"But we've dreamed enough, let us awake! I will add but a word. It was not because, in a period of anxiety, first my friend and then my master appeared to me in a dream, that the one recovered and the other died. In both cases I simply seemed to behold what, in the one case, I dreaded and, in the other, desired, and fate coincided with my vision. I have, therefore, no more faith in dreams than Cicero, who said that for a single one which accidentally came true he was perplexed by a thousand false ones."[36]
Petrarch's enlightenment and scholarship would, however, have availed the world but little, had he not possessed at the same time certain quite different qualities which go to make up the successful reformer. History abundantly proves that one may be far in advance of one's age and yet leave not a solitary disciple behind. In the fourteenth century, to cite one or two instances, a certain Pierre Dubois eloquently advocated the higher education of women and their instruction in medicine and surgery, the study of the modern languages, the marriage of the clergy and the secularisation of their misused property, the simplification of judicial procedure, and a system of international arbitration.[37] But no one, so far as is known, gave ear to his suggestions, however salutary: six centuries have elapsed and the world has still but half carried out his programme. While Petrarch was studying law at Bologna, Marsiglio of Padua issued one of the most extraordinary treatises ever produced on government, but, although the circumstances of its publication were favourable to publicity, its influence was imperceptible.
We have, therefore, but half explained the secret of Petrarch's influence if we dwell only upon his profound insight and his moral and intellectual saneness. He might well have been "the first modern" and yet have suffered the fate of many another whom we know to have conceived prophetic ideals. He was in advance of his world, it is true, but he was of it. There was a fundamental sympathy between him and his age. He was mediæval as well as modern. He belonged both to the present and the future. Like Luther and Voltaire, he spoke to a generation that was eagerly and expectantly awaiting its leader, and ready to obey his summons when it should come. Luther was a monk before he was a reformer. Had he been less certain that the devil disported himself in the box of hazel-nuts that he kept on his desk, he might, in just so far, have exercised a less potent influence over a superstitious people. Had Voltaire been less blasphemous and more appreciative of the true greatness of Hebrew literature, he might never have advanced the cause of humanity.
Of Petrarch's affinities with the culture of his time the reader may form his own judgment from the abundant evidence furnished by the letters. In one important respect he was ever the child of the Middle Ages; he never freed himself from the monastic theory of salvation, although he frequently questioned some of its implications.
His success was not, however, due solely to the gospel that he preached and its fitness for his day and generation. He enjoyed, in addition to these, the inestimable advantage of personal popularity. He was the hero of his age. He was courted, as he says with perfect truth, by the greatest rulers of his time, who omitted no inducement that might serve to draw him to their capitals. He was the friend of successive Popes and of the far-away Emperor himself. The King of France claimed the honour of his presence at the French Court, as Frederick the Great sought that of Voltaire. Luther and Erasmus were scarcely more widely known than he.
It was, however, with men of letters that his influence was most potent. Among his fellows he ruled supreme. His relations with Boccaccio, the greatest of his Italian contemporaries, were especially sympathetic and affectionate, but scarcely less cordial was his esteem for aspiring young Humanists whose names are now forgotten. Of their feelings for him we can judge from the few letters addressed to him that have come down to us. A modest Florentine scholar, Francesco Nelli, who had won the great man's love, tells us of the rejoicing which the arrival of Petrarch's messages occasioned among his Florentine friends.
"Your circle," Nelli writes, "assembled to partake of an elegant repast.... Those who live and rejoice in the renown of your name and profess your revered friendship (you will understand me, although I express myself but ill) each brought forth his treasure and refreshed us with its sweetness.... Your poem was eagerly read with delight and fraternal good-will. Then we joyously discussed your letters, by means of which you were joined to each of us by a lasting bond of friendship, so that we each silently proved your affection for us by thus producing incontestable evidence. There was no envy, such as is usually aroused by commendation, no detraction or aspersions; each was bent upon adding his part to the applause aroused by your eloquence."[38]
As the reader turns to the letters themselves, he will soon discover that, in spite of their author's assertions to the contrary, each is a well-rounded and carefully elaborated Latin essay, hardly destined to perform the ordinary functions of a letter. While he believed Cicero to be his model, he allowed himself, whether by some natural inclination or from the fact that he knew them earlier, to follow Seneca's epistles more closely. All trivial domestic matters or questions of business, which he regarded as beneath his own dignity and that of the Latin language, were relegated to a separate sheet, written presumably in Italian, which was much better adapted to every-day affairs than the intractable classical forms which he strove to imitate.[39] But none of these contemned post-scripts, interesting as they would probably be to us, have been preserved, and we have not a single line of Italian prose from Petrarch's pen.[40]
Although he was fond of saying that he took no pains with his style in his intercourse with his friends, the constant traces of care and revision will scarcely escape the reader. Moreover, these finished communications were not to be treated lightly. "I desire," he says, "that my reader, whoever he may be, should think of me alone, not of his daughter's wedding, his mistress's embraces, the wiles of his enemy, his engagements, house, lands, or money. I want him to pay attention to me. If his affairs are pressing, let him postpone reading the letter, but when he does read, let him throw aside the burden of business and family cares, and fix his mind upon the matter before him. I do not wish him to carry on his business and attend to my letter at the same time. I will not have him gain without any exertion what has not been produced without labour on my part."[41]