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ascetic life in which his brother Gherardo took refuge; and he applied himself to work out his own spiritual life and progress, not only in solitude, but in the world. His own existence was a dialogue between the contemplative and active faculties of man-between a lofty sense of moral duty and the frailty of his desires and habits-between a noble sense of intellectual power, and the childish irritability of disappointed vanity, singularly impatient of criticism or censure. Thus his life and writings present a lively image of a double nature, so opposed and inconsistent, that the conflict of these two beings in one man may best explain the melancholy and discontent which seemed inseparable from his pleasures and his triumphs. On the one hand, a sensitive and solitary disposition-a man beaten by the storms of an objectless passion, weary of the world, irritated by the evil of his times and the anarchy of his country, seeking a refuge in rural life, in absolute retirement, and in the ardent pursuit of letters and philosophy; on the other, an eager curiosity, an incessant love of change, indefatigable travelling, a thirst for fame, a love of society (for he says that even at Vaucluse he seldom dined alone, though he declares himself unskilled in conversation), a heart as enthusiastic in friendship as it was in love, and an ambition to take part in, and direct, the great political movements of his age. Qualities so dissimilar it is hard to reconcile. Yet both these natures existed in Petrarch, and both were gratified.

An ideal passion, an ideal philosophy, an ideal standard of political liberty and virtue were the characteristics of Petrarch's enthusiastic nature; he carried the same romantic sentiments into his friendships with the

great and good; and they embellished with a sort of radiance the daily intercourse and common incidents of his life. Thus he speaks in the same terms of the peasant and his wife who waited on him at Vaucluse, as he uses when recording the good qualities of his powerful friends :

"He was my counsellor, and the keeper of all my most secret designs; and I should have lamented his loss still more grievously had I not been warned by his advanced age that I could not expect long to retain possession of such a companion. In him I have lost a confidential servant, or rather, a father, in whose bosom I had deposited my sorrows for these fifteen years past; and his humble cottage was, to me, as a temple. He cultivated for me a few acres of indifferent land. He knew not how to read, yet he was also the guardian of my library. With anxious eye he watched over my most rare and ancient copies, which, by long use, he could distinguish from those that were more modern, or of which I myself was the author. Whenever I consigned a volume to his custody, he was transported with joy; he pressed it to his bosom with sighs; with great reverence he repeated the author's name; and seemed as if he had received an accession of learning and happiness from the sight and touch of a book. His wife's face was scorched by the sun, and her body extenuated by labour; but she had a soul of the most candid and generous nature. Under the burning heat of the dog-star, in the midst of snow and of rain, she was found from morning till evening in the fields, whilst even a greater part of the night was given to work than to repose. Her bed was of straw-her food was black bread, frequently full of sand-and her drink was water, mixed with vinegar; yet she never appeared weary or afflicted-never showed any desire of a more easy life-nor was ever heard to complain of the cruelty of destiny and of mankind."

CHAPTER VI.

PETRARCH ON HIS TRAVELS.

Ir would be a vain and superfluous labour to detain the readers of this little volume with an analysis of the theory of Petrarch's love for Laura, or to follow the Italian commentators who have written for centuries on the graces of his style or the mysterious language of his allusions. My desire is rather to present Petrarch to them as a man of the world, collecting with indefatigable industry all the learning of his age, corresponding with the most eminent and accomplished men of his time, and sharing in the great patriotic movements of Italy and of Europe. He continued, indeed, to repair at intervals to the rustic solitude of Vaucluse, and always affected to regard the months or years he spent there as the best portions of his life; but his letters and literary labours show that these intervals were employed in preparing for fresh efforts in the field of active life. I shall therefore follow in chronological order the incidents of his varied career.

Whatever may have been the attractions of Avignon and of Laura, they did not prevent him from gratifying his desire to travel as early, it is said, as the year 1329,

F.C.-IV.

E

when he first visited Switzerland and Belgium; but the only record which exists of this journey is to be found in a letter written from Arquà within a few months of the close of his life. It is a letter of early recollections. He relates the scene in which his father, to stimulate him to the study of laws, threw his adored Virgil and Cicero into the fire, from which they were with difficulty rescued; and he then goes on to say:

"It was about the twenty-fifth year of my life that, travelling through Belgium and Switzerland, I arrived at Liège, a city in which I heard there was a good collection of books. Having asked my companions to wait for me, I found two orations of Cicero, one of which I transcribed myself—the other was copied by a friend; thus both of them were secured by me for Italy. You would laugh to hear that in this considerable city, frequented by strangers, we cudgelled our brains to procure a little ink; and when we got it, it was as yellow as saffron. I had lost all hope of finding the book 'De Republicâ ;' and I searched in vain for the book 'De Consolatione.' Under the false title of a work of St Augustine, I read for some time, without finding out the truth, what was really the divine eloquence of Cicero; and I afterwards discovered by comparison that what I had read was nearly the whole of the second and third books of the 'Academics.'

"By great good fortune I had made the acquaintance, some forty years ago, of a most learned jurisconsult, Raimondo Soranzio, the possessor of a capital library but the work he cared for besides his law-books was Livy. In this he took great delight; though, not being accustomed to read histories, he found it difficult to understand. I did what I could to assist him, on which he took me to his heart like a son, and not only lent me, but gave me some of his books. From him I had Varro, and a volume amongst other well-known works, the

of Cicero containing,

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67

books 'De Oratore' and 'De Legibus (important as they always are), and, above all, the two most rare books 'De Gloriâ.' I thought myself the possessor of a treasure in

deed."-Epist. Senil., xvi. 1.

And so it was, a treasure for all time; but the sequel of the story destroys our hopes. Long afterwards Petrarch was moved by compassion for his old schoolmaster Convennole to lend him these precious volumes. The schoolmaster, in great distress, pawned them for bread; before Petrarch could recover them, the old man died, and the book 'De Gloriâ' was never heard of more. The details are given at length in a letter written from Arquà to Luca della Pemna, the Pope's Secretary, probably in the last year of Petrarch's life.

The evidence of this journey in 1329 is somewhat vague, as it rests entirely upon an old man's reminiscence of an incident that occurred in his youth. It is more probable that his first visit to Flanders took place in 1333; and that he began his travels by another journey which had a marked influence on his life.

In the spring of 1330, upon the express invitation of Giacomo Colonna, then recently appointed by the Pope to the small see of Lombes in the Pyrenees, Petrarch accompanied his friend and patron when he went to take possession of this diocese. They passed through Narbonne and Toulouse, where they found some traces of the greatness of Rome and the literary festivals of the Troubadours, which, indeed, still survive under the name of "Floral games," in two of the southern cities of France. Lombes itself was a desolate and secluded retreat, but it was enlivened to Petrarch by the enjoyment of the liveliest friendship; for, in addition to