave the name of priests, and for mag-
nificent statues, and vessels of gold, and marble
tables, and purple vestments, they also determined,
in order that this feeling of homage might not re-
main unexpressed, to strive to win the favour of the
deity by lofty words, subjecting the powers above
to the softening influences of songs of praise, sacred
hymns remote from all the forms of speech that
The Father of Humanism 26
o
pertain to common usage and to the affairs of state,
and embellished moreover by numbers, which add
a charm and drive tedium away. It behoved of
course that this be done not in every-day fashion,
but in a manner artful and carefully elaborated and
a little strange. Now speech which was thus height-
ened was called in Greek poeticcs ; so, very naturally,
those who used it came to be called poets.
Who, you will ask, is my authority for this ? But
can you not dispense with bondsmen, my brother,
and have a little faith in me ? That you should
trust my unsupported word, when I tell you things
that are true and bear upon their face the stamp of
truth, is nothing more, it seems to me, than I have
a right to ask of you. Still, if you iind yourself
disposed to proceed more cautiously, I will give you
bondsmen who are perfectly good, witnesses whom
you may trust with perfect safety. The first of
these is Marcus Varro, the greatest scholar that
Rome ever produced, and the next is Tranquillus,
an investigator whose work is characterised always
by the utmost caution. Then I can add a third
name, which will probably be better known to you,
Isidore. He too mentions these matters, in the
eighth book of his Etymologies, although briefly and
merely on the authority of Tranquillus.
But you will object, and say, " I certainly can be-
lieve the saint, if not the other learned men ; and
yet the fact remains that the sweetness of your
poetry is inconsistent with the severity of my
life." Ah! but you are mistaken, my brother.
Why, even the Old Testament fathers made use of
264 Petrarch
poetry, both heroic song and other kinds. Moses,
for example, and Job, and David, and Solomon,
and Jeremiah. Even the psalms, which you are
always singing, day and night, are in metre, in the
Hebrew; so that I should be guilty of no inaccuracy
or impropriety if I ventured to style their author
the Christian's poet. Indeed the plain facts of the
case inevitably suggest some such designation. Let
me remind you, moreover, since you are not in-
clined to take anything that I say to-day without
authority, that even Jerome took this view of the
matter. Of course these sacred poems, these psalms,
which sing of the blessed man, Christ, — of his birth,
his death, his descent into hell, his resurrection, his
ascent into heaven, his return to judge the earth, —
never have been, and never could have been, trans-
lated into another language without some sacrifice
of either the metre or the sense. So, as the choice
had to be made, it has been the sense that has been
considered. And yet some vestige of metrical law
still survives, and the separate fragments we still
call verses, very properly, for verses they are.
So much for the ancients. Now as regards Am-
brose and Augustine and Jerome, our guides through
the New Testament, — to show that they too em-
ployed poetic forms and rhythms would be the
easiest of tasks; while in the case of Prudentius and
Prosper and Sedulius and the rest the mere names
are enough, for we have not a single word from
them in prose, while their metrical productions are
numerous and well known. Do not look askance
then, dear brother, upon a practice which you see
The Father of Humanism 265
has been approved by saintly men whom Christ has
loved. Consider the underlying meaning alone, and
if that is sound and true accept it gladly, no matter
what the outward form may be. To praise a feast
set forth on earthen vessels but despise it when it is
served on gold is too much like madness or hypo-
crisy.
But enough of preface, and of apology for form
and style. Let me come to the point, without
further explanation. You must know that three
summers ago, when I was in Gaul, the heat drove
me to the Fountain of the Sorgue, which we once
fixed upon, you will remember, as the place where
we would pass our life. By the grace of God, how-
ever, a far more safe and tranquil abode was being
prepared for you ; while I was to be denied the
enjoyment of even the little tranquillity that would
have been possible there, since fortune was planning
to raise me to a much higher station, very little to
my liking.
Well, here I was, with my mind divided, afraid to
undertake a task of any magnitude while I was under
such a burden of care, and yet quite unable to be
altogether idle, because I have been nourished from
my infancy on activity, an activity which I hope
has been praiseworthy, but which I know has been
incessant. So I chose a middle course, postponing
all work that was of much importance but doing
little odds and ends of writing, trifles that would
help me pass away the time. Now the very nature
of the region, the forest recesses to which the
coming of dawn made me long to flee and forget
2 66 Petrarch
my cares, and from which only the return of night
could bring me home, suggested that I sing a wood-
land strain. Accordingly I began to compose a
pastoral poem, in twelve eclogues, a thing that I
had long had in mind ; and you would scarcely be-
lieve me if I told you in how few days I had it all
completed, under the stimulus of the place.
Now the first of these eclogues, in accordance
with the intention that I had all along entertained,
was about our two selves. Consequently it has won
the distinction of being chosen to be sent to you ;
whether with the result of giving you pleasure or of
completely spoiling all your pleasure I scarcely can
decide. But that is neither here nor there. In
either case this kind of poetry is one that cannot be
understood unless a key to it is furnished by the
person who constructed it. So, as I would not
have you weary yourself to no purpose, I must give
you a brief outline, first of what I say, then of what
I mean by it.
Two shepherds are introduced, for it is of the
pastoral style. Pastoral names are given them,
naturally : Silvius and Monicus. Silvius, seeing
Monicus lying all alone in a cave, happy and at his
ease, envies him and speaks to him, expressing
amazement at his good fortune, and lamenting his
own estate. Monicus may forget his flocks and
fields, and think of rest alone, while he must make
his painful way over the rough hills. He marvels
the more at this great difference in their lot from
the fact that, as he expresses it, one and the same
mother bore them both, — so that we may under-
The Father of Humanism 267
stand that they are brothers. Monicus, in response,
throws all the blame for this hard life on Silvius
himself, saying that he is under no constraint what-
ever, but is wandering of his own free will through
the trackless forests and over the mountain sum-
mits. Silvius replies that there is a reason for these
w^anderings; the reason is love, nothing less than
love of the Muse. To make this clear he begins a
rather long story of two shepherds, who sing very
sweetly. He tells how he heard one of them in his
boyhood, and afterwards the other, and was so cap-
tivated by them that he began to neglect everything
else. He has been following them eagerly through
the mountains, and while doing so has learned to
sing, with a skill that others have praised, although
he himself is not yet satisfied with it ; and he in-
tends to struggle on toward the summit, and either
reach it or perish in the attempt.
Monicus now begins to urge Silvius to come into
the cave, for he will hear there even sweeter singing.
Presently, though, he breaks off, suddenly, as if he
saw signs of agitation in the other's face. Silvius,
however, offers some excuse, and Monicus continues.
When he has finished, Silvius asks who this shepherd
is that sings so sweetly ; never before has he heard
him mentioned. Thereupon Monicus, in the round-
about way that would be natural in an artless shep-
herd, instead of giving his name describes the land
of his birth, making mention, after the fashion of
rustics, wdio often wander in telling a story, of two
rivers that spring from one source. Then immedi-
atelv, as if he saw that he had made a mistake, he
268 Petrarch
turns his words round, and where he had begun to
speak of two rivers he goes on to tell of one, which
flows from two sources. Both of these are in Asia.
Silvius declares that he knows this river, citing in
confirmation the fact that a certain youth who goes
clad in hairy raiment bathes Apollo in it. In that
region, continues Monicus, a singer has arisen.
Silvius, upon hearing these words, remembers that
he has heard of this man, and proceeds to speak
slightingly of his voice and mode of singing, exalt-
ing his own by comparison. But Monicus objects,
and heaps upon the far-away singer well-deserved
praise. Thereupon Silvius after a time pretends to
acquiesce, and says that later he will return and test
the sweetness of these songs; now he must hurry
away. Monicus, wondering at this, begs to know
the reason of his haste, and learns that Silvius is in-
tent upon a song of his own which he has begun to
compose, concerning a certain famous youth whose
deeds he is briefly reviewing, and that he conse-
quently has no leisure now for other things. Mon-
icus accordingly brings the conversation to an end.
He bids Silvius good-bye, concluding with an earnest
exhortation to weigh well the dangers and chances
of such delay. And there you have the sum and
substance of the narrative.
Now as to its meaning. The shepherds who con-
verse are ourselves. I am Silvius, you are Monicus.
These names are chosen for the following reasons:
the former, partly because the scene of the eclogue
is of a sylvan character, partly because I always
have felt, from my earliest childhood, a hatred of
The Father of Humanism 269
cities, implanted in me by nature, and a love of
sylvan life, which has led many of our friends to
style me Sylvanus much more frequently than
Francesco. Then the other name comes from the
fact that there was one of the Cyclops who was
called Monicus, that is to say, one-eyed, and there
seemed a certain fitness in applying the name to
you, since of the two eyes which we mortals all use,
one to behold heavenly things and the other those
of the earth, you have cast away that which looks
earthward and are content to employ the nobler one
alone.
The cave, where Monicus dwells in solitude, is
Montrieux, where you are living your life in the
midst of grottoes and woods. Or it may be taken
for the very cave of Mary Magdalene, close by your
monastery, the place where she passed her period
of penitence, and where God lent the props of his
grace to your vacillating heart and made you stead-
fast in the holy purpose which you had so often
discussed with me.
For flocks and fields, which you are said to care
for no longer, understand your fellow-men and their
haunts, which you abandoned when you fled away
into solitude. The statement that we had one and
the same mother, and father too for that matter,
is not allegory but naked truth. The word sepul-
chre ' is to be taken as referring to our final abode.
The meaning is that heaven awaits you, but Tartarus
me, unless divine mercy comes to my rescue. Or
' The fiftli line of the eclogue reads :
Una fuit genetrix, at spes non una sepulchri.
270 Petrarch
the sentence can be taken literally, just as it reads,
for you have now a sure abode, and consequently a
fairly sure hope of sepulture, while I am still wan-
dering about at random, and everything in my
future is quite unsure.
The inaccessible peak, which Monicus upbraids
Silvius for struggling toward, panting and ex-
hausted though he is, is the height of fame, the
rarer sort of fame, which but few succeed in at-
taining to. The deserts where Silvius is said to
wander are scholarly pursuits. These to-day are
desert places indeed, being in some cases forsaken
outright, through love of money, in others de-
spaired of and neglected, in consequence of intel-
lectual sluggishness. The mossy rocks are the rich
and great, the moss being their inherited wealth,
which has slowly gathered about them. Murmuring
fountains can be used of men of letters and of those
who have the gift of eloquence, inasmuch as little
streams of intellectual influence flow from the well-
springs of genius that are within them, with a sound,
so to speak, that charms and delights us. As for
Silvius' swearing by Pales, that is a shepherd oath,
for Pales is the shepherds' goddess. We may under-
stand there Mary, who is not a goddess, to be sure,
but yet is the mother of God. Parthenias is Virgil
himself. It is not a name of my devising. We
read in his biography that he well deserved to be
styled Parthenias, or the virgin ; so his whole life
showed. That the reader may be sure to under-
stand this reference the place is added ; the region,
as I express it, where Benacus, a lake of Cisalpine
The Father of Humanism 271
Gaul, produces a son that closely resembles himself.
This son is the Mincius, a river that we associate
with Mantua, which is Virgil's native town.
On the other hand, the shepherd of noble blood
who has been brought here from another land signi-
fies Homer. In that passage almost every word has
a meaning. Even the indc, which is put for delude,
is used not without a certain mysteriousness, seeing
that I came in contact with Virgil when I was a
boy, but with Wovacx afterwards, when I was some-
what advanced in years.' . . . The epithet
noble is of course Homer's by right, for what is
more truly noble than his language or mind ? Again,
I knoiv not from zvhat valley he has come was added
because there are varying opinions as to the place
of his birth, no one of which have I accepted in that
place in the eclogue. Finally, that Virgil drank at
the Homeric sprhig is a fact which is known to
everyone who has to do with poetry. The mistress
of whom they both are said to be worthy is Fame,
for whose sakes they are poets. Except for their
mistresses lovers would not sing. The bristling
forest and the mountains that rise into the air, at
which Silvius is amazed because they do not follow
after these sweet singers, are the uncultivated multi-
tude and the persons who occupy high stations.
The descent from the mountain-tops to the bottom of
' The reference here seems to be to lines 13 sqq. (Basle edition of
the Opera, 1581.) Possibly inde stood originally at the beginning of
line 20, for ecce. There is much evidence, throughout the letter, to
the effect that Petrarch either had before him a slightly different text
from that known to us or merely reviewed the eclogue hastily and
then trusted to his memory or imj^ressions while writing.
2 72 Petrarch
the valleys, and the ascent from the valleys into the
mountains again, which Silvius refers to in speaking
of himself, are the transition from the heights of
theory to the low and level ground of practice, and,
conversely, the movement in the opposite direction,
when our attitude changes. The fountain which
praises the singer is the chorus of scholars. The
dry and barren crags are the ignorant and illiterate,
who, like the rocks where echo dwells, possess
mere voice and power of agreement, without any
power of discrimination. The nympJis, the god-
desses of the fountains, are the divine minds of
scholars. The tJircsJiold ovq.x \v\\\z\\ Monicus invites
Silvius to pass is that of the Carthusian order, into
which assuredly no one has ever been lured by de-
ception, or against his will, as many persons have
been into other religious bodies. The shepherd
whose singing Monicus prefers to Homer and Virgil
is no otiier than David. The mention of singing to
the psaltery is peculiarly appropriate in his case, be-
cause of the psalms, which are his work. In the
middle of the night, on account of the singing of the
psalms in your churches at early dawn. The tivo
rivers from a single source, as Monicus puts it first
by mistake, are the Tigris and the Euphrates, well-
known streams of Armenia. Then the single river
from a double source is the Jordan, in Judaea. For
this fact we have many authorities, among them
Jerome, who was a diligent student of those regions
and lived there for a long time. The names of the
two sources are Jor and Dan. By their union both
the stream and its name are formed. The Jordan
The Father of Humanism 273
empties, it is said, into the Sea of Sodom, where
we are told that the fields are strewn with ashes
from the burning of the cities. In this river Christ,
we learn, was baptised by John, So the hairy youth
is John the Baptist, who was but a youth, virgin,
pure, innocent, clad in hairy raiment, unkempt,
wearing the skin of a goat, with locks uncombed,
with face blackened by the suns. Then by Apollo,
whom I describe as son of Jupiter and god of intel-
lect, I mean Christ, who is the son of God, and very
God himself, and moreover, as I suggest, our god
of intellect and wisdom. For, as all theologians
know, among the attributes of the persons that con-
stitute the Holy Trinity, one and indivisible, wisdom
belongs to the Son ; he is the wisdom of the Father.
Again, the Jioarse voice and ncvci'-ccasing tears and
oft-rcpcated name of Jcrusalcin are intended as a
reference to David, because of his style, which at
first seems rough and full of lamentation, and fur-
thermore because there really is frequent mention
of that city in the psalms, sometimes historical,
sometimes allegorical. Now there follows a brief
enumeration of the subjects which the poets whom
Silvius is striving to exalt are wont to sing. To
explain all this would take a long time. Besides
it is sufficiently clear already to those who are pro-
ficient in such matters. And then Monicus replies,
excusing this harshness of David, and running with
like brevity over the list of subjects which he has
treated.
The youth about whose deeds Silvius has begun
to weave his song is Scipio Africanus, who laid
18
2 74 Petrarch
Polyphemus low upon the African shore. The
reference there is to Hannibal, the Carthaginian
leader. Hannibal and Polyphemus were both one-
eyed, after Hannibal's loss of an eye in Italy. The
Libyan lions, in which we know that Africa abounds,
are the other Carthaginian leaders, who were hurled
from power by the same conqueror. The sacrifices
that were consumed are the ships which he burned,
the ships upon which all the hopes of the Carthagin-
ians had hung. He destroyed five hundred of them
before their very eyes, so Roman history tells us.
The designation of starry yoiitJi is partly because of
the heroic valour which he possessed above all other
men, and which Virgil characterises as ' burning,'
Lucan as ' fiery ' ; and partly because the Romans
of his day were led by their admiration of him to
credit him with divine origin. The Italians are said
to praise \\\\rv froni the opposite shore because of the
fact that the shore of Italy really was opposed to
that of Africa, not alone in temper and feeling but
in situation too. Rome itself is directly across from
Carthage.
However, although this youth is praised so widely,
nobody has sung of him ; by which I meant to sug-
gest that although all history is full of his deeds and
his renown, and Ennius has written a great deal
about him, in his rude and unpolished style, as
Valerius calls it, there still is no carefully finished
metrical treatment of his achievements as yet. So
I decided long ago to sing of him myself, as best I
could. My poem of Africa is about him. I began
it in my youth, with a high heart. God grant that
The Father of Humanism 275
I may be permitted in my old age to bring it to the
happy conclusion which I then dreamed of. The
danger which always inheres in such postponement
•of a well-considered plan, and the mutability and
uncertainty of this life of ours, Monicus bids us
ponder upon, in his concluding remarks, which
scarcely call for further explanation. And you will
also understand the few sentences at the close, if
you will reflect a little. Farewell.
Written at Padua, on the second day of Decem-
ber, toward evening.
This next letter gives one some notion of
the difficulties of a scholar's life in Petrarch's
day :
On the Scarcity of Copyists.
To Lapo da Castiglioncliio}
Your Cicero has been in my possession four years
and more. There is a good reason, though, for so
long a delay; namely, the great scarcity of copyists
who understand such work. It is a state of affairs
that has resulted in an incredible loss to scholarship.
Books that by their nature are a little hard to under-
stand are no longer multiplied, and have ceased to
be generally intelligible, and so have sunk into utter
neglect, and in the end have perished. This age of
ours consequently has let fall, bit by bit, some of the
richest and sweetest fruits that the tree of know-
' Fam., xviii., I2.
276 Petrarch
ledge has yielded ; has thrown away the results of
the vigils and labours of the most illustrious men
of genius, things of more value, I am almost
tempted to say, than anything else in the whole
world.
But I must return to your Cicero. I could not
do without it, and the incompetence of the copyists
would not let me possess it. What was left for me
but to rely upon my own resources, and press these
weary fingers and this worn and ragged pen into
the service ? The plan that I followed was this. I
want you to know it, in case you should ever have
to grapple with a similar task. Not a single word
did 1 read except as I wrote. But how is that, I
hear someone say; did you write without knowing
what it was that you were writing ? Ah! but from
the very first it was enough for me to know that it
was a work of Tullius, and an extremely rare one
too. And then as soon as I was fairly started I
found at every step so much sweetness and charm,
and felt so strong a desire to advance, that the only
difficulty which I experienced in reading and writing
at the same time came from the fact that my pen
could not cover the ground so rapidly as I wanted
it to, whereas my expectation had been rather that
it would outstrip my eyes, and that my ardour for
writing would be chilled by the slowness of my
reading. So the pen held back the eye, and the
eye drove on the pen, and I covered page after
page, delighting in my task, and committing many
and many a passage to memory as I wrote. For
just in proportion as the writing is slower than the
The Father of Humanism 277
reading does the passage make a deep impression
and cling to the mind.
And yet I must confess that I did finally reach a
point in my copying where I was overcome by
weariness ; not mental, for how unlikely that would
be where Cicero was concerned, but the sort of fa-
tigue that springs from excessive manual labour.
I began to feel doubtful about this plan that I was
following, and to regret having undertaken a task
for which I had not been trained ; when suddenly I
came across a place where Cicero tells how he him-
self copied the orations of — someone or other; just
who it was I do not know, but certainly no Tullius,
for there is but one such man, one such voice, one
such mind. These are his words: " You say that
you have been in the habit of reading the orations
of Cassius in your idle moments. But I," he jest-
ingly adds, with his customary disregard of his
adversary's feelings, " have made a practice of
copying them, so that I might Jiavc no idle mo-
ments." As I read this passage I grew hot with
shame, like a modest young soldier who hears
the voice of his beloved leader rebuking him. I
said to myself, " So Cicero copied orations that
another wrote, and you are not ready to copy
his? What ardour! what scholarly devotion ! what
reverence for a man of godlike genius!" These
thoughts were a spur to me, and I pushed on, with
all my doubts dispelled. If ever from my darkness
there shall come a single ray that can enhance the
splendour of the reputation which his heavenly elo-
quence has won for him, it will proceed in no slight
278 Petrarch
measure from the fact that I was so captivated by
his ineffable sweetness that I did a thing in itself
most irksome with such delight and eagerness that
I scarcely knew I was doing it at all.
So then at last your Cicero has the happiness of
returning to you, bearing you my thanks. And yet
he also stays, very willingly, with me; a dear friend,
to whom I give the credit of being almost the only
man of letters for whose sake I would go to the
length of spending my time, when the difficulties of
life are pressing on me so sharply and inexorably
and the cares pertaining to my literary labours make
the longest life seem far too short, in transcribing
compositions not my own. I may have done such
things in former days, when I thought myself rich
in time, and had not learned how stealthily it slips
away : but I now know that this is of all our riches
the most uncertain and fleeting ; the years are closing
in upon me now, and there is no longer any room
for deviation from the beaten path. I am forced to
practice strict economy; I only hope that I have not
begun too late. But Cicero! he assuredly is worthy
of a part of even the little that I still have left.
Farewell.
The two letters that follow, and that con-
clude this chapter, are given as indicative of
the various ways in which Petrarch brought
his enthusiasm for the classics to bear upon
his contemporaries. It was partly through
such conscious effort, and partly through the
The Father of Humanism 279
general spirit and tone of all his letters, and
of his other writing's too, that he affected the
thouo^ht of his time.
Ignorance and Presttmption Rebuked.
To Giovanni Andrea di Bologna.^
I find it hard to tell you how much my ears,
fatigued by the clamour of the multitude, have been
refreshed by your letter, which I have read and re-
read several times over. You thought it verbose,
as I learned at the end; but I found nothing to
criticise in it except its brevity. Your threat at
the close, that in the future you will be more con-
cise, I did not like. I should prefer to have you
more detailed. But that shall be as you please;
you are my master; it is not for you to think of
my preferences, but for me to try to adapt myself
to yours.
This, however, does not necessarily mean that
the game is to be entirely in your hands. Things
often turn out, as you very well know, quite differ-
ently from what we expect. It is possible that you
' Fa??!., iv., 15. Giovanni Andrea (f 134S), whose lectures Petrarch
had attended when at the University of Bologna, was renowned as an
expert in the canon law; he was called "the Archdoctor of the
Decretum," and held his chair in the University for no less than
forty-five years. His extant writings do not exhibit the ignorance
which Petrarch here exposes. He was perhaps, as Fracassetti sug-
gests, tai poco piu catito e co7isiderato in his books than in his lectures
to his students and his letters to his friends. Cf. Let. delU Cose
Farn., i., 56S sijq.
28o Petrarch
may once in a while hear something from me that
would force even the most devoted lover of silence
to speak out. Do you want me to show you, here and
now, that I can live up to that threat ? Very well;
I will do it. But first of all let me protest that I
entertain the same opinion concerning you that
Macrobius does of Aristotle; begotten perhaps by
my love for you, perhaps by the truth, — I do not at-
tempt to decide. I consider you scarcely capable
of ignorance, upon any subject whatever. If any-
thing does escape you that seems contrary to fact, I
conclude either that you have spoken a little hastily,
or, as Macrobius says, that you were indulging in a
playful jest. I am not thinking now of what you
wrote concerning Jerome, that you place him above
all the other fathers of the church. Your opinion
upon that subject is of long standing and widely
known, and not at all new to me. Although it
really seems to me idle to contend thus from the
comparative point of view about geniuses who are
all superlative, still, on the other hand, you cannot
be mistaken in what you say. Whatever wins your
approval will be greatest and best. And yet I re-
member that I used to debate this matter a great
deal with your friend of glorious memory, Giacomo,
Bishop of Lombez, and that, while he followed in
your footsteps and always and invariably preferred
Jerome, I used to give the palm among all our
Catholic writers to Augustine. And — well, I be-
lieve upon reflection that I will dismiss my fears of
offending either the truth or your susceptibilities,
my father, and say precisely what I think. There
The Father of Humanism 281
are many bright stars, of varying magnitude ; one we
may call Jupiter, another Arcturus, another Lucifer,
but the great Sun of the Church is surely Augustine.
This, however, as I have implied, is a matter on
which I am not disposed to lay much stress. Free-
dom of choice can harm no one; freedom of judg-
ment must be respected. But the statement that
follows, that among ethical writers you place Vale-
rius highest, does amaze me; that is, if you were
speaking seriously and will abide by what you say,
and not jestingly, just for the sake of trying me.
For if Valerius is first, where pray does Plato stand ?
and Aristotle ? and Cicero ? and Annaeus Seneca,
whom good judges have ranked as a moralist above
them all ? Perhaps Plato and Tullius will have to
be dropped from my list, however, on grounds that
you have stated elsewhere in your letter. For, to
my great astonishment — I really cannot conceive
what you were thinking of — you declare that they
are poets, and ought to be admitted to the poetic
choir! If your saying so should make it so, you
would accomplish more than you imagine. Apollo
would smile upon you and the Muses applaud, when
they found you introducing your distinguished new
denizens to the hills and groves of Parnassus.'
What in the world induced you to think or say
' Petrarch not infrequently said sharp things, and said them well,
as here. He is witty, too, at times. He often indulges, also, in a
quiet jest or a bit of banter. He habitually takes the mellow toler-
ant view of harmless follies and foibles. But humour, pure and
simple, of the highest type, the humour that is a deep and essential
part of a man's nature, and that consequently is all-embracing and
282 Petrarch
such a thing, when it is so plain that TulHus in his
early works is the greatest of orators, and in his
later an eminent philosopher ? Besides, while we
feel everywhere that Virgil, for instance, is a poet,
Tullius is nowhere so. What we read in the De-
clamations is certainly true, that Virgil's felicity
deserted him when he wrote in prose, and Cicero's
eloquence when he wrote in verse. And then what
am I to say of Plato, who by the consensus of all
the greatest judges is not a poet at all, but the prince
of philosophers ? Turn to Cicero, to Augustine,
to other writers who speak with authority, as
many of them as you please, and you will find that
wherever in their books they have exalted Aristotle
above the rest of the philosophers they have always
taken pains to declare that Plato is the one excep-
tion. What it is that makes Plato a poet I cannot
imagine, unless it be a remark of Panjetius, quoted
by Tullius, where he is denominated the Homer of
philosophy. This means nothing more than chief
of philosophers; as preeminent among them as
Homer among the poets. If we do not explain it
so, what are we to say of Tullius himself, when in
a certain passage in the letters to Atticus he calls
Plato his God ? They are both trying in every
possible way to express their sense of the godlike
nature of Plato's genius; hence the name of Homer,
and, more explicit still, that of God.
ever-present, he lacks. To this lack maybe ascribed, in his life, the
tendency to take himself at times somewhat too seriously ; and, in his
writings, the absence of that saving sense of ' the little more ' and
' the little less ' without which perfect proportion and perfect taste
are well-nigh impossible in artistic productions.
