Whilst he was enjoying this glorious scenery, he received a letter from Socrates, informing him that he had gone to Vaucluse in company with Guido Settimo, whose intention to accompany Petrarch in his journey to Italy had been prevented by a fit of illness.  Petrarch, when he heard of this visit, wrote to express his happiness at their thus honouring his habitation, at the same time lamenting that he was not one of their party.  “Repair,” he said, “often to the same retreat.  Make use of my books, which deplore the absence of their owner, and the death of their keeper” (he alluded to his old servant).  “My country-house is the temple of peace, and the home of repose.”

From the contents of his letter, on this occasion, it is obvious that he had not yet found any spot in Italy where he could determine on fixing himself permanently; otherwise he would not have left his books behind him.

When he wrote about his books, he was little aware of the danger that was impending over them.  On Christmas day a troop of robbers, who had for some time infested the neighbourhood of Vaucluse, set fire to the poet’s house, after having taken away everything that they could carry off.  An ancient vault stopped the conflagration, and saved the mansion from being entirely consumed by the flames.  Luckily, the person to whose care he had left his house—­the son of the worthy rustic, lately deceased—­having a presentiment of the robbery, had conveyed to the castle a great many books which Petrarch left behind him; and the robbers, believing that there were persons in the castle to defend it, had not the courage to make an attack.

As Petrarch grew old, we do not find him improve in consistency.  In his letter, dated the 21st of October, 1353, it is evident that he had a return of his hankering after Vaucluse.  He accordingly wrote to his friends, requesting that they would procure him an establishment in the Comtat.  Socrates, upon this, immediately communicated with the Bishop of Cavaillon, who did all that he could to obtain for the poet the object of his wish.  It appears that the Bishop endeavoured to get for him a good benefice in his own diocese.  The thing was never accomplished.  Without doubt, the enemies, whom he had excited by writing freely about the Church, and who were very numerous at Avignon, frustrated his wishes.

After some time Petrarch received a letter from the Emperor Charles IV. in answer to one which the poet had expedited to him about three years before.  Our poet, of course, did not fail to acknowledge his Imperial Majesty’s late-coming letter.  He commences his reply with a piece of pleasantry:  “I see very well,” he says, “that it is as difficult for your Imperial Majesty’s despatches and couriers to cross the Alps, as it is for your person and legions.”  He wonders that the Emperor had not followed his advice, and hastened into Italy, to take possession of the empire.  “What consoles me,” he adds, “is,