his first long journey in 1333. He visited Paris, the Netherlands,
and the Rhine, and described his experiences in two charming letters
to his friend, Cardinal Colonna, who probably supplied him with the
means necessary for the expedition. The poet exhibited the same love of
travel for travel's sake that was characteristic of his countrymen from
Marco Polo to Columbus, but unfortunately the letters describing his
impressions of foreign lands are relatively few.[56]
Three years after the journey to the north Petrarch first visited
Rome. Both as a Humanist and as a mediæval Christian he had longed to
behold that holy city, "which never had and never would have an equal."
It was there that Scipio Africanus, the hero of his epic, had dwelt,
and there, too, was the resting-place of innumerable other men whose
names would never die. He might also, he hoped, wander among the tombs
of the saints, and gaze upon the spots that had been hallowed by the
presence of the Apostles.[57] Petrarch was much too ardent and sincere
a Catholic to allow Brutus and Cato to crowd out Peter and Paul. Indeed
there was no break, in his mind, between the history of pagan and
Christian Rome. It was to him, as it had been to Dante, a single divine
epic: "When David was born, Rome was born; then it was that Æneas came
from Troy to Italy, which was the origin of the most noble Roman city,
even as the written word bears witness. Evident enough, therefore, is
the divine election of the Roman Empire, by the birth of the holy city,
which was contemporaneous with the root of the race from which Mary
sprang."[58]
Petrarch might have rejected as faulty Dante's proof from chronology,
but they would have agreed that Rome was always peopled not with
human, but with heavenly citizens, who were inspired by divine love
in loving Rome. "Wherefore," Dante exclaims, "one should not need to
inquire further to see that an especial birth and an especial destiny
were decreed, in the mind of God, to that holy city. I am of the
firm opinion that the stones that remain in her walls are deserving
of reverence, and that she is worthy, beyond all that is praised and
glorified by men."[59] A similar conviction in Petrarch's mind helps to
explain his unquestioning devotion to Cicero and Augustine alike, and
his mystical trust in the eternal youth of the hopelessly senile Holy
Roman Empire.[60]
He was not disappointed in what he saw, in spite of the apprehension
expressed by Cardinal Colonna that the city, in its terrible state of
ruin,[61] would seem sadly different from the picture the poet had
formed of it in his anticipations. On the contrary, his wonder and
admiration were but increased by the sight of what remained of the
ancient mistress of the earth. That she should have conquered the world
no longer affords him surprise, but only that she did not conquer it
sooner.[62]
Upon his return to Avignon, Petrarch found the city more disgusting
than ever, and in turning over the question of a more agreeable home
he bethought him of a valley not far away, which he had visited in his
boyhood, and there he determined to take up his abode. Of the beauties
of Vaucluse, where he spent most of the following fifteen years, and
of his life and surroundings there, he has given us many a charming
picture. This life of literary seclusion in the suburbs of a great city
is so essentially modern in character that it serves to bridge the five
centuries that separate us from Petrarch and to bring him into sympathy
with the scholar and litterateur of to-day.
The form which Petrarch's desire for glory assumed in his earlier days
was the aspiration publicly to receive the laurel crown of the poet.
One of his most intimate friends came to the conclusion, as we have
seen, that this yearning for the laurel had led the poet, by a skilful
personification, to delude the world into the belief that it was a
woman's charms that held him captive. Augustine is made to say in
the Confessions that Petrarch's worldly madness reaches its climax in
the worship that he paid, not only to Laura's person, but even to her
name, so that he cherished, "with incredible levity," everything that
resembled it in sound. "Wherefore thou hast so loved the imperial or
poetic laurel, which was called by her name [_Laurea_], that since that
time thou hast let scarcely a song escape thee without mentioning it."
