Petrarch love story. Biographies, stories, facts, photos. Petrarch and Laura: A Love Story

Dawn was barely engaged when Petrarch left the house. The air that had cooled overnight still kept cool, and the dew on the grass in front of the hut - as he called his dwelling - and in the garden on the leaves of the trees sparkled with large drops, like diamonds generously sprinkled by someone. In the morning silence of the awakening day, the murmur of a fast-flowing Sorg was clearly audible. At times, the emerald surface of the stream was torn by bursts of frolic trout. The still timid chirping of birds and the bleating of sheep came. Drowned a cock.

In these early hours, Petrarch loved to contemplate a rural idyll - he admired green lawns, reeds along the shore, rocky cliffs that piled on the other side of Copra. He enjoyed solitude, the opportunity to wander in the open air free and carefree. “In the morning, turn your eyes to the mountains,” recalled a line from a medical treatise.

It happened more than once in his life when, weary of the noise and bustle of cities, he hid here in Vaucluse - the Secluded Valley, at the source of Sorg, which became for him a marina in the sea of \u200b\u200beveryday storms.

I live here, surrounded by nature,

and, having found no council on Amur,

composing songs, tearing flowers and herbs,

looking for support from the old days.

Once Homer, emanating a whole light, remained to live on the coast among the harsh cliffs and wooded mountains. So he, Petrarch, settled at the foot of the snow-white Windy Mountains - the highest in the district and noticeable from afar. And just as his beloved Virgil, a genius who was not inferior to the blind Greek, left Rome at one time and retired to the deserted seashore, where few people visited him, so he, Francesco Petrarch, fled, exhausted by the destruction, from Avignon, this modern Babylon, and took refuge in the Transalpine foothills. Here, the source of inspiration to him was not the jets of the magical Hippocrenus, but the most real-cold and fast Sorg.

Previously, in his youth, in the heat of youthful curiosity, he preferred to lead a wandering life. Traveled France, Flanders, Germany. Then he did not have the opportunity to rest, live somewhere a hermit, escape from anxieties and worries, hide from autocratic princes, envious nobles and arrogant townspeople where there is no deceit, no arrogance, no servility, but only peace, fresh air, the sun, a river full of fish, flowers, forests, green lawns, birdsong.

Over the years, he was not so afraid of anything as returning to the city, and with ever greater enthusiasm he plunged into rural life, learning the eternal wisdom of cultivating his garden and finally feeling himself truly free from worldly fuss. Materially, he was completely independent. Many years ago, having accepted the rank, but not becoming, however, a clergyman, he got the opportunity to use the benefits - to have a good income from land ownership, ensuring a comfortable life.

The sun had not yet appeared, but was about to flare up over the white cap of Windy Mountain, slightly already colored with pink light.

A significant, unforgettable day for Petrarch came. Many years ago, on the same April morning, he first saw a blonde beauty with black eyes. Her name was Laura, he met her at the St. Clara's Avignon Church. And the same day twenty-one years later became fatal: the merciless plague claimed the life of Laura. So, apparently, the Lord Almighty was pleased. All these years Petrarch passionately loved this woman, although she was married, became the mother of eleven children, and in general they met only a few times, exchanging only fleeting glances. He loved her with a spiritual love, honoring the lady of his heart as a model of perfection and purity, not daring to dream of a sinful touch.

The ancients said: all love begins from the sight. But if the contemplative love goes back to his mind, then the love of the sensual person strives for touch. The love of the first is called divine, the second - vulgar. One is inspired by the venus of heaven, the other by the earth. So Petrarch was repeatedly reproached by the earthly nature of his feelings for Laura, convinced that if he could only love what was in his sight, then he loved the body. What could he answer to this? Only that everything depended on the chastity of his beloved. She remained impregnable and solid as a diamond, and nothing, even hymns in her honor, composed by him, which, undoubtedly, were known to her and delighted self-esteem, did not shake her female honor. So he knew that love is the fiercest of passions and that all those unhappy are the ones they do not love. Isn't this what prompted him to wander, for the change of places, following the Ovid recipe, helps to heal from a heart ailment. Alas, wanderings did not cure him. Wherever he was, wherever fate would bring, everywhere his face pursued his beloved.

Then he decided to try another old recipe. A new hobby helps to turn the soul from love. He did not remain an anchorite, on the contrary, repented of his sensuality, which he had sought to overcome from a young age. Perhaps for the first time he experienced love before meeting with Laura, in those years when he studied at the University of Bologna. There he was captivated by Novella d "Andrea, who taught law, - not only the most educated for her time, but also such a beautiful woman that she had to give lectures, hiding behind a screen, so as not to distract the attention of schoolchildren. He happened to fall in love and then. Somehow out of a desire to see the world, and in a fit of young enthusiasm, he reached the banks of the Rhine and ended up in Cologne.The city charmed him not only with a magnificent, though unfinished cathedral, but with his women. Anyone with a free heart could fall in love here. I would have found my lady of heart among this magnificent flower garden, if it had not already belonged to another. ”A feeling for Laura, far from earthly desires, inspired him to create more than three hundred sonnets - a kind of diary of love.