The Father of Humanism 283
Next, prompted by this reference to Cicero and
Plato, you discourse — with wonderful eloquence and
charm for one who is speaking about things that he
does not understand — upon the poets in general,
entering into an enthusiastic discussion of the iden-
tity of one and another of them, the time when
they were born, the characteristics of their style, the
particular kind of poetry that they affected, and
their place upon the roll of fame. To review all
this in detail would be too long a task, — so numerous
are the things which none of us had ever heard of
before, but you have now disclosed to such of us as
are eager to learn, in this eloquent epistle. And
yet on second thought, if you will concede to me,
or rather not to me but to my calling, the right to
offer just one objection, I shall express my wonder
at finding the names of Naevius and Plautus so en-
tirely unknown to you that you think me guilty of
a solecism in inserting them in my letter, and re-
prove me indirectly for daring, as Flaccus puts it,
to invent characters before unheard of. You do
not make this charge in so many words, but your
doubts are such and so stated as to amount to
nothing less than a condemnation of my temerity in
bringing upon the stage names that are strange and
foreign. It is true, you did in the end curb your
longing to speak plainly, and with your usual
courtesy and modesty chose to blame rather your
own ignorance. And yet, unless I am greatly mis-
taken, it is one of those cases where a man's words
say one thing but his real convictions loudly pro-
claim another. I wonder at this, for Terence you
284 Petrarch
seem to know very well, and he, at the very be-
ginning of his works, in the prologue of t\\Q Andria,
makes definite mention of Naevius and Plautus, and,
in the same verse, of Ennius too. Then in the
EunucJius he refers to them again, and in the Adelphi
speaks of Plautus alone. Cicero, too, mentions them
together, in his De Senectiite, and Aulus Gellius in
his Noctes Attic<2, where he gives their epitaphs, in
old-fashioned Latin. All this argument is needless,
however, for who ever heard the name of poetry
apart from the names of these two men ? Your
amazement therefore fills me with amaze ; and I beg
you, my father, — if you will let me speak freely, — not
to allow these lucubrations of yours to pass into any
hands but mine. The brighter one's renown, the
more carefully should it be guarded. To me, indeed,
you may say whatever you wish, as freely as to
yourself. You may change and retract, as scholars
have to do when they commune with their own past
thoughts. But when your w'ords have gone abroad
all power of choice is taken away, and you must
submit to whatever judgments the multitude may
pronounce upon you. I send your letter back to
you in safe custody, and send this with it, keeping
a copy, though, simply that I may be able, if you
should desire to continue the discussion, to place
your arguments by the side of mine which called
them forth, instead of having to tax my memory for
what I had said.
In writing thus I do not for a moment forget that
a letter of reproof addressed to a father by a son can
scarcely fail to seem harsh and rude. But you must
The Father of Humanism 285
let my love for you excuse such boldness. My re-
gard for your reputation compels me to speak, for
if I keep silent you will be sure to hear these things
from others, or, still worse, will be injured by severe
judgments uttered behind your back.
Let me say, then, that I detect in your writings a
constant effort to make a display. This, I take it,
accounts for your tendency to roam through strange
volumes, culling out fine passages to weave into
your own discourses. Your pupils, amazed at such
an array of names, applaud you and call you omni-
scient, just as if you really knew every author the
titles of whose books your memory happens to re-
tain. Scholars, however, find it easy to discriminate
between a man's acquisitions and his borrowings;
easy, too, to determine what portion of the latter
he has a right to, what he holds by precarious tenure,
and what he has simply stolen ; when he has drunk
deep, from a full fountain, and when he has taken
only a hasty sip.
It is a childish thing to glory in a mere display of
memory. As Seneca has said, it is unseemly for a
grown man to go gathering nosegays; he should
care for fruit rather than flowers. But you, in spite
of your years and the venerableness that they have
brought with them ; in spite of the fact that you are
of great eminence in your profession ; indeed, — for
this task of taking you down is a thankless one, and
I am glad now and then to try smoothing you down
instead,' — are the very first man of your time in the
' The original demands some such forced play upon words : ' ut
non semper pungam sed interdum ungam.'
286 Petrarch
department of literature to which you have devoted
yourself, nevertheless, like a truant child, break
bounds, and go wandering away into fields where
you do not belong, and spend the evening of your
days in picking pretty flowers. You seem to take
delight in exploring new regions, where the paths
are unknown to you and you are sure to go astray
once in a while or fall into a pit. You like to
follow the example of those who parade their know-
ledge before their doors, like so much merchan-
dise, while their houses wdthin are empty. Ah ! it is
safer to be something than to be always trying to
seem to be. Ostentation is difficult and dangerous.
Moreover, just when you are most desirous of being
deemed great, innumerable little things are sure to
happen which not only reduce you to your true
dimensions but bring you below them. No one in-
tellect should ever strive for distinction in more than
one pursuit. Those who boast of preeminence in
many arts are either divinely endow^ed or utterly
shameless or simply mad. Who ever heard of such
presumption in olden times, on the part of either
Greeks or men of our own race ? It is a new prac-
tice, a new kind of effrontery. To-day men write
up over their doors inscriptions full of vainglory,
containing claims which, if true, would make them,
as Pliny puts it, superior even to the law of the
land. But when one looks within — ye gods! what
emptiness is there!
So, in conclusion, I beg you, if my words have
any weight, to be content within your own bounds.
Do not imitate these men who are all promise and
The Father of Humanism 287
no performance; who, as the comic poet has said,
know everything and yet know nothing. There is
a certain wise old Greek proverb that bids everyone
stick to the trade that he understands. Farewell.'
The Young Humanist of Ravenna.
To Boccaccio."^
A year after your departure I had the good fortune
to secure the services of a fine, generous, young lad,
whom I am sorry you do not know. He knows you
well, for he has often seen you, at Venice, in your
house, Svhere I am now living, and also at the home
of our friend Donato, and on such occasions has ob-
served you very carefully, as is natural at his age.
I want you to know him, too, so far as that is pos-
sible at such long range, and to see him with the
mind's eye, when you read my letters, and so I will
tell you a little about him. He was born on the
coast of the Adriatic, at about the time, if I am not
' The old jurist did not take this criticism kindly, but made an
angry effort to justify himself ; whereupon Petrarch wrote again, ex-
posing his ignorance and childishness more savagely even than in
this first epistle.
^ Fa?)i., xxiii., 19.
^ The reader must not be led by iVx'i fa(;on de parler to infer that
the impecunious Boccaccio owned a mansion in Venice. Petrarch
was fond of speaking of his own possessions as belonging to his friends ;
he refers here to the house furnished him by the Venetian government
in exchange for his library. Boccaccio had visited him there, in the
summer of 1363, some two years before this letter was written. — For
the discussions to which the description of this brilliant youth have
given rise the reader is referred to Fracassetti's long note, Let. delU
Cose tain., v., 91 sqq.
288 Petrarch
mistaken, when you were living there," with the
tormer lord of that region, the grandfather of him
who now holds sway. The lad's own family and
fortune are humble. But he is well endowed, never-
theless. He has a force of character and a power of
self-control that would be praiseworthy even in old
age; and a mind that is keen and flexible; and a
memory that is rapacious, and capacious, and, best
of all, tenacious. My bucolics, which are divided
off into twelve eclogues, as you know, he committed
to memory within eleven days, reciting one section
to me each evening and two the last time, repeating
them without a single hitch, as if he had the book be-
fore his eyes. Besides that, he has himself a great
deal of invention, — a rare thing in these days, —
and a fine enthusiasm, and a heart that loves the
Muses; and he is already, as Maro hath it, making
new songs of his own; and if he lives, and his de-
velopment keeps pace with his years, as I am con-
fident it will, he surely will be something great, as
was prophesied of Ambrose by his father. There is
much to be said for him even now, at an age when
usually there is very little to say. Of one of his
good tendencies you have just heard. You shall
hear now of another, a trait that constitutes the best
possible foundation for sound character and solid
intellectual attainments. As the common herd loves
money and longs to possess it, even so, and more,
does he hate it and spurn it. To ' add to golden
numbers golden numbers ' he considers labour
worse than lost. He is scarcely willing to acquire
' At Ravenna.
The Father of Humanism 289
the necessaries of life. In his love of solitude, his
fasting, his vigils, he vies with me, often surpasses
me. In brief, his character has so recommended
him to me that he is every bit as dear to me as a son
whom I had begotten ; perhaps dearer, because a
son — such alas! are the ways of our young men
nowadays — would wish to rule, while all his study
is to obey, to follow not his own inclinations but
my will, and this not from any selfish motive, such
as the hope of reward, but solely from love and,
possibly, an expectation of being benefited by as-
sociation with me.' .
And now I come, at the close, to what really was
first in my thoughts. The lad has a decided leaning
toward poetry ; and if he perseveres in his efforts,
till in due time he learns to think clearly and vigor-
ously, he will compel your wonder and your con-
gratulations. But so far he is vague and uncertain,
because of the feebleness of youth, and does not
always know what he wants to say. What he does
want to. however, he says very nobly and beautifully.
So it frequently happens that there falls from him
some poem that is not only pleasing to the ear but
dignified and graceful and well-considered, the sort
of work that you would ascribe, if you were ignorant
of the author, to some writer of long experience.
I am confident that he will develop vigour of thought
and expression, and work out, as the result of his
experiments, a style of his own, and learn to avoid
imitation, or, better, to conceal it, so as to give the
impression not of copying but rather of bringing to
' For the passage here omitted see p. i^o s(j. above.
19
290 Petrarch
Italy from the writers of old something new. Now,
however, imitation actually is his greatest joy, as is
usual at his time of life. Sometimes his delight in
another's genius seems to lend to his spirit wings,
and he defies all the restraints of his art and soars
aloft, so high that he cannot continue his flight as
he should, and has to descend in a fashion that be-
trays him. The strongest of all these admirations
is for Virgil. It is marvellously strong. He thinks
very many of our poets worthy of praise, but Virgil
worthy almost of worship He loves him so, is so
fascinated by him, that he often takes pains to
weave bits from his poems into his own verse. I,
rejoicing to find that he is overtaking me and long-
ing to see him press on and become what I have
always aspired to be, warn him, in a fatherly and
friendly fashion, to consider carefully what he is
about. An imitator must see to it that what he
writes is similar, but not the very same; and the
similarity, moreover, should be not like that of a
painting or statue to the person represented, but
rather like that of a son to a father, where there is
often great difference in the features and members,
and yet after all there is a shadowy something,— akin
to what our painters call one's air, — hovering about
the face, and especially the eyes, out of which there
grows a likeness that immediately, upon our behold-
ing the child, calls the father up before us. If it
were a matter of measurement every detail would
be found to be different, and yet there certainly is
some subtle presence there that has this effect.
In much the same wav we writers, too, must see to
The Father of Humanism 291
it that along with the similarity there is a large
measure of dissimilarity; and furthermore such like-
ness as there is must be elusive, something that it is
impossible to seize except by a sort of still-hunt, a
quality to be felt rather than defined. In brief, we
may appropriate another's thought, and may even
copy the very colours ' of his style, but we must
abstain from borrowing his actual words. The re-
semblance in the one case is hidden away below the
surface; in the other it stares the reader in the face.
The one kind of imitation makes poets; the other
— apes. It may all be summed up by saying with
Seneca, and with Flaccus before him, that we must
write just as the bees make honey, not keeping the
flowers but turning them into a sweetness of our
own, blending many very different flavours into one,
which shall be unlike them all, and better.
I often say such things, and he always listens as
' A metaphor of which Petrarch is fond. Usually his employment
of it can be traced directly to Cicero and Quintilian, but now and
then it occurs in a passage that seems to tell of his own keen delight
in the sensuous side of language ; as in Fam., viii., 7, where he says to
' Socrates ' : ' Ubi . . . dulciter intermicantes colores rhetoricos
quserebamus, nil nisi dolentis interjectiones . . . aspicimus.' This
quotation, and the entire letter above, concerning the young Hu-
manist, are but two among very many indications, scattered through
the whole correspondence, that Petrarch had thought long and care-
fully about literary art, and had formulated to himself all of its prin-
ciples, down to the very least. His judgment and feeling concerning
literature were unerring, except when he was led astray by his alle-
gorising tendency and by a mediaeval fondness for senseless plays
upon words. Yet outside of his own art he seems to have been de-
cidedly crude aesthetically, as has been the case with many another
great man of letters, before and since.
292 Petrarch
he would to his own father. It happened the other
day, though, as I was advising him in this fashion,
that he offered the following objection, " I see
your meaning," he said, " and I admit the truth of
all that you say. But the occasional, sparing, use
of others' words, — that is a thing for which I have
abundant warrant, in the practice of very many of
our poets, and of yourself above all. ' ' I was amazed,
and replied, " If ever you have found such things
in my works, my son, you may be sure that it is
due to some oversight, and is very far from being
my deliberate intention. I know that cases of this
sort, where a writer makes use of another's words,
are to be found by the thousand in the poets; but
I myself have always taken the utmost pains, when
composing, to avoid every trace both of my own
work and, more particularly, of my predecessors',
difificult though such avoidance is. But where,
pray, is this passage of mine, by which you justify
yourself ? " "In your bucolics, number six, where,
not far from the end, there is a verse that concludes
with these words: atque intonat ore.'' I was as-
tounded ; for I realised, as he spoke, what I had
failed to see when writing, that this is the ending
of one of Virgil's lines, in the sixth book of his
divine poem. I determined to communicate the
discovery to you ; not that there is room any longer
for correction, the poem being well known by this
time and scattered far and wide, but that you might
upbraid yourself for having left it to another to
point out this slip of mine; or, if it has chanced to
escape your own notice so far, that you might learn
The Father of Humanism 293
of it now, and at the same time might be led to
reflect on the fact that we mortals, all of us, — not I
alone, who with all my zeal and industry am handi-
capped by insuf^ciency of talent and literary train-
ing, but all other men as well, however great their
learning and their abilities, — are so limited in our
powers that all our inventions have some element of
incompleteness, perfection being the prerogative
of him alone from whom proceeds the little that we
know and are able to do. Then, in conclusion, I
want you to join me in praying Virgil to pardon me,
and not harden his heart against me for unwittingly
borrowing — not stealing — these few words from
him, — who himself has stolen outright, many and
many a time, from Homer, and Ennius, and Lucre-
tius, and many another poet. Farewell.
PaviA; Oct. 28, [1365].
IV
TRAVELS
295
Ulysseos errores erroribus meis confer: profecto si
nominis et rerum claritas una foret, nee diutius erravit
ille, nee latius. — Prafatio.
296
THE Italians were probably the first among-
modern peoples to discover the outer
world to be something beautiful in itself.
"Would that you could know," Petrarch writes
to a friend, " with what delight I wander, free
and alone, among the mountains, forests, and
streams." He spent many years, as we have
seen, in his simple rustic home at Vaucluse,
and throughout his life he was in the habit of
retiring now and then to the seclusion of the
country. In no way did his tastes more nearly
approach our modern predilections than in his
love of nature and his passion for travel.
He was once invited to accompany a friend
upon a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, but he dis-
creetly refused the invitation ; not that he feared
the perils of the deep, but he could not overcome
his horror of sea-sickness, which he had sev-
eral times experienced upon the Mediterranean.
Instead of joining his friend, he prepared a
little guide-book ^ for him, which might serve
to call his attention to the noteworthy objects
' Itinerarium Syriacum, Opera, pp. 556 sqq.
297
298 Petrarch
upon the long journey from Genoa to Jerusa-
lem. It is significant that Petrarch deals
principally in his little manual not with the
half-legendary attractions of the Orient, but
with the familiar beauties of their own Italy.
He does not forget, at the very opening of the
journey, the lovely valleys of the Riviera, with
their tumbling brooks, and the pleasing con-
trast of wildness and verdure on the hills to
the east of Genoa. But, like a true lover of
nature, he felt himself powerless adequately to
describe the scene, and contented himself with
commending to his friend's admiration the
beauties which no mortal pen could depict.^
The four letters which follow have been chosen
with the aim of illustrating Petrarch's attitude
toward the world about him.
All Excursion to Paris, the Netherlands, and
the Rhine.
To Cardinal Giovanni Colonna."^
I have lately been travelling through France, not
on business, as you know, but simply from a youth-
' " Quns multo facilius tibi sit mirari quam cuiquam hominum
stylo amplecti." Jtincraritan Syriacum, Opi'ra, p. 557.
'^ Favt., i., 3, 4. The two letters in which Petrarch describes his
journey to the north are here given together. The first is dated
from Aix-la-Chapelle, June 21 [1333], and the second from Lyons,
August 9, of the same year.
Travels 299
ful curiosity to see the country. I finally penetrated
into Germany, to the banks of the Rhine itself. I
have carefully noted the customs of the people, and
have been much interested in observing the charac-
teristics of a country hitherto unknown to me, and
in comparing the things I saw with those at home.
While I found much to admire in both countries, I
in no way regretted my Italian origin. Indeed, the
more I travel, the more my admiration for Italy
grows. If Plato, as he himself says, thanked the
immortal gods, among other things, for making him
a Greek and not a barbarian, why should not we
too thank the Lord for the land of our birth, unless
to be born a Greek be considered more noble than to
be born an Italian. This, however, would be to as-
sert that the slave was above his master. No Greek-
ling, however shameless, would dare to make such a
claim, if he but recollected that long before Rome
was founded and had by superior strength estab-
lished her sway, long before the world yet knew of the
Romans, " men of the toga, lords of the earth," a
beggarly fourth part of Italy, a region desert and un-
inhabited, was nevertheless styled by its Greek col-
onists " Greater Greece." If that scanty area could
then be called great, how very great, how immense,
must the Roman power have seemed after Corinth
had fallen, after ^tolia had been devastated and
Argos, Mycenae, and other cities had been taken,
after the Macedonian kings had been captured,
Pyrrhus vanquished, and Thermopylae a second time
drenched with Asiatic blood ! Certainly no one can
deny that it is a trifle more distinguished to be an
300 Petrarch
Italian than a Greek. This, however, is a matter
which we may perhaps take up elsewhere.
To revert to my travels in France, — I visited the
capital of the kingdom, Paris, which claims Julius
Caesar as its founder. I must have felt much the
same upon entering the town as did Apuleius when
he wandered about Hypata in Thessaly. I spent
no little time there, in open-mouthed wonder; and I
was so full of interest and eagerness to know the
truth about what I had heard of the place that
when daylight failed me I even prolonged my in-
vestigations into the night. After loitering about
for a long time, gaping at the sights, I at last satis-
fied myself that I had discovered the point where
truth left off and fiction began. But it is a long
story, and not suited for a letter, and I must wait
until I see you and can rehearse my experiences at
length.
To pass over the intervening events, I also visited
Ghent, which proudly claims the same illustrious
founder as Paris, and I saw something of the people
of Flanders and Brabant, who devote themselves to
preparing and weaving wool. I also visited Liege,
which is noted for its clergy, and Aix-la-Chapelle,
Charles's capital, where in a marble church I saw
the tomb of that great prince, which is very
properly an object of veneration to the barbarian
nations.'
I did not leave Aix-la-Chapelle until I had bathed
in the waters, which are warm like those at Baiae. It
' This first letter closes here with a legend of Charles the Great
which Petrarch heard at Aix-la-Chapelle.
Travels 301
is from them that the town is said to derive its name.'
I then proceeded to Cologne, which lies on the left
bank of the Rhine, and is noted for its situation, its
river, and its inhabitants. I was astonished to find
such a degree of culture in a barbarous land. The
appearance of the city, the dignity of the men,
the attractiveness of the women, all surprised me.
The day of my arrival happened to be the feast of
St. John the Baptist. It was nearly sunset when
I reached the city. On the advice of the friends
whom my reputation, rather than any true merit,
had won for me even there, I allowed myself to be
led immediately from the inn to the river, to wit-
ness a curious sight. And I was not disappointed,
for I found the river-bank lined with a multitude of
remarkably comely women. Ye gods, what faces
and forms ! And how well attired ! One whose
heart was not already occupied might well have
met his fate here.
I took my stand upon a little rise of ground where
I could easily follow what was going on. There
was a dense mass of people, but no disorder of any
kind. They knelt down in quick succession on the
bank, half hidden by the fragrant grass, and turning
up their sleeves above the elbow they bathed their
hands and white arms in the eddying stream. As
they talked together, with an indescribably soft
foreign murmur, I felt that I had never better ap-
preciated Cicero's remark, which, like the old pro-
verb, reminds us that we are all deaf and dumb
when we have to do with an unknown tongue. I,
' /. e., Aquisgrana.
302 Petrarch
howev-er, had the aid of kind interpreters, for — and
this was not the least surprising thing I noted there
— these skies, too, give nurture to Pierian spirits.
So when Juvenal wonders that
Fluent Gaul has taught the British advocate,'
let him marvel, too, that
Learned Germany many a clear-voiced bard sustamed.
But, lest you should be misled by my words, I hasten
to add that there are no Virgils here, although many
Ovids,^ so that you would say that the latter author
was justified in his reliance upon his genius or the
affection of posterity, when he placed at the end of
his Metamorplioscs that audacious prophecy where
he ventures to claim that as far as the power of
Rome shall extend, — nay, as far as the very name of
Roman shall penetrate in a conquered world, — so
widely shall his works be read by enthusiastic
admirers.
When anything was to be heard or said I had to
rely upon my companions to furnish both ears and
tongue. Not understanding the scene, and being
deeply interested in it, I asked an explanation from
one of my friends, employing the Virgilian lines:
What means the crowded shore ?
What seek these eager spirits ? '
' Sat., XV., III.
' The context would seem to indicate (as Fracassetti and de Nolhac
\op. cit., p. 14S] assume) that Petrarch means that many copies of
Ovid but none of Virgil were to be found at Cologne.
' .-^Jieid, vi., 31 S sq.
Travels 303
He told me that this was an old custom among
the people, and that the lower classes, especially
the women, have the greatest confidence that the
threatening calamities of the coming year can be
washed away by bathing on this day in the river,
and a happier fate be so assured. Consequently
this annual ablution has always been conscientiously
performed, and always will be. I smiled at this ex-
planation, and replied, " Those who dwell by Father
Rhine are fortunate indeed if he washes their mis-
fortunes away with him ; I fear that neither Po nor
Tiber could ever free us of ours. You send your
ills to the Britons, by the river; we would gladly
ship ours off to the Africans or Illyrians. " But I
was given to understand that our rivers were too
sluggish. There was a great laugh over this, and
then, as it was getting late, we left the spot and
returned home.
During the few days following I wandered about
the city, under the guidance of my friends, from
morning until night. I enjoyed these rambles not
so much for what I actually saw as on account of
the reminiscences of our ancestors, who have left
such extraordinary monuments to the Roman power
in this far-distant country. Marcus Agrippa came,
perhaps, most prominently before me. He was the
founder of this colony, to which, in preference to
all his other great works whether at home or abroad,
he gave his own name. He was a great builder as
well as a distinguished warrior. His fame was such
that he was chosen by Augustus as the most desir-
able son-in-law in the world. His wife, whatever else
304 Petrarch
we may say of her, was at least a remarkable woman,
the Emperor's only child and very dear to him. I
beheld the bodies of the thousands of holy virgins
who had suffered together, and the ground dedicated
to these noble relics — ground which they say will
of its own accord reject an unworthy corpse. I
beheld the Capitol, which is an imitation of ours.
But in place of our senate, meeting to consider the
exigencies of peace and war, here one finds beauti-
ful boys and girls ever lifting up together their
harmonious voices in nightly hymns of praise to
God. There one might hear the rattle of arms,
the rolling chariots and the groans of captives; but
here are peace and happiness and the voice of mirth.
There it was the warrior who made his triumphal
entry ; here it is the Prince of Peace.
I saw, too, the great church in the very centre of
the town. It is very beautiful, although still uncom-
pleted, and is not unjustly regarded by the inhabit-
ants as the finest building of its kind in the world.
I looked with reverence upon the relics of the Three
Kings, who, as we read, came once upon a time,
bringing presents, to worship at the feet of a Heav-
enly King as he lay wailing in the manger. Their
bodies were brought from the East to the West in
three great leaps.'
You may perhaps think, noble father, that I have
gone too far just here, and dwelt upon unimportant
details. I readily admit it, but it is because I have
nothing more at heart than to obey your commands.
Among the many instructions which you gave me, as
' Namely, to Constantinople, then to Milan, and finally to Cologne.
Travels 305
I was leaving, the last one was that I should write
to you as fully about the countries I visited and the
various things I saw and heard as I should tell about
them, were we face to face. I was not to spare the
pen, nor to strive for elegance or terseness of ex-
pression. Everything was to be included, not simply
the more picturesque incidents. In Cicero's words,
you told me to write " whatever might come into
the cheek." I promised to do this, and from the
numerous letters which I have despatched on the
v^ay it would seem that I had kept my engage-
ment. If you had desired me to treat of higher
things I should have done what I could ; but it
seems to me in the present case that the object of my
letter should be rather to instruct the reader than
to give consequence to the writer. If you and I wish
to appear before the public we can do so in books,
but in our letters let us just talk with one another.
But to continue, I left Cologne June 30, in such
heat and dust that I sighed for Virgil's " Alpine
snows and the rigours of the Rhine. " I next passed
through the Forest of Ardennes, alone, and, as you
will be surprised to hear, in time of war. But God,
it is said, grants especial protection to the unwary.
I had long known something of this region from
books; it seemed to me a very wild and dismal place
indeed. However, I will not undertake with my
pen a journey which I have but just completed with
my horse. After many wanderings I reached Lyons
to-day. It, too, is a noble Roman colony, a little
older even than Cologne. From this point two
well known rivers flow together into our ocean, — the
3o6 Petrarch
Rhone here joining the Arar, or, as the inhabitants
now call it, the Saone. But I need not tell you more
about them, for they are hurrying on, one led by
the other, down to Avignon, where the Roman
pontiff detains you and the whole human race.
This morning when I arrived here I ran across one
of your servants by accident, and plied him, as those
newly arrived from foreign parts are wont to do,
with a thousand questions. He knew nothing, how-
ever, except that your noble brother, whom I was
hastening to join, had gone on to Rome without
me. On hearing this my anxiety to proceed sud-
denly abated. It is now my purpose to wait here
until the heat too shall abate somewhat, and until I
regain my vigour by a little rest. I had not realised
that I had suffered from either source until I met
your servant; no kind of weariness indeed is so
keenly felt as that of the mind. If the journey
promises to seem tedious to me I shall float down
the Rhone. In the meantime I am glad to know
that your faithful servant will see that this reaches
you, and that you will know where I am. As for
your brother, who was to be my guide, and who
now (my disappointment must be my excuse for
saying it) has deserted me, I feel that my expostu-
lations must be addressed to him directly. I
beg that you will see that the enclosed message '
reaches him as soon as may be. Farewell. Re-
member your friend.
Lyons, August 9.
' This letter to the Bishop of Lombez is preserved, and is to be
found next in order in Fracassetti's collection. Fam., i., 5.
Travels 307
A crood deal has been written about Petrarch's
famous ascent of Mount Ventoux. Kortino-
assuredly exaggerates its significance when he
declares it " an epoch-making deed " which
would by itself substantiate Petrarch's title to
be called the first modern man/ The reader
will observe that, however modern may have
been the spirit in which the excursion was un-
dertaken, the relapse into mediaeval perversity
was speedy and complete. As we shall find,
Petrarch had no sooner reached the top than
he bethought himself of his Augustine, before
v/hose stern dictum the wide landscape quickly
lost its fascination.
The Ascent of Mount Ventoux.
To Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro."^
To-day I made the ascent of the highest mount-
ain in this region, which is not improperly called
' Op. cit., p. 105.
^ Fam., iv., i. This letter, written when Petrarch was about thirty-
two years old, is addressed to an Augustinian monk, professor of
divinity and philosophy in the University of Paris, which drew sev-
eral of its most famous teachers from Italy. It was probably in Paris,
during the journey described above, that Petrarch first met him.
The poet, we may infer from the present letter, made him his spiritual
confidant, confessed to him his sinful love for Laura, whom he had
first met six years before, and received from the monk, in addition
to the natural spiritual counsels, a copy of St. Augustine's Confes-
sions, to which he refers below. Dionysius was called in 1339 to
3o8 Petrarch
Ventosum,' My only motive was the wish to see
what so great an elevation had to offer. I have had
the expedition in mind for many years; for, as you
know, I have lived in this region from infancy,
having been cast here by that fate which determines
the affairs of men. Consequently the mountain,
which is visible from a great distance, was ever
before my eyes, and I conceived the plan of some
time doing what I have at last accomplished to-day.
