write to him immediately
after his decease, and to give him the option of a hundred florins of
gold, payable at once, or by five or ten florins every year.

A few days after he had made this will, he set out for Rome. The
pleasure with which he undertook the journey made him suppose that he
could support it. But when he reached Ferrara he fell down in a fit, in
which he continued thirty hours, without sense or motion; and it was
supposed that he was dead. The most violent remedies were used to
restore him to consciousness, but he says that he felt them no more than
a statue.

Nicholas d'Este II., the son of Obizzo, was at that time Lord of
Ferrara, a friend and admirer of Petrarch. The physicians thought him
dead, and the whole city was in grief. The news spread to Padua, Venice,
Milan, and Pavia. Crowds came from all parts to his burial. Ugo d'Este,
the brother of Nicholas, a young man of much merit, who had an
enthusiastic regard for Petrarch, paid him unremitting attention during
his illness. He came three or four times a day to see him, and sent
messengers incessantly to inquire how he was. Our poet acknowledged that
he owed his life to the kindness of those two noblemen.

When Petrarch was recovering, he was impatient to pursue his route,
though the physicians assured him that he could not get to Rome alive.
He would have attempted the journey in spite of their warnings, if his
strength had seconded his desires, but he was unable to sit his horse.
They brought him back to Padua, laid on a soft seat on a boat. His
unhoped-for return caused as much surprise as joy in that city, where he
was received by its lords and citizens with as much joy as if he had
come back from the other world. To re-establish his health, he went to a
village called Arqua, situated on the slope of a hill famous for the
salubrity of its air, the goodness of its wines, and the beauty of its
vineyards. An everlasting spring reigns there, and the place commands a
view of pleasingly-scattered villas. Petrarch built himself a house on
the high ground of the village, and he added to the vines of the country
a great number of other fruit-trees.

He had scarcely fixed himself at Arqua, when he put his last hand to a
work which he had begun in the year 1367. To explain the subject of this
work, and the circumstances which gave rise to it, I think it necessary
to state what was the real cause of our poet's disgust at Venice. He
appeared there, no do