JAMES HARVEY ROBINSON (continued 7)

In answer to Augustine's question whether he suffered from bodily weakness, Francesco admits that his body, if a bit troublesome at times, is very tractable as compared with many of those he sees about him. He refuses with propriety to enumerate his physical disabilities.

The life in a city was a constant source of irritation to the sensitive man of letters. "Who could adequately express my weariness of life," he exclaims, "and the daily loathing for this sad distracted world and for the low, degraded dregs of humanity, given over to all manner of uncleanness, that fill it! Who can find words to describe the sickening disgust aroused by the stinking alleys full of howling curs and filthy hogs, the din of the passing wheels which shake the very walls, the crooked ways blocked by carts, the confused mass of passers-by, the revolting crowd of beggars and cut-purses!" "Add to these distractions," Petrarch characteristically continues, "the conflicting aims, the bewildering variety of occupations, the confused clamour of voices, and the bitter rivalry of interests among the people; these combine to wear out a spirit accustomed to happier surroundings, destroy the peace of generous minds, and prevent attention to higher things."

His Confessor reminds him, however, that he has chosen of his own free will to live in town and may easily retire to the country if he wishes. On the other hand he may so accustom himself in time to the sounds of the city that, far from distracting him, they may become as grateful to his ears as the roar of a waterfall. "If," Augustine continues, "you could but succeed in quieting the inward tumult of your mind, the uproar about you might indeed strike your senses, but could not affect the soul."

He farther recommends the careful perusal of Seneca, and especially of Cicero's Tusculan Disputations:

Francesco. You should be aware that I have already read these carefully.

Augustine. And have they not profited you?

Francesco. Nay, when one reads a great deal, no sooner is a book laid down than its effect ceases.

Augustine. The common fate of readers, which produces those accursed monstrosities, able to read indeed, but forming a disgraceful, unstable band who dispute much in the schools on the art of living but put few of their principles to the test.

Petrarch was urged to make notes, as was indeed his invariable habit, at those passages in his reading which were likely to prove most useful for moral support and stimulus. These notes served as hooks by which the memory might cling to thoughts that would otherwise escape it. With such reënforcement he might face with complacency all his ills, even the heaviness of heart that he describes.

Petrarch, it may be added, believed that he derived a double benefit from the classical authors, upon whom he depended for moral strength and solace. There were, of course, the numerous precepts to be found in the writings of Cicero, Horace, and Seneca, which might be taken quite literally. In Virgil, however, as is well known, he espied a deeper, allegorical, meaning below the surface. In the famous description of a storm in the first book of the Æneid he sees in Æolus, for example, reason controlling the unruly passions that are ready to carry away heaven and earth if their master relaxes his vigilance. Petrarch was, however, a scholar of too great insight not to suspect that Virgil perhaps had no such moral end in view. Augustine, in a passage that ought to be considered in any discussion of Petrarch's view of allegory, says: "I commend these secrets of poetical narration in which I see you abound, whether Virgil himself thought of them when he wrote, or whether, far removed from such considerations, he simply intended in these verses to describe a storm at sea and nothing more."

Important as are the first two dialogues for the light they shed upon the poet's inner life, his motives and doubts, the interest of the Confessions culminates perhaps in the conversation of the third and last day, during which Petrarch's love for Laura and his longing for fame are considered.

Of the woman who is the theme of nearly all of Petrarch's Italian lyrics we know almost nothing. There is the memorable record of her death on the fly-leaf of her lovers favourite copy of Virgil, and two or three more or less vague references to his passion for her in his voluminous prose correspondence. In a Latin metrical epistle he has something to say of the matter to his friend Giacomo Colonna. The Confessions, however, afford us the clearest picture of the lover turned philosopher, and no one can read them without understanding the Italian sonnets better and grasping more clearly a fundamental contrast between the mediæval and modern theory of life.[3]

One of the most serious of Petrarch's earlier moral conflicts was that waged in his bosom between the monk and the lover. He was forced, if he would find rest, to reconcile, or decide between, the mediæval ecclesiastical and the modern secular conception of man's love for woman. By the ecclesiastical or monkish view of love is meant, of course, the belief in its essential depravity and inherent sinfulness, quite regardless of the particular relations between the lover and his beloved. Petrarch, although quite averse to theology, held some of the great Church Fathers, especially Augustine, in high esteem, and their doctrines of the close association of sexual love and original sin were familiar to him. He was, moreover, a priest himself and a devout adherent of the traditional faith of his Church. On the other hand he knew his classics well, and loved and revered the authors of antiquity to whom love was no sin. He revolted by nature against the theory that the deep and permanent fascination which woman exercises over man is devilish in its origin, as was taught by the mediæval preachers and illustrated by many a coarse and licentious tale; and in the dialogue, to which we now turn, he hotly defends the higher and purer conception of his affection. His veneration for Augustine, who consistently maintains the debasing nature of earthly love is, however, too profound to permit him in the end to repudiate altogether the teachings of asceticism.

To return to the dialogue. Augustine would finally strike off two golden manacles, love and fame, whose specious glitter so dazzles the poor captive that he reckons them his most precious possessions. None of his aspirations have ever seemed to him more noble than the very ones Augustine now reproaches him for. "What have I done to you," Francesco indignantly asks, "that you should seek to deprive me of my most glorious preoccupations and condemn to perpetual night the brightest portions of my soul?" It seems to him that his Confessor is indiscriminately condemning two quite different things when he declares love to be the maddest of all forms of madness. If love is sometimes the lowest form of passion it may also be the noblest activity of the soul. He can imagine nothing happier than the attraction which a truly noble woman has exercised over him. He has never loved aught but the beautiful, and if he is mistaken in his conception of love he prefers to remain so. To Augustine's ready objection that one may love even the beautiful shamefully, he replies, with ill-timed levity, that he has sinned neither in noun nor adverb and that Augustine must prove him to be ill before he tries his remedies, since physic has often undone a well man.

Augustine expresses his frank astonishment that a person of such parts should have allowed himself to be deceived by false blandishments during no less than sixteen years past. His lady's eyes will, however, one day be closed by death, then the lover will recall with shame his infatuation for the poor perishable body. Sickness and successive trials have already told upon her, and her lovely person has lost much of its pristine vigour. He does not question her virtues. He will grant that she is a queen, a saint, a goddess,—Phoebus's own sister, if her lover will have it so. Her supreme qualities, however, furnish no excuse for Francesco's errors. Obviously the most virtuous may be the object of an unworthy passion.

