to your kindness, and which I generally carry about with me,
as it is a volume of small dimensions, though of great sweet-
ness. I open it at a venture, meaning to read whatever
might present itself-for what could have presented itself
that was not pious and devout? The volume opened at the
tenth book. My brother was expecting to hear the words of
Augustine from my lips, and he can testify that in the first
place I lighted upon, it was thus written: 'There are men
who go to admire the high places of mountains, the great waves
of the sea, the wide currents of rivers, the circuit of the ocean,
and the orbits of the stars—and who neglect themselves.' I con-
fess that I was amazed; I begged my brother, who was
anxious to hear more, not to interrupt me, and I shut the
book half angry with myself, that I, who was even now admir-
ing terrestrial things, ought already to have learnt from the
philosophers that nothing is truly great except the soul. I
was sufficiently satisfied with what I had seen upon the
mountain, and I turned my eyes back into myself, so that
from that hour till we came to the bottom, no one heard me
speak. The words I had read busied me deeply, for I could
scarcely imagine that they had occurred fortuitously, or that
they were addressed to any one but myself. Thou mayest
imagine how often on that day I looked back to the summit of
the mountain, which seemed but a cubit high in comparison
with the height of human contemplation, were it not too
often merged in the corruptions of the earth.
At every
step I thought if it cost so much sweat and toil to bring the
body a little nearer to heaven, great indeed must be the cross,
the dungeon, and the sting which should terrify the soul as it
draws nigh unto God, and crush the turgid height of inso-
lence and the fate of man. Who shall not be drawn aside
from this path by the fear of trial or the desire of enjoyment?
Happy, oh happy is he, of whom methinks the poet spoke :

'Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum

Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari !'

How steadily must we labour, to put under our feet, not a

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89

speck of elevated earth, but the elate appetites of our terrestrial impulses !

"In these undisguised reflections, I felt not the stones upon the path, and I regained the rustic cottage which I had left before the dawn, at an advanced hour of the night; the constant moon afforded sweet attendance to us as we walked; and now whilst the servants are busy preparing supper, I have stolen aside to write you these lines on the spur of the moment, lest with change of scene and the variety of impressions the thoughts I have penned should have deserted me. Thou seest, most beloved father, that there is nothing in me which I desire to conceal from your eyes, since I not only disclose to you my whole life, but even my individual reflections. Father, I crave your prayers, that whatever in me is vague and unstable may be strengthened, and that the thoughts I waste abroad on many things, may be turned to that one thing, which is true, good, and secure. Farewell." —Epist. Famil., 1. iv. ep. 1.

90

CHAPTER IX.

THE LAUREL CROWN.

THE scene changes, and we pass again from these mountain-paths and solitary reflections to scenes of courtly splendour and singular honour. On the 23d August 1340, Petrarch, being then at Vaucluse, received within a few hours, on the same day, a missive from the Senate of Rome, and another from the Chancellor of the University of Paris, offering to place on his head the laurel crown of poetry. The laurel wreath, the gift and emblem of Apollo, had been used of old in the Capitoline Games established by Domitian in Rome. Claudian was the last poet said to have received it. The Christian Empire abolished the pagan games; but the old tradition and usage survive in our own country to this day, and place the same wreath on the brows of our laureate. Petrarch obtained the revival of the honour, which can hardly have been spontaneous; and it is not very easy to understand on what grounds he received it. His "Africa" was unpublished; the finest of his Italian poems were not then written; his letters and Latin treatises cannot have haď a very wide circulation; he was only thirty-six years of age. Yet the honour was

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not due to the influence of the Colonnas, since it was proffered simultaneously from Paris and from Rome; and the fact proves beyond doubt that Petrarch had already acquired an extraordinary reputation as a lover of learning and a restorer of letters. To himself, it was doubly welcome, as a badge of fame and an emblem of love. For, in the fanciful spirit of the age, the Laurel was Daphne, the Laura of his passion. The same play on her name recurs a thousand times in his sonnets. He faints when he first sees a laurel bush on the Tuscan shore. The laurel wreath dedicated him to his

mistress.

After some hesitation, and an appeal to his patron, Cardinal Colonna, he decides in favour of Rome; and early in the spring of the following year he embarks for Naples, where King Robert held his Court, who was regarded as the wisest and most accomplished of living princes. King Robert had previously addressed a letter to Petrarch, on the recommendation of Father Denis di Borgo (the same for whom the account of Mont Ventoux was written), to invite him to Naples. Nothing, therefore, was wanting to give importance to his voyage. Upon his arrival, learned conferences were held; a portion of the " Africa was read; Petrarch insisted on being examined in all branches of learning by the King, who probably knew much less of the poetic art and of ancient literature than his pupil. For, in truth, King Robert had devoted himself rather to other branches of study; but he was a liberal patron of learning, and he assisted and encouraged Petrarch to make an active, though vain, search for the lost Decades of Livy. The ceremony was performed at Rome, in the Capitol, on

Easter Day (8th April) 1341. Count d'Anguillara, the lord of Capranica, where Petrarch had spent some days on his first visit to Rome, placed the laurel on his head. The poet appeared in a royal mantle, previously worn by King Robert himself, preceded by twelve noble Roman youths clad in scarlet, and the heralds and trumpeters of the Roman Senate. These illustrious names, this pomp, this display, and the extravagant laudation of such a ceremony, contrast singularly with the reflections of the solitary of Vaucluse, and appear to a severer taste a mere tissue of puerility and affectation. It is some relief to find that Petrarch himself, in his later years, took this view of it. In one of the last of his letters written to Boccaccio near the close of his life, he says:

"You think that, having received by solemn decree of the Senate, that most honourable title of the Roman Laureate, as the abundant reward of my labours, since it adjudged me equal to the greatest, I should have desired nothing more. But that laurel was obtained when I was young and inexperienced; its leaves have been bitter to me; and, with more knowledge of the world, I should not have desired it. I gathered from that wreath no fruit of knowledge or eloquence, but the keenest envy, which robbed me of repose, and made me pay dear for my fame and youthful ambition. All I gained by it was to be known and marvelled at; had I been without it, I might have enjoyed that state of life which many have thought the best, to be tranquil and unknown."-Epist. Senil., xvii. 2.

But these are the querulous regrets of age, perhaps not less exaggerated than the confidence and eagerness of youth. The laurel crown did undoubtedly make Petrarch great, because it was a recognised symbol of