However thoroughly convinced he may have become in later life of the
vanity of such a distinction, Petrarch appears to have been willing as
a young man to resort even to somewhat undignified, if not actually
dishonest, expedients to accomplish his end. When he tells us that upon
the same day (September 1, 1340) invitations to receive the laurel
chaplet reached him from both Rome and Paris, we may safely look,
primarily at least, to the poet's own contrivances, for an explanation
of this double honour. Up to the time of his coronation he was known
only by his Italian verses, since his great epic, the _Africa_, had
but just been got under way. He had influential friends, however. At
Paris his fellow-citizen Roberto de' Bardi, chancellor of the renowned
university, was ready to do him a good turn; and at Rome his powerful
friends the Colonnesi were in a position to help him to realise his
cherished ideal. He seems, nevertheless, to have relied chiefly upon
the aid of King Robert of Naples.[63] He was, it must be remembered, a
subject of this monarch, to whom Avignon at that time belonged. It was
doubtless his friend Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro who first brought
the comparatively unknown poet to the attention of the King, and Robert
showed his awakened confidence by despatching to him an epitaph of his
own composition for criticism. Petrarch was, not unnaturally, dazzled
by the royal verses: "Happy the pen," he exclaims, "to which such words
were committed!" Far from venturing any strictures, he is doubtful
what he should most admire, the classic brevity of the diction, the
elevation of the thought, or the grace of expression.[64] It occurred
to him later that he might employ the favour of Robert to gratify his
own ambition. The following extract from a letter to Dionisio (January
4, 1339) tells us more, perhaps, than we should wish to know of his
plans: "As for me, I intend soon to follow you [to Naples]. You well
know how I regard the laurel. I have resolved, all things being
considered, to be indebted for it to no one else than the King of whom
we have just been speaking. If I shall seem sufficiently worthy in his
eyes for him to invite me, all will be well. Otherwise, I may pretend
to have heard something which will explain my coming, or I will, as
if in doubt, so interpret the letter which he sent me containing such
friendly and flattering recognition of an unknown man, that I shall
appear to have been summoned."[65] Happily, however, subterfuges were
unnecessary, as two invitations to receive the laurel came without
applying to Robert.
After some feigned hesitation Petrarch chose Rome rather than Paris.
There is in reality little doubt that nothing would have induced him
to give the preference to any other place than the Capitol, which
exercised an unrivalled fascination over his mind. Poets had, during
his time, been crowned elsewhere,--Mussato, a poet and historian, at
Padua, and his old master, Convennevole, at Prato; but centuries had
passed since anyone had been granted cosmopolitan recognition by having
the laurel placed upon his head by a Roman senator. In imitation of
the Olympian games Domitian had, toward the end of the first century,
established similar periodical contests in Rome in honour of Jupiter
Capitolinus. The victor's brow, according to Martial, was encircled
by an oak chaplet; but in other contests held at the Emperor's villa,
the laurel crown was given. The later history of the institution is
obscure, but the custom doubtless perpetuated itself, and may have
lasted until the destruction of the Empire. A vague tradition was
current that many poets had received the laurel upon the Capitol. This
Petrarch accepted, evidently assuming that the great Augustan writers,
whom he so much admired, had enjoyed this distinction; and in his
address upon the occasion of his coronation he refers to the numerous
distinguished poets who had been crowned before him upon that spot.
Statius, who died _circa_ 96 A.D., and who must have been one of the
first to gain the honour, he cites as the last person recorded to have
received it.[66]
As he tells us in his _Letter to Posterity_, Petrarch first betook
himself to Naples, where, as a preparation for his coronation, he
submitted to an examination by the King. Robert was somewhat of a
philistine, as we may infer from the fact that Petrarch found it
necessary carefully to explain to him the nature of poetry, the
function of the poet, and the significance of the laurel, and to
defend his noble art against the aspersions of a theological age.
However skilled in other matters, the King was but slightly versed in
literature. Yet he expressed the conviction that, could he earlier
have heard Petrarch's defence, he would have devoted no inconsiderable
portion of his time to poetry.[67] Of the details of the coronation
very little is known. Petrarch describes it in very general terms in
a metrical epistle,[68] and we have besides two or three brief and
inaccurate contemporary accounts.[69] The address which he made upon
the Capitol has, however, recently been discovered and printed,[70] but
it is, unfortunately, a very disappointing composition quite unworthy
of Petrarch's powers. His text is a line or two from Virgil:
"But I am caught by ravishing desire, above the lone
Parnassian steep,"[71]
but instead of developing his subject, as does Cicero in his defence
of Archias, he adopts the repellent, conventional form of the times,
pedantically classifying his ideas by headings and numbers, like a
scholastic theologian. He extols the laurel in a truly mediæval fashion
for its magic virtues in causing its wearer to dream true dreams, and
in protecting him from lightning, etc. The most significant part of the
address is his defence of poetry.