One thing at least I will say [Francesco exclaims], whatever I have achieved is due to her. I should never have been what I am, if there be any distinction or glory in that, had not the scattered seeds of virtue, which nature implanted in this breast, been cultivated by her through my noble attachment. She restrained my youthful spirit from every shameful act;... she led me to look toward higher things. Is it wonderful [he continues], that her noble fame has provoked in me a longing for a like reputation and has lightened the strenuous effort with which I pursued my object? How could I have done better in my youthful days than to please her who alone pleased me? For I cast aside a thousand seductions of pleasure in order to take up the serious tasks of life before my time. You know this well and yet you command me to forget, or love in only a half-hearted fashion, her who separated me from the vulgar company and guided me in all my chosen paths, stimulating my sluggish nature and rousing my dull intellect.[4]

To all this Augustine has two objections. In the first place, although Francesco's love may have saved him from minor errors, his anxiety for fame, which he attributes to it, has put him on the shortest road to spiritual death. In the second place, it is vain for him to maintain that he loves chiefly the soul; that he would have loved her spirit in even "a foul and knotty body (in squalido et nodoso corpore)," for he has but to interrogate the past to see that he has steadily degenerated since first he met his lady. She, indeed, has done all she could to keep him right. In spite of his prayers and allurements she maintained her womanly integrity, and although their ages and circumstances would have shaken the stoutest resolutions, she remained firm and unapproachable. In his effort to absolve and exalt her Petrarch of course condemns himself, and so justifies Augustine's contention. Love, in spite of our illusions about it, is but a passion for temporal things, and nothing so surely separates man from God. Let Francesco consider its pestiferous effects in his own case; how, suddenly, his life was dissolved in tears and sighs, how he spent sleepless nights with the name of the beloved ever on his lips; how he despised his usual pursuits, hated life, fled his fellow-beings and longed for sad death. Wasted and pale and restless, his eyes ever moist, his mind confused, his voice weak and hoarse,—no more miserable and distracted creature could be imagined.

Not contented with her living face [Augustine continues], you must forsooth seek out a famous painter,[5] in order that you might carry about her image, fearful lest your tears might otherwise cease. And to cap your follies you showed yourself as completely captivated with the splendour of her name as with that of her person, and cherished with incredible levity everything that sounded like it. And this is the reason you so ardently desired the Imperial or poet's laurel [laurea], for that was her name, and from the moment you first met her hardly a song has escaped you without mention of the laurel. Finally, since you could not hope for the Imperial you set your heart upon the poet's crown, of which the distinction of your learning held out a promise. And you loved and longed for that with as little modesty as you had longed for Lady Laura herself.

Francesco would object that he began his poetical studies before he knew Laura, and had coveted the laurel chaplet from boyhood, and that without the inspiration of her name he would scarcely have overcome the many obstacles which stood between him and his coronation at Rome. This, his Confessor declares, is but one of the excuses which passion always finds; it is unworthy of a serious answer. The miserable results of love have been sufficiently illustrated, of which the chief is that it separates us from God and things divine, for how can a soul bent under the burden of such evils drag itself to the one pure fountain of true good?

"I am worsted," Francesco exclaims,—Victus sum fateor—"all these ills which you have depicted are, I perceive, but excerpts from my own book of experience. What am I to do?"

It is needless for Augustine to say that the subject of the remedies of love has been treated by famous philosophers and poets; there are whole books on the question. It would, too, be an insult to one who professes himself a master of ancient literature to indicate to him where these works may be found.

Cicero's suggestion, and Ovid's, that an old passion may be driven out by a new one, tanquam clavum clavo, is not without its dangers, and, moreover, Francesco asserts that he can never love another than Laura. Then let him seek distraction in travel. Francesco replies that he has tried this resource repeatedly; while he has assigned various motives for his endless wanderings and his frequent sojourns in the country, liberty was always his real object. He had sought it far and wide but in vain, for he always carried his trouble with him. Augustine admits that a previous change of heart is after all indispensable. He would, nevertheless better leave Avignon at least and betake himself to his Italy, whose skies and hills exercise over him an unrivalled fascination. He has too long been an exile from his country and himself.

"Have you looked into your mirror lately?" Augustine abruptly asks. "Does not your face change from day to day? Are there not already scattered grey hairs about your temples?" Francesco has noted these, but he sees the same thing when he looks at those of the same age about him. He does not know why people grow old sooner than they once did. Here Petrarch characteristically mentions a few instances of early grey hairs among the ancients. Augustine regards these examples as worse than irrelevant and as tending to lead one to disregard the signs of approaching death. He says impatiently that if he had referred to baldness, doubtless Francesco would have instanced Julius Cæsar. Of course he would have mentioned Cæsar, Petrarch replies; and if he had but one eye, he would take pleasure in recalling Hannibal and Philip of Macedon. He uses these examples, like his household furniture, to afford him simple daily comfort. "Had you upbraided me for being afraid of thunder, since I could not deny that I was, I should have replied that Augustus Cæsar suffered from the same trouble. Indeed, herein lies by no means the least important reason for my cherishing the laurel, which they say is never struck by lightning."

Consider, Augustine urges in conclusion, not only the uncertainty of life and the imminence of death.

Think shame to yourself that you are pointed at and have become a subject of gossip with the common herd. Think how ill your morals harmonise with your profession. Think how your mistress has injured you in soul, body, and estate. Consider how much you have needlessly suffered for her sake. Think how often you have been deluded, despised, and neglected; what blandishments, tears, and lamentations you have poured out, and of the haughty, ungrateful arrogance with which she received them. If there was the least indication of humanity in her conduct, how trifling it was, more fleeting than the summer breeze. Consider how you have added to her fame and what she has taken from your life; how anxious you have been for her good name, how careless of your welfare she has always shown herself. Think how through her you have been alienated from the love of God.... Consider the useful and honourable tasks which you have so long neglected, the many incomplete works which lie before you and which demand your whole energy, not merely the odd moments which your passion leaves free.... If the honour of true glory does not attract you nor ignominy deter you, let the shame of others induce you to make a change in your life. You should guard your good name, if for no other reason, at least to save your friends the disgrace of telling lies for your sake.

Lastly, what is it that you long for so ardently? Consider it intently, practically. Few there be who when once they have imbibed the sweet poison of desire, really manfully, I will not say consistently, dwell upon the foulness of woman's person. Their minds consequently easily relapse, under the pressure of nature, into the old habits. Forget the past. Importune heaven with your prayers and permit no day or night to pass without tearful supplication, for perchance Omnipotence may take compassion upon you and bring your trial to an end.[6]

Augustine now turns to Francesco's longing for fame, which, with his passion for Laura, is the most inveterate and uncontrollable of his moral disorders. This yearning beyond measure for glory among men and an undying name may block his way to true immortality. He has no more grievous fault, although he may have uglier ones. What is fame? Nothing whatever but the general talk of the multitude about one; it is but a breath and, what is worse, the breath of the crowd. "I know whom I am addressing," Augustine continues.

