Chaucer had been sent ambassador to Genoa just at this time.

The letter to Boccaccio accompanying the Latin translation of the story was probably the last that Petrarch ever wrote. The life of this great and good man had nearly arrived at its conclusion. On the morning of the 19th of July, 1374, he was found by his attendants in his library, his head resting on a book. As he often passed whole hours and even days in this attitude, it at first excited no peculiar attention; but the immovability of his posture at length grew alarming, and on inspection it was found that he was no more.

The intelligence of his death spread through Arquà, the Euganean hills, and Padua, and occasioned general consternation: people flocked from far and near to attend his funeral. Francesco da Carrara, with all the nobility of the city of Padua, was present. The bishop, with the chapter and clergy, performed the ceremony. The funeral oration was pronounced by Bonaventura da Peraga, of the order of the hermits of St. Augustin. The body was first interred in a chapel of the church at Arquà, dedicated to the Virgin, which Petrarch had himself built. A short time after, his son-in-law, Francesco Brossano, erected a marble monument opposite the church, and caused the body to be transferred to it; inscribing on the tomb four bad Latin verses, which it is said that Petrarch himself composed, ordering that no epitaph of greater pretension should record his death.

Petrarch directed in his will that none should weep his death. "Tears," he says, "are useless to the dead, and they injure the living:" he requested only that alms should be given to the poor, that they might pray for his soul. He continues, "Let them do what they will with my body; it imports nothing to me." He left Francesco Brossano his heir, and begs him, as his beloved son, to divide the money he should find into two parts; to keep one himself, and to give the other to the person he has mentioned to him. This is said to mean his daughter. He left several legacies to hospitals and religious houses. He bequeathed his good lute to Thomas Barbari, wherewith to sing the praises of God; and to Boccaccio he left fifty golden florins, to buy a robe lined with fur, for his winter studies; apologising at the same time for leaving so trifling a sum to so great a man.

This is a brief and imperfect sketch of Petrarch's life—drawn from the ample materials which his Latin prose works afford, and the careful researches of various biographers, particularly of the Abbé de Sâde, who ascertained, by infinite labour and perseverance, several doubtful facts concerning the persons with whom the poet's life is chiefly connected. Much more might be said of one whose history is pregnant with profound and various interest. It will be enough if these pages contain a faithful portrait, and impress the reader with a just sense, of his honest worth, his admirable genius, his high-toned feelings, and the many virtues that adorned his long career.

BOCCACCIO

The family of Giovanni Boccaccio derived itself originally from the Ardovini and Bertaldi, of the castle of Certaldo, a fortress of Val d'Elsa, ten miles distant from Florence. His progenitors migrated to that town, and became citizens of the republic. His father's name was Boccaccio di Chellino, derived from that of his father Michele, diminished to Michellino or Chellino; such, as in the Highlands of Scotland and other places in the infancy of society, was the mode by which the Italians formed their names; with the exception of a few, who retained the appellation of some illustrious ancestor. The son of Boccaccio was named Giovanni, and he always designated himself at full length, as Giovanni di Boccaccio da Certaldo.

Little is known of the early life of Boccaccio, except the slender and vague details which he has interspersed in his works. His father was a merchant; he was a man in good repute, and had filled several offices under the Florentine government. His commercial speculations caused him to make frequent journeys, and he lived at one time for some years at Paris. Boccaccio was most probably born in that city. His mother was a French girl of highly respectable family, though not noble. It has been disputed whether in the sequel Boccaccio di Chellino married her; but it seems likely that she died soon after the birth of her son, and never became his wife. It is certain that Giovanni was illegitimate; as he was obliged to obtain a bull to legitimise himself, when late in life he entered the ecclesiastical profession.

1313.

Boccaccio was born in the year 1313, and at the age of seven accompanied his father to Florence. He tells us of himself that he gave early tokens of his future inventive and romantic talents. When seven years old a desire of inventing fictions seized him, and he even then fabricated tales, childish and inartificial it is true, though he had never heard any stories or fables, nor frequented the society of literary men; and though he was scarcely acquainted with the first elements of letters.[58] His father had, however, plans with regard to him wholly at variance with these tastes. 1323.
Ætat.
10. For a short time he gave him Giovanni da Strada, father of the poet Zenobio, for an instructor in the rudiments of learning, and then placed him under the charge of a merchant, from whom he was to learn arithmetic, and to be initiated in other parts of knowledge appertaining to commerce. In this way, to use his own words, he lost six valuable and irrecoverable years. Some friends then assured his father that he was better fitted for literature than trade, and his parent yielded so far to these remonstrances, as to permit him to enter on the study of the canonical law, placing him under a celebrated professor. 1329.
Ætat.
16. It is very uncertain in what country he resided during this time. He travelled a good deal, and we have evidence of his visiting Ravenna, Naples, and Paris, both while he was with his mercantile instructor, and afterwards. It has been conjectured that at the former place he, as a child, knew Dante, who discovered and cherished his infant talents. But this idea rests on a very slender foundation, arising from Boccaccio speaking of him as his guide from whom he derived all good; and Petrarch, alluding to him in a letter to Boccaccio, as "he who was in your youth the first leader, the first torch that led you to study." Dante died in 1321, when Boccaccio was only eight years old; it seems probable, therefore, that Boccaccio looked on Dante as his master and guide from the reasons that made Dante give those names to Virgil; and the works of the Italian poet formed the torch that lighted his countryman in his search after knowledge. Another discussion has arisen concerning who his master of canonical law was; it is known that he passed much time in Paris, and was familiar with the language, manners, and customs of the French; and as he was intimate with Dionisio Robertis, the friend of Petrarch, it is supposed that he studied under him.[59] It is certain, from his own words, that he was at that time at a distance from home, and that his father, discontented with the career he was pursuing, vexed him with reproachful letters. It would seem that Boccaccio di Chellino was a penurious and ill-tempered man.

