Eminent literary and scientific men of Italy, Spain, and Portugal. Vol. 1 (of 3)

PETRARCH

Francesco Petrarca was of Florentine extraction, and sprung from a respectable family. His progenitors had been notaries. His great grandfather has been distinguished for his integrity, benevolence, and long life: his youth had been active, his old age was serene; he died in his sleep when more than 100 years old, an age scarcely ever heard of in Italy. His father exercised the same profession as those who had gone before him; and, being held in great esteem by his fellow citizens, he had filled several public offices. When the Ghibellines were banished Florence in 1302, Petraccolo was included in the number of exiles; his property was confiscated, and he retired with his wife, Eletta Canigiani, whom he had lately married, to the town of Arezzo in Tuscany. Two years after, the Ghibelline exiles endeavoured to reinstate themselves in their native city by force of arms, but they failed in their enterprise, and were forced to retreat. The attempt took place on the night of the 20th of July, 1304; and, on returning discomfited on the morrow, Petraccolo found that during the intervening hours his wife had, after a period of great difficulty and danger, given birth to a son. The child was baptized Francesco, and the surname of di Petracco was added, as was the custom in those days, to distinguish him as the son of Petracco. Orthography, at that time, was very inexact; and the poet's ear for harmony caused him to give a more euphonious sound to his patronymic: he wrote his name Petrarca, and by this he was known during his life, and to all posterity.

When the child was seven months old his mother 1305. was permitted to return from banishment, and she established herself at a country house belonging to her husband near Ancisa, a small town fifteen miles from Florence. The infant, who, at his birth, it was supposed, would not survive, was exposed to imminent peril during this journey. In fording a rapid stream, the man who had charge of him, carried him, wrapped in his swaddling clothes, at the end of a stick; he fell from his horse, and the babe slipped from the fastenings into the water; but he was saved, for how could Petrarch die until he had seen Laura? His mother remained for seven years at Ancisa. Petraccolo meanwhile wandered from place to place, seeking to earn a subsistence, and endeavouring to forward the Ghibeline cause. He visited his wife by stealth on various occasions, and she gave birth during this period to two sons; one of whom died in infancy, and the other, Gherardo, or Gerard, was the companion and friend of Francesco for many years.

1312.
Ætat.
8.

When Petrarch was eight years of age, his parents removed to Pisa, and remained there for nearly a year; when, finding his party entirely ruined, Petraccolo resolved to emigrate to Avignon; for, the pope having fixed his residence in that city, it became a resort for the Italians, who found it advantageous to follow his court. 1313.
Ætat.
9. Petraccolo embarked with his wife and two children at Leghorn, and proceeded by sea to Marseilles. They were wrecked and exposed to great danger when not far from port; but landing at last in safety, they proceeded to Avignon. The eyes of the young Petrarch had become familiar with the stately cities of his native country: for the last year he had lived at Pisa, where the marble palaces of the Lung' Arno, and the free open squares surrounded by majestic structures, were continually before him. The squalid aspect of the ill-built streets of Avignon were in painful contrast; and thus that veneration for Italy, and contempt for transalpine countries, which exercised a great influence over his future life, was early implanted in Petrarch's heart.

The papal court, and consequent concourse of strangers, filled Avignon to overflowing, and rendered it an expensive place of residence. 1315.
Ætat.
55. Accordingly Petraccolo quitted it for Carpentras, a small rural town twelve miles distant. A Genoese named Settimo, lately arrived at Avignon with his wife and young son, had formed an intimacy with Petraccolo, and joined him in this fresh migration.

The youth of Petrarch was obscure in point of fortune, but it was attended by all the happiness that springs from family concord, and the excellent character of his parents. His father was a man of probity and talent, attentive to his son's education and improvement, and, at the same time, kind and indulgent. His mother was distinguished for the virtues that most adorn her sex; she was domestic, and affectionate in her disposition; and he had two youthful friends, in his brother Gerard and Guido Settimo, whom he tenderly loved. Add to this, he studied under Convennole, a kind-hearted man, to whom he became warmly attached. Under his care, and during several visits to Avignon, Petrarch learned as much of grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric, as suited his age, or was taught in the schools which he frequented; and how little that was, any one conversant with the learning of those times can readily divine.[27]

1319.
Ætat.
15.

