written in
Latin verse. Nothing would have delighted Guglielmo more than a journey
to Rome with Petrarch; but he was settled at Verona, and could not
absent himself from his family.

In lieu of Pastrengo, Petrarch found a respectable old abbot, and
several others who were capable of being agreeable, and from their
experience, useful companions to him on the road. In the middle of
October, 1350, they departed from Florence for Rome, to attend the
jubilee. On his way between Bolsena and Viterbo, he met with an accident
which threatened dangerous consequences, and which he relates in a
letter to Boccaccio.

"On the 15th of October," he says, "we left Bolsena, a little town
scarcely known at present; but interesting from having been anciently
one of the principal places in Etruria. Occupied with the hopes of
seeing Rome in five days, I reflected on the changes in our modes of
thinking which are made by the course of years. Fourteen years ago I
repaired to the great city from sheer curiosity to see its wonders. The
second time I came was to receive the laurel. My third and fourth
journey had no object but to render services to my persecuted friends.
My present visit ought to be more happy, since its only object is my
eternal salvation." It appears, however, that the horses of the
travellers had no such devotional feelings; "for," he continues, "whilst
my mind was full of these thoughts, the horse of the old abbot, which
was walking upon my left, kicking at my horse, struck me upon the leg,
just below the knee. The blow was so violent that it sounded as if a
bone was broken. My attendants came up. I felt an acute pain, which made
me, at first, desirous of stopping; but, fearing the dangerousness of
the place, I made a virtue of necessity, and went on to Viterbo, where
we arrived very late on the 16th of October. Three days afterwards they
dragged me to Rome with much trouble. As soon as I arrived at Rome, I
called for doctors, who found the bone laid bare. It was not, however,
thought to be broken; though the shoe of the horse had left its
impression."

However impatient Petrarch might be to look once more on the beauties of
Rome, and to join in the jubilee, he was obliged to keep his bed for
many days.

The concourse of pilgrims to this jubilee was immense. One can scarcely
credit the common account that there were about a million pilgrims at
one time assembled in the great city. "We do not perceive," says
Petrarch, "t