The project of making him a lawyer did not succeed better than the former one. The imaginative youth was disgusted with the hard dry study; nor could the counsels of his preceptor, nor the continual admonitions of his parent, nor the reproaches of his friends, induce him to pursue his new career with any industry. 1333.
Ætat.
20. Displeased by the little progress he made, his father put an end to the experiment, and bringing him back to his commercial pursuits, sent him to Naples, ordering him there to remain; or, as it would appear, from some allusions in his works, recalled him to his home, which was then in that city; as at one time it is certain Boccaccio lived under the paternal roof at Naples; and it is also known that at a later period he continued there, while his father lived at Florence.

Boccaccio describes himself as very happy at this time, associating on equal terms with the young nobles, with whom he practised a system of great reserve, fearing to have his independence infringed upon. But his society was courted, and his disposition and manners were formed by a familiar intercourse with the licentious but refined nobility of king Robert's court. Yet he had better thoughts and more worthy talents dormant in his heart, which only required a slight spark to kindle into an inextinguishable flame. One day, by chance, he visited the tomb of Virgil.[60] The tomb of the Mantuan poet is situated on the height of Pausilippo: it consists of a small structure shaped, like a rude hut, but evidently of ancient date. 1338.
Ætat.
25. It is overgrown with rich vegetation; the wild aloe and prickly pear issue from its clefts, and ivy and other parasites climb up its sides and cling thickly to its summit. A dark rock rises immediately before; it is shut in, secluded and tranquil: but at the distance of only a few yards, a short ascent leads to the top of the hill, where the whole of the hay of Naples opens itself to the eye. The exceeding beauty of this scene fills every gazer with delight; the wide-spread sea is adorned by various islands, and by picturesque promontories, which shut in secluded bays; the earth is varied by hills, dells, and lakes, by towering heights and woody ravines; the sky, serenely though darkly blue, imparts matchless hues to the elements beneath. Nature presents her most enchanting aspect; and the voice of human genius breathing from the silent tomb, speaks of the influence of the imagination of man, and of the power which he possesses to communicate his ideas in all their warmth and beauty to his fellow creatures. Such is the tomb of Virgil now—such was it five hundred years ago, when Boccaccio's heart glowed with new-born enthusiasm as he gazed upon it. He remained long contemplating the spot, and calling to mind with admiration the fame of him whose ashes reposed in the structure before him: then he began to lament his evil fortune, which obliged him to give up his faculties to baser pursuits. Touched suddenly and deeply by an ardent desire of cultivating poetry, he, on his return home, cast aside all thoughts of business, and eagerly gave himself up to the Muses. And thus, at nearly mature age, impelled by his own wishes only, excited and led by none, his father averse, and always vituperating literature, he, untaught by any, applied to the cultivation of his understanding, devoting himself to the study of such authors as he could comprehend, with the greatest avidity and delight.[61] His genius and fervour conjoined to facilitate his progress; and his father, become aware of the inutility of opposition, at length consented that he should follow his own inclinations, and gave him the necessary assistance.

Another circumstance occurred not long after to confirm his predilection for literature, and to exalt it in his eyes. He was present when Petrarch was examined by Robert, king of Naples, previous to his coronation in the Capitol. 1341.
Ætat.
28. King Robert was a philosopher, a physician, and an astrologer, but hitherto he had despised poetry, being only acquainted with some Sicilian rhymes, and a few of the compositions of the Troubadours. Petrarch, discovering the ignorance of his royal patron, took an opportunity, at the conclusion of his examination, to deliver an oration in praise of poetry, setting forth its magical beauty and its beneficent influence over the minds and manners of men; and so exalted his art, that the king said, in Boccaccio's hearing[62], that he had never before suspected that the foolish rind of verse enclosed matter so lofty and sublime; and declared that now, in his old age, he would learn to appreciate and understand it, asking Petrarch, as an honour which he coveted, to dedicate his poem of Africa to him. From this time the lover of Laura became the Magnus Apollo of the more youthful Boccaccio: he named him his guide and preceptor, and became, in process of time, his most intimate friend.

The liberal tastes and generous patronage of king Robert drew to his court many of the most illustrious men of the age. Boccaccio was exceedingly desirous, from boyhood, of seeing men celebrated for learning[63], and he cultivated a friendship with many of those who lived at Naples. Under the Calabrian Barlaam he studied Greek. Barbato, the chancellor of the king, Dionisio Robertis, bishop of Monopoli, Paolo Perugini, royal librarian, Giovanni Barrili,—these were all his particular friends; conversing with whom, he cultivated the literary tastes to which he entirely devoted himself.

An ardent love of poetry, and an assiduous cultivation of his imagination, made the study of his own nature and its impulses a principal subject of contemplation; and thus softening his heart, opened an easy entrance to the passion of love. He became attached to a lady of high rank at Naples, whom he has celebrated in many of his works.

He relates the commencement of this attachment in various and contradictory ways; on which account a celebrated Italian critic has doubted whether the truth is contained in any of his narrations[64]; it is more credible that they are founded on fact. The object of his passion, as is proved by a variety of circumstances, and by his own express declaration[65], was a natural daughter of Robert king of Naples. To prevent the injury which would have accrued to her mother's name, had her parentage been avowed, her royal father caused her to be adopted by a noble of the house of Achino. She was educated with extreme care, and married, when very young, to a Neapolitan noble. April
7.
1341.
Ætat.
28. They first saw each other at the church of San Lorenzo, on a day of high festival. She was in all the bloom of youth and beauty, dressed with splendour, and surrounded by all that rank and prosperity can impart of brilliancy. The passion was sudden and mutual.[66]

But it is in vain that he endeavours to engage our sympathy. In spite of all the interest which he tries to throw over their attachment, it bears the appearance of a mere intrigue. The lady Mary was a wife, and, in all probability, a mother. Her lover makes her relate, in one of his works[67], that she was married to a noble of equal age; that until she saw Boccaccio, they were happy in each other; her husband adoring her, and she affectionately attached to him. A passion which could disturb such an union appears a phrensy as well as a crime. That the lovers suffered great misery, may serve as a warning, as well as an example, of how such attachments, from their very nature, from the separations, suspicions, and violations of delicacy and truth entailed upon them, must, under the most favourable auspices, be fruitful of solicitude and wretchedness. An adherence to truth is the noblest attribute of human nature. The perpetual infringement which results from a secret intrigue degrades in their own eyes those who practise the falsehood. In the details which Boccaccio has given of his passion, we perceive the violation of the most beautiful of social ties; while deceit is substituted for sincerity, and mystery for frankness. The lover perceived a perpetual lie on the lips of her he loved; and, had his attachment been of an ennobling nature, he would rather have given up its gratification, than have sought it in the humiliation and error of its object.