At the age of fifteen Petrarch was sent to study at the university of Montpellier, then frequented by a vast concourse of students. Petraccolo intended his son to pursue the study of the law, as the profession best suited to insure his reputation and fortune; but to this pursuit Francesco was invincibly repugnant. "It was not," he tells us, in the account he wrote for the information of Posterity, "that I was not pleased with the venerable authority of the laws, full, as they doubtless are, of the spirit of ancient Rome, but because their use was depraved by the wickedness of man; and it was tedious to learn that by which I could not profit without dishonour." Petraccolo was alarmed by the dislike shown by his son for the career for which he destined him, and by the taste he displayed for literature. He made a journey to Montpellier, reproached him for his idleness, and seizing on the precious manuscripts, which the youth vainly endeavoured to hide, threw them into the fire: but the anguish and cries of Petrarch moved him to repent his severity: he snatched the remnants of Virgil and Cicero from the flames, and gave them back, bidding him find consolation in the one, and encouragement in the other, to pursue his studies.

1323.
Ætat.
19.

He was soon after sent to Bologna. The chairs of this university were filled by the ablest professors of the age; and, under them, Petrarch made considerable progress in the study of the law, moved to this exertion, doubtless, by the entreaties of his excellent father. He proved that indolence was not the cause of his aversion to this profession. His master of civil law, Cino da Pistoia, gives most honourable testimony of his industry and talents. "I quickly discovered and appreciated your genius," he says, in a letter written some time after, "and treated you rather like a beloved son than as a pupil. You returned my affection, and repaid me by observance and respect, and thus gained a reputation among the professors and students for morality and prudence. Your progress in study will never be forgotten in the university. In the space of four years you learned by heart the entire body of civil law, with as much facility as another would have acquired the romance of Launcelot and Ginevra."

1326.
Ætat.
22.

After three years spent at Bologna, Petrarch was recalled to France by the death of his father. Soon after his mother died also, and he and his brother were left entirely to their own guidance, with very slender means, and those diminished by the dishonesty of those whom their father had named as trustees to their fortune. Under these circumstances Petrarch entirely abandoned law, as it occurred to both him and his brother that the clerical profession was their best resource in a city where the priesthood reigned supreme. They resided at Avignon, and became the favourites and companions of the ecclesiastical and lay nobles who formed the papal court, to a degree which, in after-times, excited Petrarch's wonder, though the self-sufficiency and ardour of youth then blinded him to the peculiar favour with which he was regarded. His talents and accomplishments were, of course, the cause of this distinction; besides that his personal advantages were such as to prepossess every one in his favour. He was so handsome as frequently to attract observation as he passed along the streets: his complexion was between dark and fair; he had sparkling eyes, and a vivacious and pleasing expression of countenance. His person was rather elegant than robust; and he increased the gracefulness of his appearance by a sedulous attention to dress. "Do you remember," he wrote to his brother Gerard, many years after, "our white robes; and our chagrin when their studied elegance suffered the least injury, either in the disposition of their folds, or in their spotless cleanliness? do you remember our tight shoes and how we bore the tortures which they inflicted, without a murmur? and our care lest the breezes should disturb the arrangement of our hair?"

Such tastes befit the season of youth, which, always in extremes, is apt otherwise to diverge into negligence and disorder. But Petrarch could not give up his entire mind to frivolity and the pleasures of society: he sought the intercourse of the wise, and his warm and tender heart attached itself with filial or fraternal affection to his good and learned friends. Among these was John of Florence, canon of Pisa, a venerable man, devoted to learning, and passionately attached to his native country. With him Petrarch could recur to his beloved studies and antique manuscripts. Sometimes, however, the young man was seized with the spirit of despondency. During such a mood, he had one day recourse to his excellent friend, and poured out his heart in complaints. "You know," he said, "the pains I have taken to distinguish myself from the crowd, and to acquire a reputation for knowledge. You have often told me that I am responsible to God for the use I make of my talents; and your praises have spurred me on to exertion: but I know not why, even at the moment when I hoped for success in my endeavours, I find myself dispirited, and the sources of my understanding dried up. I stumble at every step; and in my despair I have recourse to you. Advise me. Shall I give up my studies? shall I enter on another career? Have pity on me, my father: raise me from the frightful condition into which I have fallen."

