'The beauties of Vaucluse I still admire: but can they be paralleled with those pure fountains, those majestic rivers, those vast lakes filled with fish; in fine, with those two seas which embrace Italy on every side? Not to speak of the other advantages of my country; above all, the wit, genius, and manners, of its inhabitants. I know all this; and yet my friendship for you will not permit me to hide it; I sigh in renouncing Vaucluse, and feel myself still irresistibly impelled towards it. Our youth is passed, and illusions are no longer to be indulged. What hinders us from gliding on the few days that remain in peace and study? We have lost the best of masters; and, being at liberty, why should we not enjoy it? From the great we may hope good will, but among them, we cannot flatter ourselves with uniting in true society: vanity, and that disparity of fortune, which is the bane of friendship, prevents it. Fearing always to debase themselves, they will be adored rather than loved. Our master lived with us as his friends, and his service had nothing humbling or grievous; but we are now intirely free. We are not princes of the earth, or of the sea, as Aristotle says: but is this necessary to be happy? Have we not as much as those moderate spirits need, who regulate their desires by the wants of nature? Suppose we were to join our little fortunes, we should live in

abundance, and have much more to fear from envy than poverty. Why do we hesitate to do this? Why are we separated one from the other by rivers, seas, and mountains? Why do not persons, so strictly united by friendship, who have but one heart and one soul, live also under the same roof? For my part, I have long fixed a term to my desires; and I fear not the reproach of my heir. I live for myself, and not for him, with whose disposition and character I am not yet acquainted. What greater happiness can we propose, than to pass our life with proved and united friends, with whom we think aloud, and who have but one will, one soul? Can any thing be more agreeable than faces always serene, minds always agreed, hearts always open; conversations where truth reigns without constraint, reserve, or preparation? This manner of life is the object of all my desires: if I can obtain it, I shall have no cause for envy.

'My house is not large, but it will accommodate such friends; and if our society should increase, I have a larger in the city, to which we may repair. My domestic, who appears a world to me, who loves to be alone, is at present the only person who resides there. We have in the neighbourhood Bologna, where, in the study of the law, we passed the most delightful years of youth. With what pleasure shall we revisit the

1

places we occupied in the days of innocence and illusion! But I mean not to prescribe to you. If you like Plaisance, where your abbey is situated, I will follow you there: or to the Milanese, full of lakes and rivers, and surrounded by the Alps, which hang over these lakes, and are covered with snow even in the midst of summer: or to Genoa, where we shall have the Apennine over our heads, the sea at our feet, and the tritons dancing before us; where our ears will be saluted with the voice of Neptune, the sounds of the nereides, and the dashing of the waves against the rocks. When we shall be weary of this spot, Padua presents a tranquil and charming situation. What a felicity will it be to live with James de Corrare, the most agreeable of men? Virtue is always amiable; but it is still more so in this age. Its rarity augments its value. We shall then be near Venice, which appears to me, who have seen the finest cities in Europe, the wonder of them all. Andres Dondolo, the present doge, is more illustrious for his wisdom than his birth. Torvise is near this city; it is a town surrounded with rivers and fountains, the centre of joy and pleasure. They say that sameness is the mother of disquiet; variety shall then be the cure. Let us unite without loss of time. Come here, if that suits you; if not, choose a place where we may live and die

in tranquillity. I am ready to follow you every where, even to a barbarous clime, if you make choice of it. I will renounce my own inclination to adopt yours: I shall be at ease any where, if I am but in your society.'

Petrarch, desirous of an early answer, sought among his servants a messenger whom he could best spare for this journey, and fixed upon his cook, adding the following lines:

The most vulgar peasant is qualified for my kitchen. I prefer the most simple meats, prepared without art or labour. I think, with Epicurus, that no cheer is more delicious than the fruits and herbs of my garden. I always approved a taste conformable to nature. Not that I dislike a good repast now and then, but it should come very rarely. Among the Romans, before the conquest of Asia, the cook was the vilest of slaves. Would to God they had never conquered that part of the world, which has subdued them by its softness and luxury! Be so good to communicate this letter to our friends; and, if you find an opportunity, send it to Socrates at Avignon.'

In June, 1349, while Petrarch was revolving in his mind the happiest idea of his future union with his friends, his cook came back in the midst of a heavy storm. Petrarch, not expecting him so soon, and knowing by his air that he brought

bad news, was seized with consternation. He was writing, and the pen fell from his hand. What is the matter? What news do you bring me?' said he, in haste. Alas! very bad,' replied the servant, with a voice interrupted by his sobs. 6 • Your two friends fell into the hands of thieves on the top of Mount Apennine. O God! what a sad accident! Mainard, who had stopped for something, they surrounded, and murdered. Luke, hearing his cries, galloped back to him sword in hand: he alone fought ten of them; but at last he received so many wounds, that he fell almost dead to the earth. The thieves fled with their prey. Some peasants, drawn thither by the noise, would infallibly have taken them, if some gentlemen, unworthy to be called so, had not stopped their pursuit, and admitted the thieves into their castles. Luke was seen with sword in hand among the rocks, but no one knows what is become of him.' The condition of Petrarch, when he heard these dreadful tidings, cannot be described. He sent couriers immediately to Plaisance, Florence, and Rome, to see if they could hear any thing of Luke.

These thieves and banditti were villains and proscribed persons from Florence, who had fortified themselves in remote and inaccessible places, from whence they issued forth, and committed the most horrid murders. They were VOL. II.

B