No More Learning

The poor man had already walked to Naples, guided in his
blindness by his only son, for the purpose of finding Petrarch. The poet
had left that city; but King Robert, pleased with his enthusiasm, made
him a present of some money. The aged pilgrim returned to Pontremoti,
where, being informed that Petrarch was at Parma, he crossed the
Apennines, in spite of the severity of the weather, and travelled
thither, having sent before him a tolerable copy of verses. He was
presented to Petrarch, whose hand he kissed with devotion and
exclamations of joy. One day, before many spectators, the blind man said
to Petrarch, "Sir, I have come far to see you. " The bystanders laughed,
on which the old man replied, "I appeal to you, Petrarch, whether I do
not see you more clearly and distinctly than these men who have their
eyesight. " Petrarch gave him a kind reception, and dismissed him with a
considerable present.

The pleasure which Petrarch had in retirement, reading, and reflection,
induced him to hire a house on the outskirts of the city of Parma, with
a garden, beautifully watered by a stream, a _rus in urbe_, as he calls
it; and he was so pleased with this locality, that he purchased and
embellished it.

His happiness, however, he tells us, was here embittered by the loss of
some friends who shared the first place in his affections. One of these
was Tommaso da Messina, with whom he had formed a friendship when they
were fellow-students at Bologna, and ever since kept up a familiar
correspondence. They were of the same age, addicted to the same
pursuits, and imbued with similar sentiments. Tommaso wrote a volume of
Latin poems, several of which were published after the invention of
printing. Petrarch, in his Triumphs of Love, reckons him an excellent
poet.

This loss was followed by another which affected Petrarch still more
strongly. Having received frequent invitations to Lombes from the
Bishop, who had resided some time in his diocese, Petrarch looked
forward with pleasure to the time when he should revisit him.
But he
received accounts that the Bishop was taken dangerously ill. Whilst his
mind was agitated by this news, he had the following dream, which he has
himself related. "Methought I saw the Bishop crossing the rivulet of my
garden alone. I was astonished at this meeting, and asked him whence he
came, whither he was going in such haste, and why he was alone. He
smiled upon me with his usual complacency, and said, 'Remember that when
you were in Gascony the tempestuous climate was insupportable to you. I
also am tired of it. I have quitted Gascony, never to return, and I am
going to Rome. ' At the conclusion of these words, he had reached the end
of the garden, and, as I endeavoured to accompany him, he in the kindest
and gentlest manner waved his hand; but, upon my persevering, he cried
out in a more peremptory manner, 'Stay! you must not at present attend
me. ' Whilst he spoke these words, I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw the
paleness of death upon his countenance. Seized with horror, I uttered a
loud cry, which awoke me. I took notice of the time. I told the
circumstance to all my friends; and, at the expiration of
five-and-twenty days, I received accounts of his death, which happened
in the very same night in winch he had appeared to me. "

On a little reflection, this incident will not appear to be
supernatural. That Petrarch, oppressed as he was with anxiety about his
friend, should fall into fanciful reveries during his sleep, and imagine
that he saw him in the paleness of death, was nothing wonderful--nay,
that he should frame this allegory in his dream is equally conceivable.
The sleeper's imagination is often a great improvisatore.