of the Roberti family.  His name in literature was so considerable that Filippo Villani thought it worth while to write his life.  Petrarch wrote his funeral eulogy, and alludes to Dionisio’s power of reading futurity by the stars.  But Petrarch had not a grain of faith in astrology; on the contrary, he has himself recorded that he derided it.  After having obtained, with some difficulty, the permission of Cardinal Colonna, he took leave of his friends at Avignon, and set out for Marseilles.  Embarking there in a ship that was setting sail for Civita Vecchia, he concealed his name, and gave himself out for a pilgrim going to worship at Rome.  Great was his joy when, from the deck, he could discover the coast of his beloved Italy.  It was a joy, nevertheless, chastened by one indomitable recollection—­that of the idol he had left behind.  On his landing he perceived a laurel tree; its name seemed to typify her who dwelt for ever in his heart:  he flew to embrace it; but in his transports overlooked a brook that was between them, into which he fell—­and the accident caused him to swoon.  Always occupied with Laura, he says, “On those shores washed by the Tyrrhene sea, I beheld that stately laurel which always warms my imagination, and, through my impatience, fell breathless into the intervening stream.  I was alone, and in the woods, yet I blushed at my own heedlessness; for, to the reflecting mind, no witness is necessary to excite the emotion of shame.”

It was not easy for Petrarch to pass from the coast of Tuscany to Rome; for war between the Ursini and Colonna houses had been renewed with more fury than ever, and filled all the surrounding country with armed men.  As he had no escort, he took refuge in the castle of Capranica, where he was hospitably received by Orso, Count of Anguillara, who had married Agnes Colonna, sister of the Cardinal and the Bishop.  In his letter to the latter, Petrarch luxuriates in describing the romantic and rich landscape of Capranica, a country believed by the ancients to have been the first that was cultivated under the reign of Saturn.  He draws, however, a frightful contrast to its rural picture in the horrors of war which here prevailed.  “Peace,” he says, “is the only charm which I could not find in this beautiful region.  The shepherd, instead of guarding against wolves, goes armed into the woods to defend himself against men.  The labourer, in a coat of mail, uses a lance instead of a goad, to drive his cattle.  The fowler covers himself with a shield as he draws his nets; the fisherman carries a sword whilst he hooks his fish; and the native draws water from the well in an old rusty casque, instead of a pail.  In a word, arms are used here as tools and implements for all the labours of the field, and all the wants of men.  In the night are heard dreadful howlings round the walls of towns, and and in the day terrible voices crying incessantly to arms.  What music is this compared with those soft and harmonious sounds which.  I drew from my lute at Avignon!”