The idea took hold upon me with especial force
when, in re-reading Livy's History of Rome, yester-
day, I happened upon the place where Philip of
Macedon, the same who waged war against the
Romans, ascended Mount Haemus in Thessaly,
from whose summit he was able, it is said, to see
two seas, the Adriatic and the Euxine. Whether
this be true or false I have not been able to deter-
mine, for the mountain is too far away, and writers
disagree. Pomponius Mela, the cosmographer —
not to mention others who have spoken of this oc-
currence— admits its truth without hesitation;
Titus Livius, on the other hand, considers it false.
Naples, and proved an agreeable companion for the sage ruler of that
kingdom, not only on account of his distinguished moral and intel-
lectual qualities, but by reason of his proficiency in the theory and
practice of astrology, in which Robert took a profound interest. This
branch of his knowledge is — to the surprise of one familiar with his
views — sympathetically dwelt upon by Petrarch, in a poetic epistle
(i., 13) addressed to Robert on the death of their common friend in
1342. Petrarch nevertheless often fiercely attacks the astrological
arts, and is distinguished in this respect from even the most enlight-
ened men of his time, including Boccaccio. Cf. Fraca^setti, Lei.
delle Cose Fam., i., p. 425.
' That is. Windy.
Travels 309
I, assuredly, should not have left the question long
in doubt, had that mountain been as easy to explore
as this one. Let us leave this matter one side,
however, and return to my mountain here, — it seems
to me that a young man in private life may well be
excused for attempting what an aged king could
undertake without arousing criticism.
When I came to look about for a companion I
found, strangely enough, that hardly one among
my friends seemed suitable, so rarely do we meet
with just the right combination of personal tastes
and characteristics, even among those who are
dearest to us. This one was too apathetic, that
one over-anxious; this one too slow, that one too
hasty; one was too sad, another over-cheerful;
one more simple, another more sagacious, than I
desired. I feared this one's taciturnity and that
one's loquacity. The heavy deliberation of some
repelled me as much as the lean incapacity of others.
I rejected those who were likely to irritate me by a
cold want of interest, as well as those who might
weary me by their excessive enthusiasm. Such de-
fects, however grave, could be borne with at home,
for charity suffereth all things, and friendship accepts
any burden; but it is quite otherwise on a journey,
where every weakness becomes much more serious.
So, as I was bent upon pleasure and anxious that
my enjoyment should be unalloyed, I looked about
me with unusual care, balanced against one another
the various characteristics of my friends, and with-
out committing any breach of friendship I silently
condemned every trait which might prove disagree-
3IO Petrarch
able on the way. And — would you believe it ? — I
finally turned homeward for aid, and proposed the
ascent to my only brother, who is younger than I,
and with whom you are well acquainted. He was
delighted and gratified beyond measure by the
thought of holding the place of a friend as well as
of a brother.
At the time fixed we left the house, and by
evening reached Malaucene, which lies at the foot
of the mountain, to the north. Having rested there
a day, we finally made the ascent this morning,
with no companions except two servants; and a
most difficult task it was. The mountain is a very
steep and almost inaccessible mass of stony soil.
But, as the poet has well said, " Remorseless toil con-
quers all," It was a long day, the air fine. We en-
joyed the advantages of vigour of mind and strength
and agility of body, and everything else essential to
those engaged in such an undertaking, and so had
no other difficulties to face than those of the region
itself. We found an old shepherd in one of the
mountain dales, who tried, at great length, to dis-
suade us from the ascent, saying that some fifty
years before he had, in the same ardour of youth,
reached the summit, but had gotten for his pains
nothing except fatigue and regret, and clothes and
body torn by the rocks and briars. No one, so far
as he or his companions knew, had ever tried the
ascent before or after him. But his counsels in-
creased rather than diminished our desire to proceed,
since youth is suspicious of warnings. So the old
man, finding that his efforts were in vain, went a
Travels 311
little way with us, and pointed out a rough path
among the rocks, uttering many admonitions, which
he continued to send after us even after we had
left him behind. Surrendering to him all such
garments or other possessions as might prove bur-
densome to us, we made ready for the ascent, and
started off at a good pace. But, as usually happens,
fatigue quickly followed upon our excessive exertion,
and we soon came to a halt at the top of a certain
cliff. Upon starting on again we went more slowly,
and I especially advanced along the rocky way with
a more deliberate step. While my brother chose
a direct path straight up the ridge, I weakly took
an easier one which really descended. When I
was called back, and the right road was shown me,
I replied that I hoped to find a better way round
on the other side, and that I did not mind going
farther if the path were only less steep. This was
just an excuse for my laziness; and when the others
had already reached a considerable height I was still
wandering in the valleys. I had failed to find an
easier path, and had only increased the distance and
difificulty of the ascent. At last I became disgusted
with the intricate way I had chosen, and resolved
to ascend without more ado. When I reached my
brother, who, while waiting for me, had had ample
opportunity for rest, I was tired and irritated. We
walked along together for a time, but hardly had we
passed the first spur when I forgot about the cir-
cuitous route which I had just tried, and took a
lower one again. Once more I followed an easy,
roundabout path through winding valleys, only to
3 1 2 Petrarch
find myself soon in my old difficulty. I was simply
trying to avoid the exertion of the ascent; but no
human ingenuity can alter the nature of things, or
, cause anything to reach a height by going down.
Suffice it to say that, much to my vexation and my
brother's amusement, I made this same mistake
three times or more during a few hours.
After being frequently misled in this way, I finally
sat down in a valley and transferred my winged
thoughts from things corporeal to the immaterial,
addressing myself as follows: — " What thou hast
repeatedly experienced to-day in the ascent of this
mountain, happens to thee, as to many, in the jour-
ney toward the blessed life. But this is not so
readily perceived by men, since the motions of the
body are obvious and external while those of the
soul are invisible and hidden. Yes, the life which we
call blessed is to be sought for on a high eminence,
and strait is the way that leads to it. Many, also,
are the hills that lie between, and we must ascend,
by a glorious stairway, from strength to strength.
At the top is at once the end of our struggles and
the goal for which we are bound. All wish to reach
this goal, but, as Ovid says, ' To wish is little; we
must long with the utmost eagerness to gain our
end.' Thou certainly dost ardently desire, as well
as simply wish, unless thou deceivest thyself in this
matter, as in so many others. What, then, doth
hold thee back ? Nothing, assuredly, except that
thou wouldst take a path which seems, at first
thought, more easy, leading through low and worldly
pleasures. But nevertheless in the end, after long
Travels 3^3
wanderings, thou must perforce either climb the
steeper path, under the burden of tasks foohshly
deferred, to its blessed culmination, or lie down in
the valley of thy sins, and (I shudder to think of
it!), if the shadow of death overtake thee, spend an
eternal night amid constant torments." These
thoughts stimulated both body and mind in a won-
derful degree for facing the difficulties which yet
remained. Oh, that I might traverse in spirit that
other road for which I long day and night, even as
to-day I overcame material obstacles by my bodily
exertions! And I know not why it should not be
far easier, since the swift immortal soul can reach
its goal in the twinkling of an eye, without passing
through space, while my progress to-day was ne-
cessarily slow, dependent as I was upon a failing
body weighed down by heavy members.
One peak of the mountain, the highest of all,
the country people call "Sonny," why, I do not
know, unless by antiphrasis, as I have sometimes
suspected in other instances; for the peak in ques-
tion would seem to be the father of all the sur-
rounding ones. On its top is a little level place,
and here we could at last rest our tired bodies.
Now, my father, since you have followed the
thoughts that spurred me on in my ascent, listen to
the rest of the story, and devote one hour, I pray
you, to reviewing the experiences of my entire day.
At first, owing to the unaccustomed quality of the
air and the effect of the great sweep of view spread
out before me, I stood like one dazed. I beheld
the clouds under our feet, and what I had read
3^4 Petrarch
of Athos and Olympus seemed less incredible as I
myself witnessed the same things from a mountain
of less fame. I turned my eyes toward Italy,
whither my heart most inclined. The Alps, rugged
and snow-capped, seemed to rise close by, although
they were really at a great distance; the very same
Alps through which that fierce enemy of the Roman
name once made his way, bursting the rocks, if we
may believe the report, by the application of vin-
egar. I sighed, I must confess, for the skies of Italy,
which I beheld rather with my mind than with my
eyes. An inexpressible longing came over me to
see once more my friend and my country. At the
same time I reproached myself for this double
weakness, springing, as it did, from a soul not yet
steeled to manly resistance. And yet there were
excuses for both of these cravings, and a number
of distinguished writers might be summoned to
support me.
Then a new idea took possession of me, and I
shifted my thoughts to a consideration of time rather
than place. " To-day it is ten years since, having
completed thy youthful studies, thou didst leave
Bologna. Eternal God! In the name of immutable
wisdom, think what alterations in thy character this
intervening period has beheld ! I pass over a thou-
sand instances. I am not yet in a safe harbour where
I can calmly recall past storms. The time may come
when I can review in due order all the experiences
of the past, saying with St. Augustine, ' I desire to
recall my foul actions and the carnal corruption of
Travels 3^5
my soul, not because I love them, but that I may
the more love thee, O my God.' Much that is
doubtful and evil still clings to me, but what I once
loved, that I love no longer. And yet what am I
saying ? I still love it, but with shame, but with
heaviness of heart. Now, at last, I have confessed
the truth. So it is. I love, but love what I would
not love, what I would that I might hate. Though
loath to do so, though constrained, though sad and
sorrowing, still I do love, and I feel in my miserable
self the truth of the well known words, ' I will hate if
I can ; if not, I will love against my will. ' Three years
have not yet passed since that perverse and wicked
passion ' which had a firm grasp upon me and held
undisputed sway in my heart began to discover a
rebellious opponent, who was unwilling longer to
yield obedience. These two adversaries have joined
in close combat for the supremacy, and for a long
time now a harassing and doubtful war has been
waged in the field of my thoughts."
Thus I turned over the last ten years in my mind,
and then, fixing my anxious gaze on the future, I
asked myself, " If, perchance, thou shouldst pro-
long this uncertain life of thine for yet two lustres,
and shouldst make an advance toward virtue propor-
tionate to the distance to which thou hast departed
from thine original infatuation during the past two
years, since the new longing first encountered the
old, couldst thou, on reaching thy fortieth year, face
death, if not with complete assurance, at least with
' This is a reference, we may assume, to his love for Laura. See
the note at the opening of this letter.
3i6 Petrarch
hopefulness, calmly dismissing from thy thoughts
the residuum of life as it faded into old age ? "
These and similar reflections occurred to me, my
father. I rejoiced in my progress, mourned my
weaknesses, and commiserated the universal insta-
bility of human conduct. I had well-nigh forgotten
where I was and our object in coming; but at last I
dismissed my anxieties, which were better suited to
other surroundings, and resolved to look about me
and see what we had come to see. The sinking sun
and the lengthening shadows of the mountain were
already warning us that the time was near at hand
when we must go. As if suddenly wakened from
sleep, I turned about and gazed toward the west.
I was unable to discern the summits of the Pyrenees,
which form the barrier between France and Spain ;
not because of any intervening obstacle that I know
of but owing simply to the insuf^ciency of our mortal
vision. But I could see with the utmost clearness,
off to the right, the mountains of the region about
Lyons, and to the left the bay of Marseilles and
the waters that lash the shores of Aigues Mortes,
altho' all these places were so distant that it would
require a journey of several days to reach them.
Under our very eyes flowed the Rhone.
While I was thus dividing my thoughts, now turn-
ing my attention to some terrestrial object that lay
before me, now raising my soul, as I had done my
body, to higher planes, it occurred to me to look into
my copy of St. Augustine's Confessions, a gift that I
owe to your love, and that I always have about me,
in memory of both the author and the giver. I
Travels 317
opened the compact little volume, small indeed in
size, but of infinite charm, with the intention of
reading whatever came to hand, for I could happen
upon nothing that would be otherwise than edifying
and devout. Now it chanced that the tenth book
presented itself. My brother, waiting to hear some-
thing of St. Augustine's from my lips, stood atten-
tively by. I call him, and God too, to witness that
where I first fixed my eyes it was written: " And
men go about to wonder at the heights of the mount-
ains, and the mighty waves of the sea, and the
wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean,
and the revolution of the stars, but themselves they
consider not." I was abashed, and, asking my
brother (who was anxious to hear more), not to an-
noy me, I closed the book, angry with myself that
I should still be admiring earthly things who might
long ago have learned from even the pagan philoso-
phers that nothing is wonderful but the soul, which,
w^hen great itself, finds nothing great outside itself.
Then, in truth, I was satisfied that I had seen enough
of the mountain ; I turned my inward eye upon my-
self, and from that time not a syllable fell from my
lips until we reached the bottom again. Those
words had given me occupation enough, for I could
not believe that it was by a mere accident that I
happened upon them. What I had there read I be-
lieved to be addressed to me and to no other, re-
membering that St. Augustine had once suspected
the same thing in his own case, when, on opening
the book of the Apostle, as he himself tells us, the
first words that he saw there were, " Not in rioting
3i8 Petrarch
and drunkenness, not in chambering and wanton-
ness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the
Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the
flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof."
The same thing happened earlier to St. Anthony,
when he was listening to the Gospel where it is
written, "If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell
that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou
shalt have treasure in heaven : and come and fol-
low me." Believing this scripture to have been
read for his especial benefit, as his biographer
Athanasius says, he guided himself by its aid to the
Kingdom of Heaven. And as Anthony on hearing
these words waited for nothing more, and as August-
ine upon reading the Apostle's admonition sought
no farther, so I concluded my reading in the few
words which I have given. I thought in silence
of the lack of good counsel in us mortals, who
neglect what is noblest in ourselves, scatter our
energies in all directions, and waste ourselves in a
vain show, because we look about us for what is to
be found only within. I wondered at the natural
nobility of our soul, save when it debases itself of
its own free will, and deserts its original estate, turn-
ing what God has given it for its honour into dis-
honour. How many times, think you, did I turn
back that day, to glance at the summit of the mount-
ain, which seemed scarcely a cubit high compared
with the range of human contemplation, — when it is
not immersed in the foul mire of earth ? With every
downward step I asked myself this: If we are ready
to endure so much sweat and labour in order that we
Travels 3^9
may bring our bodies a little nearer heaven, how can
a soul struggling toward God, up the steeps of hu-
man pride and human destiny, fear any cross or
prison or sting of fortune ? How few, I thought,
but are diverted from their path by the fear of dififi-
culties or the love of ease! How happy the lot of
those few, if any such there be! It is of them, as-
suredly, that the poet was thinking, when he wrote :
Happy the man who is skilled to understand
Nature's hid causes ; who beneath his feet
All terrors casts, and death's relentless doom,
And the loud roar of greedy Acheron.'
How earnestly should we strive, not to stand on
mountain-tops, but to trample beneath us those
appetites which spring from earthly impulses.^
With no consciousness of the difficulties of the
way, amidst these preoccupations which I have so
frankly revealed, we came, long after dark, but with
the full moon lending us its friendly light, to the
little inn which we had left that morning before
dawn. The time during which the servants have
been occupied in preparing our supper, I have spent
in a secluded part of the house, hurriedly jotting
down these experiences on the spur of the moment,
lest, in case my task were postponed, my mood
should change on leaving the place, and so my
interest in writing flag.
' Georgics, ii., 490 sqq. The version here given is based upon that
of Rhoades.
* It is but fair to the translators to note that Petrarch's style is at
its worst when he falls into a train of moralising.
320 Petrarch
You will see, my clearest father, that I wish noth-
ing to be concealed from you, for I am careful to
describe to you not only my life in general but even
my individual reflections. And I beseech you, in
turn, to pray that these vague and wandering
thoughts of mine may some time become firmly
fixed, and, after having been vainly tossed about
from one interest to another, may direct them-
selves at last toward the single, true, certain, and
everlasting good.
Malaucene, April 26. ...
TJic Charms of Pavia.
To Boccaccio.^
You have done well to visit me by letter, since
you either would not or could not come to see me
in person. On hearing that you had crossed the
Alps to see the Babylon of the West, worse than
the ancient city of that name because nearer to us,
I was in a constant state of anxiety until I learned
of your safe return. For I well know the difficulties
of the route, having traversed it frequently, and I
thought, too, of your heaviness of body, and of your
seriousness of mind, so favourable to scholarly leisure
and so averse to the responsibilities which you had
assumed. Worried by these considerations, I en-
joyed no peace, day or night, and I thank God that
you are back safe and sound. The greater the perils
' Sen., v., I, written probably in 1365, the year in which Boccaccio
undertook the embassy to Avignon to which Petrarch refers below.
Travels 321
of the sea that you have escaped, the greater is my
gratitude for your return.
But, unless you were in a very great hurry, it
would have been very easy for you, on reaching
Genoa, to have turned this way. It would have re-
quired but two days to come to see me — whom in-
deed you see always and wherever you go, — and you
would also have seen this city of Ticinum, on the
banks of the Ticino, which I believe you have never
visited. It is now called Pavia, which the gram-
marians tell us means admirable, or wonderful. It
was long the celebrated capital of the Lombards.
Still earlier than their time I find that Caesar Au-
gustus took up his quarters here, on the eve of the
German war. I suppose he wished to be nearer the
scene of action. He had sent his step-son on into
Germany, where he was performing the most glori-
ous deeds of proAvess. From here Augustus could
observe the campaign as from a watch-tower, stimu-
lating the leader, and ready, should one of the re-
verses so common in war occur, to bring to his
succour all the imperial forces, as well as the majesty
of his own name.
You would have seen where the Carthaginian
leader gained his first victory over our generals, in a
conflict during which the Roman commander was
snatched from the enemy's weapons and saved from
imminent death by his son, scarcely more than a
boy, — a striking presage that the lad would himself
one day become a great leader. You would have
seen where St. Augustine is buried, and where
Boethius found a fitting place of exile in which to
322 Petrarch
spend his old age and to die. They now repose to-
gether in two urns, under the same roof with King
Luitprand, who transferred the body of St. August-
ine ' from Sardinia to this city. This is indeed a
pious and devout concourse of illustrious men. One
might think that Boethius followed in the footsteps
of St. Augustine, during his life, by his spirit and
writings, especially those on the Trinity,'' which he
composed after the example of Augustine, and in
death, because his remains share the same tomb.
You would wish that your mortal remains might
have been destined to lie near such good and learned
men. Finally, you would have seen a city famous
in the mouths of men for its age. It is true that no
reference to it occurs, so far as I can recollect, earlier
than the period of the second Punic war, of which
I just spoke. Indeed, if my memory does not play
me false, even in connection with that period Livy
only mentions the river and not the town. How-
ever, the similarity of the names — the river, Ticimis,
and the tovvn, Ticinum — might easily lead to the
confusion of one with the other. ^
But I will leave one side all such doubtful matters
' It was the body not of Augustine but of Boethius which was
transferred from Sardinia. See Rashdali's Hist, of the Universities,
i., 34, n. I.
* Boethius was probably not a Christian, although he was until
recent times regarded almost as one of the Church Fathers. It is
hardly necessary to say that the theological works attributed to him
are by some other hand.
' This is an interesting illustration of Petrarch's careful reading of
the classics. He evinces a modern conscientiousness in examining
the evidences of the city's age.
Travels 3-3
and confine myself to what is certain. You would
find the air of the place very salubrious. I have
now spent three summers here, and I do not remem-
ber to have experienced ever anywhere else such fre-
quent and plentiful showers with so little thunder and
lightning, such freedom from heat, and such steady,
refreshing breezes. You would find the city beauti-
fully situated. The Ligurians, of old a notable
race and to this day a very powerful people, occupy
the greater part of northern Italy, and the city lies
in the midst of their territory. Commandingly situ-
ated on a slight elevation, and on the margin of
gently sloping banks, it raises its crown of towers
into the clouds, and enjoys a wide and free prospect
on all sides, one which, so far as I know, is not ex-
ceeded in extent or beauty by that of any town
which lies thus in a plain. By turning one's head
ever so little one can see in one direction the snowy
crest of the Alps, and in the other the wooded Ap-
ennines. The Ticino itself, descending in graceful
curves and hastening to join the Po, flows close by
the walls, and, as it is written, makes glad the city
by its swift waters. Its two banks are joined by
as fine a bridge as you would wish to see. It is
the clearest of streams, both in reputation and in
fact, and flows very rapidly, although just here, as
if tired after its long journey and perturbed by the
neighbourhood of a more famous river, it moves
more deliberately, and has been deprived of some
of its natural purity by the brooks which join it.
It is, in short, very much like my Transalpine
Sorgue, save that the Ticino is larger, while the
324 Petrarch
Sorgue, on account of the nearness of its source, is
cooler in summer and warmer in winter.
You would see, also, one of those works in which
you have such an interest, and in which I, too, take
the greatest delight, — an equestrian statue in gilded
bronze. It stands in the middle of the market-
place, and seems to be just on the point of reaching,
with a spirited bound, the summit of an eminence.
The figure is said to have been carried oH from your
dear people of Ravenna. Those best trained in
sculpture and painting declare it to be second to
none.
Lastly, in order of time, though not of importance,
you would see the huge palace, situated on the highest
point of the city ; an admirable building, which cost
a vast amount. It was built by the princely Galeazzo,
the younger of the Visconti,' the rulers of Milan.
Pavia, and many neighbouring towns, a man who
surpasses others in many ways, and in the magni-
ficence of his buildings fairly excels himself. I am
convinced, unless I be misled by my partiality for
the founder, that, with your good taste in such mat-
ters, you would declare this to be the most noble
production of modern art.
So if you had come you would not only have seen
your friend, which I hope, and indeed know, would
have been most agreeable to you, but you would
have been delighted also by the spectacle, not, as
Virgil says, of wonderful little things, but of a multi-
tude of great and glorious objects. I must confess
' Galeazzo's rule was divided with his elder brother Bernabo.
Travels 3^5
that in my own case these objects are a source of
supreme pleasure, and would keep me here, were
it not that other interests call me away. I leave
here shortly, but very gladly return to pass the
summer months — if fate grant me more summer
months.' .
' The description of Pavia closes here.
V
POLITICAL OPINIONS
RIENZO AND CHARLES IV
327
Principum ac regum familiaritatibus et nobilium ami-
citiis usque ad invidiam fortunatus fui. . . . Maximi
regum mese setatis amarunt et coluerunt me ; cur autem
nescio ; ipsi viderint : et ita cum c^uibusdam fui, ut
ipsi quodam modo mecum essent, et eminentiae eorum
nullum taedium, commoda multa perceperim.
Epistola ad Posteros.
328
pETRARCH exhibits in his letters a deep
i and constant interest in pubhc affairs, al-
beit, like others of his time, he views political
problems somewhat broadly, with a generous
disregard not only of technical detail but of
human nature itself. He tells us that his in-
tercourse with kings and princes and his friend-
ship with noble personages was such as to excite
envy in the less fortunate. His international
fame, seconded by his own tastes and ambition,
brought him into intimate association during
a great part of his life with the potentates of
his day, not only of Italy but of France and
Germany, — even with the Emperor of the East.
While he did not actually participate in the
government, even during his stay at Milan, we
find him sent upon important public missions.
He prepared and delivered political addresses,
and wrote letters to rulers and public men, with
a hope of influencing their policy ; he composed
a considerable treatise upon the art of govern-
329
^3o Petrarch
J
ment ; ' he even participated, as a consulting
expert, in drafting a constitution for the city
of Rome.
Petrarch's interest in political reform is doubt-
less attributable in no small part to the patri-
otic enthusiasm aroused by the study of his
nation's glorious past. Romans were to him
but earlier Italians. Scipio Africanus was a
national hero ; Virgil, the great national poet ;
the Caesars, the Italian rulers of the world. On
visiting Cologne nothing so fascinated him as
the vestiges of his forefathers. Moreover, he
had ever before him in his fellow-countryman,
Cicero, a literary spirit and philosopher like
himself, who had not hesitated to devote his
energies to public affairs.
The history of Italy under the rule of their
Roman ancestors took on a celestial radiance
in the eyes of those who viewed the sad de-
cline of their country's greatness. Petrarch
would, he says, have preferred any age to his
own. His sole consolation lay in the rooted
conviction that times were going rapidly from
bad to worse. He saw upon every hand ex-
amples of the terrible inadequacy of the exist-
1
St'it., xiv., I. Printed as a separate tractate in the Basle edi-
tions, under the title Dc repiiblica optime administranda. Opera,
pp. 372 sqq.
Political Opinions 331
ing system to yield even the most primitive
benefit of government, — the reasonable secur-
ity of person and property. Disorder, robbery,
and murder were every-day occurrences. When
he first visited Rome, his friends deemed a hun-
dred horsemen a necessary escort to protect
him from the Orsini on his way to the city.^
Upon the occasion of his coronation the repre-
sentative of the King of Naples, who was to
accompany him, failed to reach Rome ; he had
been captured by bandits.^ Petrarch himself
was attacked as he left the city, and was obliged
to return within its walls.^ The danger upon
the highroads kept him in a constant state of
apprehension when he or his friends undertook
a journey. Even the peaceful retreat at Vau-
cluse was at last plundered and burned, and the
poet declared that nowhere was one any longer
sheltered from the ferocious robber bands which
moved about with the precision of regular ar-
mies, and which the walls of fortified towns
and the arms of their rulers were alike power-
less to check.^
' Fam., ii., 13 (vol. i., p. 133).
' Ep. Poet. Lat., ii., i.
^ Fam., iv., 8 (vol. i., p. 219).
* Cf. Sen., X., 2 (Opera, pp. 870-872), where Petrarch describes
the sad change of times since his student days. The mercenary
bands (gratuies conipaonies) who wandered into Italy from France
were doubtless a prime cause of the poet's gloomy views.
332 Petrarch
This lawlessness was naturally attributed
to Italian disunion. The subdivision of Italy
into a multitude of practically independent
states and urban communities stimulated the
development of personal political ambition and
produced the "age of despots." The tyrants,
in their struggle to maintain their power at
home and increase their prestige abroad, inev-
itably resorted to the approved expedient of
the usurper, territorial aggrandisement. The
discomfiture or subjugation of their neighbours
became the absorbing object of the foreign
policy of Milan, Venice, and Florence, and of
the lesser states as well. Peace, the natural
enemy of the usurper, was thoroughly banished
from Italy, and a perpetual state of war pre-
vailed. There were few serious, decisive con-
flicts, it is true, but there was an all-pervading,
self-perpetuating, Ishmaelitish antagonism be-
tween the various countries, which precluded
all hope of national cooperation. " Servile
Italy," indeed, "ship without a pilot !"^
In the face of such evils, and hopeless of re-
form from within, a patriotic Italian of the
fourteenth century might be pardoned for look-
ing to a foreign ruler, even to a somewhat
commonplace and unpromising prince, for the
' Purgatorio, vi.
Political Opinions
^ --> -^
003
initiative in restoring order. The Italians were
too completely engrossed by their own complex
interstate relations, and too thoroughly con-
vinced of the absolute inferiority of " the bar-
barians," seriously to apprehend that foreign
intervention might ultimately develop into sub-
jugation. History was, indeed, quite explicit
upon this point. The German emperors had
never been able to establish their control over
Italy except partially and for the moment.
Practical considerations were not, however,
the most fundamental justification and expla-
nation of the Ghibelline reliance upon foreign
intervention. The political speculation of the
time shows clearly that theory was much more
potent than the obvious necessity of govern-
mental reform in fostering the imperial cause.