For their love of forests and solitude, Petrarch was nicknamed Sylvanas - a deity somewhat similar to the mythical Pan. He really looked like him not only in his way of life, but in his whole appearance, and in simple peasant robes — he wore a coarse woolen cloak with a hood.

Today, however, he will have to break his loneliness. Master Guido should come from Avignon. Petrarch is looking forward to it - some time ago he ordered a cameo from cloud agate. Petrarch knew a lot about the ancient art of glyptics - carving on colored minerals, one of the oldest crafts known to man. He collected a whole collection of antique gems - many were fond of it then. It contained beautiful miniatures with a carved image - intalia and convex - cameos.

Once these gems adorned the nobles, they were worn on the belt and wrists, in the form of rings - they served as personal seals. Some had inscriptions and emblems. They were revered as amulets and talismans and endowed with supernatural power, for they believed in the miraculous properties of stones. Petrarch read about this in an ancient treatise and superstitiously believed that these properties are associated with astrology and magic. He believed that gems can protect from misfortune and protect from the evil eye, bring good luck and wealth, help to bewitch the beauty and keep love.

Recently, Petrarch got a magnificent ancient gem that was brought to him by a peasant neighbor. He found her in his vineyard. Petrarch immediately determined that it was a cameo from a rare heliotrope - a green stone with red dots like blood splashes. When he washed the find and examined the image, he was seized with even greater delight. The skilled craftsman carved Cupid and Psyche, forever united in a kiss. A true masterpiece! It was then that he had the idea to order a cameo with a portrait of Laura - she would become his talisman. He will wear a cameo, never parting with it. Inaccessible and distant in life, his beloved will now abide with him forever.

Petrarch walked along the shore of Copra to where the stream, plunging from a great height from the cave, rushing between steep cliffs, as if in a hurry to meet with his older sister Rona. The road is well known: almost every day he takes a walk on it. Sometimes, bypassing the mulberry grove, it rises further up the wooded slope uphill, to the place where, on top of a rocky cliff, the castle of his friend Bishop of Cavaillon is piled. This literary connoisseur and connoisseur of antiquities is perhaps the only person in the area with whom he maintains acquaintance. Conversations with him are always sweet to his heart and mind.

A heron suddenly appeared from the reeds. She lived here for a long time, apparently seduced by rich hunting. Important stepping, went along the rocky bottom to the middle of the stream, froze, looking for prey. Unaware of the danger, trout frolicked in the sunshine, which dyed the water a golden color. Scared by the splashes, a flock of lapwing rose from the stones and disappeared behind the olive trees.

A stream crossed the short bridge of Petrarch and went out to a shady lawn near a natural stone canopy in the rock. This was his favorite place, where he, hiding from the scorching sun, often spent daylight hours. Here he thought well, the genius of the place spurred the imagination, inflaming the thirst for creativity.

I recalled how once, weary of a walk, he fell asleep under a canopy. In a dream, as in reality, Laura appeared to him. She was wearing a blue dress. Golden hair is seized by a scarlet ribbon, eyebrows are raised above the oblong, like olives, lips are painted in coral color, the light of morning dawn is playing on the cheeks. She stepped smoothly, as if hovering in the air, holding out the narrow palms of white hands like lilies.

Her mouth opened and spoke the words that he had dreamed of hearing. Laura admitted that she loved him, but avoided meeting him for their common salvation.

Waking up, he composed the lines:

Watching from heaven for me orphaned

She is herself a tender friend

Sighing about me with me ...

Alas, in earthly life he was not destined to see Laura anymore. And he wonders, is it possible to avoid separation when one of the lovers remains in the mortal world, and the other ascends into the kingdom of heaven? How to make the memory of your beloved, taken by God, forever in your mind? Faithful Artemisis, the wife of the Karyan king, who passionately loved him, chose a more than strange way for this. So that even after death, the husband always stayed with her, she, extravagant in her passion, turned the body of the deceased into powder and, having dissolved in water, drank this barbaric drink. Others, who did not want to part with him even after the death of their beloved, preferred to leave afterwards - they committed suicide. Here he is only there, behind the coffin, when he finishes his earthly journey, he can wait for a meeting with his beloved ...