Petrarch shed tears as he spoke; but the old man encouraged him with sagacity and kindness. He told him that his best hopes for improvement must be founded on the discovery he had made of his ignorance. "The veil is now raised," he said, "and you perceive the darkness which was before concealed by the presumption of youth. Embark upon the sea before you: the further you advance, the more immense it will appear; but do not be deterred. Follow the course which I have counselled you to take, and be persuaded that God will not abandon you."

These words re-assured Petrarch, and gave fresh strength to his good intentions. The incident is worthy of record, as giving a lively picture of an ingenuous and ambitious mind struggling with and overcoming the toils of learning.

At this period commenced his friendship with Giacomo Colonna, who had resided at Bologna at the same time with him, and had even then been attracted by his prepossessing appearance and irreproachable conduct, though he did not seek to be acquainted with him till their return to Avignon.

The family of Colonna was the most illustrious of Rome: they had fallen under the displeasure, and incurred the interdict, of pope Boniface VIII. who confiscated their estates and drove them into exile. The head of the family was Stefano, a man of heroic and magnanimous mind. He wandered for many years a banished man in France and Germany, and a price was set on his head. On one occasion, a band of armed men, desirous of earning the ill reward attendant on delivering him up to his enemies, seized on him, and asked his name, under the belief that he would fear to acknowledge himself. He replied, "I am Stefano Colonna, a citizen of Rome;" and the mercenaries into whose hands he had fallen, struck by his majesty and resolution, set him free. On another occasion, he appeared suddenly in Italy, on a field of battle, to aid his own party against the papal forces. Being surrounded and pressed upon by his foes, one of his friends exclaimed, "O, Stefano, where is your fortress?" He placed his hand upon his heart, and with a smile replied, "Here!" This illustrious man had a family of ten children, all distinguished by their virtues and talents. The third among them was Giacomo. Petrarch describes his friend in glowing colours. "He was," he says, "generous, faithful, and true; modest, though endowed with splendid talents; handsome in person, yet of irreproachable conduct: he possessed, moreover, the gift of eloquence to an extraordinary degree; so that he held the hearts of men in his hands, and carried them along with him by force of words." Petrarch was readily ensnared in the net of his fascinations. Giacomo introduced his new friend to his brother, the cardinal Giovanni Colonna, under whose roof he subsequently spent many years, and who acted towards him, not as a master, but rather as a partial brother.[28] Petrarch records the kindness of his patrons, in the language of enthusiastic gratitude. Doubtless, they deserved the encomiums of his free spirit, a spirit to be subdued only by the power of affection. We must, however, consider them peculiarly fortunate in being able to command the society of one whose undeviating integrity, whose gentleness, and fidelity, adorned talents which have merited eternal renown. The peculiar charm of Petrarch's character is warmth of heart, and a native ingenuousness of disposition, which readily laid bare his soul to those around: there was nothing factitious, nothing put on for show, in the temper of his mind; he desired to be great and good in God's eyes, and in those of his friends, for conscience sake, and as the worthy aim of a Christian man. He did not, therefore, wish to hide his imperfections; but rather sought them out, that he might bring a remedy; and betrayed the uneasiness they occasioned, with the utmost simplicity and singleness of mind. When to this delightful frankness were added splendid talents, the charm of poetry, so highly valued in the country of the Troubadours, an affectionate and generous disposition, vivacious and engaging manners, and an attractive exterior; we cannot wonder that Petrarch was the darling of his age, the associate of its greatest men, and the man whom princes delighted to honour.

Hitherto the feelings of friendship had engrossed him: love had not yet robbed him of sleep, nor dimmed his eyes with tears; and he wondered to behold such weakness in others.[29] Now at the age of twenty-three, after the fire of mere boyhood had evaporated, he felt the power of a violent and inextinguishable passion. 1327.
Ætat.
23. At six in the morning, on the 6th of April, A. D. 1327 (he often fondly records the exact year, day, and hour), on occasion of the festival of Easter, he visited the church of Sainte Claire at Avignon, and beheld, for the first time, Laura de Sâde. She was just twenty years of age, and in the bloom of beauty,—a beauty so touching and heavenly, so irradiated by purity and smiling innocence, and so adorned by gentleness and modesty, that the first sight stamped the image in the poet's heart, never hereafter to be erased.

