The Romance of Biography (Vol 1 of 2)

een expended on the subject of Laura's virtue; by those, I presume, who under

far-famed being: once believe these interpretations, and all the peculiar and graceful charm which now hangs round her intercourse with Petrarch vanishes,-the reverential delica

rved her virtue to the last; and, secondly, that she did not preserve it unassailed; that Petrarch, true to his sex,-a very man, (as Laura has been called a very woman,) used at first every art, every effort, every advantage, which his dive

thousand, thousand things, which must have conquered any other. She remained unshaken. A woman taught me the duty of a man! to persuade me to keep the path of virtue, her conduct wa

inquiry, as the exact colour of her eyes, or the form of her nose, upon which we have pages of grave discussion. She might have been coquette par instinct, if not par calcul; she might have felt, with feminine tacte, that to preserve her influence over Petrarch, it was necessary to preserve his respect. She was evidently proud of her conquest: she had else been more or less than woman; and at every hazard, but that of self-re

occhi al mi

orte rimemb

sse, onde b

eneste in v

a ch'ancor m

occhi vostr

ce angelic

assion, seek that worst resource against pain, for there grief grows by contemplation of itself, and every feeling is sharpened by collision. Petrarch sought to "mitigate the fever of his heart" am

d'amore, e l'

, e i pesci e i

pregando ch' i

by his own insupportable thou

ho di ritr

ignon for ever; and instead of plunging into solitude, to seek the wiser resource of travel and society. He announced this intention to Laura, and bade her a long farewell; either through surprise, or grief, or the fear of losing her glorious captive, she turned exceedingly pale, a cloud overspread her beautiful countenance, and she fixed her eyes on

rra il bel g

icea, com'

tana il mio

is not, therefore, more avan?é; all this was probably the refined coquetterie of a woman of calm pas

Laura's conduct towards him, which by a beautiful figure of poetry he has placed in her own mo

the morning dew, bright as the opening

rientali i

he name of heaven and of truth, to tell him whether the pity she sometimes expressed for him was allied to love? for that the sweetness she mingled with her disdain and res

pensier mai

tà del mio

vostr' alta

lci sdegni e

i ne' begli

nni in dubbio

ssary to assume the guise of severity and disdain. She describes the arts with which she kept alive his passion, now checking his presumption with the most f

tua vita e'l

articular occasion, when seated by her side, and they were left alone, he sang to his lute a song composed to her praise, beginning, "

to be born in Italy, the native country of her lover, and yet allows

veramente, ch

esso al tuo

el p?ese ov'i

oud for pity: you kept not the tender secret for me alone, but took a pride and a pleasure in publishing it forth to the world; thus constraining me, by all a woman's fear and modesty, to be

mercè chia

ea; perchè v

o desir, pa

duol perch' a

per andarsi

n cresce il v

haracteristic answer, we are still left in the dark. Such was the sacred respect in which Petrarch held her he so loved, that though he evidently wishes to believe-perhaps did believe, that he had touched her heart, he would not presume to insinuate what Laura had never avow

nation and my memory; and one of these was the celebrated copy of Virgil, which had been the favourite companion and constant study of Petrarch, containing that memorandum of the death of Laura, in his own handwriting, which, after much expenditure of paper, and argument, and critical abuse, is at length admitted to be genuine. I knew little of the controversy this famous inscription had occasioned in Italy,-though I was aware that its authenticity had been disputed: but as a homely proverb saith, seeing is believing; to look upon the handwriting with my own eyes, would have made assurance double sure, if in that moment I needed such assurance. I do not remember reasoning or doubting on the subject;-but gushing up like the waters of an intermittin

count of the love of Petrarch would not be comple

the church of Saint Claire in Avignon: and in the same city, in the same month of April, the same day and hour, in the year 1348, this light of my life was withdrawn from the world whil

in the Church of the Fratri Minori (Cordeliers). Her spirit, as Seneca said o

d that the chief tie which bound me to life being broken, I may, by frequently looking on these words, and thinking on this transitory existence, be prepared to quit this earthly Babylon, which,

ment she was seized with the fatal symptoms, she dictated her will; and notwithstanding the pestilential nature of her d

the presence of Francis the First, whose cele

and fête was given, in his honour, at which all the noblesse were present. He desired that Petrarch's Laura should be pointed out to him; and when she was introduced, he made a sign with his hand that the other ladies present should fall back; then going up

idia l'atto do

ng in 1374. He was found lifeless one morni

rets: and secondly, that if Petrarch had not attached himself fervently to this beautiful and pure-hearted woman, he would have employed his splendid talents like other men of his time. He might then have left us theological treatises and Latin epics, which the worms would hav

TNO

purely poetical and platonic, and regarded it heresy to suppose that Laura could have been "ungrateful,"-such was her idea of feminine gratitude!-(Spence's Anecdotes.) Then comes another French woman, with the most anti-poetical soul that God ever placed within the form of a woman-"Le fade personage que votre Petrarque! que sa Laure était sot

by Ginguené (Hist. Litt. vol. iii. notes.) These imaginary dialogues are a series of Co

Sonne

Balla

ars in entire solitude. He commenced his journey to Rome in 13

in to die?" she replies in those fine lin

in d' una pr

entili; agli

to nel fango

3

ppe almen og

detti, te pr

sa il nostro a

ed in Petrarch's works, and the expressi

t this very time Petrarch was studying Seneca, and writing a Latin p

essions que la mort n'efface pas," I disdain, in my feminine character, to reply to it; I will therefore borrow the eloquence of a more powerful pen:-"The love of a man like Petrarch, would have been less in character, if it had been less ideal. For the purposes of inspiration, a single interview was quite sufficient. The smile which sank into his heart the first time he ever beheld Laura, played round her lips ever after: the look with which her eyes first met his, never passed away. The image of his mistress still haunted his mind, and was recalled by every object in na