20 Jul 1304 Francisco
Petrarca is born. PETRARCA
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from letters of Petrarch (translated into English) PETRARCH
WROTE TO YOU: ^top^
Greeting.
It is possible that some word of me may have
come to you, though even this is doubtful, since an insignificant
and obscure name will scarcely penetrate far in either time or space.
If, however, you should have heard of me, you may desire to know what
manner of man I was, or what was the outcome of my labors, especially
those of which some description or, at any rate, the bare titles may
have reached you.
To begin with myself, then, the utterances of men concerning me
will differ widely, since in passing judgment almost every one is
influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil
report alike know no bounds. I was, in truth, a poor mortal like
yourself, neither very exalted in my origin, nor, on the other hand,
of the most humble birth, but belonging, as Augustus Caesar says
of himself, to an ancient family. As to my disposition, I was not
naturally perverse or wanting in modesty, however the contagion
of evil associations may have corrupted me. My youth was gone before
I realized it; I was carried away by the strength of manhood; but
a riper age brought me to my senses and taught me by experience
the truth I had long before read in books, that youth and pleasure
are vanity nay, that the Author of all ages and times permits
us miserable mortals, puffed up with emptiness, thus to wander about,
until finally, coming to a tardy consciousness of our sins, we shall
learn to know ourselves. In my prime I was blessed with a quick
and active body, although not exceptionally strong; and while I
do not lay claim to remarkable personal beauty, I was comely enough
in my best days. I was possessed of a clear complexion, between
light and dark, lively eyes, and for long years a keen vision, which
however deserted me, contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth
birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance, to resort to glasses.
Although I had previously enjoyed perfect health, old age brought
with it the usual array of discomforts.
My parents
were honorable folk, Florentine in their origin, of medium fortune,
or, I may as well admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty.
They had been expelled from their native city, and consequently
I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in the year 1304 of this latter
age which begins with Christ's birth, July the twentieth, on a Monday,
at dawn. I have always possessed an extreme contempt for wealth;
not that riches are not desirable in themselves, but because I hate
the anxiety and care which are invariably associated with them.
I certainly do not long to be able to give gorgeous banquets. I
have, on the contrary, led a happier existence with plain living
and ordinary fare than all the followers of Apicius, with their
elaborate dainties. So-called convivia, which are but vulgar
bouts, sinning against sobriety and good manners, have always been
repugnant to me. I have ever felt that it was irksome and profitless
to invite others to such affairs, and not less so to be bidden to
them myself. On the other hand, the pleasure of dining with one's
friends is so great that nothing has ever given me more delight
than their unexpected arrival, nor have I ever willingly sat down
to table without a companion. Nothing displeases me more than display,
for not only is it bad in itself, and opposed to humility, but it
is troublesome and distracting.
I struggled
in my younger days with a keen but constant and pure attachment,
and would have struggled with it longer had not the sinking flame
been extinguished by death - premature and bitter, but salutary.
I should be glad to be able to say that I had always been entirely
free from irregular desires, but I should lie if I did so. I can,
however, conscientiously claim that, although I may have been carried
away by the fire of youth or by my ardent temperament, I have always
abhorred such sins from the depths of my soul. As I approached the
age of forty, while my powers were unimpaired and my passions were
still strong, I not only abruptly threw off my bad habits, but even
the very recollection of them, as if I had never looked upon a woman.
This I mention as among the greatest of my blessings, and I render
thanks to God, who freed me, while still sound and vigorous, from
a disgusting slavery which had always been hateful to me. But let
us turn to other matters.
I have taken
pride in others, never in myself, and however insignificant I may
have been, I have always been still less important in my own judgment.
My anger has very often injured myself, but never others. I have
always been most desirous of honorable friendships, and have faithfully
cherished them. I make this boast without fear, since I am confident
that I speak truly. While I am very prone to take offense, I am
equally quick to forget injuries, and have a memory tenacious of
benefits. In my familiar associations with kings and princes, and
in my friendship with noble personages, my good fortune has been
such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel fate of those who are
growing old that they can commonly only weep for friends who have
passed away. The greatest kings of this age have loved and courted
me. They may know why; I certainly do not. With some of them I was
on such terms that they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather
than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embarrassing me, but,
on the contrary, bringing with it many advantages. I fled, however,
from many of those to whom I was greatly attached; and such was
my innate longing for liberty, that I studiously avoided those whose
very name seemed incompatible with the freedom that I loved.
