ste, and why he was alone. He
smiled upon me with his usual complacency, and said, 'Remember that when
you were in Gascony the tempestuous climate was insupportable to you. I
also am tired of it. I have quitted Gascony, never to return, and I am
going to Rome.' At the conclusion of these words, he had reached the end
of the garden, and, as I endeavoured to accompany him, he in the kindest
and gentlest manner waved his hand; but, upon my persevering, he cried
out in a more peremptory manner, 'Stay! you must not at present attend
me.' Whilst he spoke these words, I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw the
paleness of death upon his countenance. Seized with horror, I uttered a
loud cry, which awoke me. I took notice of the time. I told the
circumstance to all my friends; and, at the expiration of
five-and-twenty days, I received accounts of his death, which happened
in the very same night in winch he had appeared to me."

On a little reflection, this incident will not appear to be
supernatural. That Petrarch, oppressed as he was with anxiety about his
friend, should fall into fanciful reveries during his sleep, and imagine
that he saw him in the paleness of death, was nothing wonderful--nay,
that he should frame this allegory in his dream is equally conceivable.
The sleeper's imagination is often a great improvisatore. It forms
scenes and stories; it puts questions, and answers them itself, all the
time believing that the responses come from those whom it interrogates.

Petrarch, deeply attached to Azzo da Correggio, now began to consider
himself as settled at Parma, where he enjoyed literary retirement in the
bosom of his beloved Italy. But he had not resided there a year, when he
was summoned to Avignon by orders he considered that he could not
disobey. Tiraboschi, and after him Baldelli, ascribe his return to
Avignon to the commission which he received in 1342, to go as advocate
of the Roman people to the new Pope, Clement VI., who had succeeded to
the tiara on the death of Benedict XII., and Petrarch's own words
coincide with what they say. The feelings of joy with which Petrarch
revisited Avignon, though to appearance he had weaned himself from
Laura, may be imagined. He had friendship, however, if he had not love,
to welcome him. Here he met, with reciprocal gladness, his friends
Socrates and Laelius, who had established themselves at the court of the
Cardinal Colonna. "Socrates," says De Sade, "devoted himself entirely t