The theory in question was that of the per-
petuity of the Holy Roman Empire, with its
divinely recognised centre at Rome. Even at
the courts of the despots, whose practical sa-
gacity was creating the first modern states
with their elaborate systems of administration,
Petrarch, like Dante, loved to brood, with a
half-mystical, half-humanistic partiality, upon
that perdurable illusion which exercised such
an inexplicable charm over the mediaeval mind.
It was the same craving for an ideal union of
334 Petrarch
humanity under one consecrated head that led
Dante joyfully to hail the coming of Henry
VII. In the same great cause, — the defence
of the Empire, — Marsiglio of Padua, by far the
keenest of the political thinkers of Petrarch's
time, composed his extraordinary treatise upon
government and the relations of church and
state. Longing for the restoration of Rome's
supremacy, Petrarch first placed his hopes in
Rienzo, and then, after the Tribune's fall, sent
message after message to Charles IV., King of
Bohemia, the grandson of Dante's imperial
hero, exhorting him to have pity upon Italy
and widowed Rome.
Mr. Bryce calls Dante's treatise on govern-
ment an epitaph, not a prophecy, Petrarch, too,
was blind to the forces about him which made
for political progress. He learned nothing from
that race of really great rulers, the Visconti,
with whom he was intimately associated. More-
over, the most original and profound work upon
government which the Middle Ages produced,
t\\& Defensor Pacts of Marsiglio of Padua, writ-
ten in 1324, appears to have exercised no influ-
ence upon him, and although he confined his
reading to the classics and the writings of the
Fathers, his political sympathies and ideals are
typically mediaeval. In his treatment of these
Political Opinions 335
matters he does not rise above the current ar-
gumentation of the Imperialists, although he
re-enforces his position with a greater abund-
ance and precision of historical illustration.
Rienzo had found in Petrarch a sympathetic
confidant when, as early as 1343, upon visit-
ing Avignon, he had unfolded his audacious
schemes to him.^ When, four years later, at
Pentecost, 1347, the innkeeper's son carried
out his successful coup d'dtat and got posses-
sion of the city of Rome, Petrarch was en-
chanted, as is shown by the letter given below.
The immediate results of Rienzo's accession to
power were indeed almost magical : order was
restored, the roads were rendered safe for the
first time in the memory of man, and an Italian
parliament was summoned to consider the
unification of Italy. The Tribune's mani-
festoes aroused universal enthusiasm ; and, in
spite of the writer's inflated and obscure style,
Petrarch pronounced him, long after the spell
was broken, a most eloquent and persuasive
orator and a graceful writer. Petrarch seemed
' Petrarch's letter " to a Friend " {Ep. sine Tituio, vii. ; also apud
Fracassetti, App. Lit., No. 2) was doubtless addressed to Rienzo in
1343, and expresses the enthusiasm which he felt upon first meeting
him.
^3^ Petrarch
o
to see his own dreams realised ; the ancient
dignity and ascendancy of Rome were re-es-
tabhshed ; the foreign tyrants, as he called the
Roman nobility, including the Colonnesi, had
been expelled ; the power was once more in the
hands of the divinely elected people of Rome.
Rome was soon to be the head of a unified
and rejuvenated Italy, perhaps of a redeemed
Europe. By November Petrarch was on his
way to join Rienzo. He was probably actuated
to some extent, however, by his desire to see
Italy once more, and to escape from the re-
proaches of his former friends at the papal
court, especially of Giovanni Colonna, whose
favour he necessarily sacrificed by his public
espousal of Rienzo's cause. But upon his
reaching Genoa, letters forwarded to him from
Aviofnon broucrht the sad storv of the Tribune's
fatal indiscretions. He thereupon gave up the
idea of going to Rome, and contented himself
with addressing a sharp reprimand to the delin-
quent ruler, to whom he recalled the truth :
Magnus cnini labor est niagncs ciistodia fama;}
After scarcely seven months of power Rienzo
ignominiously retired from the Capitol and fled
to the solitudes of the Abruzzi. There, while
living the life of a hermit, he was encouraged
' Fatn.^ vii., 7.
Political Opinions 337
by prophetic revelations to renew his attempts
to establish the Roman power. He deter-
mined to conciliate the new Emperor, Charles
IV., foreigner as he was, and win him if pos-
sible to his fantastic ^ schemes. This strangest
of all Italian ambassadors must have reached
Prague when Charles was fresh from a perusal
of Petrarch's first summons to him, which is
given below.^ The Emperor listened curiously
to Rienzo's representations, but instead of
joining him in a campaign for the realisation of
the ideal Roman Empire he shut up the ex-
Tribune as an enemy of the Church, and later
turned him over to the pope at Avignon.
Petrarch still sympathised with the unfortunate
captive, and prepared an appeal to the Roman
people in his favour.^ After a brief return to
a restricted exercise of power as senator under
the papal control, Rienzo was killed by a mob,
October 8, 1354.^
' Fantastic is the adjective applied to Rienzo, even by contempo-
raries. Giovanni Villani (xii. , go) says that the more thoughtful judged
that " la dita impreso del tribune era un opera fantastica e da poco
duiare." The author of the Vita di Cola di Rienzo refers to his
fantastic smile.
'■'See pp. 361 sqq.
^ Given below, pp. 348 sqq.
^The chief source for the life of Rienzo is the Vita di Cola di
Kienzo by an unknown author (rt/wr/ Muratori's Antiqttitates, and in a
modern edition, Florence, 1854). Gregorovius gives a charming ac-
count of Cola in the sixth volume of his Geschichte der Stadt Rom,
33^ Petrarch
Petrarch's letters to Rienzo do not simply
show an absorbing interest in the attempt of a
national leader to restore the ancient prestige
of Rome and to establish the unity of Italy ;
they seem to prove that there was a funda-
mental congruity, a spiritual affinity — WaJiL-
verwandtschaft ^ — between the two men, which
would have made them firm friends had they
been brought together. One, ^ at least, of the
eiofht letters of Petrarch to Rienzo which have
been preserved is strikingly free from con-
straint, and would lead us to believe that the
poet, on his part, was anxious that their rela-
tions should be those of cordial familiarity.
The letter which follows gives us some notion
of the widespread interest aroused by the
Tribune's first acts.
To Cola di Rienzo, Tribune of the Roman
People?
1 shall continue to write to you every day, not
from any hope of a reply, — for, in view of your
heavy and varied cares, I must admit that while I
long for an answer I can hardly expect one, — but
rather that you may be the first to learn what goes
on in my mind respecting you, and especially that I
may in this way assure you of m.y deep concern for
' Cf. Voigt, op. cit., i., p. 52.
5 Var., 47.
2 Var., 3S. Written in 1347.
Political Opinions 339
your welfare. I clearly perceive, in the first place,
that you are set on a high pinnacle, exposed to the
gaze, the judgment, and the comments not only of
the Italians but of the whole human race; not only
of those who are now alive but of those who shall
be born in all the centuries to come. I realise, too,
that you have assumed a heavy but a splendid and
honourable responsibility, and undertaken a task
at once glorious and unique. Never will our own
generation, never will posterity, as I believe, cease
to think of you. The speech of other men is as idle
and discordant as their fleeting whims, but your
purpose, no whit less firm than the Capitoline rock
upon which you dwell, is one not to be shaken by
every breath.
I know not whether you are aware of one thing,
or, if so, whether you have given it any thought.
You must not imagine that your letters which have
hitherto reached us have remained in the hands of
those to whom they were addressed. They are
promptly copied by everybody with such eagerness,
and circulated about the papal corridors with such
interest that one would suppose that they came
from a celestial being, or a dweller at the antipodes,
rather than from one of our own race. At the
rumour of a letter from you the whole populace
gathers. Never was an utterance of the Delphic
Apollo interpreted in so many senses as your words.
I cannot but extol your circumspection in maintain-
ing a tone at once so temperate and so free from
offence, and I pray most fervently that you will
henceforth take greater and greater precautions in
340 Petrarch
this respect. Your words reflect the noble spirit of
the writer and the majesty of the Roman people,
without derogating in any way from the reverence
and honour due to the Roman pontiff. It beseems
your wisdom and eloquence to be able so to associate
things which appear, but are not in reality, contra-
dictory, that each is given its due weight.' I have
noted how astonished some have been that the con-
flict in your letters between modesty and assurance
resulted in so equal a contest and so doubtful a vict-
ory, for neither cowardly fear nor swelling pride
showed themselves in the arena. Men hesitate, I
observe, whether to admire most your deeds or your
words, since all admit that for your devotion to
liberty they may well declare you a Brutus, and for
your eloquence, a Cicero, — whom Catullus of Verona
calls " most fluent."
Continue, then, as you have begun. Write not
only as if everyone were to see your letters, but as
if they were to be sent forth from all our shores, and
transmitted to every land. You have laid the firm-
est of foundations, in peace, truth, justice, and lib-
erty; build upon these; for what you raise thereon
shall be established, and he who runs upon them
shall be dashed to pieces. He who opposes truth
shall prove himself a liar; he who opposes peace, a
turbulent spirit ; he who opposes justice is himself
unjust, and he who opposes liberty, arrogant and
shameless.
I approve of your custom of keeping copies of all
' Rienzo found it impossible in the long run to reconcile his as-
sumption of power with the prerogatives o£ Rome's papal sovereign.
Political Opinions 341
the letters which you send to various parts of the
globe, for these copies are useful in determining what
you should say by what you have already said, and
they enable you, when it is necessary, to compare the
letters of others with your own. That you do this
is proved to me by the manner in which you dated
your letter. Your magnificent subscription, more-
over, " in the first year of the Republic's freedom,"
smacks of the intent to begin our annals anew. The
expression delights and comforts me. And since you
are wholly engaged in action, and until you discover
a genius equal to the affair, I tender you, unless
God . . . ', my little skill and this pen of mine,
as Livy says, to uphold the memory of the people
who rule the earth; nor will my Africa disdain to
give place a little. Farewell.
The following letter, written some five years
after Rienzo's cotLp d'etat, is not only import-
ant for its references to the ex-Tribune's re-
ception at Avignon, but it enables us to judge
how the whole affair appeared to Petrarch
after his friend's disgrace.
Rienzo under the Protection of the Muses.
To Francesco Nclli."^
What do you expect me to tell you now ? — some-
thing more of the episode in my last letter, which
' A word is apparently missing here in the MS.
' Fam., xiii., 6. This letter was probably written in 1352.
342 Petrarch
may equally well have brought indignant tears to
your eyes or made you laugh ? ' At this moment
I certainly have nothing more important on hand,
although there are plenty of trifling duties. Indeed,
lack of time prevents my turning to more weighty
matters, and even what little time I have is not really
free, but is filled with astonishing interruptions. I
am in a constant hubbub, always in motion, run-
ning here, there, and nowhere.^ This is an ill that is
all too familiar to those who move from place to
place. Having left Babylon ' for the last time, I am
now at the Fountain of the Sorgue, my usual port of
refuge from the storms that overtake me. Here I am
waiting for travelling companions, as well as for late
autumn, or at least for that season when, as Virgil
hath it, " the shortening days bring a waning heat."
In the meantime, that my country life may not be
wholly profitless, I am gathering together the re-
sults of past meditation. Every day I try either to
make some progress in the more important writings
which I have in hand or to finish outright some one
little thing. This letter will show you what I am
doing to-day.
Poetry, a divine gift which belongs of necessity
to the few, is now beginning to be usurped, not to
say profaned and degraded, by the many. To me
there is nothing more irritating than this, and if I
' This refers to an account of the refusal to grant Petrarch a papal
secretaryship because of his too elegant Latin. See above, p. iiS.
- The Latin — Nam et ego totus in motu, et multa circumstrepunt,
simulque hie et alibi, atque ita nusquam, sum — forcibly expresses
what is often supposed to be a quite modem experience.
' /. e., Avignon.
Political Opinions 343
know your disposition, my friend, you will find it
no less hard than I to reconcile yourself to this un-
becoming state of affairs. Never at Athens or
Rome, never in the times of Homer or Virgil, was
there such an ado about poets as we have now on
the banks of the Rhone; although I believe there
was never a place or a time when the knowledge of
these matters was at so low an ebb. But I would
have you smother your irritation in a laugh, and
learn to jest even in the midst of sadness.
Cola di Rienzo has recently come, or rather been
brought, a prisoner, to the papal curia. He who
was once the Tribune of the city of Rome, inspiring
terror far and wide, is now the most miserable of
men, and, what is worst of all, I fear that, miserable
as he undoubtedly is, he ought scarcely to arouse
our pity, since he who might have died with glory
upon the Capitol has submitted to be imprisoned,
first by a Bohemian and then by a native of Limoges,'
thus bringing derision upon himself and upon the
Roman name and state. How active my pen was
in praising and admonishing this man is perhaps
better known than I should wish. I was enamoured
of his virtue; I applauded his design, and admired
his spirit; I congratulated Italy, and anticipated a
restoration of dominion to the mother city, and
peace for the whole world. I could not disguise the
joy that such hopes engendered, and it seemed to
me that I should become a participant in all this
glory if I could but urge him on in his course.
' Namely, by Emperor Charles IV. and Pope Clement VI. Cf.
Papencordt, Ricnzi, 254, n. i.
344 Petrarch
That he keenly felt the incentive of my words his
letters and messages amply testified. This aroused
me the more, and incited me to discover what would
serve to inflame further his fervid spirit; and, as I
well knew that nothing causes a generous heart to
glow like praise and renown, I disseminated enthu-
siastic eulogies, which may have seemed exaggerated
to some, but which were in my opinion perfectly
justified. I commended his past actions, and ex-
horted him to persevere in the future. Some of my
letters to him are still preserved, and I am not alto-
gether ashamed of them. I am not addicted to pro-
phecy ; would that he, too, had refrained from it I
Moreover, at the time when I wrote, what he had
done and what he seemed about to do was worthy
not only of my admiration but of that of the whole
human race, I doubt whether these letters should
be destroyed for the single reason that he preferred
to live a coward rather than die with dignity. But
it is useless to discuss the impossible ; however anx-
ious I might be to destroy them I cannot, for they
are now^ in the hands of the public, and so have
escaped from my control.
But to return to our subject. He who had filled
evil-doers throughout the world with trembling ap-
prehension, and the good with glad hope and antici-
pation, approached the papal court humbled and
despised. He who had once been attended by the
whole Roman people and the chiefs of the Italian
cities was now accompanied by two guards only,
one on either side, as he made his unhappy way
through the people, who crowded about him in their
Political Opinions 345
eagerness to see the face of one of whom they had
only heard the proud name/ . . . In this plight,
as I understand from the letters of friends, one hope
is left him ; a rumour has spread among the people
that he is an illustrious poet. It seems to them a
shameful thing that one devoted to so sacred a pur-
suit should suffer violence. The elevated sentiment
that now prevails with the crowd is the same to
which Cicero once appealed before the magistrates,
in favour of his teacher, Aulus Licinius Archias.
But I need not add a description of the oration, which
I formerly fetched from farthest Germany when
travelling through that region as an eager sight-seer
in my early days. During the year following my
return, in response to the desires of your friends, I
sent it to our native city. That you have it and have
read it carefully I can see from the letters which
reach me from there. But what shall I say of Rienzo's
affair ? I am delighted, and rejoice more than words
can tell, that such honour is now rendered to the
Muses, and — what is the more astonishing — by those
who are unacquainted with them ; so that they are
able to save by their name alone a man otherwise
hateful even to his very judges. What more ex-
alted prerogatives could they have enjoyed under
Augustus Caesar, at a time when they were held in
suprem.e honour, when poets came from all parts
' In the portion of the letter here omitted Petrarch laments Rien-
zo's inconstancy and want of insight, and dwells upon the fact that
he is accused not of having deserted a noble cause but of having
dared to contemplate a free republic. The same sentiments are
expressed in the letter which follows this.
34^ Petrarch
to look upon the illustrious countenance of that
unique prince who was at once their friend and the
ruler of the earth ? What greater tribute, I ask,
could be paid to the power of the Muses than that
they should be permitted to snatch from death's
door a man certainly detested, — with how much rea-
son I will not discuss, — a convicted and confessed
criminal (even if not guilty of the offence of which
he is accused), about to be condemned by the unani-
mous vote of his judges to capital punishment. I
am delighted, again I say it; I congratulate both
him and the Muses, — him upon the protection he
enjoys, them upon the honour in which they are
held. Nor do I grudge an offender, reduced to his
last hope and in such critical circumstances, this
saving title of poet.
Yet if you asked my opinion I should say that
Cola di Rienzo is very eloquent, possessed of great
powers of persuasion, and ready of speech ; as a
writer also he is charming and elegant, his diction,
if not very copious, is graceful and brilliant. I
believe, too, that he reads all the poets that are
generally known ; but he is not a poet for all that,
any more than one is a weaver who dons a garment
made by another's hands. Even the writing of ver-
ses does not suffice by itself to earn the title of poet.
As Horace most truly says,
'T is not enough then merely to inclose
Plain sense in numbers. — which if you transpose.
The words were such as any man might say.'
' Howes' version of SaL, i., 4, 42.
Political Opinions 347
But this man has never composed a single poem
which has reached my ears, nor has he appHed him-
self to such things ; and without application nothing,
however easy, can be well done.
I wished to tell you all this in order that you
first might be moved by the fate of one who was
once a public benefactor, and then might rejoice in
his unexpected deliverance. You will, like me, be
equally amused and disgusted by the cause of his
escape, and will wonder, if Cola — which God grant I
— can, in such imminent peril, find shelter beneath
the aegis of the poet, why Virgil should not escape
in the same way ? Yet he would certainly have
perished at the hands of the same judges, because
he is held to be not a poet but a magician. But I
will tell you something which will amuse you still
more. I myself, than whom no one has ever been
more hostile to divination and magic, have occa-
sionally been pronounced a magician by quite as
acute judges, on account of my fondness for Virgil.
How low indeed have our studies sunk ! ' . . .
The treatment of Rienzo by the papal offi-
cials at Avignon seemed to Petrarch an insult
to the Roman people ; and he determined,
shortly after the prisoner's arrival, to appeal to
those who had once shared in the Tribune's
' The letter closes with a last illustration of the prevailing ignor-
ance. A highly talented and well-educated man (vir litterarum mul-
tarum et excelsi ingenii) of Avignon gravely asked Petrarch if a
certain person, who could make a public speech and write a letter
with some ease, might not properly be called ^ poet.
348 Petrarch
fleeting glory. Petrarch's interest in the case
may very well be ascribed, in part at least, to
his former friendship for Rienzo ; his letter
is, however, chiefly important as illustrating
his political ideas and his highly fantastic con-
ception of the Roman Empire.
To tJic Roinan People, urging them to Inter-
vene in Ricnzd s Trial. '
Invincible people, to whom I belong, Conquerors
of the Nations! there is a grave question which I
would discuss with you, briefly and in confidence.
I pray you therefore, I conjure you, illustrious
men, to grant me your attention, for yours are the
interests at stake. It is a serious matter, a most
serious matter, with which none other in the world
can be compared. But lest I should exhaust your
interest by delay, or seem to endeavour to give
added weight to a matter that by its very nature is
of supreme importance, I will omit any introduction
and come at once to the point.
Your former Tribune is now a captive in the power
of strangers, and — sad spectacle indeed ! — like a noc-
turnal thief or a traitor to his country, he pleads
his cause in chains. He is refused the opportunity
of a legitimate defence by the highest of earthly
tribunals. The magistrates of justice themselves
reject the claims of justice, and deny him what
has never been denied to even the most impious
^ Ep. sine Titulo, iv. (Also in Fracassetti's ^//. Lit., No. i.)
Political Opinions 349
offenders.' It is true that he may perhaps deserve
to suffer in this manner, for, after he had planted
the Republic by his skill, with his own hands so to
speak, after it had taken root and flowered, in the
very bloom of glorious success he left it. But
Rome assuredly does not merit such treatment.
Her citizens, who were formerly inviolable by law
and exempt from punishment, are now indiscrimi-
nately maltreated, as anyone's savage caprice may
dictate, and this is done not only without the guilt
that attaches to a crime, but even with the high
praise of virtue.
But that you may not be ignorant, most illustrious
sirs, why he who was formerly your head and guide
and is still your fellow-citizen — or shall I say your
exile ? — is thus persecuted, I must dwell upon a cir-
cumstance of which you may already be aware, but
which is none the less astounding and intolerable.
He is accused not of betraying but of defending
liberty ; he is guilty not of surrendering but of
holding the Capitol. The supreme crime with which
he is charged, and which merits expiation on the
scaffold, is that he dared afifirm that the Roman
Empire is still at Rome, and in possession of the
Roman people. Oh impious age ! Oh preposter-
ous jealousy, malevolence unprecedented! What
doest thou, O Christ, ineffable and incorruptible
judge of all ? Where are thine eyes with which
thou art wont to scatter the clouds of human misery?
Why dost thou turn them away ? Why dost thou
' Rienzo was accused of heresy, and it was quite in accord with
the jurisprudence of the inquisition to refuse him counsel.
350 Petrarch
not, with thy forked lightning, put an end to this
unholy trial ? Even though we be not deserving,
look upon us, have pity upon us! Behold our ene-
mies (who are not less thine), for they are multiplied,
and they hate us even as they hate thee, with a
cruel hate. Judge, we beseech thee, between our
cause and theirs, unlike in every respect. From
thy mouth let our judgment go forth ; let thine eyes
behold equity.
That one nation, or indeed that all nations, as
we perceive, should have desired to withdraw them-
selves from that easiest and most just of all yokes,
the yoke of Rome, need not surprise nor anger us,
since there is in the souls of all mortals an innate
love of liberty. Inadvisable and premature this de-
sire may often be, and those whom shame forbids to
obey their superiors ofttimes command but ill, and
might better have submitted to be led. In this way
all things are thrown into a state of turmoil and con-
fusion; and in place of a suitable dominion we not
infrequently find an unworthy subjection; instead
of a dignified subordination, an unjust authority.
Were this otherwise, human affairs would be upon a
better footing, and the world, its head erect, would
be vigorous still.
If this cannot be accepted upon my authority,
experience may be trusted. When have we seen
such peace, such tranquillity, such justice, such glory
of well-doing, such rewards for virtue, such pun-
ishments for evil, — when did such order reign in
all things, as when the world had but a single head,
and that head Rome ? It was that time which
Political Opinions 351
God who loves peace and justice, chose above all
others to humble himself to be born of the Virgin
and to visit our earth. To each body is given its
respective head ; so the whole world, which the poet
calls " the great body," should content itself with
a single temporal head. A creature with two heads
is a monster; how much more horrid and frightful a
prodigy is a being with a thousand separate heads,
wrangling among themselves and tearing each other.
But if there must be several heads, there certainly
should be one which is above the others and controls
everything, so that the whole body may remain at
peace. It is a truth amply proved by innumerable
experiences, and supported by the authority of the
most learned, that in heaven and on earth unity
of rule has always been best. That God Omni-
potent has willed that the supreme head should be
no other than Rome, he has shown by a thousand
signs, for he has rendered Rome worthy, by the
glory of both peace and war, and has granted her
a preeminence of power, marvellous and unexam-
pled.
Although this be true, yet if in the past a nation,
following the custom of the human heart, which
daily rejoices in its own evil, has, as I have said,
chosen to embrace a harmful and doubtful liberty
rather than accept the safe and advantageous do-
minion of the common mother, it may still be par-
doned for its audacity or stupidity. But who can,
without scandal, hear the question raised among
learned men whether the Roman Empire is at
Rome ? Must we assume, then, that the Parthian,
352 Petrarch
the Persian, and the Median kingdoms remain with
the Parthians, the Persians, and the Medes, respect-
ively, but that the Roman Empire wanders about ?
Who can stomach such an absurdity ? Who will
not, rather, vomit it up and utterly reject it ? If
the Roman Empire is not at Rome, pray where is
it ? If it is anywhere else than at Rome it is no
longer the Empire of the Romans, but belongs to
those with whom an erratic fate has left it. Al-
though the Roman generals were, owing to the
exigencies of the Republic, often engaged with their
armies in the far east or extreme west, or found
themselves in the regions of Boreas or of Auster, the
Roman dominion in the meantime was at Rome, and
Rome it was which determined whether the Roman
generals merited reward or punishment. It was de-
termined upon the Capitol who should be honoured,
who punished, who should enter the city as a private
citizen, who with the honours of an ovation or of a
triumph. Even after the tyranny, or, as we prefer to
say, the monarchy, of Julius Caesar was established,
the Roman rulers, although they were assigned a
place in the council of the gods themselves, contin-
ued, as we well know, to ask the consent of the
Senate or of the Roman people in the conduct of
the government, and according as that permission
was granted or refused they proceeded with, or de-
sisted from, their proposed action. Emperors may,
therefore, wander about, but the Empire is fixed and
forever immovable. And we may well infer that it
was no temporary site but its eternal place to which
Virgil refers when he says :
Political Opinions 353
While on the rock-fast Capitol ^"Eneas' house abides,
And while the Roman Father still the might of Empire
guides.'
It was, however, also a Roman who
wrote, " All that is born dies, and that which in-
creases grows old." Nor does it distress me that
Fortune exercises her prerogatives in your case as
well as in that of others, and, in order plainly to
show that she is mistress of human affairs, fears not
to lay hands upon the very head of the world. I
well know her violence and her inconstancy. Still,
I cannot endure the idle boasts of certain unbridled
nations, and the insolent conduct of those whose
neck long bore the yoke of Rome. To pass over
many other outrageous themes of discussion, they
raise the question — oh, unhappy and shameful sug-
gestion ! — whether the Roman Empire is at Rome.
It is indeed true that upon a spot now covered
with trackless forest royal palaces may some time
arise ; and where to-day stand halls resplendent with
gold, the hungry flocks may some time pasture, and
the wandering shepherds occupy the apartments of
kings. I do not depreciate the power, of Fortune.
As she has obliterated other cities, so, with no more
effort, if with greater ruin, she may destroy the
' ^ncid, ix., 448, 449, as translated by William Morris. Petrarch
here makes an excursus in order to free Virgil from the reproach of
Augustine, who asserts that the poet mendaciously promises (^ALitcid,
i., 278, 279) the Romans an endless empire. These words, Petrarch
points out, were discreetly put into Jove's mouth, whereas, when
speaking for himself, Virgil refers {Georgics, ii., 49S) to res Romaner
perituraque regna.
354 Petrarch
queen of cities. Alas, she has already partially
accomplished this; but she can never bring it about
that the Roman Empire can be anywhere else than
at Rome, for as soon as it is anywhere else it ceases
to be Roman.
This your unfortunate fellow-citizen has main-
tained, and will not deny that he still maintains ; and
this constitutes the terrible crime for which his life
is endangered. He claims that his assertion is based
upon the opinion of many wise men, nor do I think
that he is wrong. He further entreats that counsel
and the opportunity to defend himself be granted
him. This is refused; and, without divine mercy
and your support, he is undone; innocent and de-
fenceless, he will be condemned.
