He says that he does not write
to the Pope for fear of appearing to remind him of his promises.
to the Pope for fear of appearing to remind him of his promises.
Petrarch
I am neither famished nor thirsty.
I shall
content myself with their leavings, and with what the holy father may
think meet to give, if he deigns to think of me. "
Bruni was right. The Pope, beset by applications on all hands, had no
time to think of Petrarch. Bruni for a year discontinued his
correspondence. His silence vexed our poet. He wrote to Francesco,
saying, "You do not write to me, because you cannot communicate what you
would wish. You understand me ill, and you do me injustice. I desire
nothing, and I hope for nothing, but an easy death. Nothing is more
ridiculous than an old man's avarice; though nothing is more common. It
is like a voyager wishing to heap up provisions for his voyage when he
sees himself approaching the end of it. The holy father has written me a
most obliging letter: is not that sufficient for me? I have not a doubt
of his good-will towards me, but he is encompassed by people who thwart
his intentions. Would that those persons could know how much I despise
them, and how much I prefer my mediocrity to the vain grandeur which
renders them so proud! " After a tirade against his enemies in purple,
evidently some of the Cardinals, he reproaches Bruni for having dwelt so
long for lucre in the ill-smelling Avignon; he exhorts him to leave it,
and to come and end his days at Florence.
He says that he does not write
to the Pope for fear of appearing to remind him of his promises. "I have
received," he adds, "his letter and Apostolic blessing; I beg you to
communicate to his Holiness, in the clearest manner, that I wish for no
more. "
From this period Petrarch's health was never re-established. He was
languishing with wishes to repair to Perugia, and to see his dear friend
the Cardinal Cabassole. At the commencement of spring he mounted a
horse, in order to see if he could support the journey; but his weakness
was such that he could only ride a few steps. He wrote to the Cardinal
expressing his regrets, but seems to console himself by recalling to his
old friend the days they had spent together at Vaucluse, and their long
walks, in which they often strayed so far, that the servant who came to
seek for them and to announce that dinner was ready could not find them
till the evening.
It appears from this epistle that our poet had a general dislike to
cardinals. "You are not," he tells Cabassole, "like most of your
brethren, whose heads are turned by a bit of red cloth so far as to
forget that they are mortal men. It seems, on the contrary, as if
honours rendered you more humble, and I do not believe that you would
change your mode of thinking if they were to put a crown on your head. "
The good Cardinal, whom Petrarch paints in such pleasing colours, could
not accustom himself to the climate of Italy. He had scarcely arrived
there when he fell ill, and died on the 26th of August in the same year.
Of all the friends whom Petrarch had had at Avignon, he had now none
left but Mattheus le Long, Archdeacon of Liege, with whom his ties of
friendship had subsisted ever since they had studied together at
Bologna. From him he received a letter on the 5th of January, 1372, and
in his answer, dated the same day at Padua, he gives this picture of his
condition, and of the life which he led:--
"You ask about my condition--it is this. I am, thanks to God,
sufficiently tranquil, and free, unless I deceive myself, from all the
passions of my youth. I enjoyed good health for a long time, but for two
years past I have become infirm. Frequently, those around me have
believed me dead, but I live still, and pretty much the same as you have
known me.
content myself with their leavings, and with what the holy father may
think meet to give, if he deigns to think of me. "
Bruni was right. The Pope, beset by applications on all hands, had no
time to think of Petrarch. Bruni for a year discontinued his
correspondence. His silence vexed our poet. He wrote to Francesco,
saying, "You do not write to me, because you cannot communicate what you
would wish. You understand me ill, and you do me injustice. I desire
nothing, and I hope for nothing, but an easy death. Nothing is more
ridiculous than an old man's avarice; though nothing is more common. It
is like a voyager wishing to heap up provisions for his voyage when he
sees himself approaching the end of it. The holy father has written me a
most obliging letter: is not that sufficient for me? I have not a doubt
of his good-will towards me, but he is encompassed by people who thwart
his intentions. Would that those persons could know how much I despise
them, and how much I prefer my mediocrity to the vain grandeur which
renders them so proud! " After a tirade against his enemies in purple,
evidently some of the Cardinals, he reproaches Bruni for having dwelt so
long for lucre in the ill-smelling Avignon; he exhorts him to leave it,
and to come and end his days at Florence.
He says that he does not write
to the Pope for fear of appearing to remind him of his promises. "I have
received," he adds, "his letter and Apostolic blessing; I beg you to
communicate to his Holiness, in the clearest manner, that I wish for no
more. "
From this period Petrarch's health was never re-established. He was
languishing with wishes to repair to Perugia, and to see his dear friend
the Cardinal Cabassole. At the commencement of spring he mounted a
horse, in order to see if he could support the journey; but his weakness
was such that he could only ride a few steps. He wrote to the Cardinal
expressing his regrets, but seems to console himself by recalling to his
old friend the days they had spent together at Vaucluse, and their long
walks, in which they often strayed so far, that the servant who came to
seek for them and to announce that dinner was ready could not find them
till the evening.
It appears from this epistle that our poet had a general dislike to
cardinals. "You are not," he tells Cabassole, "like most of your
brethren, whose heads are turned by a bit of red cloth so far as to
forget that they are mortal men. It seems, on the contrary, as if
honours rendered you more humble, and I do not believe that you would
change your mode of thinking if they were to put a crown on your head. "
The good Cardinal, whom Petrarch paints in such pleasing colours, could
not accustom himself to the climate of Italy. He had scarcely arrived
there when he fell ill, and died on the 26th of August in the same year.
Of all the friends whom Petrarch had had at Avignon, he had now none
left but Mattheus le Long, Archdeacon of Liege, with whom his ties of
friendship had subsisted ever since they had studied together at
Bologna. From him he received a letter on the 5th of January, 1372, and
in his answer, dated the same day at Padua, he gives this picture of his
condition, and of the life which he led:--
"You ask about my condition--it is this. I am, thanks to God,
sufficiently tranquil, and free, unless I deceive myself, from all the
passions of my youth. I enjoyed good health for a long time, but for two
years past I have become infirm. Frequently, those around me have
believed me dead, but I live still, and pretty much the same as you have
known me.
