t's own
genius--nourished deep down under the ground in the universal soul of
humanity, fed by the elements that centuries of solution have infused
into the hidden springs of the intellect, one in thought with all the
great minds that have watered the arid fields of lower human
intelligence, profound, unsearchable as the earth itself! And yet when
it rises to the surface of the world it becomes only a sunny, murmuring
river, which dances along among green banks and bushes; and, being
noticed by the careless passer-by, who cannot see the deep infinity of
waters of which it is the symbol, and knows not even whether they exist,
is termed "a pretty stream of thought and fancy, but one that hath no
profundity nor seriousness."

Across the river, on a hill just above its banks, a mass of tawny ruin
fades away into the blue of the sky and the gray of the cliffs. Wild
flowers grow all about it, dark brambles stretch their wanton arms over
all its space, and through the clefts in its jagged surface gleam the
shining walls of the village below and the hazy brightness of the wide
Rhone country. The people call this bit of rare coloring the castle of
"La Belle Laure," but we know that it was the home of a great cardinal,
Petrarch's trusty friend and generous patron.

Down in the valley among the white village walls nestles a low brown
house surrounded by a humble, sweet-smelling space of flowers. It is a
dainty little spot of earth, this garden, hallowed by such rare
associations. It is more precious than rubies, this small dark house,
for it sheltered from the outer world the body and soul of Petrarch. The
garden is enclosed by a hedge of sweet pale Provence roses and buds. I
remembered, as I stood there with the breath of the beautiful blossoms
creeping up about me, how Petrarch tells that walking one bright May day
with Laura, a friend and confidant of both approached them and gave to
each a rose, "all fresh and culled in Paradise," and said, "Such
another pair of lovers the sun ne'er shone upon," and left them with a
smile; and they remained all confused and trembling. Yes, I knew
instinctively that it was here, on this very consecrated spot, that the
sacred meeting had taken place; that he who gave the roses was no other
than the good cardinal of the castle; and that those roses of five
hundred years ago were the ancestors of the roses now blooming about me,
and plucked from this very hedge. No wonder that the perfumes of
Pa