Petrarch was twenty-two years of age when he settled at Avignon, a scene
of licentiousness and profligacy. The luxury of the cardinals, and the
pomp and riches of the papal court, were displayed in an extravagant
profusion of feasts and ceremonies, which attracted to Avignon women of
all ranks, among whom intrigue and gallantry were generally
countenanced. Petrarch was by nature of a warm temperament, with vivid
and susceptible passions, and strongly attached to the fair sex. We must
not therefore be surprised if, with these dispositions, and in such a
dissolute city, he was betrayed into some excesses. But these were the
result of his complexion, and not of deliberate profligacy. He alludes
to this subject in his Epistle to Posterity, with every appearance of
truth and candour.

From his own confession, Petrarch seems to have been somewhat vain of
his personal appearance during his youth, a venial foible, from which
neither the handsome nor the homely, nor the wise nor the foolish, are
exempt. It is amusing to find our own Milton betraying this weakness, in
spite of all the surrounding strength of his character. In answering one
of his slanderers, who had called him pale and cadaverous, the author of
Paradise Lost appeals to all who knew him whether his complexion was not
so fresh and blooming as to make him appear ten years younger than he
really was.

Petrarch, when young, was so strikingly handsome, that he was frequently
pointed at and admired as he passed along, for his features were manly,
well-formed, and expressive, and his carriage was graceful and
distinguished. He was sprightly in conversation, and his voice was
uncommonly musical. His complexion was between brown and fair, and his
eyes were bright and animated. His countenance was a faithful index of
his heart.

He endeavoured to temper the warmth of his constitution by the
regularity of his living and the plainness of his diet. He indulged
little in either wine or sleep, and fed chiefly on fruits and
vegetables.

In his early days he was nice and neat in his dress, even to a degree of
affectation, which, in later life, he ridiculed when writing to his
brother Gherardo. "Do you remember," he says, "how much care we
employed in the lure of dressing our persons; when we traversed the
streets, with what attention did we not avoid every breath of wind which
might discompose our hair; and with what caution did we not prevent the
least speck of dirt from