The lady Mary was eminently beautiful. Her hair, of the palest gold, shaded a forehead remarkable for its ample proportion; her brows were black and delicately marked; her eyes bright and expressive; her beautiful mouth was terminated by a small, round, and dimpled chin; her complexion was brilliant, her person well formed and elegant. She excelled in the dance and song, and, above all, in the vivacious, airy spirit of conversation. Her disposition was generous and magnificent. Boccaccio himself was handsome: his good looks were too early injured by plumpness; but, at this time, being only twenty-eight years of age, he was in the pride of life. His eyes were full of vivacity; his features regular; he was peculiarly agreeable and lively in society; his manners were polite and noble; he was proud, taking his origin from a republic where equality of rank prevailed; but, frequenting the society of the Neapolitan nobility, he preserved a dignified independence and courteous reserve, which commanded respect.

Hitherto Boccaccio had been collecting materials, by study, for future composition; but he had written nothing. According to his own declaration, his mind had become sluggish and debased through frivolity and indolence, when his love for the lady Mary awoke him to exertion[68], and incited him to pursue that career which has caused his name to be numbered among the illustrious writers of his country. His first work, written at the request of his fair mistress, in the early days of their passion, was the "Filocopo." The foundation of this tale resembles St. John's tales—those of "The Seven Wise Masters," &c., which were adopted from Arabia, and coloured, in their details, by descriptions of Eastern manners, with which the conquest of Granada by the Moors, and the expeditions of the crusaders, varied the rude chivalry of the North. A Roman noble and his wife make a pilgrimage to Spain. The husband dies fighting against the Mahometan Felix, king of Marmorina. His wife fell into the hands of the victor, and died at the court of Felix, on giving birth to her daughter Biancafiore, on the very day on which Florio, the son of Felix, was born. The children were educated together. The parentage of Biancafiore was unknown, her parents having died without declaring their names and descent from the Scipios and Cæsars; but, despite her obscure origin. Florio becomes enamoured of his lovely companion; and his father, enraged by this ill-assorted attachment, separates them; and, after cruelly persecuting the unfortunate girl, at last sells her to a merchant, who takes her to Alexandria, where she is bought by a noble, who shuts her up in a tower. Florio wanders into various countries to seek her; they go through a variety of disasters, which end in their happy marriage; and, the birth of Biancafiore being discovered, they are converted to the Christian faith. The story is long drawn out and very unreadable; though interspersed by traits of genius peculiar to Boccaccio, natural touches of genuine feeling, and charming descriptions. Florio, during his erratic travels in search of Biancafiore, arrives at Naples: the author introduces him into the company of his lady and himself, under the names of Fiammetta and Caleone.

Having once engaged in writing, Boccaccio became very diligent: his next work was a poem, entitled the "Teseide," or the "Thesiad." The subject is familiar to the English reader, as the "Knight's Tale" in Chaucer, modernised by Dryden, under the title of "Palamon and Arcite." Boccaccio was, if not the inventor of the ottava rima, or octave stanza (some Sicilian and French poets are supposed to have preceded him in the use of it), yet the first to render it familiar to the Italians. It has been duly appreciated by them, and used, as peculiarly adapted to narrative poetry. The ease with which the Italian language lends itself to rhythm and to rhyme, enabled Boccaccio to dress his thoughts in the guise of poetry; but he was, essentially, not a poet. It were too long to enter here into the distinction between the power of the imagination which creates fable and character, and even produces ideal imagery, and the peculiar attributes of poetry, which consists in a greater force and concentration of language, and an ear for the framing poetic numbers. The sublimity, yet delicacy, of Dante, the grace and harmony of Petrarch, are quite unapproached by Boccaccio: nor, indeed, can he compete with even the second and third rate of Italian poets. His style is diffuse and incult, and altogether wanting in the higher graces of poetic diction. Still, there is nature, pathos, and beauty in the narration. The story of the "Thesiad," if unborrowed,—and there is no previous trace of it,—is worthy of the author of the "Decameron:" it is full of passion and variety. He had the merit, also, of discarding the machinery of dreams and visions, then so much in vogue among his countrymen, which took from their compositions all reality and truth of feeling—giving us empty personifications, instead of fellow-creatures, formed of flesh and blood.

1342.
Ætat.
29.

Boccaccio had not long enjoyed the favour of his lady, when he was obliged to return to Florence. His father had lost his wife and children, and recalled his son, to be the companion of his declining years. He separated himself from the lady Mary with infinite regret; a feeling which she so fully shared, that he afterwards wrote a work, entitled "La Fiammetta," in which she, as the narratress, gives the history of their attachment, and complains bitterly of the misery they suffered during their separation. There is less of redundancy, and more unaffected nature in this work than in his former; and the commencement calls up forcibly the author of the "Decameron," from the vividness and strength of the language. In one respect, his visit to Florence, at this time, was evidently beneficial: it familiarised him with the pure and elegant language of Tuscany: he does not allude to it; but the barbarous dialect of Naples must have injured his style; and we cannot doubt that he recognised at once, and adopted, the expressive idiom of his native town. The "Decameron" is a model of the Tuscan dialect, if such a name can be given to a tongue differing from the Italian spoken in every other portion of the peninsula, and infinitely superior to all in grace, energy, and conciseness.