Petrarch looked up to the horizon, where in the distance, like the walls of a giant castle, towered the teeth of a mountain range. He thought: Cicero was right in asserting that we would have to die, but it was not known whether we would have to die today, and there was nobody, no matter how young he was, who could be sure that he would live until evening.

In fact, is not every day that ascends for a mortal either his last day or very close to his last?

It was all the sweeter to him to recall the past. Memory constantly returned to the past, reminiscent of the past.

Before a thought's eye, a string of people and cities passed by, the faces of the enemies surfaced, the faces of friends and the thin profile of the one that I had met that far early April morning at the portal of the Avignon church, and a fire broke out in his heart, as if from a spark.

It is strange to hear when some, even some of his friends, doubt that Laura was a woman in the flesh. She, they say, was the product of his ardent imagination, and he came up with her name, as, indeed, verses - they are just fiction, and the sighs embodied in them are feigned.

To verify the opposite, it is enough to look into the parchment code of Virgil, the constant companion of the wanderings of Petrarch. For many years he serves him as a kind of notebook. In the margins are notes about books read, some dates, observations and thoughts. But the main thing is on the back of the first page: this record, this document of the heart, will remain the most reliable evidence that it was then and there that he, Petrarch, first met Donna Laura de Nov, glorious for her virtues and sung by him in verse.

All this sounds like a Beatrice story. She, too, was denied real life. Meanwhile, as his friend Boccaccio claims, Dante's love was a completely earthly passion. Boccaccio even called her name - Portinari. Subsequently, she became the wife of Simon de Bardi and died twenty-five years of age. In the same way, descendants can refuse skeptics to Boccaccio himself that he also portrayed a very real woman in her creations - Princess Maria, daughter of King Robert of Anjou. Traces of this passion are not difficult to find in his books, where it is sung under the name of Fiammetta.

As for his Laura, then doubting her reality, he can show her portrait. At one time, he was painted by Simone Martini from Siena - an artist at the Avignon Curia.

This beautiful face tells us

What on Earth - heaven she is a tenant,

Those best places where spirit is not hidden in flesh,

And that such a portrait could not be born,

When an artist from unearthly orbits

Came down here - to marvel at mortal wives.

Evil Parka - the goddess of fate - mercilessly interrupted the thread of her life and condemned the poet to survive the one in whose features a glow of divine beauty shone. Everything goes: "This morning I was a child, and now I am already an old man." He is told when his sonnets read to Laura’s death that it’s a shame to be known as an old man in love. Leave, they say, childish nonsense, extinguish youthful flame, cease forever to mourn over the departed. Someone else's death will not give immortality. Think more about your own death and remember your gray hair. Run away with bittersweet memories, for there is nothing more painful than the regret of past love.

Yes, like everyone else, he is a traveler in this mortal world, but his life did not live in vain, although the road was long and steep, but he still led to Rome in the front hall of the Senate on Capitol Hill. On Easter, resembling this April day, to the sound of a trumpet and jubilant cries of him, dressed in a purple robe, donated by King Robert from his shoulder, they crowned with a laurel wreath, giving honor to the first poet. It turns out that it was not in vain that he spent the night with a candle, exhausting his body and straining his eyesight, which was already useless. For him, constant labor and intense effort is like nourishment for the soul.

Time passed by noon, the sun was already very hot, the trout in the river had calmed down for a long time, and the heron disappeared into the reeds.

It was time to return, especially since it was time for dinner and the guest was about to welcome.

Master Guido was a short, dark-skinned, middle-aged man and, like all Provencal people, lively and talkative, with a sharp look of smart eyes penetrating the interlocutor, like a diamond drill with which he processed stones.

He was wearing a simple, coarse knit, tight-fitting chest and shoulders blue jacket, which was still worn by grandfathers, on top of which reached a knee-length white sleeveless surco with slits on the sides and a magnificent agate clasp made of amethyst at the gate.

A man of great experience in dealing with clients, among whom wealthy people predominated, the master Guido was in no hurry to get down to business. At first, he asked about the health of Signor Francesco.

In turn, Petrarch asked how the road went: after all, the guest had to ride a rather long way. When asked what was going on in Avignon, this newly-minted center of the Christian world, he spoke about some recent events, that this papal capital is still full of merchants and merchants, the streets are teeming with all sorts of visiting people, seekers of easy prey and warm places. As before, multilingual speech is heard everywhere, overseas clothes flash, pilgrims, beggars in rags, monks in black and brown robes, nobles in brocade and silk.

Petrarch wondered how things were going with the well-known goldsmith, master Enrico, whom he himself had to turn to more than once. Is the Giovanni engraver healthy? Has the guest met the learned monk Varlaam, who once taught him Greek? And how is another monk, Leonty, known for translating the works of Homer into Latin?

