While living in solitude at Vaucluse, yet ambitious that the knowledge of his name should pass beyond the confines of his narrow valley, and be heard even in Italy, he meditated some great work worthy of the genius he felt within him. He at first contemplated writing a history of Rome; from Romulus to Titus; till one day the idea of an epic poem; on the subject of his favourite hero. Scipio Africanus, struck him. He instantly commenced it with all the ardour of a first conception, and continued for some time to build up cold dull Latin hexameters. It is curious to mark how ill he succeeded: but the structure and spirit of the language he used was then totally unknown; so that, while we lament the mis-spending of his time, we cannot wonder at his failure.
He passed several years thus almost cut off from society: his books were his great resource; he was never without one in his hand. He relates in a letter, how, as a playful experiment, a friend locked up his library, intending to exclude him from it for three days; but the poet's misery caused him to restore the key on the first evening:—"And I verily believe I should have become insane," Petrarch writes, "if my mind had been longer deprived of its necessary nourishment." The friend who thus played with his passion for reading, was Philip de Cabassoles, bishop of Cavaillon. Cavaillon is a pretty but insignificant town, situated on the slope of a mountain near the Durance, twelve miles distant from Avignon, and six from Vaucluse. He became intimate with Petrarch here, and they cemented a friendship which lasted his life. Sometimes Petrarch visited Cabassoles at Cabrières, where he resided; often the bishop came to the poet's cottage. They frequently passed the livelong day together in the woods, without thinking of refreshment, or whole nights among their books, when morning often dawned upon them unawares. After two years' residence in this seclusion, Petrarch continued so pleased with it, that he wrote to Giacomo Colonna, who had endeavoured, by promises of preferment and advantage, to entice him from it, imploring him to let him remain in a position so congenial to his disposition. "You know," he says, "how false and vain are the enticements of a court; and that the men most in favour there are the fools and rogues who attain dignities and places through adulation and simony. Why, then, should you, a man of honour, desire that I should return to a court? And even if it were possible that I should obtain any thing from the munificence of the pope, the detestable vices of the court are horrible to me. When I quitted the papal residence, know that I sang the psalm 'In exitu Israel ex Ægypto.' I enjoy, in the delightful solitude of Vaucluse, a sweet and imperturbable tranquillity, and the placid and blameless leisure of study. Any spare time I may have I go to Cabrières to amuse myself. Ah! if you were permitted to take up your abode in this valley, you would assuredly be disgusted, not only with the pope and cardinals, but the whole world. I am firmly resolved never to behold the court again."
In this letter, however, he but half expresses the cause of his hatred to Avignon; for he does not allude to Laura, while it was the memory of her that not only made him fly the city in which she lived, but tremble at the mere thought of how near he still was. And while he describes the heavenly tranquillity of his seclusion, and the beauty that adorned it, he exclaims, "But the vicinity of Avignon poisons all." So deep was his fear of reviving his passion by seeing its object, that he never even visited that city for a few days. On one occasion, hearing that his friend, William da Pastrengo, had arrived there, he repaired thither instantly to see him: but, on his arrival within the precincts of the fatal walls, he felt his chains fall so heavily around him, that, resolved to cast them off at once, without tarrying an hour, without seeing his friend, the same night he returned to Vaucluse, and then wrote to excuse himself; alleging, as his motive, his desire to escape from the net of passion that enveloped him in that town. At the same time, with the contradictory impulses of a lover, he entreated the painter, Simon Memmi, a pupil of Giotto, just arrived in Provence, and in high esteem with the pope and cardinals, to execute for him a small portrait of Laura.[42] Simon consented; and was so pleased with the model thus presented him, that he frequently afterwards introduced her face into his pictures of saints and angels. Petrarch repaid his friend's complaisance by two sonnets of praise and commendation.
In the imaginary conversations which Petrarch pictures himself to have held with St. Augustin, the saint tells him that he is bound by two adamantine chains—love and glory. To free himself from the first of these he had retreated to Vaucluse, and found the attempt vain. The second passion of his soul became even more strong, allying itself to the first, for he wished Laura's lover to be renowned. This was also more successful, as, beside the honour in which he was held by all who knew him, it proved that his name was heard in distant countries, and his merit acknowledged. 1340.
Ætat.
36. He had before entertained a vague wish for the laurel crown of poetry; but it was beyond his hopes, when, on the same day, the 24th of August, 1340, while at Vaucluse, he received letters from the Roman senate, and from the chancellor of the university of Paris, inviting him to receive it. Hesitating to which city to yield the preference, he wrote to ask the advice of cardinal Colonna; and, counselled by him, as well as following his own predilection, decided in favour of Rome.