He found his home, with his father, sufficiently disagreeable.[69] The house was gloomy and silent; nor was the sound of gaiety ever heard within its walls. His father was far advanced in years, and had grown, if he had not always been, avaricious and discourteous, discontented and reproachful; so that the necessity of seeing him every day, of each evening returning to his melancholy abode, cast a shadow over Boccaccio's life. "Ah!" he exclaims, "how happy are the independent, who possess themselves in freedom!" To add to his dissatisfaction, Florence was suffering under the oppression of Walter de Brienne, duke of Athens; whom the people had, in a moment of despondency, set over themselves, and who proved a cruel and gloomy tyrant; till, unable to endure any longer his sanguinary despotism, the citizens rose against him, and regained their liberty.

Boccaccio's chief amusement was derived from his pen. He wrote the "Ameto," a composition of mingled prose and verse, the first of a kind, since adopted by Sannazaro and sir Philip Sidney. The "Ameto" is a story somewhat resembling "Cymon and Iphigenia," in which he again introduces himself and his lady, as he informs the reader, bidding those attend who have a clear understanding, and they will find a hidden truth disclosed in his verses. But a more agreeable change was at hand, to relieve him from his painful position. His father married again, and he was permitted to return to Naples.

1344.
Ætat.
31.

He found great alterations in this city. King Robert was dead. His daughter Jane succeeded to him: her dissentions with her husband produced a violent party spirit among the courtiers, while the pursuit of pleasure was the order of the day. A Court of Love, in imitation of those held in Provence, was instituted, over which the lady Mary presided. The lovers continued fondly attached to each other, though jealousies and trifling quarrels somewhat diversified the otherwise even course of their loves. The lady passed several months each summer at Baiæ, amidst a society given up to amusement, and to the indulgence of the greatest libertinism. From some unknown cause, Boccaccio did not accompany her on these occasions, and he was tormented by a thousand doubts, fearing that the dissolute manners of the court would corrupt her, whom he calls a mirror of chaste love, and injure her faith towards him. During one of these absences he wrote his poem of "Filostrato," on the subject of Troilus and Cressida, which he dedicated as a kind of peace-offering to his lady. He wrote also the "Amorosa Fiammetta," which is her fancied complaint, while he was at Florence, and the "Amorosa Visione," or Vision of Love; which is more poetic in its diction than any of his previous works in verse, though it labours under the disadvantage of being an acrostic; the initial letters of each verse forming a series of sonnets and canzoni, addressed in the same initials to "Madonna Maria."

1345.
Ætat.
35.

During the period when the plague desolated the world, Boccaccio occupied himself by writing the "Decameron," to amuse, it is said, queen Jane and her court. He gives a somewhat different account in the preface. He tells us in it: "From my youth until the present time, I have been inflamed by an aspiring love for one more noble perhaps than befitted my obscure birth; for which passion I was praised even by the more discreet among those who knew of it, and held in high repute; and yet it was the cause to me of much trouble and suffering,—not certainly through the cruelty of the lady I loved, but from the pain I endured when separated from her. During which time I enjoyed so much relief from the agreeable conversation and kind consolations of a friend, that I truly believe, that but for them I had died. But it has pleased him, who decreed that all earthly things should have an end, that my attachment, which no fear, shame, nor advice could lessen, has by course of time so abated, that, while I still love, I am no longer the victim of uncontrollable passion. Yet I still remember the benefits I formerly received from those who sympathised in my pains; and I propose to myself, as a mark of gratitude to them, to afford to others, labouring as I once did, the same relief which was before bestowed upon me. And who will deny that this book belongs rather to women than men. Fearfully and with shame they conceal within their tender hearts that flame which is fiercer when hidden; and who, besides this, are so restrained from the enjoyment of pleasure by the will of those around them, that they most frequently struggle with their feelings, and revolve divers thoughts, which cannot be all gay, within the little circuit of their chamber, which must occasion heavy grief and melancholy, if unrelieved by conversation. All which things do not happen to men; who, if afflicted, can frequent society—hunt, shoot, ride, and play—and have a thousand modes of amusing themselves. And, therefore, to counterbalance the unequal award of fortune, who gives most to bear to those who are weakest, I intend to relate, for the amusement and refuge of gentle ladies who love, one hundred stories, fables, parables, or histories, or whatever you please to call them, narrated, during the course of ten days, by seven ladies and three cavaliers, who assembled together at a villa during the late pestilence."

His description of the plague in Florence, in the introduction, is the finest piece of writing that Boccaccio ever composed: it presents a pathetic, eloquent, and vivid picture of the sufferings induced by that remorseless malady. It is a curious fact, that there is every proof that Boccaccio was residing at Naples during the visitation of the plague in 1348; but it required no violent effort of the imagination to paint the disasters of his native city, as Naples itself presented a similar tragedy: nor is there any thing in the description that stamps it as peculiarly belonging to Florence.

The seven young ladies of the tales meet on a Wednesday morning in the church of Santa Maria Novella, and there agree to leave the miserable city, and to betake themselves, with three gentlemen from among their friends, to one of the villas in the environs, and, shutting out all sight and memory of the frightful disasters they had witnessed, to strive, in the enjoyment of innocent pleasures, to escape from danger.—"Nor," the lady says, who proposed this plan, "can we be said to abandon any one, for it is we who are abandoned; and remember, that our innocent flight is less blamable than the guilty remaining of others."

The Italians have taken great pains to discover the exact spots to which the company of the Decameron retreated. They are found not far from Florence.[70] The father of Boccaccio possessed a small villa in the village of Majano, and his son pleased himself by describing the adjacent country; and in particular, the pleasant uplands and fertile valleys of the hills around Fiesole, which are in the neighbourhood. It is said that Villa Gherardi was the first place to which the ladies betook themselves; and Villa Palmieri is recognised in the description of the sumptuous abode to which they afterwards removed, to escape being disturbed by visiters. In the exquisite description of the narrow valley to which Eliza conducts her companions; and where they bathe; we discern the little plain surrounded by hills; through which the Affrico flows; when; after having divided two hills; and descended from the rocky heights, it collects itself into a gentle stream; under the Claustro della Doccia of Fiesole.