I could not resist, so as not to ask what was new in the parish of St. Peter, from his compatriots who inhabited the quarter where he himself lived. Is there still a three pillar inn? Is there still a custom to organize regattas on the Rhone and are there still merry citizens dancing on the bridge of St. Beneset?

There were too many questions. Master Guido was even somewhat mixed up and couldn’t give an answer to everything.

The maid served bread, fish caught in the Sorghum and cooked on a spit, put nuts on the table.

As if justifying himself for such a modest treat, Petrarch noticed that moderation in food is the way to health. Anything extra is not useful. And jokingly quoted: "... the highest law of medicine is to keep a steady diet."

When they finished the fish, Petrarch, pointing to a dish of nuts, again remembered the line: "Eat a nut after the fish ..." Both laughed.

I see the maestro is a big fan of the Salerno Codex? asked Master Guido, cracking down on the nut.

I will not hide, sometimes I read it and agree with regard to abstinence in food and the harm of idleness. “I don’t believe any charlatans, as well as various alchemists who are divorced like ducks in the backwaters,” Petrarch said angrily. - Alchemists assure that the elixir of the sages can maintain bodily health. But so far no one has yet seen this panacea of \u200b\u200btheirs, this, as they say, philosophical stone.

With it, you can turn other metals into gold and create precious stones. This would not hurt me, ”the carver said dreamily and took a deep breath.

It's hard to believe, ”Petrarch said grimly. - As for natural stones and their properties, this is universally recognized. One Aesculapian advised me to wear a gem from jasper to prevent colic, and, imagine, it helped.

In ancient times, they believed that gems protected against ailments, ”the master agreed. - It is important to choose the right stone, make the desired image or inscription spell.

Most likely, these are fairy tales, but not without a share of truth. Plato has a story about how a Lydian shepherd named Giges, using the magic ring found in the cave in the form of a gem, making his owner invisible, received the royal throne.

And I read on some lapidaria, as if there was a stone called argyudofyulaks. If placed on the doorstep of the house, it will serve better than any guard dog. Once the thieves approach the door, he, like a pipe, begins to give a signal.

Perhaps this is so, although Pliny calls it all the fabrications of magicians.

The preamble clearly dragged on, and Master Guido realized that it was time to remember the purpose of his arrival. He took out a small box from a leather wallet attached to his belt and, opening it, handed it to Petrarch.

A silhouette of Laura carved from cloud agate stood out against the background of black velvet.

"Lord," thought Petrarch, "what a beauty! As if alive, now Leta herself is powerless to take it from me ..."

If the signor wants this cameo to serve him as a talisman, then he should wear it on his chest.

Instead of an answer, Petrarch told a legend that he had somehow heard in Aachen. It was a legend about the love of Emperor Charlemagne and the miraculous power of gem.

His love for the woman, whose name history did not preserve, was so strong that he abandoned the affairs of government and found peace in nothing but in her arms. Neither the prayers of loved ones, nor the exhortations of the advisers - nothing helped until this woman was killed by a sudden death.

However, the subjects rejoiced in vain. Emperor’s passion did not subside and passed on to a lifeless corpse. Neglecting urgent state affairs, he clung to his desired body in a cold bed, called his girlfriend as if she were still breathing and could answer, whispering sweet words to her, sobbing over her.

What was to be done? How to help the sovereign and save the empire?

At that time there was one high priest at court, a man known for holiness and knowledge. He turned to God with prayer, trusting in his mercy.

After many days of selfless prayers, he was visited by a marvelous miracle. A voice came from heaven: "Under the tongue of the deceased lies the cause of royal fury!"

The priest secretly entered the room where the body was lying, and put a finger in the dead mouth.

Under a numb tongue, he found a gem in the form of a tiny ringlet. Without hesitation, the high priest drowned him in the near swamp.

When Karl entered, a withered corpse lay in front of him. Shocked, he ordered him to be carried away and buried.

But the magical property of gem continued to work.

The emperor settled on the banks of the swamp, drank water from it with pleasure, and in the end moved his capital here. In the middle of the swamp, he built a palace with a temple so that no business would distract him from here anymore. There he was buried, - Petrarch finished his story.

They rang for vespers. Having realized that, the master Guido got up - he had to hurry back. Thanking for the food and gold ducats received for the work, he set off along the Avignon road.

It was quickly getting dark. Petrarch lit a candle. On the table in front of him was a cameo. Laura’s profile from cloud agate, illuminated by a flickering fire, seemed to glow from the inside with some unearthly, magical light.