You ordinarily regard nothing as more disgusting than the manners and doings of the common herd. What a want of consistency that you should habitually condemn the conduct of those whose chattering so delights you, nay more, to whom you look for the very consummation of your happiness! To what end are your unceasing labours, your tireless vigils, and excessive attention to study? You may answer that you are learning what will help you to live better. But you long ago learned all that was necessary for both life and death. You would, therefore, better put the knowledge you have acquired into practice; better try experience rather than laborious ratiocination, which ever opens up new and inaccessible vistas; for there is no end to vain research. Recollect farther that you have given your attention to those things first and foremost which might be expected to gratify the public, and have sought to please them by a means especially distasteful to yourself, namely, by picking out from this poet and that historian such choice bits as might tickle the ears of your listeners.

This accusation naturally irritates the scholar, who has from boyhood scorned anthologies and favourite quotations. He cannot deny, however, that he does sometimes store up for the benefit of his friends and associates choice passages which he meets with. Augustine proceeds:

Not content with this daily occupation, which, although it took a great deal of time, promised you only a reputation among your contemporaries, you conceived of a fame which should reach posterity. Hence you undertook an historical work, covering the period from King Romulus to the Emperor Titus, a tremendous task requiring infinite patience and labour. Then, before this was done, infatuated by this craving for fame you set off on the wings of the poet for Africa. Now you diligently devote yourself to the several cantos of your poem by that name, without, however, giving up the other tasks, and so your life is divided into two great streams at least, not to speak of innumerable undercurrents. Prodigal of your most precious and irretrievable time, you write of others and forget yourself. Who knows but death may snatch the weary pen from your hand before either work is done?

The last source of apprehension is by no means new to Francesco.—He cannot bear to think of another laying hand to his Africa, and he confesses that in periods of bitter discouragement he has been on the point of burning the uncompleted manuscript. Augustine naturally recalls to him the melancholy truth that even if, granting the most favourable circumstances, he should succeed in producing a "rare and distinguished work," its fame could not reach far in time or space. Francesco impatiently asks to be spared the old trite reflections of the philosophers. "If you have anything better to urge, pray produce it; all this sounds very fine but I have never found that it helped me. I do not ask to be God and possess eternity and fill heaven and earth. Human glory is enough for me. I do long for that. I am a mortal and I desire only the mortal." To Augustine's horrified deprecation of such doctrine and his condemnation of the rashness of those who recklessly postpone their supreme interests to their last failing years, Francesco sturdily replies:

There is a certain justification for my plan of life. It may be only glory that we seek here, but I persuade myself that, so long as we remain here, that is right. Another glory awaits us in heaven and he who reaches there will not wish even to think of earthly fame. So this is the natural order, that among mortals the care of things mortal should come first; to the transitory will then succeed the eternal; from the first to the second is the natural progression.[7]

After this audacious and historically remarkable statement of the Humanists' creed, Francesco humbly asks if Augustine would have him forsake his studies altogether and lead an inglorious existence, or shall he pursue some middle course. His Confessor replies that we do not live inglorious lives although we follow, not fame but virtue; for true fame is but the shadow of virtue. "Throw off the burden of your proposed Roman History," Augustine exclaims, "lay aside your Africa, which cannot increase the fame of your Scipio or yourself.... Turn your thoughts upon Death! Let everything about you recall your pending fate. The heavens, the earth, and the sea all change; what chance that man, the weakest of creatures, should hold his own? Let the setting sun and the waning moon teach their lesson of mortality. Contemplate the graves of your friends. Hoc iter est in patriam."

Petrarch does not deny that this is wholesome advice, but he firmly refuses to give up his literary tasks, which he cannot with equanimity leave half done. He promises sedulously to die unto himself, and will hasten to complete his books in order to devote himself exclusively to religious contemplation. It will be seen that he found little to urge against Augustine's views, but that he nevertheless refused to follow his advice, except so far as he might do so without interfering with what he rightly considered his life's work.

So, without ability to defend completely the modern belief that earnest toil is presumably a far more rational preparation for death, than is a paralysing contemplation of its horrors, Petrarch still worked bravely on until the pen dropped from his hand. There is something noble and pathetic in this sturdy, unflagging industry in the face of the discomforting suggestions of monasticism. His life transcended and belied those ideals of his age from which in his less exuberant moments he was unable entirely to free himself.

VIII

FINALE

Nulla calamo agilior est sarcina, nulla jucundior, voluptates aliæ fugiunt et mulcendo lædunt, calamus et in manus sumptus mulcet et depositus delectat, ac prodest non domino suo tantum sed aliis multis sæpe etiam absentibus, nonnunquam et posteris post annorum millorum.—Sen., xvi., 2.

Petrarch's Intention to Work until the Last.

To Boccaccio.[1]

...[2] I certainly will not reject the praise you bestow upon me for having stimulated in many instances, not only in Italy but perhaps beyond its confines also, the pursuit of studies such as ours, which have suffered neglect for so many centuries; I am, indeed, almost the oldest of those among us who are engaged in the cultivation of these subjects. But I cannot accept the conclusion you draw from this, namely, that I should give place to younger minds, and, interrupting the plan of work on which I am engaged, give others an opportunity to write something, if they will, and not seem longer to desire to reserve everything for my own pen. How radically do our opinions differ, although, at bottom, our object is the same! I seem to you to have written everything, or at least a great deal, while to myself I appear to have produced almost nothing.

But let us admit that I have written much, and shall continue to write;—what better means have I of exhorting those who are following my example to continued perseverance? Example is often more potent than words. The aged veteran Camillus, going into battle like a young man, assuredly aroused more enthusiasm in the younger warriors than if, after drawing them up in line of battle and telling them what was to be done, he had left them and withdrawn to his tent. The fear you appear to harbour, that I shall cover the whole field and leave nothing for others to write, recalls the ridiculous apprehensions which Alexander of Macedon is reported to have entertained, lest his father, Philip, by conquering the whole world, should deprive him of any chance of military renown. Foolish boy! He little realised what wars still remained for him to fight, if he lived, even though the Orient were quite subjugated; he had, perhaps, never heard of Papirius Cursor, or the Marsian generals. Seneca has, however, delivered us from this anxiety, in a letter to Lucilius, where he says, "Much still remains to be done; much will always remain, and even a thousand years hence no one of our descendants need be denied the opportunity of adding his something."