The assembly being gathered together in this delightful spot; among other modes of amusing themselves; they agree that each one should narrate a tale every day; and during the ten days which form the "Decameron," a hundred tales are thus related. They give some kind of rule to their amusement; by fixing on a subject for each tale; as for instance, on one day each person is to tell a story in which, after much suffering, the disasters of the hero or heroine come to a happy conclusion. In another, the tale is to end unhappily. The stories vary from gay to pathetic, and in the last, Boccaccio is inimitable in delicacy and tenderness of feeling.

All the other works of Boccaccio would have fallen into oblivion, had he not written the "Decameron:" they are scarcely read, even though bearing his name; they are heavy and uninteresting; his poetry is not poetry; his prose is long-winded; but the "Decameron;" bears the undoubted stamp of genius. His language is a "well of Tuscan undefiled," whence, as from its purest source, all future writers have drawn the rules and examples which form the correct and elegant Italian style. It possesses, to an extraordinary degree, the charm of eloquence. It imports little whence he drew the groundwork of his tales; yet, as far as we know, many of them are original, and the stories of Griselda and Cymon, of the pot of Bazil, and the sorrows of Ghismonda, are unborrowed from any other writer. The tenderness, the passion, the enthusiasm, the pathos, and above all, the heartfelt nature of his best tales, raise him to the highest rank of writers of any age or country. His defects were of the age. Boccaccio's mind was tarnished by the profligacy of the court of Naples. He mirrors the licentious manners of the people about him in his "Decameron:" it were better for human nature, that neither the reality nor the reflection had ever existed.

The faults of the hook rendered it obnoxious, especially to the priests, whom he, in common with all the novelists of his time, treats with galling ridicule. Salvanorola preached against it, and so excited the minds of his fellow citizens, that they brought all their copies of the "Decameron," as well as of, it may be remarked, the blameless poetry of Petrarch and Dante, into the Piazza de' Signori on the last day of the carnival of 1497, and made a bonfire of them: on which account the earlier editions of these books are very rare. After Salvanorola, it continued on the list of prohibited books. This occasioned emended editions to be published,—some of which were so altered as scarcely to retain any thing of the original. It was after many years and with great industry, that the "Decameron" was restored. The first entire edition was published through the care of a society of young Florentines, who were ashamed of the disgraceful condition to which this celebrated work was reduced: this was published in 1527, and goes by the name of the "Ventisettana," or twenty-seventh, and of the "Delphin." After this, however, only mutilated editions were printed, and even now, as it still continues a prohibited book, any perfect edition bears on the title-page the name of some protestant town, London or Amsterdam, as the place where it is printed.

1350.
Ætat.
37.

To return to the author. During the year of the jubilee Boccaccio returned to Florence, and the lady Mary was spoken of no more, except in a sonnet, written many years after, on the death of Petrarch, which alludes to her death. He addresses his lost friend as having entered that heavenly kingdom after which he had long aspired, that he might again see Laura, and where his beautiful Fiammetta sat with her before God. Whether the lady died, therefore, before or after his removal to Florence cannot be told; we have his own authority for knowing, that by this time his ardent passion was subdued into calm affection. His father as well as his mother-in-law was dead, and they had left a young son Jacopo, to whom Boccaccio became guardian. His pecuniary resources had been derived through his father from Florence, and it became necessary to take his place in that city. From this time he continued to reside in Tuscany, and to fulfil the duties of a citizen. One of the occurrences that marked his return, was a visit from Petrarch, who passed through Florence on his return from his pilgrimage to Rome, on occasion of the jubilee. They were already in correspondence; and Boccaccio had seen the poet in his glory nine years before at Naples. But now they met for the first time as friends, and that intimacy commenced which lasted till the end of their lives.

Boccaccio, on returning to his native city, entered on a busier scene of life from that which he led among the Neapolitan nobles. He was sent almost immediately on various embassies to the Ordelaffi, to Malalesta, and to Polenta, lords of various towns of Romagna, for the purpose of engaging them in a league against the Visconti, who, being lords of the powerful city of Milan, and having lately acquired the signorship of Bologna, were desirous of extending their princely dominions beyond the Apennines.

He had soon after the happiness of being the bearer to Petrarch of the decree of the republic of Florence, which restored his patrimony, and the letters which invited him to fill a professor's chair in their new university. 1351.
Ætat.
38. During this visit they cemented their friendship. Petrarch was then residing at Padua, and his friend remained some weeks in his house. Boccaccio read or copied Petrarch's works, while the other pursued his ordinary studies; and in the evening they sat in the poet's garden, which was adorned with the flowers and verdure of spring, and spent hours in delightful conversation. Their hearts were laid bare to each other, they sympathised in their taste for ancient learning, in their love for their country, and in the views they entertained for the welfare of Italy.[71] Boccaccio brought back to Florence Petrarch's expressed intention to visit his native city. But other feelings interposed—probably the poet was averse to mingle too nearly with the violent factions that agitated the republic. He soon after made a journey to Vaucluse, and never again entered Tuscany.

Boccaccio was more of a citizen than his friend, and he fulfilled several offices intrusted to him by the government. Florence was at that time a little empire in itself, agitated by tumults, divided by intestine quarrels, and disturbed by wars with the neighbouring states. Scarce a day passed without an event. The citizens were full of energy and fire; volatile and rash, sometimes they acted a cowardly, sometimes a magnanimous part. They were restless and versatile—but ambitious, and full of that quick intuitive genius which, even now, in their fallen state, belongs to them. They were at enmity with the Visconti, who incited against them the hostility of the great company, a band of mercenary troops, the off-pourings of the invasion of France by the English, which had entered Italy, and sold their services to different standards, or made war on their own account for booty only. The peasants of the Florentine territory had gone out valiantly against them, and afterwards, assisted by the whole forces of the state, they attacked and destroyed these pernicious bandits. Still the Visconti continued powerful and implacable enemies. 1353.
Ætat.
40. Boccaccio was sent to Bohemia to invite Louis of Bavaria, Marquis of Brandenburgh, to come to the assistance of Florence and its league. 1354.
Ætat.
41. At another time he was despatched to Avignon, on occasion of the entrance of the emperor Charles into Italy, to discover the intentions of the pope with regard to this monarch.

