magniloquence
to a level with church humility, seized the objection as an excuse for
declining the secretaryship. He compares his joy on this occasion to
that of a prisoner finding the gates of his prison thrown open. He
returned to Vaucluse, where he waited impatiently for the autumn, when
he meant to return to Italy. He thus describes, in a letter to his dear
Simonides, the manner of life which he there led:--

"I make war upon my body, which I regard as my enemy. My eyes, that have
made me commit so many follies, are well fixed on a safe object. They
look only on a woman who is withered, dark, and sunburnt. Her soul,
however, is as white as her complexion is black, and she has the air of
being so little conscious of her own appearance, that her homeliness may
be said to become her. She passes whole days in the open fields, when
the grasshoppers can scarcely endure the sun. Her tanned hide braves the
heats of the dog-star, and, in the evening, she arrives as fresh as if
she had just risen from bed. She does all the work of my house, besides
taking care of her husband and children and attending my guests. She
seems occupied with everybody but herself. At night she sleeps on
vine-branches; she eats only black bread and roots, and drinks water and
vinegar. If you were to give her anything more delicate, she would be
the worse for it: such is the force of habit.

"Though I have still two fine suits of clothes, I never wear them. If
you saw me, you would take me for a labourer or a shepherd, though I was
once so tasteful in my dress. The times are changed; the eyes which I
wished to please are now shut; and, perhaps, even if they were opened,
they would not _now_ have the same empire over me."

In another letter from Vaucluse, he says: "I rise at midnight; I go out
at break of day; I study in the fields as in my library; I read, I
write, I dream; I struggle against indolence, luxury, and pleasure. I
wander all day among the arid mountains, the fresh valleys, and the deep
caverns. I walk much on the banks of the Sorgue, where I meet no one to
distract me. I recall the past. I deliberate on the future; and, in this
contemplation, I find a resource against my solitude." In the same
letter he avows that he could accustom himself to any habitation in the
world, except Avignon. At this time he was meditating to recross the
Alps.

Early in September, 1352, the Cardinal of Boulogne departed for Paris,
in order to negotiate a p