Admiring himself, he thought that love, as Plato rightly remarked, is a desire for beauty. This is the primum movens of the universe, that is, the first moving principle. Is not this what the mentor of wisdom Boethius says, claiming that love rules the earth and the sea and even the high heaven. And did not Dante repeat these words centuries later, saying that love moves the sun and the stars. But if love is the essence of the world, then beauty is its appearance.

We praise the mastery of the hands that create the beautiful. And enjoy the beauty of the gem, that is, the work of the master. At the same time, you only need to remember that from the beauty of sensual things you should go back to the beauty of our spirit and admire the source that gave rise to it.

In his love, there was never anything shameful, nothing obscene, except perhaps its excessiveness. And the words of the chant - "all of you are beautiful, my beloved," - always interpreted in relation to the soul. To prefer the beauty of the soul to sensual beauty, to enjoy it would be to abuse the dignity of love.

Petrarch carefully chose the still-not-honed goose feather. I cut it off with a penknife, as it should be, obliquely, then split the tip to keep the ink better, and, carefully dipping it into a bottle of black moisture made from ink nuts, I began to print letters that I liked so much. He learned from prominent scribes in the monastery scriptorium when he was still in Bologna.

On the yellow sheet lay flat, round, with a barely noticeable slope to the right of the letter. He wrote as if he had uttered the words of prayer, praising the Almighty for having sent him among the thousands of women the only one who had become his eternal lover.

Bless the day, minute, share

Minutes, season, month, year,

And the place, and the wonderful chapel,

Where a bright look doomed me to captivity.

Bless the sweetness of the first pain

And arrows targeted flight,

And the bow that sends these arrows to the heart,

Skillful shooter obeys the will.

When he turned to his beloved.

Bless all my creations

For her glory, and every sigh, and a groan,

And my thoughts are her possessions.

He was considered a real magician, although he was very restrained about his poetic success, considering his translations from antique and works in Latin much more significant. He outlived his beloved for 26 years ...
Most likely, they were not even familiar with each other, but went down in history as one of the most inspired unions ...

She…

The reality of the love of the great poet is likely to never be resolved. But most historians are inclined that the muse of Petrarch was Laura De Neuve - the golden-haired daughter of the syndicate Avignon Odiber de Nov and his wife Ermessada. In the family, in addition to Laura, there were two more children - son Jean and youngest daughter Margarita.

In the dowry, Laura got a decent condition, which allowed her to choose from applicants for her hand. And the choice was made in favor of Hugo de Sade, nicknamed le Vieu. January 16, 1325, in the presence of a notary Guillaume Zhaobi, they signed a marriage contract.

She was a faithful wife and gave birth to her husband 11 children. Legends circulated about her virtues, unfortunately, she died early enough - at the age of 38 ...
Is he…

He was born on July 20, 1304 in the town of Arezzo in Tuscany in the family of a notary Pietro di Ser Parenzo (nicknamed Petracco). And he owes his completed legal education to his father. He even tried to work "by profession" after graduation. But with much greater pleasure Petrarch spent time studying the ancient literary works, reading freely in Latin.

After the death of his father, Francesco's only legacy was the manuscript of the works of Virgil. He chose the rank of clergyman as a source of income - at the age of 22 he became a member of the monastic order of the Franciscans. But it is unlikely that he himself ever worshiped. In addition, he rejected the offer to head the department in Florence ...
He traveled extensively in Europe - he was in Italy, in Prague, France. He is known for the first officially registered ascent (with his brother) to the peak of Mont Ventoux, which took place on April 26, 1336 (although it is known that Jean Buridan and the ancient inhabitants of this area visited the peak before him).
Petrarch's letters and his literary works made him a celebrity. Almost simultaneously, he received an invitation from Paris, Naples and Rome to accept the coronation with a laurel wreath. Petrarch chose Rome and was solemnly crowned on the Capitol with a laurel wreath.
They are…
The day of their meeting was Good Friday - July 6, 1327, the place - St. Clara's Church. The exact date and place was recorded by Petrarch himself in the margins of the already mentioned manuscript of Virgil: “Laura, known for her virtues and long glorified by my songs, first appeared before my eyes at the dawn of my youth, in the summer of the Lord 1327, on the morning of April 6, in the Cathedral of St. Clara, in Avignon ... "

And there, in the fields, he noted the date of death of the subject of his Platonic love: "... And in the same city, also in April and also on the sixth day of the same month, in the same morning hours in the year 1348 this ray of light left the world when I accidentally was in Verona, alas! about his fate without knowing ... "

Laura became his muse - because it was thanks to the verses dedicated to her that Petrarch became famous. About their first meeting, he wrote:
There was a day on which the Creator of the universe
Sorrowing, the Sun faded ... Ray of fire
From your eyes took me by surprise:
Oh, madam, I became their captive prisoner ...
Throughout his life, Petrarch has only seen Laura several times. Many of his friends even considered her a figment of the poet’s imagination - the only place where Laura’s name sounded was sonnets, canzons, sextins, ballads, madrigals ... But he wasn’t in any letter. A little more authenticity was given to her image by the fact that at one fine moment Petrarch ordered a cameo with a portrait of Laura, but ... Again, this can not be called a document.