Laura was the daughter of Audibert de Noves, a noble and a knight: she lost her father in her early youth; and at the age of seventeen, her mother married her to Hugh de Sâde, a young noble only a few years older than his bride. She was distinguished by her rank and fortune, but more by her loveliness, her sweetness, and the untainted purity of her life and manners in the midst of a society noted for its licentiousness.[30] Now she is known as the subject of Petrarch's verses; as the woman who inspired an immortal passion, and, kindling into living fire the dormant sensibility of the poet, gave origin to the most beautiful and refined, the most passionate, and yet the most delicate, amatory poetry that exists in the world.

Petrarch beheld the loveliness and sweetness of the young beauty, and was transfixed. He sought acquaintance with her; and while the manners of the times prevented his entering her house[31], he enjoyed many opportunities of meeting her in society, and of conversing with her. He would have declared his love, but her reserve enforced silence. "She opened my breast," he writes, "and took my heart into her hand, saying, 'Speak no word of this.'" Yet the reverence inspired by her modesty and dignity was not always sufficient to restrain her lover: being alone with her, and she appearing more gracious than usual, Petrarch, on one occasion, tremblingly and fearfully confessed his passion, but she, with altered looks, replied, "I am not the person you take me for!" Her displeasure froze the very heart of the poet, so that he fled from her presence in grief and dismay.[32]

No attentions on his part could make any impression on her steady and virtuous mind. While love and youth drove him on, she remained impregnable and firm; and when she found that he still rushed wildly forward, she preferred forsaking, to following him to the precipice down which he would have hurried her. Meanwhile, as he gazed on her angelic countenance, and saw purity painted on it, his love grew as spotless as herself. Love transforms the true lover into a resemblance of the object of his passion. In a town, which was the asylum of vice, calumny never breathed a taint upon Laura's name: her actions, her words, the very expression of her countenance, and her slightest gestures were replete with a modest reserve combined with sweetness, and won the applause of all.[33]

The passion of Petrarch was purified and exalted at the same time. Laura filled him with noble aspirations, and divided him from the common herd. He felt that her influence made him superior to vulgar ambition; and rendered him wise, true, and great. She saved him in the dangerous period of youth, and gave a worthy aim to all his endeavours. The manners of his age permitted one solace; a Platonic attachment was the fashion of the day. The troubadours had each his lady to adore, to wait upon, and to celebrate in song; without its being supposed that she made him any return beyond a gracious acceptance of his devoirs, and the allowing him to make her the heroine of his verses. Petrarch endeavoured to merge the living passion of his soul into this airy and unsubstantial devotion. Laura permitted the homage: she perceived his merit, and was proud of his admiration; she felt the truth of his affection, and indulged the wish of preserving it and her own honour at the same time. Without her inflexibility, this had been a dangerous experiment: but she always kept her lover distant from her: rewarding his reserve by smiles, and repressing by frowns all the overflowings of his heart.

By her resolute severity, she incurred the danger of ceasing to be the object of his attachment, and of losing the gift of an immortal name, which he has conferred upon her. But Petrarch's constancy was proof against hopelessness and time. He had too fervent an admiration of her qualities, ever to change: he controlled the vivacity of his feelings, and they became deeper rooted. The struggle cost him his peace of mind. From the moment that love had seized upon his heart, the tenor of his life was changed. He fed upon tears, and took a fatal pleasure in complaints and sighs; his nights became sleepless, and the beloved name dwelt upon his lips during the hours of darkness. He desired death, and sought solitude, devouring there his own heart. He grew pale and thin, and the flower of youth faded before its time. The day began and closed in sorrow; the varieties of her behaviour towards him alone imparted joy or grief, he strove to flee and to forget; but her memory became, and for ever remained, the ruling law of his existence.[34]

From this time his poetic life is dated. He probably composed verses before he saw Laura; but none have been preserved except such as celebrate his passion. How soon, after seeing her, he began thus to pour forth his full heart, cannot be told; probably love, which turns the man of the most prosaic temperament into a versifier, impelled him, at its birth, to give harmonious expression to the rush of thought and feeling that it created. Latin was in use among the learned; but ladies, unskilled in a dead language, were accustomed to be sung by the Troubadours in their native Provençal dialect. Petrarch loved Italy, and all things Italian—he perceived the melody, the grace, the earnestness, which it could embody. The residence of the popes at Avignon caused it to be generally understood; and in the language of his native Florence, the poet addressed his lady, though she was born under a less favoured sky. His sonnets and canzoni obtained the applause they deserved: they became popular: and he, no doubt, hoped that the description of his misery, his admiration, his almost idolatry, would gain him favour in Laura's heart.