I possessed
a well-balanced rather than a keen intellect, one prone to all kinds
of good and wholesome study, but especially inclined to moral philosophy
and the art of poetry. The latter, indeed, I neglected as time went
on, and took delight in sacred literature. Finding in that a hidden
sweetness which I had once esteemed but lightly, I came to regard
the works of the poets as only amenities. Among the many subjects
which interested me, I dwelt especially upon antiquity, for our
own age has always repelled me, so that, had it not been for the
love of those dear to me, I should have preferred to have been born
in any other period than our own. In order to forget my own time,
I have constantly striven to place myself in spirit in other ages,
and consequently I delighted in history; not that the conflicting
statements did not offend me, but when in doubt I accepted what
appeared to me most probable, or yielded to the authority of the
writer.
My style,
as many claimed, was clear and forcible; but to me it seemed weak
and obscure. In ordinary conversation with friends, or with those
about me, I never gave any thought to my language, and I have always
wondered that Augustus Caesar should have taken such pains in this
respect. When, however, the subject itself, or the place or listener,
seemed to demand it, I gave some attention to style, with what success
I cannot pretend to say; let them judge in whose presence I spoke.
If only I have lived well, it matters little to me how I talked.
Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.
My life up
to the present has, either through fate or my own choice, fallen
into the following divisions. A part only of my first year was spent
at Arezzo, where I first saw the light. The six following years
were, owing to the recall of my mother from exile, spent upon my
father's estate at Ancisa, about fourteen miles above Florence.
I passed my eighth year at Pisa, the ninth and following years in
Farther Gaul, at Avignon, on the left bank of the Rhone, where the
Roman Pontiff holds and has long held the Church of Christ in shameful
exile. It seemed a few years ago as if Urban V. was on the point
of restoring the Church to its ancient seat, but it is clear that
nothing is coming of this effort, and, what is to me the worst of
all, the Pope seems to have repented him of his good work, for failure
came while he was still living. Had he lived but a little longer,
he would certainly have learned how I regarded his retreat. My pen
was in my hand when he abruptly surrendered at once his exalted
office and his life. Unhappy man, who might have died before the
altar of Saint Peter and in his own habitation! Had his successors
remained in their capital he would have been looked upon as the
cause of this benign change, while, had they left Rome, his virtue
would have been all the more conspicuous in contrast with their
fault.
But such laments
are somewhat remote from my subject. On the windy banks of the river
Rhone I spent my boyhood, guided by my parents, and then, guided
by my own fancies, the whole of my youth. Yet there were long intervals
spent elsewhere, for I first passed four years at the little town
of Carpentras, somewhat to the east of Avignon: in these two places
I learned as much of grammar, logic, and rhetoric as my age permitted,
or rather, as much as it is customary to teach in school: how little
that is, dear reader, thou knowest. I then set out for Montpellier
to study law, and spent four years there, then three at Bologna.
I heard the whole body of the civil law, and would, as many thought,
have distinguished myself later, had I but continued my studies.
I gave up the subject altogether, however, so soon as it was no
longer necessary to consult the wishes of my parents. My reason
was that, although the dignity of the law, which is doubtless very
great, and especially the numerous references it contains to Roman
antiquity, did not fail to delight me, I felt it to be habitually
degraded by those who practice it. It went against me painfully
to acquire an art which I would not practice dishonestly, and could
hardly hope to exercise otherwise. Had I made the latter attempt,
my scrupulousness would doubtless have been ascribed to simplicity.
So at the
age of two and twenty I returned home. I call my place of exile
home, Avignon, where I had been since childhood; for habit has almost
the potency of nature itself. I had already begun to be known there,
and my friendship was sought by prominent men; wherefore I cannot
say. I confess this is now a source of surprise to me, although
it seemed natural enough at an age when we are used to regard ourselves
as worthy of the highest respect. I was courted first and foremost
by that very distinguished and noble family, the Colonnesi, who,
at that period, adorned the Roman Curia with their presence. However
it might be now, I was at that time certainly quite unworthy of
the esteem in which I was held by them. I was especially honored
by the incomparable Giacomo Colonna, then Bishop of Lombez, whose
peer I know not whether I have ever seen or ever shall see, and
was taken by him to Gascony; there I spent such a divine summer
among the foothills of the Pyrenees, in happy intercourse with my
master and the members of our company, that I can never recall the
experience without a sigh of regret.
