No More Learning

kill! " and our handful of travellers,
being no match for a host of brigands, fled and sought to save
themselves under favour of night. Petrarch, during this flight, was
thrown from his horse. The shock was so violent that he swooned; but he
recovered, and was remounted by his companions. They had not got far,
however, when a violent storm of rain and lightning rendered their
situation almost as bad as that from which they had escaped, and
threatened them with death in another shape. They passed a dreadful
night without finding a tree or the hollow of a rock to shelter them,
and had no expedient for mitigating their exposure to the storm but to
turn their horses' backs to the tempest.

When the dawn permitted them to discern a path amidst the brushwood,
they pushed on to Scandiano, a castle occupied by the Gonzaghi, friends
of the lords of Parma, which they happily reached, and where they were
kindly received. Here they learned that a troop of horse and foot had
been waiting for them in ambush near Scandiano, but had been forced by
the bad weather to withdraw before their arrival; thus "_the pelting of
the pitiless storm_" had been to them a merciful occurrence. Petrarch
made no delay here, for he was smarting under the bruises from his fall,
but caused himself to be tied upon his horse, and went to repose at
Modena. The next day he repaired to Bologna, where he stopped a short
time for surgical assistance, and whence he sent a letter to his friend
Barbato, describing his misadventure; but, unable to hold a pen himself,
he was obliged to employ the hand of a stranger. He was so impatient,
however, to get back to Avignon, that he took the road to it as soon as
he could sit his horse. On approaching that city he says he felt a
greater softness in the air, and saw with delight the flowers that adorn
the neighbouring woods. Everything seemed to announce the vicinity of
Laura. It was seldom that Petrarch spoke so complacently of Avignon.

Clement VI.
received Petrarch with the highest respect, offered him his
choice among several vacant bishoprics, and pressed him to receive the
office of pontifical secretary. He declined the proffered secretaryship.
Prizing his independence above all things, excepting Laura, he remarked
to his friends that the yoke of office would not sit lighter on him for
being gilded.

In consequence of the dangers he had encountered, a rumour of his death
had spread over a great part of Italy. The age was romantic, with a good
deal of the fantastical in its romance. If the news had been true, and
if he had been really dead and buried, it would be difficult to restrain
a smile at the sort of honours that were paid to his memory by the less
brain-gifted portion of his admirers. One of these, Antonio di Beccaria,
a physician of Ferrara, when he ought to have been mourning for his own
deceased patients, wrote a poetical lamentation for Petrarch's death.
The poem, if it deserve such a name, is allegorical; it represents a
funeral, in which the following personages parade in procession and
grief for the Laureate's death. Grammar, Rhetoric, and Philosophy are
introduced with their several attendants. Under the banners of Rhetoric
are ranged Cicero, Geoffroy de Vinesauf, and Alain de Lisle. It would
require all Cicero's eloquence to persuade us that his comrades in the
procession were quite worthy of his company. The Nine Muses follow
Petrarch's body; eleven poets, crowned with laurel, support the bier,
and Minerva, holding the crown of Petrarch, closes the procession.

We have seen that Petrarch left Naples foreboding disastrous events to
that kingdom. Among these, the assassination of Andrew, on the 18th of
September, 1345, was one that fulfilled his augury. The particulars of
this murder reached Petrarch on his arrival at Avignon, in a letter from
his friend Barbato.

From the sonnets which Petrarch wrote, to all appearance, in 1345 and
1346, at Avignon or Vaucluse, he seems to have suffered from those
fluctuations of Laura's favour that naturally arose from his own
imprudence.