Almost everyone pities him ; there is scarcely one
who is not distressed for him, except those whose
duty it is to be compassionate, to forgive the erring,
and to feel no envy toward virtue. Distinguished
lawyers are not wanting here who claim that this
same proposition can be most clearly proved by the
civil law. Others maintain that they could cite
many and weighty references in the histories, which
go to substantiate this opinion, if it were only per-
mitted them to speak freely. But no one now dares
to hint a word of this, except in a corner, or timidly
and in secret. Even I who write this to you, al-
though I might not refuse to die for the truth, if my
death would seem to promise any advantage to the
Republic, — even I now keep my peace, and do not
affix my name to this present communication, be-
lieving that the style itself will suffice to indicate
Political Opinions 355
the writer, though I may add that it is a Roman
citizen who speaks.' But if the matter should be
considered in a place of safety, before a just judge,
and not in the tribunal of our enemies, I hope, with
the truth illuminating my intellect, and God direct-
ing my speech or pen, to be able to say that which
will render it clearer than day that the Roman
Empire, although long wasted and oppressed by the
attacks of fortune, and occupied in turn by Spaniards,
Africans, Greeks, Gauls, and Germans, still exists;
that it is at Rome, not elsewhere ; and that it will al-
ways remain there, although absolutely nothing of
that great city should be left except the naked rock
of the Capitol. I will prove, further, that even be-
fore we were ruled by foreigners, and while the Roman
Caesars still held the power, all the authority of the
Empire was lodged, not in them, but in the citadel
of the Capitol and in the Roman people." .
Bear such aid, then, as you can and ought, to your
Tribune, or, if that title is extinguished, to your
fellow-citizen; who has merited well at the hands of
the Republic; first and foremost, because he has
raised a great and important question which had
been lost sight of and neglected for centuries, and
which indicates the only means toward a reformation
of the state and the ushering in of the golden age.
Succour this man ! Do not neglect the safety of one
' Petrarch had been made a citizen of Rome at the time of his
coronation.
^ Petrarch, in the passage which follows, urges the Romans to
procure the transfer of Rienzo's case to Rome, or at least to demand
that he shall be granted a public audience and a fair trial.
t
56 Petrarch
who has incurred a thousand perils and subjected
himself to eternal despite in your behalf. Consider
his spirit and his purpose, and remember the former
state of your affairs, and how quickly the advice and
efforts of a single man excited a wonderful hope,
not only in Rome, but throughout Italy. Remem.-
ber how speedily the Italian name and the glory of
Rome were elevated and purified ; remember the
fear and disappointment of your enemies, the joy of
your friends, the anticipations of the people ; how
the course of events was altered, how the whole
universe assumed a new aspect, and the disposition
of men's minds was changed. Among all the revo-
lutions under heaven none has been so wonderful
and astounding as this. For seven months, not
longer, he held the reins of the Republic by an effort
which in my judgment finds scarcely a parallel in the
whole history of the world; and had he continued
as he began he would have accomplished a divine
' rather than a human work. Indeed, whatever man
.'■' does well is the work of God. There is, then, no
doubt that this man, who is known to have acted for
your glory and not to satisfy his own ambition, de-
serves your favour. You must blame Fortune for
the outcome. If his original fervour gave way to
a certain lethargy, forgive this in the name of human
inconstancy and weakness, and save your fellow-
citizen while you may from his enemies; you, who
formerly protected the Greeks from the Macedonians,
the Sicilians from the Carthaginians, the Campanians
from the Samnites, and the Etrurians from the Gauls,
and that not without serious peril to yourselves.
Political Opinions 357
Your resources are, I confess, no longer what they
once were, but never did your fathers show such
valour as when Roman poverty, which forms the
wealth of virtue, flourished. Your power is less,
that I do not forget ; but believe me, if a drop of the
old blood still flows in your veins, you may yet
enjoy no little majesty and no trifling authority.
Venture somewhat, I adjure you, in memory of past
greatness, in the name of the ashes and fame of your
ancestors, in the name of the Empire, in the name of
Jesus Christ, who bade us love our neighbour and aid
the afflicted. Have courage, I beseech you, above
all in a matter where your petition is honourable,
and silence shameful and unbecoming. If not for
his welfare, dare to do something for the sake of
your ov/n reputation, if you would still count for
anything. There is nothing less Roman than fear.
I forewarn you that if you are afraid, if you despise
yourselves, others, too, will despise you ; no one
will fear you. But if you once begin to desire not
to be scorned you will be feared far and wide, as
has often been proved in the past, and but lately,
also, when that ruler to whom I refer was governing
the Republic. You have but to speak as one ; let
the world recognise that the Roman people has but a
single voice, and no one will reject or scorn their
words; everyone will respect or fear them. Claim
the captive, or demand justice; one or the other
will be conceded to you. And you, who once by
a trifling embassy freed a King of Egypt besieged
by the Syrians, free now your fellow-citizen from a
shameful prison.
35^ Petrarch
Some two years after Rienzo's retirement,
Petrarch addressed his first letter to Charles
of Bohemia, who already enjoyed the title of
King of the Romans, but had not yet been
crowned Emperor at Rome, as was then cus-
tomary. While we cannot attempt to analyse
the anomalous character of this historically
important personage, it will nevertheless be
readily and justly inferred that little real sym-
pathy could exist between our ardent southern
doctrinaire and the sober northern ruler. Pe-
trarch was too thoroughly Italian really to
respect Charles personally. He could never
place unreserved confidence in a German from
the cold north, "where there is no noble
ardour or vital heat of empire." ^ To his fellow-
countryman, Rienzo, he had been drawn both
by the hope of seeing Rome once more su-
preme and, as we have seen, by natural affinity,
and a common fiery enthusiasm for the mighty
lessons of antiquity. Charles enlisted his inter-
est only as the titular successor of the Caesars.
The vitality, and, it must be admitted, the
absurdity, of Petrarch's political theories are
clearly seen in his long correspondence v/ith
the Emperor. He clung to his ideal with such
tenacity that he continued to despatch appeal
^ Fani., XX., 2 (vol. iii., p. 9).
Political Opinions 359
after appeal across the Alps, in spite of deluded
hopes and disappointments which might well
have appeared decisive.^
The letters shed little or no light upon the
conditions of the times, or upon the interrela-
tions of the Italian states. We hear of Veii and
of the Samnites, but the writer passes over the
more pertinent Florence and the Visconti in
silence. In one instance only does he refer to
existing conditions. The success of Rienzo is
cited with a hope of rousing the King's emula-
tion.~ If Peace and Justice and their insepara-
ble companions. Good Faith and sweet Security,
returned at the call of the Tribune, how much
might not justly be expected from the spell of
the imperial name ? Charles w^as to free the
Italians from slavery, to reinstate justice, now
prostituted to avarice, and once more to bring
back peace, long fallen into utter oblivion.^ No
more complete or specific program is offered ;
the poet satisfies himself with the constant
reiteration of the eternal fitness of Rome's
headship. This had satisfied many genera-
tions of political writers ; it is the central idea
' The senselessness of anticipating good from the arrival of the
Emperor is bitterly dwelt upon in De Remediis Utriusgue FortuncE,
book i., chap. 1 16.
■-' Fam., xviii. (vol. ii., p. 464).
^ Fam.. xviii. (vol. ii., p. 468).
360 Petrarch
of mediaeval thought, whether in the field of
secular or ecclesiastical political speculation.
Petrarch adds nothing to it, and the chief in-
terest in his messages is, perhaps, their con-
servatism. His study of the classics did not
modify but served only to intensify the current
conception. For him there was no mean be-
tween the traditional anachronism of a world-
monarchy and the petty, unscrupulous, restless
despotisms about him.
In one respect, however, Petrarch advanced
beyond the fruitless repetition of old fantastic
theory, for he viewed Charles not only as Em-
peror of the Holy Roman Empire but as a
new Augustus, a patron of literature. Upon
receiving a letter from his royal friend he ex-
claims, " If it was deemed a glorious thing for
Virgil and Horace to gain the notice and com-
panionship of Caesar Augustus and to receive
his letters, why should not I, their successor,
not indeed in merit but in time, and perhaps
in the opinion of men, — why should not I feel
justly proud to be similarly distinguished by
Auofustus' successor ? " ^ The tribute here im-
plied to the Emperor's interest in letters was
by no means entirely unmerited. Petrarch, as
we have repeatedly seen, was strongly attached
' Fa/n., xxiii., 2 (vol. iii., p. 184).
Political Opinions 361
to the rulers of his day, in whom he either
discovered, or quickly aroused, a certain enthu-
siasm for the new culture. They came to relish
the society of men of letters, and to extend to
them their princely patronage, during the long
humanistic epoch of which he was the herald.
To CJia7'les IV., Bniperor August of the
Roma7is}
My letter, most serene Emperor, when it consid-
ers its origin, whence it proceeds and whither it is
bound, is filled with dread at the thought of the
gulf over which it must pass. Born in the shadow
of obscurity, what wonder if it is dazzled by the
brilliancy of your splendid name ? But love casteth
out fear: it will, as it ventures into the light of your
presence, at least serve to bear to you the message
of my faithful affection. Read, then, I pray you,
Glory of our Age, read! for you need fear no empty
flattery, that common affliction of kings, so irksome
and hateful to you. The art of adulation is repug-
nant to my character; prepare rather to listen to
my lamentations, for you are now to be disturbed
not by compliments but by complaints.
Why do you forget us — nay, forget yourself, if I
may be pardoned for so speaking ? How is it that
your Italy no longer enjoys your watchful care ?
' Fam., X., I. This letter may with confidence be dated I'adua,
Feb. 24, 1350. Cf. Gregorovius, op. cit., vi., 341.
^62 Petrarch
0
We have long placed our hope in you, as one sent to
us from heaven, who would speedily re-establish our
liberty; but you have forsaken us, and, when action
is most essential, you occupy your time in lengthy
deliberations. — You will perceive, Caesar, how
frankly I dare to address you, though a person in-
significant and unknown. Be not offended at my
boldness, I beseech you, but congratulate yourself
upon the possession of a nature which can arouse
this confidence in me.
To revert to the question in hand, why do you
spend your time in mere consultation, as if master of
the future? Do you not know how abruptly the most
important matter may reach a crisis ? A day may
bring forth what has been preparing for centuries.
Believe me, if you but consider your own reputation,
and the condition of the state, you will clearly per-
ceive that neither your interests nor ours require
longer delay. What is more fleeting and uncertain
than life ? Although you are now at the height of
manly vigour, your strength will not endure, but is
slipping from you steadily and apace. Each day car-
ries you insensibly toward old age. You hesitate and
look about you ; ere you are aware, your hair will be
white. Can you apprehend that you are premature
in undertaking a task for which, as you must know,
the longest life would scarcely suffice ? The busi-
ness before you is no common or trifling aflair. The
Roman Empire, long harassed by storms, and again
and again deluded in its hopes of safety, has at last
placed its waning reliance in your uprightness and
devotion. After a thousand perils, it ventures.
Political Opinions 3^3
under the protection of your name, to breathe
once more; but hope alone cannot long sustain
it. You must realise how great and how holy a
burden of responsibility you have assumed. Press
on, we exhort you, to the goal, with the utmost
speed !
Time is so precious, nay, so inestimable a posses-
sion, that it is the one thing which the learned agree
can justify avarice. So cast hesitation to the winds
and, as behooves one who is entering upon a moment-
ous task, count every day a priceless opportunity.
Let this thought make you frugal of time, and induce
you to come to our rescue, and show the light of
your august countenance, for which we long amidst
the clouds of our adversity. Let not solicitude for
Transalpine affairs, nor the love of your native soil,
detain you; but whenever you look upon Germany,
think of Italy. There you were born, here you
were nurtured; there you enjoy a kingdom, here
both a kingdom and an empire; and, as I believe I
may, with the consent of all nations and peoples,
safely add, while the members of the Empire are
everywhere, here you will find the head itself.
There must, however, be no slothfulness if you
would reach the desired result, for it will prove no
small matter to re-unite all these precious fragments
into a single body.
I well know that novelty always excites suspicion,
but you are not summoned to an unknown land.
Italy is no less familiar to you than Germany itself.
Pledged to us by divine favour from your child-
hood, you followed, with extraordinary ability, the
364 Petrarch
footsteps of your illustrious father.' Under his
guidance you made yourself acquainted with the
Italian cities, the customs of the people, the con-
figuration of the land, and mastered in this way
the first principles of your glorious profession. Here,
while still a boy, and with a prowess more than
mortal, you gained many a famous victory. Yet
great as were these deeds they but foreshadowed
greater things; since, as a man, you could not look
with apprehension upon a country which had af-
forded you, as a youth, the opportunity for such
signal triumphs. You could forecast from the au-
spicious results of your first campaign what you
might, as Emperor, anticipate upon the same field.
Moreover, Italy has never awaited the coming of
any foreign prince with more joy; for not only is
there no one else to whom she can look for the
healing of her wounds, but your yoke she does not
regard as that of an alien. Thus your majesty,
although you may not be aware of it, enjoys a
peculiar position in our eyes. — Why should I fear
to say frankly what I think, and what will, I am con-
fident, appear to you as true ? — By the marvellous
favour of God our own national character is once
more restored to us, after so many centuries, in
you, our Augustus. Let the Germans claim you
for themselves, if they please; we look upon you as
an Italian. Hasten then, as I have so often said,
and must continue to say, hasten! I know that the
' That is. King John of Bohemia, who perished romantically in the
battle of Crecy. He made an expedition into Italy in 1329, to which
Petrarch here refers.
Political Opinions 365
acts of the Caesars delight you, — and rightly, for you
are one of them. The founder of the Empire
moved, it is reported, with such rapidity that he
often arrived before the messengers sent to an-
nounce his coming. Follow his example. Strive
to rival in deeds him whom you equal in rank. Do
not longer deprive Italy, which deserves well of you,
of your presence. Do not cool our enthusiasm by
continued delay and the despatch of messengers.
It is you whom we desire, it is your celestial coun-
tenance that we ask to behold. If you love virtue
(I address our Charles as Cicero addressed Julius
Ci5esar), and thirst for glory- — for you will not dis-
claim this thirst, wise though you be — do not, I
beseech you, shun exertion. For he who escapes
effort escapes both glory and virtue, which are
never attained but by a steep and laborious path.
Arise then and gird up your loins, for we know you
to be eager for true praise and ready for noble toil.
You will rightly place the heaviest burdens in this
mighty undertaking upon the strongest backs, and
upon those in the prime of life, for youth is the
suitable time for work, old age for repose. Surely
there is among all your important and sacred duties
none more pressing than that you should restore
gentle peace once more to Italy. This task alone is
worthy of your manly strength ; others are too slight
to occupy so great and generous a spirit. Do this
first, and the rest will find an appropriate time. In-
deed, I cannot but feel that little or nothing would
remain to be done when peace and order were again
established in Italy.
66 Petrarch
o
Picture to yourself the Genius of the city of Rome,
presenting herself before you. Imagine a matron,
with the dignity of age, but with her grey locks di-
shevelled, her garments rent, and her face overspread
with the pallor of misery ; and yet with an unbroken
spirit, and unforgetful of the majesty of former days,
she addresses you as follows: " Lest thou shouldst
angrily scorn me, Caesar, know that once I was power-
ful, and performed great deeds. I ordained laws,
and established the divisions of the year. I taught
the art of war. I maintained myself for five hun-
dred years in Italy ; then, as many a witness will tes-
tify, I carried war and victory into Asia, Africa, and
Europe, finally compassing the whole world, and by
gigantic effort, by wisdom and the shedding of much
blood, I laid the foundation of the rising Empire.'
At last the ocean, which I had dyed with
the blood of both my enemies and my children,
was subjected to our fleets, in order that from the
seeds of war the flower of perpetual peace might
spring; and by the work of many hands the Empire
might be so established that it should endure until
thy time. Nor was I disappointed in my hopes;
my wish was granted, and I beheld everything be-
neath my feet. But then, I know not why, unless
it is not fitting that the works of mortals should
prove themselves immortal, my magnificent struct-
ure fell a prey to sloth and indifference.
I need not relate again the sad story of its de-
' A page is here omitted which briefly reviews the gradual exten-
sion of the Roman power.
Political Opinions 367
cline; thou canst behold the state to which it is re-
duced. Thou, who hast been chosen to succour
me when hope had well-nigh deserted me. why dost
thou loiter, why dost thou vainly hesitate and con-
sider ? Assuredly, I never stood in more dire need
of assistance, nor hast thou ever been better placed
to bear aid. Never was the Roman pontiff more
mildly inclined, nor the favour of God and man
more propitious; never did greater deeds await the
doing. Dost thou still defer ? Delay has always been
most fatal to great princes. Would that thou might-
est be moved to emulate the illustrious example of
those who left nothing for old age, but straightway
grasped an opportunity which might offer itself but
once. Alexander of Macedon had at thine age trav-
ersed the whole Orient, and, burning to extend his
kingdom over alien races, knocked at the gates of
India. Dost thou, who wouldst only recover thine
own, hesitate to enter thy devoted Italy? At thine age
Scipio Africanus crossed into Africa, in spite of the
adverse counsels of older men, and supported with
pious hands an empire tottering upon the verge of
ruin. With an incredible display of valour he freed
me from the impending yoke of Carthage. His was a
mighty task, and, by reason of its unheard-of dan-
gers, memorable to all generations. While war was
bitterly waging in our country he invaded the land
of the enemy. Hannibal, conqueror of Italy, Gaul,
and Spain (who was already contemplating, in his
dreadful ambition, the dominion of the w^hole earth),
Scipio cast out of Italy and vanquished upon his
own soil. But thou hast no seas to cross nor a
368 Petrarch
Hannibal to defeat; the way is free from difficulty,
all is open and accessible. Should obstacles present
themselves, as some fear, thy presence will shatter
them as with a thunderbolt. A vast field of fresh
glory spreads out before thee, if thou dost not refuse
to enter it. Press bravely, confidently forward.
God, the companion and present help of the
righteous prince, will be with thee. The armed
cohorts of the good and upright will gather about
thee, demanding to regain under thy leadership
their lost liberty.
I might urge thee on by examples of another
character, of those who by death or by some other
insuperable check w^ere unable to bring their glori-
ous undertakings to an end. But we need not look
abroad for instances when such excellent illustra-
tions are to be had at home. Without search-
ing the annals, a single example, most familiar to
thee, w^ill serve for all, that of Henry VH., thy
most serene grandfather of glorious memory. Had
his life been spared to accomplish what his noble
mind had conceived, how different would have been
the fate of Italy I He would have driven his ene-
mies to despair, and would have left me once more
queen of a free and happy people. From where he
now dwells in heaven he looks down upon thee and
considers thy conduct. He counts the days and the
hours, and joins me in chiding thy delay.
Beloved grandson,' he pleads, ' in whom the
good place their hope, and in whom I seem still to
live, listen to our Rome, give heed to her tears and
noble prayers. Carry out my plan of reforming the
Political Opinions 369
state, which my death interrupted, working thereby
greater harm to the world than to me. Imitate my
zeal, fruitless as it was, and mayest thou, with like
ardour, bring thy task to a happier and more joyful
issue. Begin, lest thou shouldst be prevented;
mindful of me, know that thou, too, art mortal.
Up, then; surmount the passes! Joyful at thy ap-
proach, Rome summons her bridegroom, Italy her
saviour, yearning to hear thy footsteps. The hills
and rivers await thy coming in glad anticipation ;
the cities and towns await thee, as do the hearts of
all good men. If there were no other motive for
thy departure, a sufficient reason would be found in
the opinion of evil men, in whose eyes thou canst
never linger too long, and in the belief of the good,
that thy coming cannot be unduly hastened. For
the sake of both, delay no longer; let the virtuous
receive their reward ; bring retribution upon the evil,
or, if they come to their senses, grant them thy
forgiveness. To thee alone God Omnipotent has
granted the final glory of my interrupted purpose.' "
Charles finally decided that it would be to
his advantage to visit Italy and receive the
imperial crown at Rome. His motives, how-
ever, had little in common with those which
are set forth in the preceding letter. He ar-
rived in Lombardy in the autumn of 1354;
and after adjusting, temporarily at least, his
complicated diplomatic relations with the
Z7^ Petrarch
states of northern Italy, he called Petrarch to
him, in the bitter cold of December.
His Audience with the Emperor.
To ' ' Lcelius. ' ' '
. . . On the fourth day after leaving Milan I ar-
rived at Mantua, where I was received by the suc-
cessor of our Caesars with a cordiality hardly to be
expected from a Caesar, and with a graciousness more
than imperial. Omitting details, I may say that we
two sometimes spent the whole evening, from the time
the lights were first lit until an unseasonably late
hour of the night, in conversation and discussion.
Nothing, in a word, could be more refined and en-
gaging than the dignified manners of this prince.
So much, at least, I know; but I must defer a final
judgment upon his other traits, in accordance with
the dictum of the Satirist, " Trust not the face."
We must wait! We must, if I mistake not, take
counsel of the acts of the man and their outcome,
not of his face and words, if we would determine
how far he merits the title of Cssar. Nor did I
hesitate frankly to tell him this.
The conversation happening to descend to my
works, the Emperor requested copies of some of
them, especially of that one which I have entitled
Lives of Famous Men. I replied that the latter
was still unfinished, and that time and leisure were
^ Fam., xix., 3. The first part of the letter, describing, among
other things, the severe winter cold, is omitted.
Political Opinions Z7^
necessary to its completion. Upon asking me to
aeree to send it to him later, he met with an ex-
ample of my customary freedom of speech when talk-
ing with persons of rank. This frankness, which I
had by nature, becomes more pronounced as the
years go on, and by the time I reach old age it will
doubtless exceed all bounds. " I promise that you
shall have it," I answered, " if your valour approves
itself, and my life is spared." As he asked, in sur-
prise, for an explanation, I replied that as far as I
was concerned I might properly demand that a
suitable period be granted me for the completion of
so considerable a work, as it was especially difficult
to set forth the history of great deeds in a limited
space. " As for you, Cresar," I continued, " you
will know yourself to be worthy of this gift, and of a
book bearing such a title, when you shall be dis-
tinguished not in name only, and by the possession
of a diadem, insignificant in itself, but also by your
deeds; and when, by the greatness of your charac-
ter, you shall have placed yourself upon a level with
the illustrious men of the past. You must so live
that posterity shall read of your great deeds as you
read of those of the ancients."
That my utterance met with his ready approval
was clearly shown by the sparkle of his eye and the
inclination of his august head; and it seemed to me
that the time had come to carry out something
which I had long planned. Following up the op-
portunity afforded by my words, I presented him
with some gold and silver coins, which I held very
dear. They bore the effigies of some of our rulers, —
372 Petrarch
one of them, a most lifelike head of Caesar Au-
gustus,— and were inscribed with exceedingly minute
ancient characters. " Behold, Caesar, those whose
successor you are," I exclaimed, " those whom you
should admire and emulate, and with whose image
you may well compare your own. To no one
but you would I have given these coins, but your
rank and authority induces me to part with them. I
know the name, the character, and the history,
of each of those who are there depicted, but you
have not merely to know their history, you must fol-
low in their footsteps; — the coins should, therefore,
belong to you." Thereupon I gave him the briefest
outline of the great events in the life of each of the
persons represented, adding such words as might
stimulate his courage and his desire to imitate their
conduct. He exhibited great delight, and seemed
never to have received a present which afforded him
more satisfaction.
But why should I linger upon these details ?
Among the many things we discussed I will mention
only one matter, which will, I think, surprise you.
The Emperor desired to hear, in due order, the his-
tory— or shall I say the romance ? — of my life, from
the day of my birth to the present time. Although
I protested that the story was long and by no means
diverting, he listened to me through it all with grave
attention, and when, from forgetfulness or a desire
to hasten on, I omitted some event, he straightway
supplied it, seeming often to be better acquainted
with my past than I myself. I was astonished that
any wind was strong enough to have wafted such
i
Political Opinions ^7:^
trifles across the Alps, and that they had caught the
eye of one whose attention was absorbed by the
cares of state. When I finally reached the present
time in my narrative I paused, but the Emperor
pressed me to tell him something of my plans for
the future. " Continue," he said; " what of the
future ? What objects have you now in view ? "
" My intentions are of the best, Cssar," I replied,
" although I have been unable to bring my work to
the state of perfection I should have desired. The
habits of the past are strong, and prevail in the con-
flict with the good intentions of the present. The
heart opposes a new determination, as the sea which
has been driven by a steady breeze rises up against
a contrary wind." " I can well believe you," he
answered, " but my question really referred to a
different matter, namely, to the kind of life which
pleases you best." " The life of solitude," I
promptly and boldly answered, " for no existence
can be safer, or more peaceful and happy. It
transcends, in my opinion, even the glory and em-
inence of your sovereign position. I love to pursue
solitude, when I may, into her own proper haunts,
— the forests and mountains. Often in the past
have I done this, and when, as at present, it is im-
possible, I do the best I can, and seek such seclusion
as is to be found in the city itself." He smiled, and
said, " All this I well know, and have intentionally
led you step by step, by my questions, to this con-
fession. While I agree with many of your opinions,
I must deprecate this notion of yours."
And so a great discussion arose between us, which
374 Petrarch
I did not hesitate to interrupt by exclaiming: " Be-
ware, Caesar, of your course ! for in this conflict your
arms are by no means equal to mine. This is a de-
bate in which not only are you predestined to de-
feat, but a very Chrysippus, armed with syllogisms,
would have no chance of victory. I have for a long
time meditated upon nothing else, and my head is
full of arguments and illustrations. Experience, the
mistress of the world, sides with me, although the
stupid and ignorant multitude oppose my view. I
refuse to engage with you, Caesar, for I should in-
evitably be declared the victor by any fair-minded
person, although he were himself a dweller in the
city. Indeed, I am so absorbed by the subject that
I have recently issued a little book which treats of
some small part of it." Here he interrupted me,
declaring that he knew of the book, and that, should
it ever fall into his hands, he would promptly com-
mit it to the flames. I told him, in reply, that I
should see to it that it never came in his way.
Thus our discussion was protracted by many a merry
sally, and I must confess that, among all those whom
I have heard attack the life of seclusion, I have never
found one who advanced more weighty arguments.
The outcome was, if I do not deceive myself, that
the Emperor was worsted (if it is permissible to say
or think that an Emperor can be worsted), both by
my arguments and by reason, but in his own opin-
ion he was not only undefeated but remained
clearly the victor.
In conclusion, he requested me to accompany him
to Rome. This request was, he explained, his
Political Opinions 375
primary motive in subjecting one who held quiet in
such esteem to the discomforts of this inclement
season. He desired to behold the famous city not
only with his own but, so to speak, with my eyes.
He needed my presence, he said, in certain Tuscan
cities, — of which he spoke in a way that would have
led one to believe him an Italian, or possessed, at
least, of an Italian mind. This would have been
most agreeable to me, and the two words " Rome "
and " Caesar" rang most gratefully in my ears;
nothing, I thought, could be more delightful than
to accompany Caesar to Rome ; nevertheless I felt
obliged, for many good reasons, and owing to un-
avoidable circumstances, to refuse him.
Anew discussion ensued in regard to this matter,
which lasted many days and did not end until the
last adieux were said. For as the Emperor left
Milan I accompanied him to the fifth milestone
beyond the walls of Piacenza, and even then it was
only after a long struggle of opposing arguments
that I could tear myself away. As I was about to
depart a certain Tuscan soldier in the imperial
guards took me by the hand. and. turning to the
Emperor, addressed him in a bold but solemn voice.
Here is he," he said, " of whom I have often
spoken to you. If you shall do anything worthy
of praise, he will not allow your name to be silently
forgotten ; otherwise, he will know when to speak
and when to keep his peace."
But to return to our first subject.' I do not, as
' The rumour had reached LkHus that Petrarch had been deputed
by the Milanese government to negotiate a peace with Charles.
3;6 Petrarch
you can see, repudiate the honour you ascribe to
me, because it is distasteful, but because truth is
dearer to me than all else. I did not negotiate the
peace, though I ardently desired it; I was not de-
puted to bring it about, but only aided with exhor-
tations and words of encouragement. I was not
present at the beginning but only at the close, since
Caesar and my good fortune decreed my presence at
the solemn public ratification of the treaty which
followed its conclusion.
