Solitude: With the Life of the Author. In Two PartsZimmermann, Johann Georg
Philosophy
Solitude: With the Life of the Author. In Two Parts
Zimmermann, Johann Georg
Solitude
his fair favorites in choice Italian, he reserved his knowledge of the
learned languages for subjects more serious and important. Nor did
he permit the warmth of his constitution, or the sensibility of his
heart, great and exquisite as they were, to debauch his mind, or betray
him into the most trifling indiscretion, without feeling the keenest
compunction and repentance. “I wish,” said he, “that I had a heart as
hard as adamant, rather than be so continually tormented by such seducing
passions.” The heart of this amiable young man, was, indeed, continually
assailed by the crowd of beauties that adorned the papal court; and the
power of their charms, and the facility with which his situation enabled
them to enjoy his company, rendered him in some degree their captive;
but, alarmed by the approaching torments and disquietudes of love, he
cautiously avoided their pleasing snares, and continued, previous to the
sight of his beloved Laura, to roam “free and unconquered through the
wilds of love.”
The practice of the civil law was at this period the only road to
eminence at Avignon; but Petrarch detested the venality of the
profession; and though he practised at the bar, and gained many causes
by his eloquence, he afterwards reproached himself with it. “In my
youth,” says he, “I devoted myself to the trade of selling words, or
rather fabricating falsehoods; but that which we do against our own
inclinations, is seldom attended with success; my fondness was for
solitude, and therefore I attended the practice of the bar with aversion
and disgust.” The secret consciousness however, which he entertained
of his own merit, gave him all the confidence natural to youth; and,
filling his mind with that lofty spirit which begets the presumption
of being equal to the highest achievements, he relinquished the _bar_
for the _church_; but his inveterate hatred of the manners of the
Episcopal court prevented his exertions, and retarded his promotion. “I
have no hope,” said he, in the thirty-fifth year of his age, “of making
my fortune in the court of the vicar of Jesus Christ; to accomplish
that, I must assiduously attend the palaces of the great, and practise
flattery, falsehood, and deceit.” A task of this kind was too painful
to his feelings to perform; not because he either hated the society of
men, or disliked advancement, but because he detested the means he must
necessarily have used to gratify his ambition. Glory was his warmest
wish, and he ardently endeavored to obtain it; not, indeed, by the ways
in which it is usually obtained, but by delighting to walk in the most
unfrequented paths, and of course, by retiring from the world. The
sacrifices he made to solitude were great and important; but his mind and
his heart were formed to enjoy the advantages it affords with a superior
degree of delight; a happiness which resulted to him from his hatred of a
profligate court, and from his love of liberty.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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