Petrarch had always a great predilection for travelling: the paucity of books rendered this a mode,—in his eyes, almost the only mode,—for the attainment of the knowledge for which his nature craved. The first journey he made after his return from Bologna, was to accompany Giacomo Colonna on his visit to the diocese of Lombes, of which he had lately been installed bishop. Lombes is a small town of Languedoc, not far from Thoulouse; it had been erected into a bishopric by pope John XXII., who conferred it on Giacomo Colonna, in recompence of an act of intrepid daring successfully achieved in his behalf. 1330.
Ætat.
26. It was the summer season, and the travellers proceeded through the most picturesque part of France, among the Pyrenees, to the banks of the Garonne. Besides Petrarch, the bishop was accompanied by Lello, the son of Pietro Stefani, a Roman gentleman; and a Frenchman named Louis. The friendship that Petrarch formed with both, on this occasion, continued to the end of their lives: many of his familiar letters are addressed to them under the appellations of Lælius and Socrates; for Petrarch's contempt of his own age gave him that tinge of pedantry which caused him to confer on his favourites the names of the ancients. Lello was a man of education and learning; he had long lived under the protection of the Colonna family, by the members of which he was treated as a son or brother. The transalpine birth of Louis made Petrarch call him a barbarian; but he found him cultivated and refined, endowed with a lively imagination, a gay temper, and addicted to music and poetry. In the society of these men, Petrarch passed a divine summer; it was one of those periods in his life, towards which his thoughts frequently turned in after-times with yearning and regret.[35]

On his return from Lombes, Petrarch became an inmate in the house of cardinal Colonna. He had leisure to indulge in his taste for literature: he was unwearied in the labour of discovering, collating, and copying ancient manuscripts. To him we owe the preservation of many Latin authors, which, buried in the dust of monastic libraries, and endangered by the ignorance of their monkish possessors, had been wholly lost to the world, but for the enthusiasm and industry of a few learned men, among whom Petrarch ranks pre-eminent. He thought no toil burthensome, however arduous, which drew from oblivion these monuments of former wisdom. Often he would not trust to the carelessness of copyists, but transcribed these works with his own hand. His library was lost to the world, after his death, through the culpable negligence of the republic of Venice, to which he had given it; but there still exists, in the Laurentian library of Florence, the orations of Cicero, and his letters to Atticus in Petrarch's handwriting.

His ardour for acquiring knowledge was unbounded,—the society of a single town, and the few hooks that he possessed, could not satisfy him. He believed that travelling was the best school for learning. His great desire was to visit Rome; and a journey hither was projected by him and the bishop of Lombes. Delays intervening, which prevented their immediate departure, Petrarch made the tour of France, Flanders, and Brabant: 1331.
Ætat.
27. "For which journey," he says, "whatever cause may have been alleged, the real motive was a fervent desire of extending my experience."[36] He first visited Paris, and took pleasure in satisfying himself of the truth or falsehood of the accounts he had heard of that city. His curiosity was insatiable; when the day did not suffice, he devoted the night to his enquiries. He found the city ill built and disagreeable, but he was pleased with the inhabitants; describing them, as a traveller might of the present day, as gay, and fond of society; facile and animated in conversation, and amiable in their assemblies and feasts; eager in their search after amusement, and driving away care by pleasure; prompt to discover and to ridicule the faults of others, and covering their own with a thick veil.[37]

From Paris, Petrarch continued his travels through Liege, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Cologne. In all places he searched for ancient manuscripts. At Liege he discovered two orations of Cicero, but could not find any one capable of copying them in the whole town: it was with difficulty that he procured some yellow and pale ink, with which he transcribed them himself.[38] From Cologne he turned his steps homeward, passing through Ardennes on his way to Lyons. His heart warmed at the expectation of returning to his friends; and the image of Laura took possession of his imagination. Whilst wandering alone through the wild forest, which armed men feared to traverse, no idea of danger occurred to him; love occupied all his thoughts: the form of Laura flitted among the trees; and the waving branches, and the song of birds, and the murmuring streams, made her movements and her voice present to his senses with all the liveliness of reality. Twilight closed in, and imparted a portion of dismay, till, emerging from the dark trees, he beheld the Rhone, which threaded the plains towards the native town of the lady of his love; and at sight of the familiar river, a joyous rapture took place of gloom. Two of the most graceful of his sonnets were written to describe the fantastic images that haunted him as he traversed the forest, and the kindling of his soul when, emerging from its depths, he was, as it were serenely welcomed by the delightful country and beloved river which appeared before him.[39]