He praised her image for many years, in addition to everything else, observing the ritual invented by himself - every year he celebrated the day of their meeting with a new sonnet.

I am silent about your beauty in verses
And feeling deeply embarrassed
I want to fix this omission
And by the first meeting I fly in memory.

But I see - the burden is too much for me
All my skill will not help here,
And knows that powerless, inspiration,
And I am in vain hot.

More than once I was filled with courage
But the sounds from the chest did not break out.
Who am I to soar so high?

More than once I brought the pen to the paper,
But both my hand and my mind gave up
On the first word. And again surrendered.

The one who dreams to delight the hearts
And longs for wisdom to glorify himself
And softness, I want to put an example
My love is no better than a model.

How to live with dignity, how to love the Creator, -
Without imitating her, one cannot imagine
You can’t set yourself on the right path,
You can’t keep it to the end.

It’s possible to adopt a dialect sounding
So gentle, and silence, and movement,
Having an ideal in front of you.

And only the beauty of her blinding
Do not learn, for from birth
It is given or not given by fate.

9 have chosen

She would hardly have congratulated him on his birthday today, if only because she was married to another ...
He was considered a real magician, although he was very restrained about his poetic success, considering his translations from antique and works in Latin much more significant. He outlived his beloved for 26 years ...
Most likely, they were not even familiar with each other, but went down in history as one of the most inspired unions ...

She…

She was a faithful wife and gave birth to her husband 11 children. Legends circulated about her virtues, unfortunately, she died early enough - at the age of 38 ...

Is he…

He traveled extensively in Europe - he was in Italy, in Prague, France. He is known for the first officially registered ascent (with his brother) to the peak of Mont Ventoux, which took place on April 26, 1336 (although it is known that Jean Buridan and the ancient inhabitants of this area visited the peak before him).

Petrarch's letters and his literary works made him a celebrity. Almost simultaneously, he received an invitation from Paris, Naples and Rome to accept the coronation with a laurel wreath. Petrarch chose Rome and was solemnly crowned on the Capitol with a laurel wreath.

They are…

The day of their meeting was Good Friday - July 6, 1327, the place - St. Clara's Church. The exact date and place was recorded by Petrarch himself in the margins of the already mentioned manuscript of Virgil: “Laura, known for her virtues and long glorified by my songs, first appeared before my eyes at the dawn of my youth, in the summer of the Lord 1327, on the morning of April 6, in the Cathedral of St. Clara, in Avignon ... "

Laura became his muse - because it was thanks to the verses dedicated to her that Petrarch became famous. About their first meeting, he wrote:

There was a day on which the Creator of the universe
Sorrowing, the Sun faded ... Ray of fire
From your eyes took me by surprise:
Oh, madam, I became their captive prisoner ...

Throughout his life, Petrarch has only seen Laura several times. Many of his friends even considered her a figment of the poet’s imagination - the only place where Laura’s name sounded was sonnets, canzons, sextins, ballads, madrigals ... But he wasn’t in any letter. A little more authenticity was given to her image by the fact that at one fine moment Petrarch ordered a cameo with a portrait of Laura, but ... Again, this can not be called a document.

He praised her image for many years, in addition to everything else, observing the ritual invented by himself - every year he celebrated the day of their meeting with a new sonnet.

Thinking out loud . It's funny to talk about muses and great poets. When Laura and Petrarch met, there was an abyss between them: on him lay a vow of celibacy, on it - the duties of the mother of a large family. There was no question of reciprocity.

But how do you think a woman of her time would react if she knew that her image was sung by the great Petrarch and revered by connoisseurs of poetry, among whom were those in power?

June 20, 1304 in the Italian city of Arezza, Francesco Petrarch was born. The boy’s father was a lawyer and wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. Francesco listened to his father and studied conscientiously, although his soul did not lie at all, he was fond of literature. When his father passed away in 1326, the young man abandoned his studies and became a priest. Petrarch devoted himself to his favorite occupation of studying literature and composing poetry. By that time he lived with his family in Avignon, where he did not meet his Fair Lady.