Assuredly no Italian has ever received such tributes
as I have at this juncture. I have been summoned
by Caesar and urged to be his companion; I have
been permitted to jest and argue with him. The
tyrant Dionysius, as Pliny tells us, once sent a ship
covered with garlands to fetch Plato, the disciple of
wisdom ; and as he disembarked he was received
upon the shore by the prince himself, in a chariot
drawn by four white horses. These things are spoken
of as magnificent tributes to Plato, and as redound-
ing to his glory. You see now, my dear Laelius,
whither I am tending, and that I omit no oppor-
tunity which promises distinction. What might I
not venture, who do not fear to compare myself to
Plato ? . . . '
The hasty, undignified retreat of Charles
from Italy, and the bitter reproaches which
Petrarch sent after him, did not prevent a re-
' The closing paragraph is omitted.
Political Opinions zil
sumption of the intercourse begun in 1350.^ A
year after the Emperor's departure Petrarch
went to Prague, as ambassador of the Visconti,
but we hear no particulars of his sojourn at
that new centre of culture. In a letter written
after this visit we find the graceful acknowledg-
ment of the gift of a golden cup from the
Emperor, who continued to urge the poet to
make his home in Prague. Petrarch at last
reluctantly prepared to obey the summons, but
was happily prevented by the military occu-
pation of the Alpine passes from undertaking
a journey which he little relished. He con-
tinued to press the return of the Emperor as
Italy's saviour until, finally, "hoarse " with re-
peated cries for help, he sent his last vain ap-
peal,^ some ten years after Charles' departure.
' Fourteen letters to Charles are preserved in all.
'^ Fam., xxiii., 21.
VI
THE CONFLICT OF MONASTIC AND
SECULAR IDEALS
379
Non sumus aut exhortatione virtutis aut vicinse mortis
obtentu a litteris deterendi. — Sen., i., 4.
380
THE tendencies toward Paganism which
the enthusiastic and exclusive study of
the ancient classics produced among the Ital-
ian Humanists of the fifteenth century are so
well known that it is natural to ask what was
the attitude of the founder of Humanism to-
ward the generally accepted religious beliefs
of his day.
The question of the propriety of reading
pagan works had agitated the Church from the
first, and the views of the devout had varied
greatly. There had always been distinguished
leaders, like Augustine, who made due use of
pagan learning and eloquence, and defended a
discriminating study of the heathen writers ;
while others, among whom Gregory the Great
was preeminent, had harshly condemned " the
idle vanities of secular learning," for the rea-
son "that the same mouth singeth not the
praises of Jove and the praises of Christ."
Many timid churchmen were fearful, like Jack
'^Ep., ix., 54.
381
3^2 Petrarch
Cade, of those who talked of " a noun and
a verb and such abominable words as no
Christian can endure to hear." In short, the
effects produced upon the religious convictions
by a study of Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Seneca,
and Lucretius have always varied with the
mental make-up, the maturity and surround-
ings, of the individual, just as nowadays a
study of science may or may not influence the
faith of the believer. In notable instances,
scientific pursuits not only leave the student's
religious system essentially unimpaired but
may even serve to fortify a traditional form of
theology. On the other hand, an absorbing
interest in scientific investigation often pro-
duces religious indifference. In still other
minds such research will arouse opposition to
what comes to seem to them a vicious and de-
graded form of superstition. This opposition
will vary from dignified but uncompromising
negation to a frantic belligerency not unlike
that of the ecclesiastical opponents of " poetry "
in the middle ages.
Turning to Petrarch, we may at first be
tempted to infer that his religious beliefs were
in no way affected by his sympathetic study of
pagan literature. His writings prove beyond
a peradventure that he was a devout Catholic,
Monastic and Secular Ideals 3^3
even an ardent defender of orthodoxy. He
composed several devotional works, unim-
peachably sound in their teaching, as, for ex-
ample, the tract upon Trite IVisdom, and his
Pe7iitential Psalms. He was deeply incensed
by the defection of the young men who ac-
cepted the doctrines of Averroes, and prepared
a refutation of their heresies, as we have seen/
And he was no exception to the rule, for there
were few, if any, among the first generation of
Humanists who affected the paganism charac-
teristic of the later Renaissance.' But Petrarch
not only refused to question the authority of
the Church ; he went much farther, and, in
theory at least, heartily accepted the prevalent
ascetic ideals. He freely acknowledges the
superior perfection of the monastic life ; it is,
he feels, the only sure road to Heaven. In
writing to Gherardo, who had become a Car-
thusian monk, he begs him not to despair of
his salvation although he still remains in the
world. His sins, however great, are still finite,
while the divine clemency upon which he relies
is boundless.^
But such reflections as fill the letter from
'/. e., De Suiipsius et Multorum Ignorantia. See above, pp. 215,
216.
' Cf. Pastor, Geschichte der Pdpste, vcl. i., p. i sqq.
3 Fam., X., 3.
384 Petrarch
which we quote are, the writer expHcitly tells
us, not his own, for it is the pen of another
self, a "monastic pen," which records them.
He speaks truly ; he had no real love for a
consistent life of seclusion and maceration, yet
when his spirit was heavy, when the vanity of
earthly ambition was more than usually op-
pressive, he might long for the irresponsible
routine of the monastery. Sometimes, too,
he seems unconsciously to have confused a
scholar's desire for leisure and retirement with
the quite different claims of the cloister.^
The following letter to Boccaccio explains
itself.
Religion docs not Require ns to Give np
Lito'atnre.
To Boccaccio."^
Your letter, my brother, filled me with the sad-
dest forebodings. As I ran through it amazement
and profound grief struggled for the supremacy in
my heart, but when I had finished, both gave way
to other feelings. As long as I was ignorant of the
facts, and attended only to the words, how indeed
could I read, with dry eyes, of your tears and ap-
1 Once, upon his return from a visit to the Carthusian monastery
which Gherardo had selected, Petrarch wrote a eulogy of monastic
life, De Otio Rcligiosorum, which may be found among his works.
* Sen., i., 4.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 385
preaching death ? For at first glance I quite failed
to see the real state of affairs. A little thought,
however, served to put me in quite a different frame
of mind, and to banish both grief and surprise.
But before I proceed I must touch upon the
matter to which you refer in the earlier part of your
letter. You dare not deprecate, you say with the
utmost deference, the plan of your illustrious master
— as you too humbly call me — for migrating to Ger-
many, or far-off Sarmatia (I quote your words),
carrying with me, as you would have it, all the
Muses, and Helicon itself, as if I deemed the Italians
unworthy longer to enjoy my presence or the fruits
of my labour. You well know, however, that I
have never been other than an obscure and lowly
dweller on Helicon, and that I have been so dis-
tracted by outside cares as to have become by this
time almost an exile. I must admit that your
method of holding me back from such a venture is
more ef^cacious than a flood of satirical eloquence
would have been. I am much gratified by such
tokens of your esteem, and by the keen interest you
exhibit. I should much prefer to see signs of ex-
aggerated apprehension on your part {omnia tiita
timenSy as Virgil says) than any suggestion of
waning affection.
I have no desire to conceal any of my plans from
you, dear friend, and will freely tell you the whole
secret of my poor wounded heart. I can never see
enough of this land of Italy ; but, by Hercules ! I am
so utterly disgusted with Italian affairs that, as I
recently wrote to our Simonidcs, I must confess that
as
386 Petrarch
I have sometimes harboured the idea of betaking
myself — not to Germany, certainly, but to some
secluded part of the world. There I might hope to
escape this eternal hubbub, as well as the storms of
jealousy to which I am exposed not so much by my
lot in life (which to my thinking might rather excite
contempt than envy) as by a certain renown which
I have acquired in some way or other. Thus se-
cluded I should have done what I could to live
an upright life and die a righteous death. This
design I should have carried out had not fortune
prevented. But as to turning my thoughts north-
ward, that was by no means done with the intention
which you imagine. I did not think of seeking re-
pose in that barbarous and uninviting land, with its
inclement sky. I was only submitting, from mo-
tives of respect and propriety, to the solicitations of
our Emperor, who had repeatedly urged me to come
and see him, with such insistence that my refusal to
visit him, for a short time at least, might have been
regarded as an exhibition of pride and rebellion, or
even as a species of sacrilege. For, as you have
read in Valerius, our ancestors were wont to regard
those who could not venerate princes as capable of
any form of crime. But you may dismiss your fears,
and cease your laments; for — to my not very great
regret — I have found this road, too, blocked by war.
Anomalously enough, I am glad not to go where I
should with even greater gladness have gone if I
had been able. To have wished to go is enough
to satisfy both my ruler's desires and my own
scruples; for the rest fortune was responsible.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 3^7
Leaving this matter, I come back to that part of
your letter which so affected me on first reading.
You say that a certain Peter, a native of Sienna,
noted for his piety and for the miracles which he
performed, has recently died; that on his death-
bed, among many predictions relating to various
persons, he had something to say of both of us; and
that, moreover, he sent a messenger to you to com-
municate his last words. When you inquired how
this holy man, of whom we had never heard, hap-
pened to know so much about us, the messenger
replied that the deceased had, it is understood,
undertaken a certain work of piety; but when, hav-
ing been told as I surmise that death was near, he
saw himself unable to accomplish his proposed mis-
sion, he prayed a prayer of great efficacy, which
could not fail to make its way to Heaven, that proper
substitutes might be designated, who should bring
to a successful close the chosen task which it was
not the will of God that he himself should complete.
With that intimacy of intercourse which exists be-
tween God and the soul of the just, Heaven ordained
that he should see Christ in person, and thus know
that his petition had been heard and granted. And
in Christ's face it was conceded to him to read " t/ie
things that arc, the things that have been, and the
things that are to come,'' not as Proteus does in Vir-
gil, but far more perfectly, clearly, and fully ; for
what could escape one who was permitted to look
upon the face of him to whom all things owe their
being ?
It is certainly a most astounding thing, this seeing
388 Petrarch
Christ with mortal eyes, if only it be true. For it is
an old and much-used device, to drape one's own
lying inventions with the veil of religion and sanctity,
in order to give the appearance of divine sanction to
human fraud. But I cannot pronounce upon this
case at present, nor until the messenger of the de-
ceased presents himself to me in person. For you
tell me that he visited you first because you were
nearest, and, having delivered his message, departed
for Naples, intending to go thence by sea to France
and England, and lastly to visit me and impart such
of his instructions as related to my case. I can then
see for myself how much faith he succeeds in arous-
ing in rne. I shall closely interrogate everything
about him, — his age, face, eyes, dress, bearing, gait,
even his tone of voice, movements, style of address,
and, above all, his apparent object and the upshot
of his discourse.
The gist of the whole matter is then, as I infer, that
the holy man as he was dying had a vision of us
two, and along with us of several others as well, and
intrusted certain secret messages for us all to this
zealous and, as he seems to you, faithful executor of
his last wishes. Now what messages the other per-
sons may have received we do not know. But you
yourself received the following communications,
both relating to the general course and conduct of
your life. If there were others you suppress them.
You were first informed that your life is approach-
ing its end, and that but a few years remain to you.'
Secondly, you were bidden to renounce the study of
' Boccaccio at this time was about fifty-one years old.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 389
poetry. Hence your consternation and sorrow,
which I shared at first as I read, but which a little
reflection served to efface, as it will in your case too,
if you will but lend me your ears, or listen to the
utterances of your own better reason. You will see
that, instead of being a source of grief, the message
ought to give you joy.
I do not belittle the authority of prophecy. What
com.es to us from Christ must indeed be true. Truth
itself cannot lie. But I venture to question whether
Christ was the author of this particular prophecy,
whether it may not be, as often happens, a fabrica-
tion attributed to him in order to insure its accept-
ance. And what of the fact that similar phenomena
have been recorded among those who are quite
ignorant of his name? If we may believe the pagan
poets and philosophers, it was not at all unusual for
dying men to utter prophecies ; both the Greek liter-
ature and our own mention many such instances.
Note, for example, that Homer makes Hector fore-
tell the death of Achilles ; Virgil tells us how Orodes
warns Mezentius of his doom ; Cicero mentions the
same prophetic power in the cases of Theramenes,
who foresaw the death of Critias, and of Calanus,
who foretold that of Alexander. Another example,
more like that which troubles you, is mentioned by
Posidonius, the most celebrated philosopher of his
time. He tells us of a certain inhabitant of Rhodes
who, on his death-bed, indicated six of his con-
temporaries who were shortly to follow him to the
grave; and, what is more, he actually foretold the
order in which those people would die. This is not
390 Petrarch
the place to consider either the authenticity or the
explanation of such cases. Suppose, though, that
we do grant their trustworthiness, as well as that of
other similar prophecies which are reported to us,
including the one by which you have recently been
terrified ; what is there, after all, which need fill you
with such apprehension ? We are usually indifferent
to those things with which we are familiar, and are
excited and disturbed only by the unexpected. Did
you not know well enough, without hearing it from
this man, that you had but a short span of life be-
fore you ? . . .'
I might commend to you. in your perplexity, the
reflections of Virgil,^ as not only helpful but as
the only advice to be followed at this juncture, were
it not that I wished to spare the ears of one to whom
poetry is absolutely forbidden. This prohibition
filled me with much more astonishment than the
first part of the dying man's message. If it had
been addressed to an old man who was, so to speak,
just learning his letters, I might have put up with it,
but I cannot understand why such advice should be
given to an educated person in the full possession
of his faculties, . . . one who realises what
can be derived from such studies for the fuller
understanding of natural things, for the advance-
ment of morals and of eloquence, and for the defence
' Here follows a series of reflections upon the brevity of life and
the inevitability of death, supported by excerpts from Ambrose and
Cicero. Petrarch often reverts to this subject in his letters.
- To wit, the lines, " Stat sua cuique dies . . . sed famam ex-
tendere factis. Hoc virtutis opus."
Monastic and Secular Ideals 391
of our religion. (We have seen with what signal
success those whom I have just enumerated ' used
their learning.) I am speaking now only of the
man of ripe years, who knows what is due to Jupiter
the adulterer, Mercury the pander. Mars the man-
slayer, Hercules the brigand, and^ — to cite the less
guilty — to the leech /Esculapius, and his father,
Apollo the cither-player, to the smith Vulcan, the
spinner Minerva; and, on the other hand, to Mary
the virgin-mother, and to her son, our Redeemer,
very God and very man. If, indeed, we must avoid
the poets and other writers who did not know of
Christ, and consequently do not mention his name,
how much more dangerous must it be to read the
books of heretics, who only speak of Christ to at-
tack him. Nevertheless the defenders of the true
faith do read them, and with the greatest attention.
Believe me, many things are attributed to gravity
and wisdom which are really due to incapacity and
sloth. Men often despise what they despair of ob-
taining. It is in the very nature of ignorance to
scorn what it cannot understand, and to desire to keep
others from attaining what it cannot reach. Hence
the false judgments upon matters of which we know
nothing, by which we evince our envy quite as
clearly as our stupidity.
Neither exhortations to virtue nor the argument
of approaching death should divert us from litera-
ture ; for in a good mind it excites the love of virtue,
and dissipates, or at least diminishes, the fear of
death. To desert our studies shows want of sclf-
' Viz., Lactantius, Augustine, and Jerome.
39- Petrarch
confidence rather than wisdom, for letters do not
hinder but aid the properly constituted mind which
possesses them ; they facilitate our life, they do not
retard it. Just as many kinds of food which lie
heavy on an enfeebled and nauseated stomach fur-
nish excellent nourishment for one who is well but
famishing, so in our studies many things which are
deadly to the weak mind may prove most salutary to
an acute and healthy intellect, especially if in our
use of both food and learning we exercise proper
discretion. If it were otherwise, surely the zeal of
certain persons who persevered to the end could not
have roused such admiration. Cato, I never forget,
acquainted himself with Latin literature as he was
growing old, and Greek when he had really become
an old man. Varro, who reached his hundredth
year still reading and writing, parted from life
sooner than from his love of study. Livius Drusus,
although weakened by age and afflicted with blind-
ness, did not give up his interpretation of the civil
law, which he carried on to the great advantage of
the state. ...
Besides these and innumerable others like them,
have not all those of our own religion whom we
should wish most to imitate devoted their whole
lives to literature, and grown old and died in the
same pursuit ? Some, indeed, were overtaken by
death while still at work reading or writing. To
none of them, so far as I know, did it prove a dis-
advantage to be noted for secular learning, except
to Jerome, whom I mentioned above; while to
many, and Jerome himself not least, it was a source
Monastic and Secular Ideals 393
of glory. I do not forget that Benedict was praised
by Gregory for deserting the studies which he had
begun, to devote himself to a solitary and ascetic
mode of life. Benedict, however, had renounced,
not the poets especially, but literature altogether.
Moreover, I very much doubt if his admirer would
have been himself admired had he proceeded to
adopt the same plan. It is one thing to have
learned, another to be in the process of learning.
It is only the hope of acquisition which the boy re-
nounces,— quite a difTerent thing from the learn-
ing itself, which an older person gives up ; the
former but turns away from an obstacle, while
the latter sacrifices an ornament. The trials and
uncertainties of acquisition are alone surrendered
in one case; in the other the man sacrifices the sure
and sweet fruit of long, laborious years, and turns
his back upon the precious treasure of learning which
he has gathered together with great effort.
While I know that many have become famous for
piety without learning, at the same time I know of
no one who has been prevented by literature from
following the path of holiness. The apostle Paul
was, to be sure, accused of having his head turned
by study, but the world has long ago passed its ver-
dict upon this accusation. If I may be allowed to
speak for myself, it seems to me that, although the
path to virtue by the way of ignorance may be plain,
it fosters sloth. The goal of all good people is the
same, but the ways of reaching it are many and
various. Some advance slowly, others with more
spirit ; some obscurely, others again conspicuously.
394 Petrarch
One takes a lower, another a higher path. Although
all alike are on the road to happiness, certainly the
more elevated path is the more glorious. Hence
' j,^ ignorance, however devout, is by no means to be
put on a plane with the enlightened devoutness of
one familiar with literature. Nor can you pick me
/lAi out from the whole array of unlettered saints, an
example so holy that I cannot match it with a still
holier one from the other group.
But I will trouble you no longer with these mat-
ters, as I have already been led by the nature of
the subject to discuss them often. I will add only
this: if you persist in your resolution to give up
those studies which I turned my back upon so long
ago, as well as literature in general, and, by scatter-
ing your books, to rid yourself of the very means of
study, — if this is your firm intention, I am glad in-
deed that you have decided to give me the preference
before everyone else in this sale. As you say, I am
most covetoUs of books. I could hardly venture to
deny that without being refuted by my works.
Although I might seem in a sense to be purchasing
what is already my own, I should not like to see the
books of such a distinguished man scattered here
and there, or falling, as will often happen, into pro-
fane hands. In this way, just as we have been of
one mind, although separated in the flesh, I trust
that our instruments of study may, if God will grant
my prayer, be deposited all together in some sacred
spot where they may remain a perpetual memorial
to us both.' I came to this decision upon the day
' In regard to Petrarch's library see above, pp. 28 sqq.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 395
on which he died who I hoped might succeed me
in my studies.' I cannot, however, fix the prices of
the books, as you most kindly would have me do.
I do not know their titles and number, or their
value. You can arrange this by letter, and on the
understanding that if it should ever occur to you to
spend with me the little time which remains to us,
as I have always wished, and you at one time seemed
to promise, you will find the books you send with
those that I have recently gathered together here,
all of them equally yours, so that you will seem to
have lost nothing, but rather gained, by the trans-
action.
Lastly, you assert that you owe money to many,
to me among others. I deny that it is true in my
case. I am surprised at so unfounded and even ab-
surd a scruple of conscience on your part. I might
apply Terence's saying, that you seem " to be look-
ing for a joint in a reed." You owe me nothing
but love, and not even that, since you long ago paid
me in full, — unless it be that you always are owing,
because you are always receiving. Still, one who
pays back so promptly cannot properly be said ever
to owe.
As to the complaint of poverty, which I have fre-
quently heard from you before, I will not attempt to
furnish any consolation or to cite any illustrious ex-
amples of indigence. You know them already. I
will only say plainly what I have always said : I con-
' It is not known to whom Petrarch refers here ; de Nolhac suj^-
gests his son Giovanni, who died a year before this was written. Cf.
op. cit., p. 68, note i.
396 Petrarch
gratulate you for preferring liberty of mind and
tranquil poverty to the opulence which I might have
procured for you, even though tardily.' But I can-
not praise you for scorning the oft-repeated invi-
tation of a friend. I am not in a position to endow
you. If I were, I should not confine myself to pen
or words, but should address you with the thing itself.
But I am amply supplied with all that two would
need, if, with a single heart, they dwelt beneath a
single roof. You insult me if you scorn my offers,
still more so, if you are suspicious of their sincerity.
Padua, May 28 (1362).
The following letter is one of Petrarch's
most unreserved confessions of confidence in
Christian asceticism.
On a Religious Life.
To his Brother Gherardo, a Carthusian Monk.''
Your double gift, — the boxwood box, which you
yourself in your leisure moments had polished so
carefully on the lathe, and the very edifying letter,
built up and strengthened by a vast number of quo-
tations from the Fathers, and testifying a truly re-
ligious spirit,— reached me yesterday evening. I
was delighted to receive them both, but as I read the
' The pope had asked Petrarch to suggest someone for a papal
secretaryship. He had offered the place to Boccaccio, who however
refused it.
"^ Fam., X., 5.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 397
letter I was, I must confess, affected by strangely
conflicting emotions, now warmed by generous im-
pulses, now paralysed by chilling fear. Your ad-
mirable example aroused in me the longing to lead a
better life, and supplied the incentive; it loosed the
hold which the present exercised over me, enabling
me to see more clearly where I really stood. You
showed me the road which I must follow, and the
distance which still separates me, miserable sinner
that I am, from our other home, the New Jerusalem,
for which we must always sigh, unless this dark
and noisome dungeon of exile has destroyed all
recollection of our true selves.
Well, I congratulate both of us, — you, that you
have such a soul, myself, that I have such a brother.
Yet, in spite of this, one thing fills me with pain and
regret, — that while we had the same parents we
should not have been born under the same star.
We are sprung from the same womb ; but how un-
like, how unequal! This serves to show us that our
natures are the gift, not of our earthly parents, but
of our Eternal Father. We were begotten in carnal
depravity by our father; to our mother we owe this
vile body ; but from God we receive our soul, our
life, our intellect, our desire for good, our free will.
All that is holy, religious, devout, or excellent in
human nature comes directly from him.
So your letter at once comforted and distressed
me. I rejoiced in you and blushed for myself. I can
only say in reply to it that what you write is all very
good and helpful, though it would have been quite
as true even if you had not supported it so abun-
39^ Petrarch
dantly by high authorities. Take, for example, the
opinion, which you call in St. Augustine to defend,
that our endeavours, as well as our desires, are
often at variance with one another. — I should like,
however, if you will permit me, to express my own
views upon this matter before coming to Augus-
tine's. By so doing I shall gratify myself without,
perhaps, annoying you.
The aims of mankind as a whole, and even those
of the individual, are conflicting. This rnust be ad-
mitted ; I know others and myself all too well to
deny it. I have looked at the race as a whole, and
have examined individuals in detail. What can, in
truth, be said that will apply to all; or who can
possibly enumerate the infinite diversities which
distinguish mortals from one another, so that men
do not seem to belong to the same species or even
to the same genus ? . . .' This, I confess, sur-
prises me, but it is much more astonishing that the
wishes of one and the same man should so ill agree.
Who of us, indeed, desires the same thing when he
is old that he craved as a youth ? Or, what is still
stranger, who wants in the winter what he wished in
the summer ? Nay, who of us would have to-day
what we longed for yesterday, or this evening what
we sought only this morning ? As for that, we can
see the vacillation from hour to hour, from minute to
minute. Yes, there are more desires in man than
minutes to realise them. This is a constant source
of wonder to me, and I marvel that everyone should
' Four or five pages of somewhat trite reflections are here omitted,
as they cast ao real light upon the writer's attitude toward religion.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 399
not find it so. But I am losing myself, and must
return to you and your Augustine.
That the same individual may at the same mo-
ment be in disagreement with himself in regard to
the same object — a truth which you call St, Augus-
tine to witness, although you do not express your-
self in exactly his words — is a source of the most
profound astonishment to me. How common,
nevertheless, is this species of madness, — to desire to
continue our journey but without reaching the end,
to wish to go and stay at the same time, to live and
yet never die ! Yet it is written in the Psalms,
What man is he that liveth and shall not see
death ? " Still, we harbour these contradictory
desires. In our blindness and incredible perversity
we yearn for life, and execrate its outcome, death.
These wishes are, however, thoroughly at variance
with each other, and mutually exclusive. Not only
does death necessarily follow life, but, as Cicero says,
— in whose opinion on this point I have, for some
reason, almost more confidence than in that of
Catholic writers, — " What we call our life is in
reality death." So it falls out that we both hate
and love death above all things, and are fitly de-
scribed in the words of the comic poet, — Volo nolo,
nolo volo.
But let us leave aside for the time being these
philosophical reflections, which, although perhaps
inopportune, are none the less true, and deal with
this matter as a common man might. Let us accept
this life as it is generally conceived and so fondly
cherished ; let us suppose it to begin to-day — what
400 Petrarch
does it really promise us ? Surely anyone can
readily infer the answer who reviews the experience
of the years already passed, and uses the same meas-
ure for the future, although in his imagination he
may extend his hopes and cares to a full century of
life. What, may I ask, is the prospect for those
who are already advanced in years ? What is past
is certainly dead and gone, and for the future we
can only rely upon the assurances of a fleeting and
precarious existence. Even if its promises should
be fulfilled, the stubborn fact remains that the
same number of years seems in old age, for some
reason which I cannot explain, shorter than in the
first part of our life. Who, then, can doubt the
full truth of your assertions, that we are constantly
occupied in a fervid quest for happiness and pros-
perous days, when neither happiness nor prosperous
days are to be found ? Nor can we hope for rest or
safety, or life itself, or anything except a hard and
weary journey toward the eternal home for which
we look; or, if we neglect our salvation, an equally
pleasureless way to eternal death. Should we not,
then, seek our true welfare while we still have time,
in the only place where the good and perfect can
be found ?
Of the other matter which you treat in so finished
a manner in your letter I will say nothing, both be-
cause your treatment is quite exhaustive, and be-
cause the language of religious discussion could have
little weight in the mouth of a sinful and miserable
man, such as I. I content myself with admiring in
silence the constancy of your mind and the vigour
Monastic and Secular Ideals 401
of your style. It is plain that you have had a very
different preceptor in the monastery from what you
found in the world. It is not surprising that he
who could teach you to will and to act could also
teach you to speak, for speech follows the mind and
actions closely. You have, in a brief space, altered
greatly as to both the inner and the outer man.
This would surprise me more had I not learned the
power of the Most High to change the heart of
man. For he can with equal ease affect the dispo-
sition of the race or of a single individual; he can
move the earth or change the whole face of nature.
You have sought out for me a noble array of pas-
sages from the Fathers, and ordered them so artfully
that I am led to admire your arrangement almost
as much as the sentiments themselves. Skilful com-
position frequently brings home to us what we
should otherwise miss, as we learn when we study
the art of poetry. You will forgive me one sugges-
tion. You are extremely modest, perhaps too
modest, and wanting in proper self-confidence.
You would do well to trust, for a time at least,
more to your own powers; nor be afraid that the
same spirit which made the Fathers wise will not
aid you. For it is written, "It is not ye who
speak, but the spirit of my Father which speaks in
you." You may give utterance to truths of your
own, perhaps very many, which will benefit not
only yourself but others as well.
