“One of these gardens is shady, formed for contemplation, and sacred to Apollo.  It overhangs the source of the river, and is terminated by rocks, and by places accessible only to birds.  The other is nearer my cottage, of an aspect less severe, and devoted to Bacchus; and what is extremely singular, it is in the midst of a rapid river.  The approach to it is over a bridge of rocks; and there is a natural grotto under the rocks, which gives them the appearance of a rustic bridge.  Into this grotto the rays of the sun never penetrate.  I am confident that it much resembles the place where Cicero went to declaim.  It invites to study.  Hither I retreat during the noontide hours; my mornings are engaged upon the hills, or in the garden sacred to Apollo.  Here I would most willingly pass my days, were I not too near Avignon, and too far from Italy.  For why should I conceal this weakness of my soul?  I love Italy, and I hate Avignon.  The pestilential influence of this horrid place empoisons the pure air of Vaucluse, and will compel me to quit my retirement.”

It is clear that he was not supremely contented in his solitude with his self-drawn mental resources.  His friends at Avignon came seldom to see him.  Travelling even short distances was difficult in those days.  Even we, in the present day, can remember when the distance of fourteen miles presented a troublesome journey.  The few guests who came, to him could not expect very exquisite dinners, cooked by the brown old woman and her husband the fisherman; and, though our poet had a garden consecrated to Bacchus, he had no cellar devoted to the same deity.  His few friends, therefore, who visited him, thought their angel visits acts of charity.  If he saw his friends seldom, however, he had frequent visitants in strangers who came to Vaucluse, as a place long celebrated for its natural beauties, and now made illustrious by the character and compositions of our poet.  Among these there were persons distinguished for their rank or learning, who came from the farthest parts of France and from Italy, to see and converse with Petrarch.  Some of them even sent before them considerable presents, which, though kindly meant, were not acceptable.

Vaucluse is in the diocese of Cavaillon, a small city about two miles distant from our poet’s retreat.  Philip de Cabassoles was the bishop, a man of high rank and noble family.  His disposition, according to Petrarch’s usual praise of his friends, was highly benevolent and humane; he was well versed in literature, and had distinguished abilities.  No sooner was the poet settled in his retirement, than he visited the Bishop at his palace near Vaucluse.  The latter gave him a friendly reception, and returned his visits frequently.  Another much estimated, his friend since their childhood, Guido Sette, also repaired at times to his humble mansion, and relieved his solitude in the shut-up valley.[G]