Laura de Nov Petrarch met on April 6, 1327 at the Church of St. Clara. He did not approach her, did not speak to the beauty, but simply admired her beauty. The girl by that time was already a married lady. Spouse of Laura was Count Hugo II de Sade. In total, the couple had eleven children in the marriage. And one of their sons became the ancestor of the famous writer and philosopher Marquis de Sade. It is known that the Marquis was proud of such a relationship, Laura came to him in a dream. And besides, he ordered that the remains of the museums of Petrarch be transferred from the ruined church in Avignon to the family castle of La Costa.

Petrarch did not seek meetings with his beloved, he adored her secretly, dedicated beautiful poems to her. Platonic love was enough for him. He endowed Laura with all possible virtues, not only physical, but spiritually the girl was perfect. The life of the real golden-haired Laura, meanwhile, was absolutely earthly - the wife and mother of a large family. Three years after meeting with the charming woman, Petrarch was forced to leave Avignon, he returned seven years later. It seemed to him that Laura had not changed at all, she had only become even more magnificent.

For Laura, Petrarch had an ideal platonic love, but this did not prevent him from having a carnal connection with other women. It is known that he had at least two illegitimate children. In 1337, one of his women gave birth to the poet's son Giovanni, and in 1343 his daughter Francesca was born. However, these women were not a source of inspiration for him; he never even mentioned their names in his verses. Petrarch devoted more than three hundred sonnets to his muse Laura.

In those days, the plague came to Europe, and beautiful Laura became its victim. She was about forty years old. It is noteworthy that she died on the same day on which the poet first saw her, only after 21 years - April 6, 1348. She was about forty years old. Petrarch last saw her six months before. The poet was stunned that his muse was no longer alive. In her memory, he composed more than a hundred sonnets. Petrarch himself lived a long and eventful life, he traveled a lot. He lived for a long time with his daughter Francesca, who married and lived in Venice. Until his last days, he did not forget about his beautiful golden-haired muse Laura. The poet’s life was cut short on the eve of his 70th birthday on July 19, 1374.

Petrarch and Laura

The famous Italian poet, the founder of Renaissance humanist art, Francesco Petrarch and the beautiful Laura, are another example of exalted and selfless love.

Petrarch was never close to his beloved, but through his whole life he carried a wonderful feeling of true love for her. His sonnets, canzons, sextins, ballads and madrigals for Laura’s life and death, published in the collection “Book of Songs”, are nothing more than a lyrical diary telling of the sad existence of the poet far from his beloved.

Francesco Petrarch spent most of his life in rural silence, in a lonely hut surrounded by a garden (that is how the poet called his home) on the banks of the fast Sorg. Only here, in the secluded Vaucluse valley, located at the river source, tired of the noise and bustle of Avignon, this modern, crowded Babylon, Petrarch found peace.

Monument to Francesco Petrarch in Uffizi

Sylvan - the so-called inhabitants of the nearest settlements. Like Petrarch, this mythical deity, reminiscent of the Greek Pan, loved the forest and lived in solitude. The common was not only in the way of life, but also in appearance: bearded, in simple peasant clothes, consisting of a rough woolen cloak with a hood, a canvas shirt and trousers, Petrarch really resembled Sylvanas. Every morning, waking up at dawn, he went on a journey around the neighborhood. And each time nature generously rewarded him for his early awakening: green lawns covered with diamond dew, an emerald surface of reed-covered quick-jet Sorg, on the opposite bank of which rocky cliffs towered, timid twittering of birds and noisy bursts of frolic trout - all these riches of the beginning day belonged only his. And, observing the beauty of nature, listening to the sounds of an awakening world, the poet enjoyed his loneliness, his freedom from lies, arrogance and servility of modern society. In one of his autobiographical poems, Petrarch wrote:

I live here, surrounded by nature,
And, on Amur without finding a council,
Composing songs, tearing flowers and herbs
I am looking for support from the old days.

Perhaps this solitude, in which Homer and the beloved poet Virgil were also sought after, was the result of the active life that Petrarch led in his youth. Being very inquisitive by nature, Francesco often traveled in his youth. He visited many cities and villages of France, Flanders and Germany, and over the years he was more and more afraid of returning to his native Avignon. The bustle of the city oppressed him, the poet found peace only in the village, where he could comprehend eternal wisdom, cultivating his wonderful garden.

Petrarch was not afraid of material problems, his financial situation was relatively stable, since even in his youth, having been ordained (but not becoming a clergyman), he could receive high incomes from land ownership and enjoy other benefits of beneficiaries.

However, as many researchers believe the work of the famous medieval poet, the culprit of his loneliness was an unrequited love for beautiful Laura. The image of a blonde beauty with black eyes, like night, haunted Petrarch throughout her life.

The poet first met her on a warm April afternoon while serving in the Avignon church of St. Clara. Ironically, on the same day, 21 years later, Laura died: she died during the plague. Petrarch saw Laura just a few times. The fact is that the poet's beloved was a married woman, the mother of 11 children and led a righteous lifestyle. Over the years of their acquaintance, the poet and Laura exchanged only fleeting glances, not daring to speak to each other.