"The coronation of Petrarch as poet," Körting declares, "is an episode
standing alone, not only in the annals of the city of Rome, but in
the whole history of mankind. It is an epoch-making event in the
fullest acceptance of the word."[72] This may very well be somewhat
exaggerated, but the coronation was certainly a solemn attestation
of a new interest in culture, although as we have seen by no means a
spontaneous tribute, unsought by the poet. Later in life he deprecated
the whole affair as a piece of youthful arrogance which left him, in
Faust's words, _so klug als wie zuvor_. At the time, however, he was
confident that the revival of the custom of Imperial Rome would be a
source of glory, not only to the city, but to Italy as a whole.
From Rome Petrarch--went northward to Parma, where he arrived most
opportunely, since his old friend Azzo di Correggio and his three
brothers had just obtained possession of the town. The poet's
relations with the professional despot of the time are so cordial
and constant as naturally to arouse astonishment in one unfamiliar
with the political and social conditions of the period. Yet he but
furnishes an illustration of one of the most curious characteristics
of the Renaissance, the--comradery between the bloodstained tyrant
and the man of letters. The "age of despots" and the palmy days of
humanism coincide. Tyranny and the revival of classical learning are
historically so closely affiliated as to suggest some causal relation.
Certain it is that they flourished together, and early in the sixteenth
century disappeared together.
The fate of Parma, where Petrarch resided at intervals, and the
future career of his beloved and respected Azzo, are too typical of
the period to be completely ignored even in this brief sketch. Azzo
had first taken orders, but married later, and entered upon the then
recognised _métier_ of tyrant.[73] It will be remembered that Petrarch
had earlier represented him in a lawsuit involving the possession of
a town, and the friendship formed at Avignon remained constant to
the end. A lull in the business of the Correggio family led Azzo to
make what our less picturesque bosses of the present day would call a
"deal." Parma was, at the moment, under the control of the Scaligeri of
Verona. Azzo, anxious for even temporary occupation, promised Luchino
Visconti of Milan, another of Petrarch's friends, to turn over the town
to the Visconti after four years, if he would aid him to dispossess
the present proprietors. It was under these conditions that, with the
incidental approbation and support of the citizens, the Scaligeri were
ousted. Petrarch celebrated the occasion in an enthusiastic ode to
Liberty![74]
The administration of the Scaligeri had been execrable, and there was
some reason for looking upon the _coup de main_ as a deliverance.
The brothers, says a chronicler, began to reign not as lords but as
fathers, without partiality or oppression of any kind. Had they but
persevered, they might have continued to hold the town forever, but at
the end of a year they changed their policy.[75] The most fair-minded
of the brothers died, and, regardless of the arrangement for the speedy
transfer to Milan, Azzo sold the town, in 1344, to the Marquis of Este,
for 60,000 gold florins, hoping to retain the position of governor.
This led to a struggle between half a dozen neighbouring despots, and
two years later the town was ceded to Milan, on condition that the
Marquis of Este should be reimbursed for the sum he had paid to Azzo.