These political negotiations could not be carried on by Boccaccio without inspiring him with violent party feelings: he hated the Visconti as tyrants, and as disturbers of the peace of Italy. He heard with pain and indignation that Petrarch had taken up his abode at Milan, under the protection of its archbishop and lord, Giovanni Visconti. He wrote to his friend to express his regret and disapprobation. "I would be silent," he wrote, "but I cannot; reverence restrains, but indignation impels me to speak. How has Petrarch forgotten his dignity, the conversations which we have held together concerning the state of Italy, his hatred of the archbishop, his love of solitude and independence, so far as to imprison himself at the court of Milan? As easily could I believe that the wolf fled the lamb, and the tiger became the prey of the fawn, as that Petrarch should act against the dictates of his conscience; and that he who called the Visconti a Polyphemus, and a monster of pride, cruelty, and despotism, should place himself under his yoke. How could Visconti win that which no pontiff, which neither Robert of Naples nor the emperor could obtain? Have you done this because the citizens of your native town have treated you with contempt, and taken back the patrimony which they at one time restored?"[72]

Petrarch's answer was moderate; his habits were peaceful and recluse, and he preferred trusting an absolute prince who was attached to him, with his safety, to confiding to the caprice of a mob. Personal intercourse also had shown him that the man whom he had denounced so bitterly from political animosity, was worthy of private friendship: he Avas unwilling to enter the very focus of dissention, such as Florence then was, and he sacrificed his public hatred to the gentler feelings of personal friendship and gratitude. "It is not likely," he says in his answer, "that I should learn servitude in my old age; but if I become dependent, is it not better to submit to one, than, like you, to a whole people of tyrants?" Petrarch was a patriot in an elevated sense of the word: he exerted himself to civilise his country, and to spread abroad the blessings of knowledge; peace was his perpetual cry; but in the various tyrannies that distracted Italy, he saw the same ambition under different forms; and taking no part with one against the other, but with the general good against them all, he held himself free to select his friends as sympathy and kindness dictated.

Boccaccio continued to correct and add to his Decameron, which it is conjectured was published at this time. It spread rapidly through Italy; its popularity astounded even the author, and must have gratified him, though aware of its errors, and tendency to injure the principles of social life. This sentiment increased in after-times, so that he reproached his friend Mainardo de' Cavalcanti, a Florentine by birth, but living at the court of the queen of Naples, for having promised his wife and other ladies of his house that they should read the Decameron. He entreats him to revoke this promise for his own sake, and theirs, that their minds might not be contaminated by narrations in which delicacy and even decency were forgotten; "and if not for their sake," he continues, "for the sake of my honour. They will, on reading it, think me the most wicked and licentious of men; for who will be near to allege in my excuse that I wrote it while young, and urged to the work by commands not to be disobeyed?"

Worse for the fame of Boccaccio than the blots that slur the beauty of the Decameron, is a work, which it is to be lamented fell from his pen. This was entitled the "Corbaccio." He fell in love with a beautiful and noble widow of Florence, who treated him with scorn and derision, and he revenged himself by this production, in which he vilifies the whole sex in general, and this lady in particular, in a style that prevents any one of the present day from attempting to read it.

While we lament such gross ill taste, it is agreeable to forget it, and to record and remember the vast benefits which Boccaccio bestowed on mankind, through his ardent and disinterested love of letters, and especially his extraordinary efforts to create and diffuse a knowledge of the Greek language and writers. In this labour he far excelled Petrarch, who possessed a Homer, but was unable to read it.

He proved his enthusiasm in the most undeniable manner. He was born poor, even to privation; yet he spent large sums of money in the acquisition of ancient manuscripts: he transcribed many with his own hand. His labours in this way were immense: many volumes of the poets, orators, and historians, were copied by him: among these are mentioned the whole of the works of Tacitus and Livy, Terence and Boetius, with various treatises of Cicero and Varro, besides many of the productions of the fathers. He made journeys in search of manuscripts, and records one anecdote, which shows how often disappointment must have attended his labours. He visited the celebrated convent of Monte Cassino, under the idea that he might find some ancient manuscripts, hitherto unknown. He asked for the library, and was taken up a ladder into a loft, exposed to the weather, where the books were lying on the floor moth-eaten, and covered with damp mould. While he indignantly regarded the materials of learning which lay desolate before him, he was told, to add to his horror, that the monks were in the habit of effacing the writing from their venerable parchments, and of replacing it by scraps from the ritual, for which they found a ready sale among the neighbouring villagers.

Nor was his enthusiasm, like Petrarch's, confined to the ancients. He could not only feel and appreciate the genius of Dante, but exerted himself to inspire others with the admiration with which he was filled. He awoke the Florentines to a just sense of the merits of this sublime poet, and persuaded them to erect a professorship in their university for the explanation of the Divina Commedia. He himself first filled the chair, and wrote a commentary on several of the books, besides a Life of Dante. This has been usually considered unauthentic, but it is difficult to see on what grounds this judgment rests. He takes the account of Dante's love of Beatrice from his own work of the Vita Nuova; and in all other particulars of his life the information he gives is slight; but, as far as we are enabled to form an opinion, correct. His genuine enthusiasm for the beauties of his favourite author led him to regret that Petrarch did not sufficiently admire him. He copied for his use the whole of his poem with care and elegance, and sent it to the laureate, with a poetic epistle, in which he besought him to bestow more attention and admiration on their illustrious countryman. Petrarch was bigoted to the notion that any thing written in the vulgar tongue was beneath the regard of a learned man; and received his present with a coldness that penetrates through his assumed praises. This celebrated manuscript belongs to the Vatican library. The epistle mentioned is addressed "To Francis Petrarch, illustrious and only poet," and is subscribed "thy Giovanni da Certaldo." The manuscript is illuminated, and the arms of Petrarch, consisting of a gold bar in an azure field, with a star, adorns the head of each canto. There are a few notes of emendation, and the whole is written in a clear and beautiful hand. By a strange oversight, no care has been taken to collate any modern edition of Dante with this celebrated copy.