At Lyons a disappointment awaited him: he met, on his arrival, a servant of the Colonna family, whom he eagerly questioned concerning his friends; and heard, to his infinite mortification, that Giacomo had departed for Italy, without waiting for his return. Deeply hurt by this apparent neglect, he wrote a letter to the bishop, full of bitter reproaches, which he enclosed to cardinal Colonna, to be forwarded to his brother; while he delayed somewhat his homeward journey, spending some weeks at Lyons. He was absent from Avignon, on this occasion, scarcely more than three months.

On his return, he found that Giacomo Colonna was not to blame; he having repaired to Rome by command of the pope, that he might pacify the discontented citizens, and quell the disturbances occasioned by the insurgent nobles. Petrarch did not immediately join his friend: he had a duty to perform towards cardinal Colonna; and the chains which Laura threw around him, made him slow to quit a city which she inhabited. 1335.
Ætat.
31. At length he embarked, and proceeded by sea to Cività Vecchia. The troubled state of the country around Rome rendered it unsafe for a solitary traveller. Petrarch took refuge in the romantic castle of Capranica, and wrote to his friends, announcing his arrival. They came instantly to welcome and escort him. Petrarch at length reached the city of his dreams. His excited imagination had painted the fallen mistress of the world in splendid colours; and, warned by his friends, he had feared disappointment. But the sight of Rome produced no such effect: he was too real a poet, not to look with awe and reverence on the mighty and beautiful remains which meet the wanderer's eye at every turn in the streets of Rome. Petrarch's admiration grew, instead of diminishing. He found the eternal city greater and more majestic in her ruins than he had before figured; and, instead of wondering how it was that she had given laws to the whole earth, he was only surprised that her supremacy had not been more speedily acknowledged.[40]

He found inexhaustible gratification in contemplating the magnificent ruins scattered around. He was accompanied in his researches by Giovanni da San Vito, brother of Stefano Colonna, who, enveloped in the exile of his family, had wandered for many years in Persia, Arabia, and Egypt. Stefano Colonna himself resided in the capital; and Petrarch found in him an image of those majestic heroes who illustrated the annals of ancient Rome.

On leaving Italy, Petrarch gratified his avidity for travel by a long journey through Spain to Cadiz, and northward, by the sea-shore, as far as the coasts of England. He went to escape from the chains which awaited him at Avignon; and, seeking a cure for the wounds which his heart had received, he endeavoured to obtain health and liberty by visiting distant countries. It is thus that he speaks of this tour in his letters. But, though he went far, he did not stay long; for, on the l6th of August of the same year, he returned to Avignon.

He came back with the same feelings; and grew more and more dissatisfied with himself, and the state of agitation and slavery to which the vicinity of Laura reduced him. The young wife was now the mother of a family, and more disinclined than ever to tarnish her good name, or to endanger her peace, by the sad vicissitudes of illicit passion. Disturbed, and struggling with himself, Petrarch sought various remedies for the ill that beset him. April 20.
1336.
Ætat.
32. Among other attempts to divert his thoughts, he made an excursion to Mont Ventoux, one of the highest mountains Europe; which, placed in a country where every other hill is much lower, commands a splendid and extensive view. There is a letter of his to his friend and spiritual director, father Dionisio Robertis, of San Sepolcro, whom he knew in Paris, giving an account of the expedition. It was a work of labour to climb the precipitous mountain; with difficulty, and after many fatiguing deviations from the right road, he reached its summit. He gazed around on the earth, spread like a map below; he fixed his eyes on the Alps, which divided him from Italy; and then, reverting to himself, he thought—"Ten years ago you quitted Bologna: how are you changed since then!" The purity of the air, and the vast prospect before him, gave subtlety and quickness to his perceptions. He reflected on the agitation of his soul, but not yet arrived in port, he felt that he ought not to let his thoughts dwell on the tempests that shook his nature. He thought of her he loved, not, as before, with hope and animation, but with a sad struggling love, for which he blushed. He would have changed his feeling to hate; but such an attempt were vain: he felt ashamed and desperate, as he repeated the verse of Ovid—