Azzo soon made up with his enemies, the Scaligeri, and so far gained
their confidence that he was twice appointed governor of Verona. During
his master's absence, however, a revolt broke out, which was naturally
attributed to him, and the shifty adventurer found that no excuses or
explanations would serve to pacify the offended Can Grande. He was
obliged to flee, leaving his wife and children in the hands of his
incensed lord. For a time he wandered helplessly about among the towns
of northern Italy, until Petrarch, who was at that time residing at the
court of the Visconti, procured him a comfortable refuge at Milan. As a
salve for his wounds, the poet dedicated to the ill-starred ex-tyrant,
his _Antidotes for Good and Evil Fortune_.[76] We have abundant proof,
in both his Latin and Italian verses, of Petrarch's partiality and
admiration for this strange character. Upon Azzo's death, he addressed
letters of consolation to the widow and children of the deceased, and
asserted that in him he had lost that which gave life its especial
charm--_Perdidi propter quod præcipue me vivere delectabat!_[77]
We must recollect that the affinities which lead to friendship are
often obscure, even where our opportunities for observation are
most favourable. Petrarch doubtless saw something more than a mere
adventurer in this man, who has left so despicable an historical record.
Petrarch lingered in Parma, or its suburbs, about a year, but the
election of a new pope, Clement VI. (May, 1342), made it expedient for
him to return to Avignon and present his compliments to the head of
the church, with a hope, perhaps, of securing some favour that might
increase his precarious income from the prebend at Lombez. As we have
seen, benefices were regarded, and with justice, as foundations for
the support of indigent scholars. Before returning to Avignon the poet
addressed a lengthy metrical epistle[78] to Clement, urging his return
to Rome. The Pope accepted some, at least, of the suggestions contained
in the letter, and furthermore granted its author a priorate near Pisa.
The quiet life at Vaucluse was resumed only to be again interrupted
by a journey to Naples, as representative of the Pope. The mission
was not particularly successful, but the letters written from Naples,
describing the savage state of the inhabitants and the continued
celebration of gladiatorial contests, are of great interest.[79] It was
on his return from Naples, while visiting some of the towns of Lombardy
(1345), that he discovered at Verona a codex containing Cicero's
letters to Atticus, Brutus, and Quintus. They came, however, too late
to exercise any important influence upon his own epistolary style.[80]
The following two years (1346-7) were spent at Vaucluse, where he made
certain improvements in his villa and began his work in praise of the
life of solitude. But soon an extraordinary and absorbing political
crisis distracted his attention from the amenities of his country home.
Cola di Rienzo, with whose ideas he had been fascinated upon their
first meeting, three years before, had suddenly proclaimed himself, in
the name of the people, ruler of Rome (May 20, 1347). An explanation of
Petrarch's interest in this famous _coup d'état_ will be given later in
connection with some of the letters which passed between him and the
tribune.[81] So fully was his sympathy aroused that late in the year
1347, some six months after Rienzo's accession to power, he resolved to
go to Rome and join in the glorious movement of enfranchisement. But,
on reaching Genoa, he was arrested by the news of Rienzo's mad conduct,
and abruptly gave up the journey southward. After despatching a letter
of expostulation and warning, he turned toward Parma, where another
prebend had recently been granted him by the Pope. The town, which had
fared hardly during the later years of Azzo's rule, was now under the
undisputed sway of Luchino Visconti, and Petrarch found the conditions
there much improved. We may infer that he now enjoyed a tolerable
income from his benefices; he was at any rate able to build himself a
house, which still stands at the corner of Borgo di San Giovanni and
Vicolo di San Stephano. He seems always to have had a genuine fondness
for outdoor life as a relief and recreation. In his garden at Parma
he raised choice fruits, and he took pride in the specimens of his
horticulture that he sent to Luchino, the lord of the city.
But, in spite of the seemingly favourable conditions, his residence
at Parma marks a crisis of affliction and bereavement in Petrarch's
life, from which he never entirely recovered. "This year, 1348," he
declared long after, "I now perceive to have been the beginning of
sorrow." Rienzo, in whose fate he was so deeply concerned, soon weakly
abdicated, but not before Petrarch's former friends the Colonnesi
had been slaughtered at the gates of Rome. Then came the fearful
plague which swept over Italy and far beyond, and which Boccaccio has
pictured in his introduction to the _Decameron_." Life is but one long
agony"--_Magnus dolor est vivere_--our poet cried in desperation,
as bereavement after bereavement was announced to him. The death of
Laura and of Cardinal Colonna severed the two dominant attachments
of his earlier life. Many other friends fell victims to the same
fearful disease, among them Roberto de' Bardi, who had procured him the
invitation to receive the laurel at Paris, and Luchino Visconti himself.