Boccaccio's endeavours to promote the study of Greek were still more eminent and singular. At a time when literature was just struggling into notice, it was not strange that a foreign tongue should be entirely forgotten. The knowledge of Greek had been slightly spread during the crusades, when the inhabitants of the West frequently visited Constantinople; and afterwards the commercial relations of Venice and Genoa prevented it from being wholly extinguished. But the language thus brought into use was merely colloquial, and was to a great degree superseded by the Lingua Franca. Petrarch had read a few of the dialogues of Plato with bishop Barlaam, but his knowledge was very slight. To Boccaccio the praise is due of unwearied and successful labour in the cause of Hellenic literature. He had studied, while at Naples, under Barlaam and Paolo Perugino; but his chief efforts had their date from the period of his establishing himself at Florence. Poor as he was, he spared no expense in collecting manuscripts, so that it is suspected that all the Greek books possessed by the Tuscans, and all the knowledge of them diffused through Europe, before the taking of Constantinople, which was extensive, at least in Italy, was derived from the labours, and procured at the expense, of Boccaccio. When he visited Petrarch at Milan, the laureate mentioned to him incidentally, one Leonzio Pilato, a Calabrian, who, having spent almost all his life in Greece, called himself a native of that country. This man possessed a perfect knowledge of the language: Petrarch had met him at Verona, and they read a few passages of Homer together. Boccaccio saw in this a favourable opportunity for facilitating his laudable attempt to make the Greek language a part of the liberal education of his countrymen. Pilato was at Venice: Boccaccio obtained a decree from the Florentine government for the erection of a Greek professorship in their university, carried it to Venice, and persuaded Pilato to accept the office, and to return with him to Florence, where he lodged him at his own house.[73] They laboured together to make a Latin translation of Homer, which Boccaccio transcribed with his own hand. The total want of lexicons and grammars rendered the undertaking inconceivably arduous; and not least among the difficulties with which Boccaccio had to struggle was the violent, untameable, and morose disposition of his guest. This was the man whom Petrarch supposed could never have smiled, and whose manners were so savage, that he declared that not even his love of Greek could induce him to invite him a second time to his house. His aspect was repulsive, his habits disgusting, his conversation gloomy and unsocial. He was proud and violent, and, detesting the Italians, made no secret of his abhorrence; and, discontented with himself and others, he was always wishing himself elsewhere than where he was. Yet the courteous and amiable Boccaccio, who was accustomed to the refinement of a court, and who loved the elegance and gaiety of society, kept him under his roof for three years, humouring his whims, and studying in his company.

Meanwhile his moral habits underwent a beneficial change, owing to the admonitions and example of Petrarch. 1359.
Ætat.
46. He visited this excellent man at Milan, and spent several weeks in an intimate intercourse, which was of the greatest service to him to the end of his days. Petrarch, whose soul was purified by the struggles of his passion for a noble-minded woman, taught him that learning was of small avail to its possessor, unless combined with moral principle and virtuous habits. These conversations awoke in Boccaccio's mind a desire to vanquish his passions. He saw and loved the example of delicacy and honour set him by his friend; and although he could not all at once succeed in imitating him, he became aware of what his duties were: his conscience awoke, and a love of right was engendered, which enabled him, in process of time, to triumph over the habits and vices by which he had hitherto been enslaved.

A singular circumstance achieved the work begun by his inestimable friend. Boccaccio's vivacious and sensitive mind could with difficulty be brought to act from the mere influence of reason. But the change which a love of moral truth and the dictates of good taste were inefficacious to operate, was brought about by the agency of superstition and fear. 1361.
Ætat.
48. One day a Carthusian monk arrived at Certaldo, and demanded an interview with Boccaccio, who received him with kindness, and listened to him with attention. The monk first related, that there had lately lived in his convent at Siena a brother named Pietro Petroni, a man of singular piety, who was accustomed to pray with extreme fervour for the conversion of the wicked. On his death-bed he had called his companion, Giovacchino Ciani, to his bedside, and gave him various messages, to be delivered to a number of persons, to the purport that they should change their lives, and study how to be saved. As soon as the monk was dead, Ciani departed to fulfil his commission, and in the first place came to Certaldo. He then made an exposition of Boccaccio's errors, and above all of the wide-spreading evils occasioned by his writings, and which were a snare and a temptation to the young, imploring him to turn his talents, which he had hitherto exerted in the service of the spirit of evil, to the glory of God and the saints; telling him that he had been incited by a vain glory, which made him rather seek the applause of the world than the favour of his Creator; and what reward could he expect, except eternal punishment hereafter? "I do not spare your ears," continued the zealous Ciani, "and am the less scrupulous, because Petroni speaks through me, who is now looking down from heaven upon us. Therefore, in the words of that blessed man, I exhort, entreat, and command you to change your sinful course of life, to cast aside your poetical studies, and to become a disciple and inculcator of divine truth. If you refuse to obey my voice, I predict, in his name, a miserable end to your depravity, and a speedier death than you anticipate; so that your profane studies and life shall at once be brought to an end;" and to add the force of supernatural revelation to his words, he communicated to Boccaccio several events of his life, which he presumed to be only known to himself, but which had been revealed to the monk by Petroni; and then he took his leave, saying, that he was about to fulfil a similar mission to several others, and that among them he should visit Petrarch.

Boccaccio was aghast. Superstitious fear shook his soul; he gave credulous ear to what he was told, and resolved to give himself up to sacred studies and penitence. His first impulse was to sell his library and to abandon poetry altogether: meanwhile he communicated the visit he had received, and the effect that it had on him, to his dear friend and monitor, Petrarch.