Returning
thence, I passed many years in the house of Giacomo's brother, Cardinal
Giovanni Colonna, not as if he were my lord and master, but rather
my father, or better, a most affectionate brother - nay, it was
as if I were in my own home. About this time, a youthful desire
impelled me to visit France and Germany. While I invented certain
reasons to satisfy my elders of the propriety of the journey, the
real explanation was a great inclination and longing to see new
sights. I first visited Paris, as I was anxious to discover what
was true and what fabulous in the accounts I had heard of that city.
On my return from this journey I went to Rome, which I had since
my infancy ardently desired to visit. There I soon came to venerate
Stephano, the noble head of the family of the Colonnesi, like some
ancient hero, and was in turn treated by him in every respect like
a son. The love and goodwill of this excellent man toward me remained
constant to the end of his life, and lives in me still, nor will
it cease until I myself pass away.
On my return,
since I experienced a deep-seated and innate repugnance to town
life, especially in that disgusting city of Avignon which I heartily
abhorred, I sought some means of escape. I fortunately discovered,
about fifteen miles from Avignon, a delightful valley, narrow and
secluded, called Vaucluse, where the Sorgue, the prince of streams,
takes its rise. Captivated by the charms of the place, I transferred
thither myself and my books. Were I to describe what I did there
during many years, it would prove a long story. Indeed, almost every
bit of writing which I have put forth was either accomplished or
begun, or at least conceived, there, and my undertakings have been
so numerous that they still continue to vex and weary me. My mind,
like my body, is characterized by a certain versatility and readiness,
rather than by strength, so that many tasks that were easy of conception
have been given up by reason of the difficulty of their execution.
The character of my surroundings suggested the composition of a
sylvan or bucolic song. I also dedicated a work in two books upon
The Life of Solitude, to Philip, now exalted to the Cardinal-bishopric
of Sabina. Although always a great man, he was, at the time of which
I speak, only the humble Bishop of Cavaillon. He is the only one
of my old friends who is still left to me, and he has always loved
and treated me not as a bishop (as Ambrose did Augustine), but as
a brother.
While I was
wandering in those mountains upon a Friday in Holy Week, the strong
desire seized me to write an epic in an heroic strain, taking as
my theme Scipio Africanus the Great, who had, strange to say, been
dear to me from my childhood. But although I began the execution
of this project with enthusiasm, I straightway abandoned it, owing
to a variety of distractions. The poem was, however, christened
Africa, from the name of its hero, and, whether from his
fortunes or mine, it did not fail to arouse the interest of many
before they had seen it.
While leading
a leisurely existence in this region, I received, remarkable as
it may seem, upon one and the same day, letters both from the Senate
at Rome and the Chancellor of the University of Paris, pressing
me to appear in Rome and Paris, respectively, to receive the poet's
crown of laurel. In my youthful elation I convinced myself that
I was quite worthy of this honor; the recognition came from eminent
judges, and I accepted their verdict rather than that of my own
better judgment. I hesitated for a time which I should give ear
to, and sent a letter to Cardinal Giovanni Colonna, whom I have
already mentioned, asking his opinion. He was so near that, although
I wrote late in the day, I received his reply before the third hour
on the morrow. I followed his advice, and recognized the claims
of Rome as superior to all others. My acceptance of his counsel
is shown by my twofold letter to him on that occasion, which I still
keep. I set off accordingly; but although, after the fashion of
youth, I was a most indulgent judge of my own work, I still blushed
to accept in my own case the verdict even of such men as those who
summoned me, despite the fact that they would certainly not have
honored me in this way, had they not believed me worthy.
So I decided,
first to visit Naples, and that celebrated king and philosopher,
Robert, who was not more distinguished as a ruler than as a man
of culture. He was, indeed, the only monarch of our age who was
the friend at once of learning and of virtue, and I trusted that
he might correct such things as he found to criticize in my work.