You, my friend, by a strange confusion of arguments, try to dissuade me from continuing my chosen work by urging, on the one hand, the hopelessness of bringing my task to completion, and by dwelling, on the other, upon the glory which I have already acquired. Then, after asserting that I have filled the world with my writings, you ask me if I expect to equal the number of volumes written by Origen or Augustine. No one, it seems to me, can hope to equal Augustine. Who, nowadays, could hope to equal one who, in my judgment, was the greatest in an age fertile in great minds? As for Origen, you know that I am wont to value quality rather than quantity, and I should prefer to have produced a very few irreproachable works rather than numberless volumes such as those of Origen, which are filled with grave and intolerable errors. It is certainly impossible, as you say, for me to equal either of these, although for very different reasons in the two cases. And yet you contradict yourself, for, though your pen invites me to repose, you cite the names of certain active old men,—Socrates, Sophocles, and, among our own people, Cato the Censor,—as if you had some quite different end in view. How many more names you might have recalled, except that one does not consciously argue long against himself! Searching desperately for some excuse for your advice and my weakness, you urge that perhaps their temperaments differed from mine. I readily grant you this, although my constitution has sometimes been pronounced very vigorous by those who claim to be experienced in such matters; still, old age will triumph.

You assert, too, that I have sacrificed a great deal of time in the service of princes. But that you may no longer labour under a delusion in this matter, here is the truth. I have lived nominally with princes, in reality, the princes lived with me. I was present sometimes at their councils, and, very rarely, at their banquets. I should never have submitted to any conditions which would, in any degree, have interfered with my liberty or my studies. When everyone else sought the palace, I hied me to the woods, or spent my time quietly in my room, among my books. To say that I have never lost a day would be false. I have lost many days (please God, not all) through inertia, or sickness, or distress of mind,—evils which no one is so fortunate as to escape entirely. What time I have lost in the service of princes you shall hear, for, like Seneca, I keep an account of my outlays.

First, I was sent to Venice to negotiate a peace between that city and Genoa, which occupied me for an entire winter month.[3] Next I betook myself to the extreme confines of the land of the barbarians,[4] and spent three summer months in arranging for peace in Liguria, with that Roman sovereign who fostered—or I had better say deferred,—the hope of restoring a sadly ruined Empire. Finally, I went to France[5] to carry congratulations to King John on his deliverance from an English prison; here three more winter months were lost. Although during these three journeys I dwelt upon my usual subjects of thought, nevertheless, since I could neither write down my ideas nor impress them on my memory, I call those days lost. It is true that when I reached Italy, on my return from the last expedition, I dictated a voluminous letter on the variableness of fortune to a studious old man, Peter of Poitiers; it arrived too late, however, and found him dead. Here, then, are seven months lost in the service of princes; nor is this a trifling sacrifice, I admit, considering the shortness of life. Would that I need not fear a greater loss, incurred long ago by the vanity and frivolous employments of my youth!

You add, further, that possibly the measure of life was different in olden times from what it is in ours, and that nowadays we may regard men as old who were then looked upon as young. But I can only reply to you as I did recently to a certain lawyer in this university,[6] who, as I learned, was accustomed to make that same assertion in his lectures, in order to depreciate the industry of the ancients, and excuse the sloth of our contemporaries. I sent by one of his students to warn him against repeating the statement, unless he wished to be considered an ignoramus by scholars. For more than two thousand years there has been no change in the length of human life. Aristotle lived sixty-three years. Cicero lived the same length of time; moreover, although he might have been spared longer had it pleased the heartless and drunken Antony, he had some time before his death written a great deal about his unhappy and premature decline, and had composed a treatise on Old Age, for the edification of himself and a friend. Ennius lived seventy years, Horace the same time, while Virgil died at fifty-two, a brief life even for our time. Plato, it is true, lived to be eighty-one; but this, it is said, was looked upon as a prodigy, and because he had attained the most perfect age the Magi decided to offer him a sacrifice, as if he were superior to the rest of mankind. Yet nowadays we frequently see in our cities those who have reached this age; octogenarians and nonagenarians are often to be met with, and no one is surprised, or offers sacrifices to them. If you recall Varro to me, or Cato, or others who reached their hundredth year, or Gorgias of Leontium who greatly exceeded that age, I have other modern instances to set off against them. But as the names are obscure I will mention only one, Romualdo of Ravenna, a very noted hermit, who recently reached the age of one hundred and twenty years, in spite of the greatest privations, suffered for the love of Christ, and in the performance of numerous vigils and fasts such as you are now doing all in your power to induce me to refrain from. I have said a good deal about this matter in order that you may neither believe nor assert that, with the exception of the patriarchs, who lived at the beginning of the world, and who, I am convinced, developed no literary activity whatever, any of our predecessors enjoyed greater longevity than ourselves. They could boast of greater activity, not of a longer life,—if, indeed, life without industry deserves to be called life at all, and not a slothful and useless delay.

By a few cautious words, however, you avoid the foregoing criticism, for you admit that it may not be a question of age after all, but that it may perhaps be temperament, or possibly climate, or diet, or some other cause, which precludes me from doing what the others were all able to do. I freely concede this, but I cannot accept the deduction you draw from it, and which you support with laboriously elaborate arguments; for some of your reasons are, in a certain sense, quite opposed to the thesis you would prove. You counsel me to be contented—I quote you literally—with having perhaps equalled Virgil in verse (as you assert) and Cicero in prose. Oh, that you had been induced by the truth, rather than seduced by friendship, in saying this! You add that, in virtue of a senatus consultum following the custom of our ancestors, I have received the most glorious of titles, and the rare honour of the Roman laurel. Your conclusion from all this is that, with the happy results of my studies, in which I rival the greatest, and with my labours honoured by the noblest of prizes, I should leave off importuning God and man, and rest content with my fate and the fulfilment of my fondest wishes. Certainly I could make no objection to this if what your affection for me has led you to believe were true, or were even accepted by the rest of the world; I should gladly acquiesce in the opinions of others, for I should always rather trust their judgment than my own. But your view is not shared by others, and least of all by myself, who am convinced that I have rivalled no one, except, perhaps, the common herd, and rather than be like it I should choose to remain entirely unknown.

As for the laurel wreath, it encircled my brow when I was as immature in years and mind as were its leaves. Had I been of riper age I should not have desired it. The aged love what is practical, while impetuous youth longs only for what is dazzling. The laurel brought me no increase of learning or literary power, as you may well imagine, while it destroyed my peace by the infinite jealousy it aroused. I was punished for my youthful audacity and love of empty renown; for from that time well-nigh everyone sharpened his tongue and pen against me. It was necessary to be constantly on the alert with banners flying, ready to repel an attack, now on the left, now on the right; for jealousy had made enemies of my friends. I might narrate in this connection many occurrences which would fill you with astonishment. In a word, the laurel made me known only to be tormented; without it, I should have led that best of all lives, as many deem, a life of obscurity and peace.