Coming finally to myself, who have been, by
reason of the storms which rage about me, a serious
source of brotherly solicitude and apprehension to
26
402 , Petrarch
you, I can only say that you are justified in cherish-
ing a Hvely hope, if not the complete assurance, of
my safety. I have not forgotten the counsel you
gave when you left me. I cannot maintain that
I have actually reached the haven, but, like sailors
caught in a storm out at sea, I have found my way
to the leeward of an island, so to speak, where I am
protected from the wind and waves. Here I lie and
wait until I may make a safer harbour. On what do
I base my hope ? you will ask. With Christ's help,
I have sought to fulfil the three duties which you
recommended to me, and have, with all my might,
tried to carry them out more and more fully each
day. I do not tell this for my own glory, for I am
still afflicted by many ills and misgivings, and have
much to regret in the past, much to trouble me in
the present, and much to fear in the future, but I
send you word of my progress in order that you
may rejoice in the first fruits of your efforts, and
that the greater the hopes you have of me, the more
frequently you may pray for my salvation.
In the three following respects I have complied
with your injunctions. In the first place, I have,
by means of solitary confession, laid open the secret
uncleanness of my transgressions, which would other-
wise have fatally putrified, through neglect and long
silence. I have learned to do this frequently, and
have accustomed myself to submit the secret wounds
of my soul to the healing balm of Heaven. Next,
I have learned to send up songs of praise to Christ,
not only by day but in the night. And following
your admonitions I have put away habits of sloth,
Monastic and Secular Ideals 403
so that even in these short summer nights the dawn
never finds me asleep or silent, however wearied I
am by the vigils of the evening before. I have taken
the words of the Psalmist to heart, " Seven times a
day do I praise thee"; and never since I began
this custom have I allowed anything to distract
me from my daily devotions. I observe, likewise,
the admonition, " At midnight I will rise to give
thanks unto thee." When the hour arrives I feel a
mysterious stimulus which will not allow me to
sleep, however oppressed I may be with weariness.
In the third place, I have learned to fear more
than death itself that association with women which
I once thought I could not live without. And,
although I am still subject to severe and frequent
temptations, I have but to recollect what woman
really is, in order to dispel all temptation and return
to my normal peace and liberty. In such straits I
believe myself aided by your loving prayers, and I
trust and beg that you will continue your good
offices, in the name of him who had mercy on you,
and led you from the darkness of your errors into
the brightness of his day. In all this you are most
happy, and show a most consistent contempt for
false and fleeting joys. May God uphold you. Do
not forget me in your prayers.
In solitude. June ii (1352).
In spite, however, of the conventional and
even ardent respect which Petrarch paid to the
monkishness of his age, he was, after all, too
404 Petrarch
genuine and independent a thinker not to turn
against some of its implications. For instance,
he would never consent to give up his secular
literary pursuits, or admit that they were un-
holy. He was always ready to defend the
study of the classics, and, as we have seen, he
vigorously dissuaded his more impressionable
friend Boccaccio from yielding to spiritual in-
timidation. He frankly admits, moreover, that
he could never overcome the longing for per-
sonal glory, which he hoped to secure by his
Latin writings. The proud boasts of Horace
and Ovid, w^ho claimed immortality for their
works, suggested to his eager, restless spirit
something very different from the self-anni-
hilation of the cloister. Whether he really
believed such aspirations to be utterly incom-
patible with Christian humility, is difficult to
decide. Late in life he did not hesitate to
celebrate the " Triumph of Glory" in Italian
verse, but in his earlier days he was less con-
fident of the righteousness of merely earthly
aspirations. The whole question is treated at
great length in his Secret, to which we have so
often referred.
Toward the close of that discussion, Au-
gustine, after considering Petrarch's minor
faults, declares that he suffers from two dis-
Monastic and Secular Ideals 405
eases of the soul far more inveterate and un-
controllable than any of which he has spoken.
They must be checked at any cost, else they
will surely produce a fatal spiritual blindness.
He is bound hand and foot, as with adamantine
chains, and, what renders the case almost hope-
less, he is unaware of his danger. He rejoices
in his fetters, which seem to him but golden
ornaments. In alarm Francesco asks to what
chains his confessor refers. " Love and Fame,"
Augustine replies. " All the other bonds which
held you were weaker and less pleasing, hence
you befriended my endeavours to break them.
But these charm while they destroy, and de-
ceive you by a certain suggestion of propriety
and the hope of embellishment. Hence they
offer peculiar difficulties, and, although I will
attempt to free you, you will struggle against
me as if I wished to rob you of your most
precious possessions." " What have I done to
you," Francesco indignantly exclaims, " that
you should deprive me of my most splendid
preoccupations,^ and condemn to eternal dark-
ness the brightest part of my soul ? "
We have already described Petrarch's de-
fence of love.^ As in his discussion of his
' Speciosissimas curas. Opera, pp. 352, 353.
'^ See above, pp. 91 sqq.
4o6 Petrarch
affection for a noble woman, so in his support
of fame as an ideal, we find an illustration of
the modern view of life as opposed to the medi-
aeval. Most of us nowadays would doubt-
less agree with Matthew Arnold, that few
things are less vain than glory. At least, the
pursuit of it seems to us in no way ignoble ;
it is, as Petrarch well says, a " splendid pre-
occupation." He readily admits however to
Augustine, the representative of mediaeval
Christianity, that he is overanxious to make
his name immortal, and that this uncontrol-
lable passion may well bar his way to true
immortality.
Augustine opens his exhortation by depre-
ciating glory, which is but a breath, the empty
applause of that very mob whose manners are,
in other respects, so odious to Petrarch. In
miserable contradiction with himself, the poet
endeavours, by choice excerpts from the writ-
ings of the ancients, to charm the ears of those
whom he despises. This Petrarch angrily de-
nies. But his confessor maintains that at least he
stores up elegant quotations to employ for the
delectation of his friends, and, not satisfied with
the reputation which he gains in this way, and
which he cannot hope will outlast his contem-
poraries, he devotes himself to the composition
Monastic and Secular Ideals 407
of a great epic, the Africa, and of an exacting
historical work, embracing the period from
Romulus to the Emperor Titus, Engrossed
by this double struggle for posthumous fame
" he forgets himself as he writes about others."
Death may at any time snatch the weary pen
from his hand, and frustrate plans to which he
has devoted his whole life. (This, at least, was
no new apprehension to Petrarch, He had
even contemplated burning his poem, lest it
should be left for completion to some bung-
ling hand.) As Augustine continues to dwell
upon the transitory nature of any reputation
which can be hoped for, granting even the most
favourable conditions, Petrarch impatiently
asks if he has not something' better to uro-e
than these trite reflections, which sound well,
but which he has found by experience to be of
no avail.
The confessor then adverts to the mad tend-
ency of mankind to spend their best years in en-
deavouring to gratify the ears of others, while
they reserve only the failing and uncertain
period of old age for God and themselves.
Whereupon Francesco asks whether Augustine
would have him forsake his studies altoeether
and lead an inglorious existence, or sliall he pur-
sue some middle course ? His confessor replies
4o8 Petrarch
that we do not live inglorious lives, even though
we follow not fame but virtue, for true fame is
but the shadow of virtue. " Throw off the
burden of your proposed Roman History," he
concludes ; " lay aside your Africa, which can-
not increase the fame of your Scipio or of
yourself. Turn your thoughts upon Death ! "
That this advice is good, Francesco does
not deny, but he firmly refuses to give up his
literary tasks, which he cannot with equanim-
ity leave half done. He promises to die unto
himself sedulously, and to hasten to complete
his books, in order to devote himself exclu-
sively to religious contemplation.
It will be seen that while Petrarch found
little to urcre against Augustine's views, he
nevertheless refused to follow his advice, ex-
cept in so far as he might do so without inter-
fering with what he rightly considered his
life-work. Without the ability to defend the
modern belief that earnest toil is presumably a
far more rational preparation for death than a
paralysing contemplation of its horrors, he still
worked bravely on, until the pen dropped from
his hand. There is something noble and pa-
thetic in this sturdy, unflagging industry in the
face of the discomforting suggestions of mon-
asticism. Petrarch's life consistently transcend-
Monastic and Secular Ideals 409
ed and belied the ideals of his age, although
in his less exuberant moments he was unable
to free himself from them entirely.
The reader will have noted references in the
letters already given to his longing for fame.
The letter which follows is the earliest which
we have from his hand, and was written, prob-
ably, in 1326, while he was still a student at
Bologna. His views at the age of twenty-two
were not essentially different from those which
he held at seventy.
On the Ivipossibility of Acqinring Fame
during one s Lifetime.
To Toniniaso di Messina. '
No wise man will regard as peculiar to himself a
source of dissatisfaction which is common to all.
Each of us has quite enough to complain of at home ;
a great deal too much, in fact. Do you think that
no one ever had your experience before ? You are
mistaken, — it is the common fate of all. Scarcely
anyone ever did or wrote anything which was re-
garded with admiration while he still lived. Death
first gives rise to praise, — and for a very simple rea-
son ; jealousy lives and dies with the body. " But,"
you reply, " the writings of so many are lauded to
the skies, that, if it be permissible to boast, . . ."
' Fam., i., I.
4IO Petrarch
Here you stop, and, as is the habit of those who are
irritated, you leave your auditor in suspense by
dropping your sentence half finished. But I easily
guess your half-expressed thought, and know w^hat
you would say. Many productions are received
with enthusiasm which, compared with yours, de-
serve neither praise nor readers, and yet yours fail
to receive any attention. You will certainly recog-
nise in my words your own indignant reasoning,
which would be quite justifiable if, instead of ap-
plying it exclusively to yourself, you extended it to
all those who have been, are, or shall be, seized by
this passionate and diseased craving to write.
Let us look for a moment at those w^hose writings
have become famous. Where are the writers them-
selves ? They have turned to dust and ashes these
many years. And you long for praise ? Then you,
too, must die. The favour of humanity begins with
the author's decease; the end of life is the begin-
ning of glory. If it begins earlier, it is abnormal
and untimely. Moreover, so long as any of your
contemporaries still live, although you may begin to
get possession of what you desire, you may not have
its full enjoyment. Only when the ashes of a whole
generation have been consigned to the funeral urn
do men begin to pass an unbiassed judgment, free
from personal jealousy. Let the present age har-
bour any opinion it will of us. If it be just, let
us receive it with equanimity; if unjust, we must
appeal to unprejudiced judges, — to posterity, seeing
that a fair-minded verdict can be obtained nowhere
else.
Monastic and Secular Ideals 411
Personal intercourse is a most delicate matter,
disturbed by the merest trifles. Actual contact with
a person is peculiarly disastrous to his glory. Inter-
course and familiarity are sure to beget contempt.'
When we turn to the scholars — and we are all fa-
miliar with that half-starved, overworked breed — we
find that, in spite of all their toil, they, too, are totally
wanting in critical ability. They read a deal, but
never subject what they read to criticism ; and it
certainly would never occur to them to examine the
merits of a man's work if they thought they knew
the man himself. They all follow one law; let
them but cast their eyes on the author, his works
invariably weary and disgust them. But you will
say, " This may happen to the less highly gifted; a
really great genius will, however, overcome all ob-
stacles." But if you will bring back Pythagoras I
will see that his detractors are not wanting. Sup-
pose Plato to return to Greece, Homer and Aristotle
to rise from the dead, Varro and Livy to appear
again in Italy, and Cicero to flourish once more, —
they would find not only lukewarm admirers but
jealous and virulent calumniators, such as each found
in his own generation. Who among all Latin writers
' Dante's reasoning in the Convito (cap. iii. sq.) offers an interest-
ing analogy to that of Petrarch. "I have," he says, " gone through
almost all the land in which this language [Italian] lives, — a pilgrim,
almost a mendicant ; . . . and I have appeared despicable in the
eyes of many who perhaps, through some report, had imagined me in
other guise ; in the sight of whom not only did my person become
contemptible, but my works, both those that were completed and
those that remained to be done, appeared less worthy." Dante adds
a philosophical explanation of this.
412 Petrarch
is more truly great than Virgil ? Let him appear
among us, and he would be a poet no longer,' but a
low-lived plagiarist, or a mere translator. He, how-
ev^er, dared to rely upon his own genius and the pa-
tronage of a judge like Augustus, and so disdained
from the bottom of his heart the carpings of envious
contemporaries.
You also, I know, are confident of your powers,
but where will you find a judge like Augustus, who,
as is well known, assiduously encouraged every kind
of talent in his time ? Our kings can pass judgment
on the flavour of a dish, or the flight of a hawk ; but
on human qualities they can offer no opinion, and,
should they try, their insolent pride would blind
them or keep their eyes from the truth. Lest they
should seem to respect anything in their own age,
they profess an admiration for the ancients, about
whom, however, they scorn to learn anything. So
with them the praise of the dead entails an affront
to the living. It is among such critics that we must
live and die, and, what is hardest, hold our peace.
Where, I asked, are you to find a judge like
Augustus ? Italy rejoices in one, indeed. Yes,
there is one such on earth, Robert, the Sicilian
king. Happy Naples! which enjoys the unequalled
good fortune of possessing the single ornament of
our age. Happy and most enviable Naples, the
august home of literature! If thou once seemedst
sweet to Virgil, how much greater thy charm since
the most equitable of censors of talent and learning
lives within thy borders ! All who have faith in their
powers flee to him. Nor should they delay, for
Monastic and Secular Ideals 413
delay is dangerous. He is well advanced in age ;
the world has long deserved to lose him, while he
has well earned the title to happier realms. I fear
that I myself may be storing up unavailing regrets
by my delay. It is always shameful to put off a
good thing, and deliberation may be so prolonged
as to become blameworthy. The opportunity
should be improved, and that which could not be
accomplished earlier should be done now, without
further delay. As for myself, I have resolved to
hasten with all possible speed, and to dedicate all
my powers to him (as Cicero says, in one of his
letters, of Caesar). It may come to pass that, by
ardent application, I may yet reach the goal. As a
belated traveller, although he has overslept, may yet,
with speed, reach his destination earlier than if he
had spent the night on the road, so I, late as I have
been in offering my homage to this man, may still
make up for lost time by increased diligence. As
for you, you must adopt your own expedients, since
it is not simply the narrow strait, but war, which
forms the obstacle between you and this monarch.
Your country, which has no more loyal citizen than
yourself, now lies under the dominion of a hostile
ruler,' or tyrant, as I might say, did I not fear to
offend your ears. But such a mighty question as
this is to be decided, not by our pens, but by the
swords of those interested.
Reverting now to our original discussion, to-day
' Sicily, it will be remembered, had revolted from the rule of
Charles of Anjou, at the time of the Sicilian Vespers, 1282, and still
remained under rulers belonging to a branch of the house of Aragon.
4H Petrarch
[we see about us, among others,] the lawyers, in
whom the passion for self-glorification is universal,
and those fellows who spend their whole time in dis-
putations and dialectic subtleties, forever wrangling
over some trivial question : — hear my verdict upon
the whole pack of them. Their fame will surely die
with them ; a single grave will suffice for their name
and their bones. When death shall have forced their
own paralysed tongues to silence, those of others will
be equally silent in regard to all that concerns them.
But what is it, after all, that we are so
anxiously striving for ? The fame we reach after is
but a breath, a mist, a shadow, a nothing. A sharp
and penetrating mind will therefore easily learn to
scorn it. But if, perchance, — since it is a pest which
commonly pursues the generous soul, — thou canst
not radically extirpate this longing, thou mayest at
least check its growth with the sickle of reason. Ac-
cept the laws of time and circumstances. Finally, to
sum up my advice in a word, seek virtue while thou
livest, and thou shalt find fame in thy grave. Adieu.
Bologna, April i8th.
VII
FINALE
415
Nulla calamo agilior est sarcina, nulla jucundior,
voluptates alire fugiunt et mulcendo l^edunt, calamus
et in manus sumptus mulcet et depositus delectat, ac
prodest non domino sue tantum sed aliis multis scepe
etiam absentibus, nonnunquam et posteris post annorum
millorum. — Sl-ji., xvi., 2.
416
PetrarcJis Intention to Work until the Last.
To Boccaccio.^
.' I certainly will not reject the praise you
bestow upon me for having stimulated in many in-
stances, not only in Italy but perhaps beyond its
confines also, the pursuit of studies such as ours,
which have suffered neglect for so many centuries;
I am, indeed, almost the oldest of those among us
who are engaged in the cultivation of these subjects.
But I cannot accept the conclusion you draw from
this, namely, that I should give place to younger
minds, and, interrupting the plan of work on which
I am engaged, give others an opportunity to write
something, if they will, and not seem longer to de-
sire to reserve everything for my own pen. How
radically do our opinions differ, although, at bottom,
our object is the same! I seem to you to have
written everything, or at least a great deal, while
to myself I appear to have produced almost nothing.
But let us admit that I have written much, and
shall continue to write; — what better means have I
of exhorting those who are following my example to
' Sen., XVI., 2. * The first half of the letter is omitted.
417
41 8 Petrarch
continued perseverance ? Example is often more
potent than words. The aged veteran Camillas,
going into battle like a young man, assuredly
aroused more enthusiasm, in the younger warriors
than if, after drawing them up in line of battle and
telling them what was to be done, he had left
them and withdrawn to his tent. The fear you ap-
pear to harbour, that I shall cover the whole field
and leave nothing for others to write, recalls the
ridiculous apprehensions which Alexander of Mace-
don is reported to have entertained, lest his father,
Philip, by conquering the whole world, should de-
prive him of any chance of military renown. Fool-
ish boy! He little realised what wars still remained
for him to fight, if he lived, even though the Orient
were quite subjugated ; he had, perhaps, never heard
of Papirius Cursor, or the Marsian generals. Seneca
has, however, delivered us from this anxiety, in a
letter to Lucilius, where he says, " Much still re-
mains to be done; much will always remain, and
even a thousand years hence no one of our descend-
ants need be denied the opportunity of adding his
something."
You, my friend, by a strange confusion of argu-
ments, try to dissuade me from continuing my
chosen work by urging, on the one hand, the hope-
lessness of bringing my task to completion, and by
dwelling, on the other, upon the glory which I
have already acquired. Then, after asserting that
I have filled the world with my writings, you ask me
if I expect to equal the number of volumes written
by Origen or Augustine. No one, it seems to
Finale 419
me, can hope to equal Augustine. Who, nowa-
days, could hope to equal one who, in my judg-
ment, was the greatest in an age fertile in great
minds? As for Origen, you know that I am wont
to value quality rather than quantity, and I should
prefer to have produced a very few irreproachable
works rather than numberless volumes such as those
of Origen, which are filled with grave and intolerable
errors. It is certainly impossible, as you say, for me
to equal either of these, although for very different
reasons in the two cases. And yet you contra-
dict yourself, for, though your pen invites me to
repose, you cite the names of certain active old men,
— Socrates, Sophocles, and, among our own people,
Cato the Censor, — as if you had some quite different
end in view. How many more names you might
have recalled, except that one does not consciously
argue long against himself! Searching desperately
for some excuse for your advice and my weakness,
you urge that perhaps their temperaments differed
from mine. I readily grant you this, although my
constitution has sometimes been pronounced very
vigorous by those who claim to be experienced in
such matters; still, old age will triumph.
You assert, too, that I have sacrificed a great deal
of time in the service of princes. But that you may
no longer labour under a delusion in this matter,
here is the truth. I have lived nominally with
princes , in reality, the princes lived with me. I
was present sometimes at their councils, and, very
rarely, at their banquets. I should never have sub-
mitted to any conditions which would, in any de-
420 Petrarch
gree, have interfered with my liberty or my studies.
When everyone else sought the palace, I hied me
to the woods, or spent my time quietly in my room,
among my books. To say that I have never lost a
day would be false. I have lost many days (please
God, not all) through inertia, or sickness, or distress
of mind, — evils which no one is so fortunate as to
escape entirely. What time I have lost in the ser-
vice of princes you shall hear, for. like Seneca, I
keep an account of my outlays.
First, I was sent to Venice to negotiate a peace
between that city and Genoa, which occupied me
for an entire winter month.' Next I betook myself
to the extreme confines of the land of the barbari-
ans,^ and spent three summer months in arranging
for peace in Liguria, with that Roman sovereign
who fostered — or I had better say deferred, — the
hope of restoring a sadly ruined Empire. Finally, I
went to France ^ to carry congratulations to King
John on his deliverance from an English prison;
here three more winter months were lost. Although
during these three Journeys I dwelt upon my usual
subjects of thought, nevertheless, since I could
neither write down my ideas nor impress them on
my memory, I call those days lost. It is true that
when I reached Italy, on my return from the last
expedition, I dictated a voluminous letter on the
variableness of fortune to a studious old man, Peter
' In 1353.
'' That is, to Prague in 1356.
^ In 1360. All three missions were undertaken for the dukes of
Milan.
Finale 421
of Poitiers; it arriv^ed too late, however, and found
him dead. Here, then, are seven months lost in the,
service of princes; nor is this a trifling sacrifice, I
admit, considering the shortness of life. Would that
I need not fear a greater loss, incurred long ago by
the vanity and frivolous employments of my youth !
You add, further, that possibly the measure of life
was, different in olden times from what it is in ours,
and that nowadays we may regard men as old who
were then looked upon as young. But I can only
reply to you as I did recently to a certain lawyer
in this university,' who, as I learned, was accustomed
to make that same assertion in his lectures, in order
to depreciate the industry of the ancients, and ex-
cuse the sloth of our contemporaries. I sent by
one of his students to warn him against repeating
the statement, unless he wished to be considered an
ignoramus by scholars. For more than two thou-
sand years there has been no change in the length
of human life. Aristotle lived sixty-three years.
Cicero lived the same length of time ; moreover,
although he might have been spared longer had it
pleased the heartless and drunken Antony, he had
some time before his death written a great deal about
his unhappy and premature decline, and had com-
posed a treatise on Old Age, for the edification of
himself and a friend. Ennius lived seventy years,
Horace the same time, while Virgil died at fifty-two,
a brief life even for our time. Plato, it is true, lived
to be eighty-one; but this, it is said, was looked
upon as a prodigy, and because he had attained the
'Of Padua.
42 2 Petrarch
most perfect age the Magi decided to offer him a
sacrifice, as if he were superior to the rest of man-
kind. Yet nowadays we frequently see in our cities
those who have reached this age ; octogenarians
and nonagenarians are often to be met with, and no
one is surprised, or offers sacrifices to them. If you
recall Varro to me, or Cato, or others who reached
their hundredth year, or Gorgias of Leontium who
greatly exceeded that age, I have other modern in-
stances to set off against them. But as the names
are obscure I Avill mention only one, Romualdo of
Ravenna, a very noted hermit, who recently reached
the age of one hundred and twenty years, in spite
of the greatest privations, suffered for the love of
Christ, and in the performance of numerous vigils
and fasts such as you are now doing all in your
power to induce me to refrain from. I have said a
good deal about this matter in order that you may
neither believe nor assert that, with the exception
of the patriarchs, who lived at the beginning of the
world, and who, I am convinced, developed no liter-
ary activity whatever, any of our predecessors en-
joyed greater longevity than ourselves. They could
boast of greater activity, not of a longer life, — if,
indeed, life without industry deserves to be called
life at all, and not a slothful and useless delay.
By a few cautious words, however, you avoid the
foregoing criticism, for you admit that it may not
be a question of age after all, but that it may per-
haps be temperament, or possibly climate, or diet,
or some other cause, which precludes me from doing
what the others were all able to do. I freely concede
Finale 423
this, but I cannot accept the deduction you draw
from it, and which you support with laboriously
elaborate arguments; for some of your reasons are,
in a certain sense, quite opposed to the thesis you
would prove. You counsel me to be contented — I
quote you literally — with having perhaps equalled
Virgil in verse (as you assert) and Cicero in prose.
Oh, that you had been induced by the truth, rather
than seduced by friendship, in saying this ! You add
that, in virtue of a senatus consultum following the
custom of our ancestors, I have received the most
glorious of titles, and the rare honour of the Roman
laurel. Your conclusion from all this is that, with
the happy results of my studies, in which I rival the
greatest, and with my labours honoured by the no-
blest of prizes, I should leave off importuning God
and man, and rest content with my fate and the ful-
filment of my fondest wishes. Certainly I could
make no objection to this if what your affection for
me has led you to believe were true, or were even
accepted by the rest of the world ; I should gladly
acquiesce in the opinions of others, for I should
always rather trust their judgment than my own.
But your view is not shared by others, and least of
all by myself, who am convinced that I have rivalled
no one, except, perhaps, the common herd, and
rather than be like it I should choose to remain en-
tirely unknown.
As for the laurel wreath, it encircled my brow
when I was as immature in years and mind as were
its leaves. Had I been of riper age I should not
have desired it. The aged love what is practical,
424 Petrarch
while impetuous youth longs only for what is daz-
zling. The laurel brought me no increase of learning
or literary power, as you may well imagine, while
it destroyed my peace by the infinite jealousy it
aroused. I was punished for my youthful audacity
and love of empty renown ; for from that time well-
nigh everyone sharpened his tongue and pen against
me. It was necessary. to be constantly on the alert
with banners flying, ready to repel an attack, now
on the left, now on the right; for jealousy had made
enemies of my friends. I might narrate in this con-
nection many occurrences which would fill you with
astonishment. In a word, the laurel made me known
only to be tormented ; without it, I should have led
that best of all lives, as many deem, a life of obscurity
and peace.
You put the finishing touch to your argument, it
seems to me, when you urge me to do all that I can
to prolong my life as a joy to my friends, and first
and foremost as a solace to you in your declining
years, because, as you say, you desire when you de-
part hence to leave me still alive. Alas! our friend
Simonides ' also expressed this wish — a wish but too
speedily granted : if there were any order in human
affairs, it is he who should have survived me. My
own desires are, however, directly opposed to those
which my friends — you in particular — harbour. I
^ I. e., Francesco Nelli, Prior of the church of Santi Apostoli at
Florence. He died of the plague in 1363. Not only did Petrarch
dedicate his Letters of Old Age to Nelli, but of the letters preserved,
he addresses a greater number (thirty-five) to him than to any other
of his correspondents.
Finale 425
should prefer to die while you are all still alive, and
leave those behind in whose memory and conver-
sation I should still live, who would aid me by
their prayers, and by whom I should continue to
be loved and cherished. Except a pure conscience,
I believe there is no solace so grateful to the dying
as this.
If your counsels spring from the belief that I cling
tenaciously to life, you are entirely mistaken. Why
should I wish to prolong my existence among cus-
toms and manners which make me constantly de-
plore that I have fallen on such times ? To omit
more serious disorders, I am afflicted by the per-
verted and indecent clothing of a most frivolous set
of men. I have already too often complained of
them, both in speech and writing, but words are pow-
erless to quiet my indignation and distress of mind.
These fellows, who call themselves Italians, and
were, indeed, born in Italy, do all they can to
appear like barbarians. Would that they were bar-
barians, that my eyes and those of the true Italians
might be delivered from so shameful a spectacle!
May God Omnipotent confound them, living and
dead ! Not satisfied with sacrificing by their pusil-
lanimity the virtues of our ancestors, the glory of
war, and all the arts of peace, they dishonour in
their frenzy the speech and dress of our country,
so that we may consider our forefathers happy to
have passed away in good time, and may envy
even the blind, who are spared the sight of these
things.