The way in which he received and welcomed me is a source of astonishment
to me now, and, I doubt not, to the reader [p.72] also, if he happens
to know anything of the matter. Having learned the reason of my
coming, the King seemed mightily pleased. He was gratified, doubtless,
by my youthful faith in him, and felt, perhaps, that he shared in
a way the glory of my coronation, since I had chosen him from all
others as the only suitable critic. After talking over a great many
things, I showed him my Africa, which so delighted him that
he asked that it might be dedicated to him in consideration of a
handsome reward. This was a request that I could not well refuse,
nor, indeed, would I have wished to refuse it, had it been in my
power. He then fixed a day upon which we could consider the object
of my visit. This occupied us from noon until evening, and the time
proving too short, on account of the many matters which arose for
discussion, we passed the two following days in the same manner.
Having thus tested my poor attainments for three days, the King
at last pronounced me worthy of the laurel. He offered to bestow
that honor upon me at Naples, and urged me to consent to receive
it there, but my veneration for Rome prevailed over the insistence
of even so great a monarch as Robert. At length, seeing that I was
inflexible in my purpose, he sent me on my way accompanied by royal
messengers and letters to the Roman Senate, in which he gave enthusiastic
expression to his flattering opinion of me. This royal estimate
was, indeed, quite in accord with that of many others, and especially
with my own, but today I cannot approve either his or my own verdict.
In his case, affection and the natural partiality to youth were
stronger than his devotion to truth.
On arriving
at Rome, I continued, in spite of my unworthiness, to rely upon
the judgment of so eminent a critic, and, to the great delight of
the Romans who were present, I who had been hitherto a simple student
received the laurel crown. This occasion is described elsewhere
in my letters, both in prose and verse. The laurel, however, in
no way increased my wisdom, although it did arouse some jealousy
- but this is too long a story to be told here.
On leaving
Rome, I went to Parma, and spent some time with the members of the
house of Correggio, who, while they were most kind and generous
towards me, agreed but ill among themselves. They governed Parma,
however, in a way unknown to that city within the memory of man,
and the like of which it will hardly again enjoy in this present
age.
I was conscious
of the honor which I had but just received, and fearful lest it
might seem to have been granted to one unworthy of the distinction;
consequently, as I was walking one day in the mountains, and chanced
to cross the river Enza to a place called Selva Piana, in the territory
of Reggio, struck by the beauty of the spot, I began to write again
upon the Africa, which I had laid aside. In my enthusiasm,
which had seemed quite dead, I wrote some lines that very day, and
some each day until I returned to Parma. Here I happened upon a
quiet and retired house, which I afterwards bought, and which still
belongs to me. I continued my task with such ardor, and completed
the work in so short a space of time, that I cannot but marvel now
at my despatch. I had already passed my thirty-fourth year when
I returned thence to the Fountain of the Sorgue, and to my Transalpine
solitude. I had made a long stay both in Parma and Verona, and everywhere
I had, I am thankful to say, been treated with much greater esteem
than I merited.
Some time
after this, my growing reputation procured for me the goodwill of
a most excellent man, Giacomo the Younger, of Carrara, whose equal
I do not know among the rulers of his time. For years he wearied
me with messengers and letters when I was beyond the Alps, and with
his petitions whenever I happened to be in Italy, urging me to accept
his friendship. At last, although I anticipated little satisfaction
from the venture, I determined to go to him and see what this insistence
on the part of a person so eminent, and at the same time a stranger
to me, might really mean. I appeared, though tardily, at Padua,
where I was received by him of illustrious memory, not as a mortal,
but as the blessed are greeted in heaven — with such delight
and such unspeakable affection and esteem, that I cannot adequately
describe my welcome in words, and must, therefore, be silent. Among
other things, learning that I had led a clerical life from boyhood,
he had me made a canon of Padua, in order to bind me the closer
to himself and his city. In fine, had his life been spared, I should
have found there an end to all my wanderings. But alas! nothing
mortal is enduring, and there is nothing sweet which does not presently
end in bitterness. Scarcely two years was he spared to me, to his
country, and to the world. God, who had given him to us, took him
again. Without being blinded by my love for him, I feel that neither
I, nor his country, nor the world was worthy of him. Although his
son, who succeeded him, was in every way a prudent and distinguished
man, who, following his father's example, always loved and honored
me, I could not remain after the death of him with whom, by reason
especially of the similarity of our ages, I had been much more closely
united.
I returned
to Gaul, not so much from a desire to see again what I had already
beheld a thousand times, as from the hope, common to the afflicted,
of coming to terms with my misfortunes by a change of scene . .
. . . .
[here Petrarch left the letter unfinished]
http://history.hanover.edu/early/petrarch/pet01.htm
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