You put the finishing touch to your argument, it seems to me, when you urge me to do all that I can to prolong my life as a joy to my friends, and first and foremost as a solace to you in your declining years, because, as you say, you desire when you depart hence to leave me still alive. Alas! our friend Simonides[7] also expressed this wish—a wish but too speedily granted: if there were any order in human affairs, it is he who should have survived me. My own desires are, however, directly opposed to those which my friends—you in particular—harbour. I should prefer to die while you are all still alive, and leave those behind in whose memory and conversation I should still live, who would aid me by their prayers, and by whom I should continue to be loved and cherished. Except a pure conscience, I believe there is no solace so grateful to the dying as this.

If your counsels spring from the belief that I cling tenaciously to life, you are entirely mistaken. Why should I wish to prolong my existence among customs and manners which make me constantly deplore that I have fallen on such times? To omit more serious disorders, I am afflicted by the perverted and indecent clothing of a most frivolous set of men. I have already too often complained of them, both in speech and writing, but words are powerless to quiet my indignation and distress of mind. These fellows, who call themselves Italians, and were, indeed, born in Italy, do all they can to appear like barbarians. Would that they were barbarians, that my eyes and those of the true Italians might be delivered from so shameful a spectacle! May God Omnipotent confound them, living and dead! Not satisfied with sacrificing by their pusillanimity the virtues of our ancestors, the glory of war, and all the arts of peace, they dishonour in their frenzy the speech and dress of our country, so that we may consider our forefathers happy to have passed away in good time, and may envy even the blind, who are spared the sight of these things.

Finally, you ask me to pardon you for venturing to advise me and for prescribing a mode of life, namely, that I hereafter abstain from mental exertion and from my customary labours and vigils, and endeavour to restore, by complete rest and sleep, the ravages wrought by advancing years and prolonged study. I will not pardon you, but I thank you, well aware of the affection which makes you a physician for me, although you refuse to be one for yourself. I beg, however, that you will obey me, although I refuse to obey you, and will let me persuade you that, even if I were most tenacious of life, which I am not, I should assuredly only die the sooner if I followed your advice. Continued work and application form my soul's nourishment. So soon as I commenced to rest and relax I should cease to live. I know my own powers. I am not fitted for other kinds of work, but my reading and writing, which you would have me discontinue, are easy tasks, nay, they are a delightful rest, and relieve the burden of heavier anxieties. There is no lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen. Other pleasures fail us, or wound us while they charm; but the pen we take up rejoicing and lay down with satisfaction, for it has the power to advantage not only its lord and master, but many others as well, even though they be far away,—sometimes, indeed, though they be not born for thousands of years to come. I believe that I speak but the strict truth when I claim that as there is none among earthly delights more noble than literature, so there is none so lasting, none gentler, or more faithful; there is none which accompanies its possessor through the vicissitudes of life at so small a cost of effort or anxiety.[8]

Pardon me then, my brother, pardon me. I am disposed to believe anything that you say, but I cannot accept your opinion in this matter. However you may describe me (and nothing is impossible to the pen of a learned and eloquent writer), I must still endeavour, if I am a nullity, to become something; if already of some account, to become a little more worthy; and if I were really great, which I am not, I should strive, so far as in me lay, to become greater, even the greatest. May I not be allowed to appropriate the magnificent reply of that fierce barbarian who, when urged to spare himself continued exertions, since he already enjoyed sufficient renown, responded, "The greater I am, the greater shall be my efforts"? Words worthy of another than a barbarian! They are graven on my heart, and the letter which follows this[9] will show you how far I am from following your exhortations to idleness. Not satisfied with gigantic enterprises, for which this brief life of ours does not suffice, and would not if doubled in length, I am always on the alert for new and uncalled-for undertakings,—so distasteful to me is sleep and dreary repose. Do you not know that passage from Ecclesiasticus, "When man has finished his researches, he is but at the beginning, and when he rests, then doth he labour"? I seem to myself to have but begun; whatever you and others may think, this is my verdict. If in the meanwhile the end, which certainly cannot be far off, should come, I would that it might find me still young. But as I cannot, in the nature of things, hope for that, I desire that death find me reading and writing,[10] or, if it please Christ, praying and in tears.

Farewell, and remember me. May you be happy and persevere manfully.

PADUA, April 28 (1373).