Petrarch had subjected himself, during all his life, to moral discipline; he was a self-seeker and a self-reprover. He was not so easily shaken from the calm tenor of his piety and faith by prognostics and denunciations; he replied to his friend in a letter full of good sense and kind feeling. In those days a letter was a treatise; ancient history was ransacked, and the whole learning of the writer poured out in a torrent. But there are passages which deserve to be quoted. "Falsehood and imposture," he wrote, "often disguise themselves in the habit of religion; but I will not pronounce any decided opinion till I have seen the messenger. The age of the man, his countenance, eyes, manners, gestures, his voice and words, and, above all, the sum and purport of what he says, will serve to enlighten me. It is announced to you that you have but a short time to live, and that you must renounce poetry and profane literature. These words at first filled me with consternation and grief. How could I anticipate your death without tears? But, on further reflection, I am led to consider that you look with terror and regret on what ought really to be a matter of rejoicing, for thus you are detached from the world, and brought, as we all ought, to meditate upon death, and to aspire to that height where no worldly temptation intrudes to contaminate the soul. You will learn from these admonitions to control your passions, and to reform your habits of life. But I exhort you not to abandon hooks and learning, which nauseate and injure the weak only, but which invigorate and comfort the strong-minded."

After placing these considerations in various and strong lights, Petrarch concludes by saying, "If you continue to adhere to your purpose, and determine not only to relinquish study, but to cast aside the instruments of learning, I shall be delighted to possess your books; and I would rather buy them, than that the library of so great a man should be scattered abroad in the world.[74] I cannot name a price, not knowing their value nor number. Think of these things, and reflect whether you cannot, as I have long wished, pass the remainder of your days with me. As to your debt to me, I do not know of it, nor understand this foolish scruple of conscience. You owe me nothing except love; nor that, since each day you pay me: except, indeed, that, receiving continually from me, you still continue to owe. You complain of poverty. I will not bring forward the usual consolations, nor allege the examples of illustrious men, for you know them already. I applaud you for having preferred poverty, combined with independence, to the riches and slavery that were offered you; but I do not praise you for refusing the solicitations of a friend. I am not able to enrich you; if I were I should use neither words nor pen, but speak to you in deeds. But what is sufficient for one is enough for two; one house may surely suffice for those who have but one heart. Your disinclination to come injures me, and it is more injurious if you doubt my sincerity."

Boccaccio was convinced by his friend, and the excess of his penitence and zeal died away; but the reform of his moral character was permanent. He adopted the clerical dress, and endeavoured to suppress those writings which scandalised the pious.

He was very poor: his patrimony was slender, and shared with his brother Jacopo, and diminished also by various expenses incurred in his zeal to procure books and advance learning. He had passed a life of freedom, however, and shrunk from servitude. The passage in Petrarch's letter which refers to this, concerns his having refused the honourable and lucrative, but onerous post, of apostolic secretary; nor was he tempted by Petrarch's invitation, being unwilling to burthen one whose means were very limited. He, however, fell into a most painful mistake when he accepted the offer of a wealthy patron, which originated pride, and not affection.

The seneschal Acciajuolo was a Florentine, settled at Naples; he had long been the counsellor and friend of Louis, prince of Tarento, second husband of queen Jane. He had accompanied him in his flight to France, and stood by him during his adversity. When the affairs of Naples were settled, and Jane and Louis restored to the throne, Acciajuolo became the first man in the kingdom: he was made seneschal; but his power and influence were limited by no mere place. 1363.
Ætat.
50. He had pretensions to learning, and was the friend and correspondent of Petrarch: he was proud and arrogant, and wished to be esteemed a munificent man. He invited Boccaccio to come and take up his abode in his palace at Naples, and to employ himself in writing a history of the seneschal's life. Boccaccio was seduced, by a belief in the reality of his friendship and the nobleness of his generosity, to accept his offer. He was received by the great man with apparent pleasure, and with many promises of future benefit; but he was undeceived as to the kindness of his welcome, when he was led to the chamber destined for his accommodation. The seneschal lived in a magnificent palace, adorned with all the luxuries known in those days: the room assigned to Boccaccio was mean and squalid; it contained one dirty, ill-furnished bed, for himself and his brother Jacopo, and he was placed at the same table with the stable boys and the lower servants of the house, together with a whole host of needy hangers-on. Boccaccio's necessities were not so great as to force him to endure this unworthy treatment, and his spirit revolted against it. He removed at once to the house of his friend, Mainardo de' Cavalcanti, by whom he was cordially and honourably received; and finding, on a second trial, to which he was urged by the servile advice of some friends, that Acciajuolo was wholly ignorant of the duties of hospitality, and totally deficient in generosity and delicacy, he left Naples and proceeded to Venice.

He here passed three happy months with Petrarch. The Greek, Leonzio Pilato, joined them. Their society consisted of either learned men, or the Venetian nobility; and the friends reaped great enjoyment from the intimacy and unreserve of their intercourse. After the lapse of three months Boccaccio returned to Florence, though the plague was raging there, and Petrarch entertained a thousand fears on his account.

An abode in Florence was nevertheless ill suited to the new course of life which he proposed to himself. The city was perpetually disturbed by domestic strife, or the treachery of the foreign princes, whom they called in to their assistance in time of war. Boccaccio retreated from this scene of discord, and took up his abode at the castle of Certaldo, where he gave himself entirely up to study: his house there is still to be seen. Certaldo is situated on a hill, and looks down on the fertile valley watered by the river Elsa.[75] The country around is picturesque, adorned by various castles and rustic villages. The culture of corn, vines, and olives, adorns the depth of the valley and the uplands; and three successive harvests are brought in by the husbandman. Here Boccaccio composed most of his later works, and the influence of Petrarch is perceptible in his choice of subjects and language. This is to be greatly lamented, since his desertion of Italian was founded upon a mistake, which has given us, instead of works of imagination and genius, heavy treatises and inaccurate histories. Boccaccio's Latin is bald and tame; he knew nothing of the structure, and was unable to clothe his thoughts with the eloquence natural to him: he rattled the dry bones of the skeleton of a dead language, instead of making use of the young and vigorous tongue to which he had given birth.