We may infer that the once attractive Parma now aroused only sombre
associations. Petrarch wandered for a time hither and thither, but at
the end of 1348 he appears to have taken up a transitory residence at
Padua, at the urgent invitation of its ruler, Giacomo II. of Carrara.
Here, as he tells us, he was received as the blessed are welcomed in
heaven. His new friend was a typical despot, who had murdered his
cousin, the legitimate successor, and was himself murdered a few years
later (December, 1350), by his nephew. He proved himself, nevertheless,
a wise ruler and an enthusiastic friend of literature; he, too, gave
Petrarch a prebend, in order to keep him at his court. In the poet's
admiration for this man we perceive the same instinctive deference to
political sagacity that led Machiavelli to declare Cæsar Borgia to be
the model of princes.
The year 1350 had been designated as a year of jubilee, a timely
occasion for the exhibition of the devotion stimulated by the terrible
calamities of the preceding years. With mediæval fervour Petrarch
joined the pilgrims bound for Rome. On his way southward he visited
Florence for the first time, and for the first time saw face to face
his greatest literary contemporary and most sympathetic friend,
Giovanni Boccaccio. At Rome he did not neglect to visit the various
churches and perform the usual devotions. Writing to a friend a little
later, he declares that it was providentially arranged that they did
not meet in Rome, else, instead of visiting the churches _devotione
catholica_, they would, careless of their souls, have wandered about
the city _curiositate poetica,_ for, however delightful intellectual
pursuits may be, they are as nothing unless they tend to the one great
end.[82] But the stay in Rome was short, and we have no picture of the
impressions which this international mediæval "revival" produced upon
the enlightened traveller.
This visit to his father's native city of Florence had suggested to
its people the idea of re-establishing the distinguished son of their
exiled fellow-citizen in his rights; they even extended to him an
invitation to occupy a position in their newly founded university.
For these attentions the poet thanked the Florentines warmly, but
discreetly put aside the suggestion of the university position. He
had estimated fairly the quality of Florentine admiration, and
preferred the patronage of the despots. He felt, instinctively, the
danger to his reputation from continued contact with his carping,
novelty-loving, outspoken compatriots. Some years later (1363), in a
moment of irritation at the comments made by the Florentines upon a
portion of his great epic which had, by accident, fallen into their
hands, he writes to Boccaccio that the wise prince, Frederick II., who
knew the nation well, concluded that "all familiarity with the Italians
should be avoided, since they are extremely curious and perceive all
too quickly the defects of others. They pass judgment upon everything,
not only upon the truth, but upon what they have entirely misconceived,
so that everything is turned to ridicule that is not just what they
would have it. Such is their presumption that they esteem themselves
capable of criticising anything and everything." "I will not," Petrarch
continues, "discuss the truth of this opinion, but I believe myself to
be right in saying that if these words were applied not to the Italians
at large but to our fellow-citizens, nothing could be truer or more to
the point. With them there is no such thing as intimacy and friendship,
but only censure, and that by no means mild and benevolent, but harsh
and inexorable. There is no one among them who, although he may be
more lax than Sardanapalus in his conduct, does not outdo Fabricius or
Cato in the severity of his judgments. But I will not discuss their
views of things which have nothing to do with my case. In dealing with
literature they seem to assume that nothing is properly expressed which
does not tickle their own great spreading ears.... Elsewhere, even
beyond the Alps and the Danube, my poor verses have encountered no
fault-finders; but nothing fills the Florentines with such horror as
the mention of a fellow-citizen. It is not I alone who suffer; anyone
who would rise above the common level becomes thereby a public enemy.
Believe me, my friend, you who sympathise so fully in my indignation
at the wrong I suffer, believe me, we were born in a city[83] where
to praise one, is to reproach many."[84] Petrarch had doubtless long
harboured such feelings, and wisely chose not to risk the danger, upon
which both he and Dante dwell, of the contempt which comes from close
intercourse.