INDEX Abelard, 19 n., 152 Acedia, 429 sqq. Æneid, allegorical significance of, as viewed by Petrarch, 233 sqq., 438 Africa, Petrarch's epic, 23, 274 sq.; first conceived, 70; submitted and dedicated to Robert of Naples, 72; work resumed upon, 74 and n., 450 sqq. "Age of despots," 107, 332 Agrippa, Marcus, 303 Aix-la-Chapelle, 300 sq. Allegorical significance of the Æneid, 233 sqq., 438 Allegory, Petrarch's mediæval conceptions of, 233 sq., 261 sq., 438. Ancient views of life, 227 Ancisa, 65 Annotations, Petrarch's, 29, 33, 437 Anthony, St., 318 Antidotes for Good and Evil Fortune, 22; dedicated to Azzo di Correggio, 110 Antiquity, Petrarch's love for, 64 Archia, Pro, Petrarch's discovery of, 345 Ardennes, Forest of, 305 Arezzo, 61, 138 and n. Aristotelians, Petrarch attacks, 39 sq. Aristotle, Ethics of, 35, 40; authority of, in Middle Ages, 37 sq.; works of, brought to Western Europe, 38; Petrarch's opinion of, 37 sqq., 219 sq., 237; on origin of poetry, 262 Arno, 138 Arnold, Matthew, his view of fame, 404 Arquà, 128 Astrologers, 42 sq. Augustine, St., 317, 321 sq.; interlocutor in Petrarch's Secret, 18, 93 sqq., 415 sqq.; influence of his teaching, 92 and n.; Petrarch's spiritual guide, 92, 280 sq.; his opinion of Plato quoted, 282 Augustus, Cæsar, 59, 321, 447 Autobiography, Petrarch's, 65 sqq., 76, 413 sqq. Autograph-mongers, 52 Averroes, 212, 214 sqq., 383 Averroists, Petrarch's rencontre with, 211 sqq., 214 sqq., 215 n. Avignon, 79 sq.; seat of papal court, 65, 85 sqq.; Petrarch's removal to, 65; his dislike of, 69; description of, 86 sq.; removal from, 119 Azzo di Correggio, 83, 107 sqq., 110 Babylonish Captivity, 65 sq., 85 sq. Basle edition of Petrarch's works, iv., 21 n., 115 Benedict, St., 393 Benefices, 83 sq., 110 sq. Bergamo, goldsmith of, 169 sqq.; Petrarch's visit to, 173 sqq.; Best Form of Government, The, Petrarch's, 127 Boccaccio, Giovanni, Petrarch's first meeting with, 115, 189 sq.; Petrarch's estimate of, 206 sqq.; his letters to Petrarch, 158; his library, 394 sq.; his complaints, 395 sq.; visits Petrarch at Venice, 287, n. 3; embassy of, to Avignon, 320; burns his Italian verses, 199 sqq.; forewarned of approaching death, 387 sqq.; bidden to renounce literature, 388 sqq.; would persuade Petrarch to give up work, 457 sqq.; possible author of letter from shade of Homer, 295 n. Boëthius, 321, 322 and notes 1, 2 Bologna, 66; Petrarch studies at, 81; one student of Homer at, 259 Bologna, Giovanni Andrea di, 279 n.; ignorance of, rebuked, 279 sqq., 287, n. 1 Books, copying of, in the Middle Ages, 26 sqq. Bryce, James, 334 Burckhardt gives currency to idea of Renaissance, 6, 9 Canzoniere, Petrarch's, editions of, 23 sq.; as an expression of Petrarch's thought, 15 sq., 231. See also Sonnets Capitol, the, Petrarch's address upon, 105 sq. Capra, Henry, 172 Carpentras, Petrarch's schooling at, 66, 80 sq. Carrara, Giacomo of, 75 and n., 114; invites Petrarch to Padua, 74 sq. Cato, 135 Charles IV., Emperor, his letter to Petrarch, 158; campaign of, in Italy, 363, 364 and n.; visits Italy, 369; retreat from Italy, 376 sq.; attitude of, toward Rienzo, 337; his relations with Petrarch, 125, 376, 377 n.; invites Petrarch to Prague, 386; Petrarch's letter to, urging him to hasten to Italy, 361 sq.; Petrarch's attitude toward, 358; Petrarch accompanies him beyond Piacenza, 375. See also Emperor Charles the Great, 300 Children of Petrarch, 62 n. Cicero, Petrarch's appreciation of, 229 sqq., 232; Petrarch's views concerning character of, 147, 239 sqq., 244 sqq., 249 sqq.; concerning works of, 135, 137, 141, 244, 247, 249 sqq., 282; influence of, on Petrarch, 50, 141, 231, 330; letters from Petrarch to, 239 sqq., 249 sqq.; Petrarch discovers a portion of letters of, 111, 230 n., 239 n.; copies a MS. of, 276 sqq.; defends from supposed attack of Sidonius, 141 sqq.; lost works of, 251; Old Age of, 461 Classics, copies of, not uncommon in thirteenth century, 25; neglect of, in Middle Ages, 25 sq., 228; Petrarch's appreciation of, 228 sqq. Coins, Roman, presented to the Emperor by Petrarch, 371 sq. Cologne, Petrarch's visit to, 301 sqq.; literary spirits in, 302; cathedral of, 304 Colonna, see Colonnesi Colonnesi, patrons of Petrarch, 67; Giacomo Colonna befriends Petrarch, 67, 84; takes him to Gascony, 68, 85; Petrarch's premonition of death of, 44 sqq.; Giovanni Colonna, Cardinal, 68, 70 sq.; Stephano Colonna, 69 Coluccio Salutati, letters of, to Petrarch, 158 Commensal chaplain, Petrarch's position as, 68, n. 3 Confessions, Petrarch's, 18, 93, 412 sqq. Confessions, of Augustine, 316 sq. Convennevole, 80 sq., 103 Copyists, 151; faithlessness of, 27 sq.; scarcity of, 275 sq. Coronation of Petrarch as poet, 101 sqq., 105; importance of, 106 sq.; origin of custom, 103 sq., 444 sq. Correggio, family of, 73; Azzo di, 83, 107 sqq.; Petrarch's friendship for, 110 Correspondence, obstacles in way of, in Middle Ages, 51 sqq. Correspondence, Petrarch's, divisions of, 153. See also Letters Critic, Petrarch recognised as a, 166 Critical editions of classics, absence of, in fourteenth century, 24 sq. Criticism, want of, in Middle Ages, 35 sq. Culex, 201 Dante, friend of Petracco, 181; political views of, 333 sq.; attitude toward Rome, 98 sq.; on result of personal acquaintance, 407 n.; on allegory, 234; Petrarch disclaims all jealousy of, 178 sqq.; eulogises, 181 sqq.; Petrarch's estimate of, 175 sqq., 203 Death, Petrarch's, 128, 468 n.; meditation on, 421 sqq. Decameron, 191 sq. Declamations of Seneca, 188 Defensor Pacis, 334 Despots, Petrarch's relations with, 107, 119 sqq.; as patrons of the Humanists, 107, 360 sq., 435 Dialectic, Petrarch's attitude toward, 217, 221 sqq. Dialecticians, 210, 217 sqq., 414 Diogenes, 220 Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro, 307 n. Diplomatic missions of Petrarch, 124 sqq., 459 sqq. Disease of writing, 164 sqq. Display, Petrarch deprecates, 61 Divine Comedy, The, 175 sqq., 182 sqq. See also Dante Doctors fall to writing verses, 166 Dreams, Petrarch's view of, 43 sqq. Dress, Petrarch's love of, 78 sq.; indecent, of certain Italians, 465 Eclogues of Petrarch, 266, 268 Editing of Petrarch's letters, 155 sq. See also Letters Emperor, Petrarch's audience with, 370 sqq.; viewed as a patron of literature, 360 sq. See also Empire, and Charles IV. Empire, the, Petrarch's conception of, 99, 333 sq., 350 sqq., 353 and n. See also Rome Ennius, 274, 461 Epicurus, 137 Epistolæ, de Rebus Familiaribus, 153; de Rebus Senilibus, 154; sine Titulo, 66 n., 154; Variæ, 153 sq. See also Letters Erasmus, letters of, 55 Etymologies, mediæval, 35 sq. Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, 36, 263 Eye-glasses, 60 and n. Fame, impossibility of acquiring, during one's lifetime, 405 sqq.; Petrarch's longing for, 18, 255, 404 sqq., 449 sqq. "Fantastic," applied to Rienzo, 337, n. 1 Father, a, upbraids Petrarch for misleading his son, 164 sq. Finibus, De, Cicero's, 221 Florentines, Petrarch's estimate of, 116 sq.; Dante's view of, 117, n. 2; offer Petrarch chair in their university, 115; admirers of Petrarch among, 49; students of Homer among, 259 Fountain of the Sorgue, 69, 265, 324, 342 Fracassetti, Giuseppe, iv., 155 France, Petrarch's visits to, 68, 125 sq., 460 Francesca, Petrarch's daughter, 62, n. Francesco, Petrarch's grandson, 62, n. Frederick II., his opinion of the Italians, 116 French popes, 85 sq. Gaspary, 17 German emperors in Italy, 333 Germany, Petrarch visits, 68, 299 sq. Ghent, 300 Gherardo, Petrarch's brother, 78 sq.; his religious admonitions, 396 sqq.; letter to, on the nature of poetry, 261 sqq. Ghibelline views, 333 Giovanni Andrea di Bologna, 279 sqq., 287, n. 1 Giovanni, Petrarch's son, 62 n., 395 n. Goldsmith of Bergamo, 169 sqq. Grammarian of Vicenza, 243 sqq. Grandes compagnies, 126, 331, n. 3 Greater Greece, 299 Greek literature, forgotten in Middle Ages, 9; Petrarch's slight knowledge of, 34, sq., 237, 253 Greek studies in Petrarch's day, 253, n. 3 Greeks, Petrarch asserts inferiority of, to Latins, 299 sq. Gregory the Great, 393; condemns literature, 381 Griselda, story of, 191 sqq.; effects of the tale, 195 sqq. Guglielmo di Pastrengo, letters of, to Petrarch, 158 Hæmus, Mount, 308 Hannibal, 314, 321, 367 Hellenic influences in modern education, 237 Henry VII., 368 History, Petrarch's fondness for, 64 Holy Land, Petrarch describes the journey to, 297 sq. Holy Roman Empire, 99, 333 sq., 350 sqq., 353 and n. See also Rome Homer, letter to, 253 sqq.; Latin translation of, 253 sq.; imitated by Virgil, 256 sqq., 293; students of, in Italy in fourteenth century, 259 sq. Humanism, origin of, 10 sq., 227; furthered by Petrarch, 238 sq., 278 sqq. Humanistic conditions, general in fourteenth century, 242, 250 sqq., 259 sq., 275 sq., 279 sqq., 287 sqq. Humanists, means of support of, 83 Ideals, conflict of, in Petrarch's mind, 91 sqq., 381 sqq., 413 sqq. Illegitimate children of Petrarch, 62 n. Innocent VI., 119 Isidore of Seville, 36, 263 Isocrates, 132 and n. Itinerarium Syriacum, 297 sq. Italian language, Petrarch's opinion of, 177 sq., 188, 197 sqq., 207 sq.; Petrarch's reasons for giving up writing in, 183, 185 sqq., 207 sq. Italian prose, none from Petrarch's pen, 50 sq. Italian verses of Petrarch, 13 sqq., 79 Italy, disorder in, 331 sq., 385; Petrarch's love for, 299 Jacques de Vitry, 93 and n. Jerome, 264, 272, 392 John, King of France, 125, 460 John the Baptist, feast of, 301 sqq. John of Salisbury, 223, n., 228, 467, n. Journeys, frequency of Petrarch's, 84. See also Travels Jubilee of 1350, 114 sq. Julius Cæsar, 352 "Lælius," 68, n. 2, 158 Lapo da Castiglionchio, letter to, 275 sqq. Latin literature, renewed interest in, 10 sq.; not unknown in Middle Ages, 228 Latin works of Petrarch, 21 sqq., 24; editions of, 23; well-nigh forgotten, 14 sq. Laura, 61 sq. and n., 87 sqq., 94, 130 n., 315 and n.; want of knowledge of, 90 and n. 2; death of, 88; genuineness of Petrarch's love for, 89 sqq., 439 sqq. Laurel crown, the, Petrarch's desire for, 100 sq., 444 sq.; his praise of, 106; invitations to receive, 70 sq., 100 sqq., offered by King Robert, 72; received at Rome, 73, 105 sq. Law, Petrarch's study of, 66, 81; his attitude toward, 67, 82; his use of, 82 sq. Lawyers turn to writing verses, 166; conceit of, 410 Letters, Petrarch's character of, 50, 55; influence of, 238 sq.; number of, 151 and n.; style of, 134 sqq., 144 sqq., 230 sq.; editing of, 131, 133, 134 sq., 140 sq., 146 sq., 150 sqq., 155 sqq., 242; classes of, 153 sq.; to be kept secret, 136; destined for publication, 151 sq.; often lost, 52 sq.; opened on the way, 53; to be read with attention, 51 "Letters to Dead Authors," Petrarch's, 147, 239 sqq., 243, 244 sq., 248 sq., 253 Letters of Familiar Intercourse, 145, 153, 155 sq. Letters of Old Age, 126, 154 sq. Letters to Petrarch, 157 sq. Letter to Posterity, 59 sqq.; importance of, 76 Letter-writing, 128, 140; Petrarch's view of, 139 sq., 148; he resolves to desist from, 53 sqq. Library, Petrarch's, 26 sqq.; contents of, 34 sq.; fate of, 32 sq.; pledged to Venice, 126, 287, n. 3 Liège, 300 Life of Solitude, The, Petrarch's, 69, 373 sq. Life, human, no longer in ancient times, 461 sq. Literature, not inimical to religion, 384 sqq., 390 sqq. Lives of Famous Men, Petrarch's, 370 sq. Livy, Petrarch's appreciation of, 236 Logic, Petrarch's attitude toward, 221 sqq. Logicians, Petrarch's answer to, 217 sqq. Love, secular and monastic conceptions of, contrasted, 92, 96 sq.; Petrarch's discussion and defence of, 91 sqq., 94 sqq., 439 sqq. Lucan, 201 Ludovico. See "Socrates" Luther, 47 Lyons, 305 sq. Malaucène, 310, 320 Mankind, waywardness of, 398 sq. Marsiglio of Padua, 47, 334 Mediæval conception of life contrasted with that of Petrarch, 18, 227 Mediæval natural science, Petrarch's attitude toward, 41 Mediæval traits of Petrarch, 47 sq. Messengers, want of, 52 Metamorphoses of