Finally, you ask me to pardon you for venturing
426 Petrarch
to advise me and for prescribing a mode of life,
namely, that I hereafter abstain from mental exertion
and from my customary labours and vigils, and en-
deavour to restore, by complete rest and sleep, the
ravages wrought by advancing years and prolonged
study. I will not pardon you, but I thank you,
well aware of the affection which makes you a phy-
sician for me, although you refuse to be one for
yourself. I beg, however, that you will obey me,
although I refuse to obey you, and will let me per-
suade you that, even if I were most tenacious of life,
which I am not, I should assuredly only die the
sooner if I followed your advice. Continued work
and application form my soul's nourishment. So
soon as I commenced to rest and relax I should
cease to live. I know my own powers. I am not
fitted for other kinds of work, but my reading and
writing, which you would have me discontinue, are
easy tasks, nay, they are a delightful rest, and re-
lieve the burden of heavier anxieties. There is no
lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen.
Other pleasures fail us, or wound us while they
charm; but the pen we take up rejoicing and lay
down with satisfaction, for it has the power to ad-
vantage not only its lord and master, but many
others as well, even though they be far away, —
sometimes, indeed, though they be not born for
thousands of years to come. I believe that I speak
but the strict truth when I claim that as there is
none among earthly delights more noble than litera-
ture, so there is none so lasting, none gentler, or
more faithful ; there is none which accompanies its
Finale 427
possessor through the vicissitudes of life at so small
a cost of effort or anxiety.'
Pardon me then, my brother, pardon me, I am
disposed to believe anything that you say, but I can-
not accept your opinion in this matter. However
you may describe me (and nothing is impossible to
the pen of a learned and eloquent writer), I must still
endeavour, if I am a nullity, to become something;
if already of some account, to become a little more
worthy ; and if I were really great, which I am not,
I should strive, so far as in me lay, to become
greater, even the greatest. May I not be allowed
to appropriate the magnificent reply of that fierce
barbarian who, when urged to spare himself con-
tinued exertions, since he already enjoyed sufficient
renown, responded, " The greater I am, the greater
shall be my efforts " ? Words worthy of another
than a barbarian ! They are graven on my heart, and
the letter which follows this "^ will show you how far
I am from following your exhortations to idleness.
Not satisfied with gigantic enterprises, for which this
brief life of ours does not suffice, and would not if
doubled in length, I am always on the alert for new
and uncalled-for undertakings, — so distasteful to me
is sleep and dreary repose. Do you not know that
passage from Ecclesiasticus, " When man has fin-
ished his researches, he is but at the beginning, and
when he rests, then doth he labour " ? I seem to
' Cf. John of Salisbury's Prologue to his Policraticus for a much
earher description of the pure joys of literature.
-' Presumably that which contained the translation of Boccaccio's
story of Griselda. See above, pp. 191 sqq.
428 Petrarch
myself to have but begun ; whatever you and others
may think, this is my verdict. If in the mean-
while the end, which certainly cannot be far off,
should come, I would that it might find me still
young. But as I cannot, in the nature of things,
hope for that, I desire that death find me reading
and writing,' or, if it please Christ, praying and in
tears.
Farewell, and remember me. May you be happy
and persevere manfully.
Padua, April 28 (1373).
' A letter from a contemporary, Manzini de la Motta (July i, 1388),
thus describes Petrarch's end: "Francesco Petrarca, the mirror of
our century, after completing a vast array of volumes, on reaching
his seventy-first year, closed his last day in his library. He was
found leaning over a book as if sleeping, so that his death was not at
first suspected by his household."— Quoted by Fracassetti, Let. delle
Cose Fam., vol. ii., p. 348.
INDEX
Abelard, iq n., 152
ALneid, allegorical significance
of, as viewed by Petrarch, 233
sqq.
Africa, Petrarch's epic, 23, 274
sq. ; first conceived, 70 ; sub-
mitted and dedicated to Robert
of Naples, 72 ; work resumed
upon, 74 and n.
" Age of despots," 107, 332
Agrippa, Marcus, 303
Aix-la-Chapelle, 300 sq.
Allegorical significance of the
.■^neid, 233 sqq.
Allegory, Petrarch's mediaeval
conceptions of, 233 sq., 261 sq.
Ancient views of life, 227
Ancisa, 65
Annotations, Petrarch's, 29, 33
Anthony, St., 318
Antidotes for Good and Evil For-
tune, 22 ; dedicated to Azzo
di Correggio, no
Antiquity, Petrarch's love for,
64
Archta. /'n?, Petrarch's discovery
of, 345
Ardennes, Forest of, 305
Arezzo, 61, 138 and n.
Aristotelians, Petrarch attacks,
39 -f'/-
Aristotle, Ethics of, 35, 40 ; au-
thority of, in Middle Ages, 37
sq.; works of, brought to West-
ern Europe, 38 ; Petrarch's
opinion of, 37 sqq., 2ig sq.,
237 ; on origin of poetry, 262
Arno. 13S
Arnold, Matthew, his view of
logic and literature, 5 sqq. ;
of fame, 406
Arqua, 128
Astrologers, 42 sq.
Augustine, St., 317, 321 sq.; in-
terlocutor in Petrarch's Secret,
18, 93 sqq., 404 sqq.; influence
of his teaching, 92 and n. ;
Petrarch's spiritual guide, 92,
280 sq.; his opinion of Plato
quoted, 282
Augustus, Csesar, 59, 321
Autobiography, Petrarch's, 65
sqq., 76
Autograph-mongers, 52
Averroes, 212, 214 sqq., 383
Averroists, Petrarch's rencontre
with, 211 sqq., 214 sqq., 215 n.
Avignon, 79 sq.; seat of papal
court, 65, 85 sqq.; Petrarch's
removal to, 65 ; his dislike of,
69 ; description of, 86 sq.; re-
moval from, 119
Azzo di Correggio, 83, 107 sqq.,
no
Babylonish Captivity, 65 sq.,
85 sq.
Basle edition of Petrarch's works,
iv., 21 n., 155
Benedict, St., 393
Benefices, 83 sq., no sq.
Bergamo, goldsmith of, 169
sqq.; Petrarch's visit to, 173
sqq.
Best Form of Government, The,
Petrarch's, 127
Boccaccio, Giovanni, Petrarch's
first meeting with, 115, 189
429
430
Index
Boccaccio (Continued)
sq.; Petrarch's estimate of,
206 sqq. ; his letters to Pe-
trarch, 15S ; his library, 394
sq. ; his complaints, 395 sq.;
visits Petrarch at Venice, 287,
n. 3 ; embassy of, to Avignon,
320 ; burns his Italian verses,
199 sqq. ; forewarned of ap-
proaching death, 3S7 sqq. ;
bidden to renounce literature,
388 sqq.; would persuade Pe-
trarch to give up work, 417
sqq.; possible author of letter
from shade of Homer, 259 n.
Boethius, 321, 322 and notes
I, 2
Bologna, 66 ; Petrarch studies at,
81 ; one student of Homer at,
259
Bologna, Giovanni Andrea di,
279 n. ; ignorance of, rebuked,
279 sqq., 2S7, n. I
Books, copying of, in the Middle
Ages, 26 sqq.
Bryce. James, 334
Burckhardt defines task of the
Humanists, 8
Canzonierc, Petrarch's, editions
of, 23 sq.; as an expression
of Petrarch's thought, 15 sq.,
231. See also Sonnets
Capitol, the, Petrarch's address
upon, 105 sq.
Capra, Henry, 172
Carducci ranks Petrarch with
Erasmus and Voltaire, 3
Carpentras, Petrarch's schooling
at, 66, So sq.
Carrara, Giacomo of, 75 and n.,
114 ; invites Petrarch to Padua,
74 sq.
Cato, 135
Charles IV. , Emperor, his letter
to Petrarch, 158 ; campaign
of, in Italy, 363. 364 and n. ;
visits Italy, 369 ; retreat from
Italy, 376 sq.; attitude of.
toward Rienzo, 337 ; his rela-
tions with Petrarch. 125, 376,
377 n. ; invites Petrarch to
Prague, 386 ; Petrarch's letter
to, urging him to hasten to
Italy, 361 sq.; Petrarch's atti-
tude toward, 358 ; Petrarch
accompanies him beyond Pia-
cenza, 375. See also Emperor
Charles the Great, 300
Children of Petrarch, 62 n.
Cicero, Petrarch's appreciation
of, 229 sqq., 232 ; Petrarch's
views concerning character of,
147, 239 sqq., 244 sqq., 249
sqq.; concerning works of, 135,
137, 141, 244, 247, 249 sqq.,
282 ; influence of, on Petrarch,
50, 141, 231, 330 ; letters from
Petrarch to, 239 sqq., 249 sqq.;
Petrarch discovers a portion of
letters of, in, 230 n., 239 n.;
copies a MS. of, 276 sqq.; de-
fends from supposed attack of
Sidonius, 141 sqq.; lost works
of, 251 ; Old Age oi, 421
Classics, copies of, not uncom-
mon in thirteenth century, 25 ;
neglect of, in Middle Ages, 25
sq., 228; Petrarch's apprecia-
tion of. 228 sqq.
Coins, Roman, presented to the
Emperor by Petrarch, 371 sq.
Cologne, Petrarch's visit to, 301
sqq.; literary spirits in, 302 ;
cathedral of, 304
Colonna, see Colonnesi
Colonnesi, patrons of Petrarch,
67 ; Giacomo Colonna be-
friends Petrarch, 67, 84 ; takes
him to Gascony, 68, 85 ; Pe-
trarch's premonition of death
o{.\\sqq.; Giovanni Colonna,
Cardinal, 68, 70 j^.y Stephano
Colonna, 69
Coluccio Salutati, letters of, to
Petrarch, 158
Commensal chaplain. Petrarch's
position as, 68, n. 3
Index
431
Confessions, Petrarch's, iS, 93
Confessions, of Augustine, ^16 sy.
Con venne vole, 80 sij., 103
Copyists, 151 ; faithlessness of,
27 s^.j' scarcity of, 275 st^.
Coronation of Petrarch as poet,
lOi stj/t/., 105 ; importance of,
106 s^.y origin of custom, 103
Correggio, family of, 73 ; Azzo
di, 83, 107 sg^.; Petrarch's
friendship for, no
Correspondence, obstacles in way
of, in Middle Ages, 51 sgq.
Correspondence, Petrarch's, di-
visions of, 153. See also
Letters
Critic, Petrarch recognised as a,
166
Critical editions of classics, ab-
sence of, in fourteenth cent-
ury. 24 Si/.
Criticism, want of, in Middle
x\ges, 35 St/.
Culex, 201
Dante, friend of Petracco, 181 ;
political views of, 333 sq. ,■
attitude toward Rome, 98
sq. ; on result of personal ac-
quaintance, 411 n. ; on alle-
gory, 234 ; Petrarch disclaims
all jealousy of, 17S sqq. ; eu-
logises, 181 sqq. ; Petrarch's
estimate of, 175 sqq., 203
Death, Petrarch's, 128, 428 n.
Decameron, igi sq.
Declamations oiSenecsL, iSS
Defensor Pads, 334
Despots, Petrarch's relations
with, 107, ugsqq. ; as patrons
, of the Humanists, 107, 360 sq.
Dialectic, insufficiency of, 5 ; Pe-
trarch's attitude toward, 217,
221 sqq.
Dialecticians, 210, 217 sqq., 414
Diogenes, 220
Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro,
307 n.
Diplomatic missions of Petrarch,
124 sqq., 419 sqq.
Disease of writing, 164 sqq.
Display, Petrarch deprecates, 61
Divine Comedy, The, 175 sqq.,
182 sqq. See also Dante
Doctors fall to writing verses,
166
Dreams, Petrarch's view of, 43
sqq.
Dress, Petrarch's love of, 78 sq. ;
indecent, of certain Italians,
425
Eclogues of Petrarch, 266, 268
Editing of Petrarch's letters, 155
sq. See also Letters
Emperor, Petrarch's audience
with, 370 sqq. ; viewed as a
patron of literature, 360 sq.
See also Empire, and Charles
IV.
Empire, the, Petrarch's concep-
tion of, 99, 333 sq., 350 sqq.,
353 and n. See also Rome
Ennius, 274, 421
Epicurus, 137
EpistolcE, de Rebus Familiaribus ,
153 ; de Rebus Senilibus, 154 ;
sine Titulo, 66 n., 154 ;
Varic€, 153 sq. See also Let-
ters
Erasmus, letters of, 55 ; ranked
with Petrarch, 3
Etymologies, mediceval, 35 sq.
Etymologies of Isidore of Se-
ville, 36, 263
Eye-glasses, 60 and n.
Fame, impossibility of acquiring,
during one's lifetime, 409 sqq.;
Petrarch's longing for, 18, 255,
403 sqq._
" Fantastic," applied to Rienzo,
337, n. I
Father, a, upbraids Petrarch for
misleading his son, 164 sq.
Finibus, De., Cicero's, 221
43:
Index
Florentines, Petrarch's estimate
of, Ii6 sq. ; Dante's view of,
117, n. 2 ; offer Petrarch chair
in their university, 115 ; admir-
ers of Petrarch among, 49 ;
students of Homer among,
259
Fountain of the Sorgue, 6g, 265,
324, 342
Fracassetti, Giuseppe, iv., 155
France, Petrarch's visits to, 68,
125 sq., 420
Francesca, Petrarch's daughter,
62, n.
Francesco, Petrarch's grandson,
62, n.
Frederick II., his opinion of the
Italians, 116
French popes, S5 sq.
Gaspary, 17
German emperors in Italy, 333
Germany, Petrarch visits, 68, 299
sq.
Ghent, 300
Gherardo, Petrarch's brother, 78
sq. ; his religious admonitions,
396 sqq. ; letter to, on the
nature of poetry, 261 sqq.
Ghibelline views, 333
Giovanni Andrea di Bologna,
279 sqq.. 287, n. I
Giovanni, Petrarch's son, 62 n.,
395 n.
Goldsmith of Bergamo, 169 sqq.
Grammarian of Vicenza, 243 sqq.
Grandes compagnies, 126, 331,
n- 3
Greater Greece, 299
Greek literature, forgotten in
Middle Ages, 5 ; Petrarch's
slight knowledge of, 34 sq.,
237, 253
Greek studies in Petrarch's day,
253- n. 3
Greeks, Petrarch asserts inferior-
ity of, to Latins, 299 sq.
Gregory the Great, 393 ; con-
demns literature, 381
Griselda, story of, 191 sqq. j
effects of the tale, 195 sqq.
Guglielmo di Pastrengo, letters
of, to Petrarch, 15S
Hsemus. Mount, 308
Hannibal, 314. 321, 367
Hellenic influences in modern
education, 237
Henry VII., 368
History, Petrarch's fondness for,
64
Holy Land, Petrarch describes
the journey to, 297 sq.
Holy Roman Empire, 99, 333
sq., j^osqq., 353 and n. See
also Rome
Homer, letter to, 253 sqq ;
Latin translation of, 253 sq. ;
imitated by Virgil, 256 sqq.,
293; students of, in Italy in
fourteenth century, 259 sq.
Humanism, origin of, 7 sq., ill I
beneficence of, 8 ; furthered
by Petrarch, 238 sq., 27S sqq.
Humanistic conditions, general,
in fourteenth century, 242,
250 sqq., 259 sq., 275 sq., 279
sqq., 2S7 sqq.
Humanists, means of support of,
83
Ideals, conflict of, in Petrarch's
mind, 91 sqq., 38 1 sqq.
Illegitimate children of Petrarch,
62 n.
Innocent VI., 119
Isidore of .Seville, 36, 263
Isocrates, 132 and n.
Itineraritim Syriacum , iq"] sq.
Italian language, Petrarch's opin-,
ion of, 177 sq., 188, 197 sqq.,
207 sq. ; Petrarch's reasons for
giving up writing in, 1S3, 1S5
sqq. , 207 sq.
Italian prose, none from Pe-
trarch's pen, 50 sq.
Italian verses of Petrarch, 12
sqq., IS sq., 79
Index
41 1
Italy, disorder in, 331 st/., 385 ;
Petrarch's love for, 299
Jacques de Vitry, 93 and n.
Jerome, 264, 272, 392
John, King of France, 125,
420
John the Baptist, feast of, 301
John of Salisbury, 223, n., 22S,
427. n.
Journeys, frequency of Petrarch's,
84. See also Travels
Jubilee of 1350, 114 sg.
Julius Csesar. 352
" Lselius," 68. n. 2, 15S
Lapo da Castiglionchio, letter to,
275 S,/(^.
Latin literature, renewed interest
in, 4 sf./ not unknown in
Middle Ages, 22S ; as agency in
transition to modern times, 7
Latin works of Petrarch, 21 S(/(/.,
24 ; editions of, 23 ; well-nigh
forgotten, 14 s(/.
Laura, 61 si/. and n , 87 si/t/., 94,
130 n., 315 and n. ; want of
knowledge of, 90 and n. 2 ;
death of, 88 ; genuineness of
Petrarch's love for, 8g si/i/.
Laurel crown, the, Petrarch's
desire for, 100 si/.; his praise
of, ic6 ; invitations to receive,
70 Si/., 100 S(/(/.y offered by
King Robert, 72 ; received at
Rome, 73, 105 S(/.
Law, Petrarch's study of, 66, Sr ;
his attitude toward, 67, 82 ;
his use of, 82 S(j.
Lawyers turn to writing verses,
166 ; conceit of, 414
Letters, Petrarch's, character of,
50, 55; influence of, 23S s:/ ,•
number of, 151 and n. ; style of,
134 s(///.. 144 s,/(/., 230 S(j. ;
editing of, 131, 133, 134 st/.,
140 s,/., 146 s,/. isosi/,/., 155
S(/g., 242 ; classes of, 153 st/.y
to be kept secret, 1 36 ; destined
for publication, 151 s,/.; often
lost, 52 S(/. ; opened on the
way. 53 ; to be read with
attention, 51
"Letters to Dead Authors,"
Petrarch's, 147, 239 S(j(j., 243,
244 .f,/., 24.S S(/., 253
Letters of Familiar Intercourse,
145. 153. 155 sq.
Letters of Old Age, 126, 154 sq.
Letters to Petrarch, 157 sq.
Letter to Posterity, 59 sqq.; im-
portance of, 76
Letter-writing 128, 140 ; Pe-
trarch's view of, 139 sq., 148 ;
he resolves to desist from, 53
sqq.
Library, Petrarch's, 26 sqq.;
contents of, 34 sq.; fate of,
32 sq.; pledged to Venice,
126, 287, n. 3
Liege, 300
Life of Solitude, The, Petrarch's,
e-g. 373 sq.
Life, human, no longer in ancient
times, 421 sq.
Literature, not inimical to relig-
ion, 384 sqq., 390 sqq.
Lives of Famous Men, Petrarch's,
370 sq.
Livy, Petrarch's appreciation of.
Logic, Petrarch's attitude toward,
221 sqq.
Logicians. Petrarch's answer to,
21-; sqq.
Love, secular and monastic con-
ceptions of, contrasted, 92,
96 sq. ; Petrarch's discussion
and defence of, gi sqq., 94 sqq.
Lucan. 201
Ludovico, see " Socrates "
Luther, 47
Lyons, 305 sq.
Malaucene, 310, 320
Mankind, waywardnessof, 398.?^.
Marsiglio of Padua, 47, 334
434
Index
Mediaeval conception of life
contested with tliat of Pe-
trarch, i8, 227
Mediaeval literature, nature of,
5 scjq.
Mediaeval natural science, Pe-
trarch's attitude toward, 41
Mediaeval scholarship, 5 sq .
Mediasval traits of Petrarch,
47 sq.
Messengers, want of, 52
Metamorphoses of Ovid, 302
Milan, Petrarch's residence at,
120 sq. See also Visconti
Miscellaneous Letters of Pe-
trarch, 153, 155
Monastic ideals, 379 sqq.
Monnsticism, 383 sqq.
Montpellier, 66
Mussato, 103
Name, Petrarch changes his, 77
Naples, Petrarch visits, 71 sq..
Ill ; condition of, in
Nature, Petrarch's love of, 297
sq.
Nelli, Francesco, 154, 157 sq.,
424 n.
Nolhac, Pierre de, iv. , vii. ; re-
constructs catalogue of Pe-
trarch's books, 32 sqq.
Orders, Petrarch takes. 83
Otio Religiosoriim , De , Petrarch's,
384 n.
Padua, Petrarch's residence in,
75
Paganism, tendency toward, of
Humanists, 3S1
Pagan writers, propriety of read-
ing, 381 sqq.
Papal secretaryship avoided by
Petrarch, n8
Parents, Petrarch's, 60
Paris, 68, 300 ; University of, 70
Parma, 108 sq. ; Petrarch's resi-
dence in, 73, 112 sq.
Patrimony, I'etrarch's loss of,, 83
Patriotism of Petrarch, 236, 330
Pavia, description of, 320 sqq .
Penitential Psalms. Petrarch's,
383
Penmanship in fourteenth cent-
ury, 151 and n. See also
Copyists
Pergamum. , 169 sq.
Peter of Sienna, messages of, to
Boccaccio, 387 sqq.
Peter Lombard, 92, n.
Petracco, Petrarch's father, char-
acter of, 77 sq. ; exiled, 60,
77 ; friend of Dante, 77, 181 ;
name changed by Petrarch, 77
Petrarch, Francesco, cosmopoli-
tan representative of the Re-
naissance, 4 ; why little known
except as poet. 3, 9 sqq. ; ori-
gin and birth of, 59, Gi, 137 ;
changes his name, 77 ; bodily
and mental characteristics, 60,
63, 69, 249 n. ; moral decline
of, 146 sq. ; moral progress of,
314 sq. ; humour of, 23 1, n. ;
travels of, 137, 295 sqq. ; ma-
terials for life of. 14 sq. ; for-
eign recognition of, 165 sq. ;
the father of humanism, 227
sqq. ; his style, 64, 24S n. : in-
fluenced by Seneca, 230 ; more
deeply by Cicero, 231 ; as a
poet, 231 sqq. : patriotism of,
236, 330 ; his method <A study,
238; understanding of literary
art, 289 sqq.
Philip. Bishop of Cavaillon, 69
Philologist, Petrarch as a, 4, 20
Pierre Dubois, 46
Pilatus, Leo, and his version of
Homer, 253, n. 5, 254, n. 2
Pisa, 65, 138
Plagiarism, 183 and n.
Plague of 1348, 126, 147
Plato, 281 sq., 376
Pliny's letters unknown to Pe-
trarch, 152 n.
Poetry, Petrarch's conception
of, 19, 231 sqq.; his defence
Index
435
Poetry iCoiztinucd)
of, 105 ; profaned by the mul-
titude. 166 sqq., 342 sq. ; me-
diaeval, 19 and n. 3
Policraticus of John of Salisbury,
427 n. _ _
Political activity, Petrarch's,
32g sq.
Political opinions of Petrarch,
327 sqq., 350 sqq., 358 sqq.
Popes, court of, at Avignon, 86
Popularity of Petrarch, 48
Portraits of Petrarch, vii. sq.,
60 n.
Prague, Petrarch's visit to, 124
sq., 420
Preface to Letters of Familiar
Intereourse. 130 sqq.
Priest, Petrarch not a, S3 and n.
Pro Archia, Petrarch's discovery
of, 345
Psychological analysis, Petrarch's
love of, 17
Public library, Petrarch hopes to
found a, 2g sqq.
Quintilian, 143 sq.. iSo and n.,
21S
Ravenna, the old man of, 203
and n. ; a youth of, 150, 287
sqq.
/Reformers, why quickly forgot-
ten, 10 ; qualities of, 46 sqq.
Religion not inimical to litera-
ture, 1%\sqq.
Religious views of Petrarch, 312
sqq., 3S2 sq., 401 sqq.
Remediis Utriusqiie Fortunes,
Dc, 21 sq., 238
Renaissance, character of, 4 sq. ;
obstacles to, 24 sq.
Repose, Petrarch's dislike of,
162 sqq.
Repuhlica optime adminisiranda,
De, of Petrarch, 330 n.
Rienzo, Cola di, 335 sqq. ;
achievements of, 349, 356,
359 i popular interest in, 338
sqq.; believed to be a poet,
345 sqq. ; trial of, 348 sqq. ;
sources for life of, 337, n.
4 ; letter of, to Petrarch, 158 ;
Petrarch's sympathy for, and
relations with, 112, 335 sq.,
338 sqq., 343 sqq.
Robert, King of Naples, 71 sq.,
102 sq.. 105, 308 n., 412 sq.
Roman Empire, at Rome, 350
sqq.; endless, 353 and n. See
also Empire
Roman literature, see Latin
Roman people, Petrarch's letter
to, 348 sqq.
Rome, 68, 70, 98 sqq., 251 sq.,
260 ; divine origin and su-
premacy of, g8 sq., 330, 350
sqq.; constitution for, iiS;
genius of, 366 sqq.
Sade, De, 90 n.
Sanctis, De, 15
Scholarship, Petrarch's, 20, 236
sqq.
Schoolmen, Petrarch's neglect
of, 37
Scientific investigation, diverse
effects of, on religious beliefs,
3S2
Scipio. 70, 367
Seclusion, Petrarch's love of,
297. 373 sq.
Secret, Petrarch's, 18, 93, 404
saq.
Secular conceptions of life dis-
place theological, 7
Self-consciousness of Petrarch, 17
Selva Plana, 74
Seneca, style of, 50, 137, 141,
147, 230, 281 ; his Octavia,
147 and n. 4.
Seneca, the Rhetor, 188 n.
Sicilian poetry, 132
Sidonius Apollinaris, 141 sqq.
Silius Italicus, his metrical
abridgment of the Iliad, 254,
n. I
" Simonides," see Nelli
436
Index
"Socrates," 68, n. 2, 130, n. i,
134, 152. 158
Solitude, Petrarch's love of, 297,
373 -J'/-
SolituJc-. The Life of , Petrarch's,
373 -f'/-
Sonnets, Petrarch's, 12 sqq., 15
sq. See Italian language
Sorgue, Fountain of, 69, 265,
^ 324-. 342
Spectacles, 60 and n.
Sfatius, 104
Stephen of Bourbon, 93 and n.
Style, Petrarch's, 64. 230 sq.,
248 n.
Suiipsius et Aliornm I^norantia,
Dc\ Petrarch's, 215, n. 3.
Superstition, Petrarch's freedom
from, 43 sqq.
Theology, poetical elements in,
261
Three Kings, the. 304
Ticino, 321, 323 sq.
Ticinum, 322
Travels of Petrarch, 97. 295
sqq.
Trials of a man of letters in
fourteenth century, 162 ^^7^.
Trioiifi, Petrarch's. 177
True IVisdyin, Petrarch's, 3S3
Tuscany, 138
Universities attended by Pe-
trarch, 66. 67 and n.
Urban V, , 65 and n. 2, 66
Varro, 148
Vaucluse, 6g, lOO, 331
Venice, 124, 126 sq,. 420: Pe-
trarch offers his library to. 29
sqq. ; Petrarch's house in, 287,
n. 3
Ventoux. Mt., ascent of. 307
sqq.; view from. 313 sq., 316
Vicenza, grammarian of, Pe-
trarch's discussion with, 243
sqq.
Vincent of Beauvais, 5
Virgil, 148, 411 sq. ; as inter-
preted by Petrarch, 231 sqq..
234 sqq.
his imitation
of
re-
47 .
Homer, 256 sqq., 293
garded as a magician,
I'etrarch's copy of, SS
Visconti. Petrarch's relations
with, 120 sq. ; estimate of,
122 sq. ; Bishop Giovanni, 119
sq., 122 ; Galeazzo, 123 sq..
324 : Gian Galeazzo. 125 ; Lu-
chino, 119
Voigt defines Petrarch's historic
greatness, 8 sq.
Voltaire. 48 ; Petrarch ranked
with, 3, 10 sq.
Vtil^ari Eloquio, De, Dante's.
17S
Work, Petrarch's ardour for, 162
sqq.. i\l~i sqq., 426 sqq.
Writing, passion for, contagious,
164 sq.
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