For three years this passion had reigned over him without control: he now combated it; but his struggles saddened, while they sobered him. Again he turned his eyes from his own heart to the scene around. As the sun declined, he regarded the vast expanse of the distant Mediterranean, the long chain of mountains which divides France from Spain, and the Rhone which flowed at his feet. He feasted his eyes long on this glorious spectacle, while pious emotions filled his bosom. He had taken with him (for Petrarch was never without a book) the volume of St. Augustin's Confessions: he opened it by chance, and his eyes fell on the following passage:—-"Men make journeys to visit the summits of mountains, the waves of the sea, the course of rivers, and the immensity of ocean, while they neglect their own souls." Struck by the coincidence, Petrarch turned his thoughts inward, and prayed that he might be enabled to vanquish himself. The moon shone upon their descent from the mountain (he was accompanied by his brother Gerard, whom he had selected from among his friends to join him in his excursion); and arriving at Maulaçene, a town at the foot of Mont Ventoux, Petrarch relieved his mind by pouring out his heart in a letter to Dionisio Robertis.

The immediate result of the reflections thus awakened, was his retirement to Vaucluse. When a boy, he had visited this picturesque valley and its fountain, in company with his father, mother, and brother. He had then been charmed by its beauty and seclusion: and now, weary of travelling, and resolved to fly from Laura, he took refuge in the solitude he could here command.

He bought a small house and field, removed his books, and established himself. Since then Vaucluse has been often visited for his sake; and he who was enchanted by its loneliness and beauty, has described, in letters and verses, with fond and glowing expressions, the charm that it possessed for him. The valley is narrow, as its name testifies—shut in by high and craggy hills; the river Sorgue traverses its depth; and on one side, a vast cavern in the precipitous rock presents itself, from which the fountain flows, that is the source of the river. Within the cave, the shadows are black as night; the hills are clothed by umbrageous trees, under whose shadow the tender grass, starred by innumerable flowers, offers agreeable repose. The murmur of the torrent is perennial: that, and the song of the birds, are the only sounds heard. Such was the retreat that the poet chose. He saw none but the peasants who took care of his house and tended his little farm. The only woman near was the hard-working wife of the peasant, old and withered. No sounds of music visited his ears: he heard, instead, the carolling of the birds, and the brawling waters. Often he remained in silence from morning till night, wandering among the hills while the sun was yet low; and taking refuge, during the heat of the day, in his shady garden, which, sloping down towards the Sorgue, was terminated on one side by inaccessible rocks. At night, after performing his clerical duties (for he was canon of Lombes), he rambled among the hills; often entering, at midnight, the cavern, whose gloom, even during the day, struck the soul with awe.

The peasantry about him were poor and hard-working. His food was usually black bread; and he was so abstemious, that the servant he brought with him from Avignon quitted him, unable to endure the solitude and privations of his retreat. He was then waited on by the neighbouring cottager, a fisherman, whose life had been spent among fountains and rivers, deriving his subsistence from the rocks. "To call this man faithful," says Petrarch, "is a tame expression: he was fidelity itself." Without being able to read, he revered and cherished the books his master loved; and, all rude and illiterate, his pious regard for the poet raised him almost to the rank of a friend. His wife was yet more rustic. Her skin was burned by the sun till it resembled nothing human. She was humble, faithful, and laborious; passing her life in the fields, working under the noonday sun; while the evening was dedicated to indoor labour. She never complained, nor ever showed any mark of discontent. She slept on straw: her food was the coarsest black bread; her drink water, in which she mingled a little wine, as sour as vinegar.

It was here that Petrarch hoped to subdue his passion, and to forget Laura. "Fool that I was!" he exclaims in after-life, "not to have remembered the first schoolboy lesson—that solitude is the nurse of love!" How, with his thoughts for his sole companions, preying perpetually on his own heart, could he forget her who occupied him exclusively in courts and cities? And thus he tells, in musical and thrilling accents, how, amidst woods, and hills, and murmuring waves, her image was painted on every object, and contemplated by him till he forgot himself to stone, more dead than the living rocks among which he wandered. It is almost impossible to translate Petrarch's poetry; for his subtle and delicate thoughts, when generalised, seem common-place; and his harmony and grace, which have never been equalled, are inimitable. The only translations which retain the spirit of the original, are by lady Dacre; and we extract her version of one of the canzoni, as a specimen of his style, and as affording a vivid picture of his wild melancholy life among the solitary mountains.