Another circumstance influenced Petrarch in this choice. Not long before, his friend Dionisio Robertis had visited him at Vaucluse on his way to the court of Robert king of Naples. From him Petrarch heard of the literary tastes and liberal disposition of this amiable monarch. He had already meditated a visit to him, and letters had been interchanged between them. The circumstance of his coronation gave him a fair excuse for paying him a visit. In the ardour of an age scarcely yet mature; he believed himself worthy of the honour conferred on him; but he tells us that he felt ashamed of relying only on his own testimony and that of the persons who invited him. Perhaps the desire of display, and of proving to the world that he was no illiterate pretender, was the stronger motive. However this might be; he made choice of the king of Naples; more illustrious in his eyes for his learning than his crown, to examine his claim to distinction, and be the judge of his deserts.[43]
1341.
Ætat.
37.
He lost no time in repairing to the court of king Robert, who received him with a warmth of friendship that excited his deepest gratitude. Hearing the object of the poet's visit, he expressed great delight, and considered the choice made of him, among all mortals, to be the judge of his merits, as glorious to himself. During the many conversations they held together, Petrarch showed the monarch the commencement of his poem on Africa. Robert, highly delighted, begged that it might be dedicated to him: the poet gladly assented, and kept his promise, though the king died before it could be fulfilled. The examination of his acquirements lasted three days, after which the king declared him worthy of the laurel, and sent an ambassador to be present on his part when the crown was conferred. April
17.
1341. Petrarch repaired to Rome for the ceremony, and was crowned in the capitol with great solemnity, in presence of all the nobles and high-born ladies of the city. "I then," writes Petrarch, "thought myself worthy of the honour: love and enthusiasm bore me on. But the laurel did not increase my knowledge, while it gave birth to envy in the hearts of many."[44]
Leaving Rome soon after his coronation, Petrarch intended to return to Avignon, but passing t through Parma he was detained by his friend Azzo Correggio, who ruled the city, governing it with incomparable wisdom and moderation. The friendship between Azzo and Petrarch had commenced at Avignon, where, for the first and only time, Petrarch had been induced to take on himself the office of a barrister, and pleaded the cause of the Correggii against their enemies the Rossi before the pope, and succeeded in obtaining a decision in their favour. This, as is mentioned, is the only occasion on which Petrarch played the advocate; and he boasts of having gained the cause for his clients without using towards their adversaries the language of derision and sarcasm.
Petrarch, meanwhile, remembering the honour he had received, was solicitous not to appear unworthy of it; and, on a day, wandering among the hills and crossing the river Ensa, he entered the wood of Selva Piana: struck by the beauty of the place, he turned his thoughts to his neglected poem of Africa; and, excited by an enthusiasm for his subject which had long been dormant, he composed that day, and on each following one, some verses. On returning to Parma he sought and found a tranquil and fit dwelling: buying the house that thus pleased him, he fixed himself at Parma, and continued to occupy himself with his poem with so much ardour, that he brought it to a conclusion with a speed that excited his own surprise.[45]
At this time Petrarch suffered the first of those losses which afterwards cast such gloomy shadows over his life, in the death, first of Thomas of Messina, and then of a dearer friend, Giacomo Colonna. Tommaso Caloria of Messina had studied with Petrarch at Bologna, and many of his letters are addressed to him. There existed a strict friendship between them, both loving and cultivating literature. His early death deeply affected the warm-hearted poet. The impression he received was so melancholy and bitter, that he desired to die also; and a fever, the consequence of his grief, made him imagine that in reality his end was approaching. To add to his disquietude, he heard of the illness of Giacomo Colonna. The bishop was at that time residing at Lombes, apart from all his family, and Petrarch was about to join him to fulfil his duties as canon. At this time he one night dreamt that he saw Giacomo Colonna, in his garden at Parma, crossing the rivulet that traversed it. He went to meet him, asking him, with surprise, whence he came? whither he was going in such haste? and wherefore unattended? The bishop replied, smiling, "Do you not remember when you visited the Garonne with me, how you disliked the thunder-storms of the Pyrenees? They now annoy me also, and I am returning to Rome." So saying he hastened on, repelling with his hand Petrarch, who was about to follow him, saying, "Remain, you must not now accompany me." As he spoke, his countenance changed, and it was overspread with the hues of death. Nearly a month after, Petrarch heard that the bishop had died during the night on which this dream had occurred. The poet was a faithful and believing son of the church of Rome, but he was not superstitious, and saw nothing supernatural in this affecting coincidence. The loss of his friend and patron grieved him deeply, and his mourning was renewed soon after by the death of Dionisio Robertis. These reiterated losses made so profound an impression, that he trembled and turned pale on receiving any letter, and feared at each instant to hear of some new disaster.