Ovid, 302 Milan, Petrarch's residence at, 120 sq. See also Visconti Miscellaneous Letters of Petrarch, 153, 155 Monastic ideals, 379 sqq., 439 sqq. Monasticism, 383 sqq. Montpellier, 66 Mussato, 103 Name, Petrarch changes his, 77 Naples, Petrarch visits, 71 sq., 111; condition of, 111 Nature, Petrarch's love of, 297 sq., 436 Nelli, Francesco, 154, 157 sq., 424 n. Nolhac, Pierre de, viii., x.; reconstructs catalogue of Petrarch's books, 32 sqq. Orders, Petrarch takes, 83 Otio Religiosorum, De, Petrarch's, 384 n. Padua, Petrarch's residence in, 75 Paganism, tendency toward, of Humanists, 381 Pagan writers, propriety of reading, 381 sqq. Papal secretaryship avoided by Petrarch, 118 Parents, Petrarch's, 60 Paris, 68, 300; University of, 70 Parma, 108 sq.; Petrarch's residence in, 73, 112 sq. Patrimony, Petrarch's loss of, 83 Patriotism of Petrarch, 236, 330 Pavia, description of, 320 sqq. Penitential Psalms, Petrarch's, 383 Penmanship in fourteenth century, 151 and n. See also Copyists Pergamum, 169 sq. Peter of Sienna, messages of, to Boccaccio, 387 sqq. Peter Lombard, 92, n. Petracco, Petrarch's father, character of, 77 sq.; exiled, 60, 77; friend of Dante, 77, 181; name changed by Petrarch, 77 Petrarch, Francesco, cosmopolitan representative of the Renaissance, 12; origin and birth of, 59, 61, 137; changes his name, 77; bodily and mental characteristics, 60, 63, 69, 249 n.; moral decline of, 146 sq.; moral progress of, 314 sq.; humour of, 281, n.; travels of, 137, 295 sqq.; materials for life of, 14 sq.; foreign recognition of, 165 sq.; the father of humanism, 227 sqq.; his style, 64, 248 n.; influenced by Seneca, 230; more deeply by Cicero, 231; as a poet, 231 sqq.; patriotism of, 236, 330; his method of study, 238; understanding of literary art, 289 sqq.; self analysis of, 413 sqq. Philip, Bishop of Cavaillon, 69 Philologist, Petrarch as a, 4, 20 Pierre Dubois, 46 Pilatus, Leo, and his version of Homer, 253, n. 5, 254, n. 2 Pisa, 65, 138 Plagiarism, 183 and n. Plague of 1348, 126, 147 Plato, 281 sq., 376 Pliny's letters unknown to Petrarch, 152 n. Poetry, Petrarch's conception of, 19, 231 sqq.; his defence of, 105; profaned by the multitude, 166 sqq., 342 sq.; mediæval, 19 and n. 3 Policraticus of John of Salisbury, 467 n. Political activity, Petrarch's, 329 sq. Political opinions of Petrarch, 327 sqq., 350 sqq., 358 sqq. Popes, court of, at Avignon, 86 Popularity of Petrarch, 48 Portraits of Petrarch, vii. sq., 60 n. Prague, Petrarch's visit to, 124 sq., 460 Preface to Letters of Familiar Intercourse, 130 sqq. Priest, Petrarch not a, 83 and n. Pro Archia, Petrarch's discovery of, 345 Psychological analysis, Petrarch's love of, 17, 413 sqq. Public library, Petrarch hopes to found a, 29 sqq. Quintilian, 143 sq., 180 and n., 218 Ravenna, the old man of, 203 and n.; a youth of, 150, 287 sqq. Religion not inimical to literature, 384 sqq. Religious views of Petrarch, 312 sqq., 382 sq., 401 sqq. Remediis Utriusque Fortunæ, De, 21 sq., 238 Renaissance, character of, 1 sq.; obstacles to, 24 sq. Repose, Petrarch's dislike of, 162 sqq. Republica optime administranda, De, of Petrarch, 330 n. Rienzo, Cola di, 335 sqq.; achievements of, 349, 356, 359; popular interest in, 338 sqq.; believed to be a poet, 345 sqq.; trial of, 348 sqq.; sources for life of, 337, n. 4; letter of, to Petrarch. 158; Petrarch's sympathy for, and relations with, 112, 335 sq., 338 sqq., 343 sqq. Robert, King of Naples, 71 sq., 102 sq., 105, 308 n., 408 sq. Roman Empire, at Rome, 350 sqq.; endless, 353 and n. See also Empire Roman literature. See Latin Roman people, Petrarch's letter to, 348 sqq. Rome, 68, 70, 98 sqq., 251 sq., 260; divine origin and supremacy of, 98 sq., 330, 350 sqq.; constitution for, 118; genius of, 366 sqq. Sade, De, 90 n. Sanctis, De, 15 Scholarship, Petrarch's, 20, 236 sqq., 446 sq., 449 sqq. Schoolmen, Petrarch's neglect of, 37 Scientific investigation, diverse effects of, on religious beliefs, 382 Scipio, 70, 367 Seclusion, Petrarch's love of, 297, 373 sq. Secret, Petrarch's, 18, 93, 413 sqq. Self-consciousness of Petrarch, 17, 413 sqq. Selva Piana, 74 Seneca, style of, 50, 137, 141, 147, 230, 281; his Octavia, 147 and n. 4, 433 n. Seneca, the Rhetor, 188 n. Sicilian poetry, 132 Sidonius Apollinaris, 141 sqq. Silius Italicus, his metrical abridgment of the Iliad, 254, n. 1 "Simonides." See Nelli "Socrates," 68, n. 2, 130, n. 1, 134, 152, 158 Solitude, Petrarch's love of, 297, 373 sq. Solitude, The Life of, Petrarch's, 373 sq. Sonnets, Petrarch's, 13 sqq. See Italian language Sorgue, Fountain of, 69, 265, 324, 342 Spectacles, 60 and n. Statius, 104 Stephen of Bourbon, 93 and n. Style, Petrarch's, 64, 230 sq., 248 n. Suiipsius et Aliorum Ignorantia, De, Petrarch's, 215, n. 3 Superstition, Petrarch's freedom from, 43 sqq. Symonds, J. A., 6 sq. Theology, poetical elements in, 261 Three Kings, the, 304 Ticino, 321, 323 sq. Ticinum, 322 Travels of Petrarch, 97, 295 sqq., 460 sqq. Trials of a man of letters in fourteenth century, 162 sqq. Trionfi, Petrarch's, 177 True Wisdom, Petrarch's, 383 Tuscany, 138 Universities attended by Petrarch, 66, 67 and n. Urban V., 65 and n. 2, 66 Varro, 148 Vaucluse, 69, 100, 331 Venice, 124, 126 sq., 460; Petrarch offers his library to, 29 sqq.; Petrarch's house in, 287, n. 3 Ventoux, Mt., ascent of, 307 sqq.; view from, 313 sq., 316 Vicenza, grammarian of, Petrarch's discussion with, 243 sqq. Virgil, 148, 411 sq.; as interpreted by Petrarch, 231 sqq., 234 sqq., 438; his imitation of Homer, 256 sqq., 293; regarded as a magician, 347; Petrarch's copy of, 88 Visconti, Petrarch's relations with, 120 sq.; estimate of, 122 sq.; Bishop Giovanni, 119 sq., 122; Galeazzo, 123 sq., 324; Gian Galeazzo, 125; Luchino, 119 Voigt defines Petrarch's historic greatness, 14 sq. Voltaire, 48 Vulgati Eloquioy, De, Dante's, 178 Work, Petrarch's ardour for, 162 sqq., 457 sqq., 466 sqq. Writing, passion for, contagious, 164 sq.