But even the beauty's glance cast furtively ignited the love of Petrarch, Laura became for him a lady of the heart, a model of physical perfection and spiritual purity. The poet idolized his beloved, driving away from himself thoughts of a sinful touch with her.

“All love begins from sight,” the ancient sages used to say. However, only an ascetic is capable of divine contemplative love, while a sensual person seeks to possess a lover, wants to bask in her arms. The poet, if he is a real poet, belongs to the second category of people, which is probably why Petrarch was often reproached with the earthly, and not spiritual nature of his love for Laura. After all, what appears before the eye is a body, not a soul, therefore, without entering into conversations with the lady of the heart and without comprehending the secrets of her soul, Francesco could only love her earthly flesh.

In response to these accusations, the poet could give only one answer: everything depended on the chastity of his chosen one, but he was ready to love her both spiritually and physically. Laura remained impregnable, like a rock, even the sonnets and madrigals that were made in her honor, which she could not know about, and which probably pleased her vanity, did not force the woman to leave her husband and children and become the poet's mistress.

Gradually, Petrarch, still hoping for the favor of his lady's heart, realized that the most insidious of all human passions is love, for only it can give both happiness and sorrow. The unfortunate of people is one to whom there is no reciprocity, and, apparently, only she, unrequited love, made the poet choose the path of a wanderer, in which, according to Ovid's recipe, there is salvation from a "heart affliction."

But even travel did not heal Petrarch: the image of his beloved haunted him everywhere. The only means of salvation was to become a new hobby, and so strong as to displace the love of Laura from the poet’s heart and thoughts. It is worth noting that sensual desires were not alien to Petrarch, but from a young age he sought to overcome them. Even before meeting with Laura, the poet, then a student at the University of Bologna, fell in love for the first time. His chosen one was the teacher of legal disciplines Novella d’Andrea - the most educated woman of her time, about the beauty of which the songs were composed. She really was so beautiful that she had to hide behind a screen during lectures so as not to distract students from the material being read. It is not surprising that young Francesco fell in love with this woman, but she, of course, did not reciprocate. Sensual desires were awakened by the poet in subsequent years. So, already being familiar with Laura, Petrarch visited Cologne. There were many beauties here who could light a fire in the heart of any man, and the poet in love was ready to find a new lady of the heart, but the beautiful image of Laura again overshadowed his mind and feelings.

The sublime love for this woman, who became his good and evil genius, inspired Petrarch to write more than three hundred lyric works worthy of the highest appreciation of literary critics.

They say that once, tired of a long morning walk, Petrarch fell asleep on the lawn and had a wonderful dream: in front of him in his blue dress, with his hair tied with a scarlet ribbon, stood his beloved Laura. Her curved dark eyebrows seemed frozen in surprise over her large, oblong eyes, a faint smile played on her coral lips. The beauty stepped so easily and gracefully that it seemed as if she was floating in the morning air. Holding out her beautiful palms to Francesco, whose skin was molten with milky whiteness, she uttered the cherished words that the poet in love had wanted to hear. Laura confessed his love to him, adding that she avoided meeting only for their common good and salvation. But it was only a dream, a beautiful dream ... The body of a woman has smoldered in the earth for a long time, and the soul soared in heaven, waiting for the poet in love. Waking up, Petrarch for a long time could not understand what it was, a dream or a vision. And then the following lines came to mind:

Watching from heaven for me orphaned
She is herself a tender friend
Sighing about me with me together ...

Oddly enough, but many of the poet's contemporaries and some researchers of his work questioned the reality of Laura's existence. They said that it was only a product of his ardent imagination.

However, there is strong evidence that Laura really lived in the real world, and not in the fantasies of an enthusiastic poet, and the first of them can be considered the parchment code of Virgil.

Petrarch always carried with him this work of the ancient Roman author, which served him both as entertainment in his leisure hours and as a notebook. Numerous notes on read books, on memorable dates have been preserved in the fields, and Petrarch's own thoughts and observations are also found. But the most important recording made by the poet on the back of the first page of Vergiliev’s work is the one that reports about Francesco’s meeting with the beautiful Don Laura de Nov, the very Laura who forever captured his heart.

In addition, for many years Petrarch kept a portrait of his lover, authored by the Avignon artist Simone Martini from Siena. Petrarch even wrote verses about this portrait:

This beautiful face tells us
What on Earth - heaven she is a tenant,
Those best places where spirit is not hidden in flesh,
And that such a portrait could not be born,
When an artist from unearthly orbits
Came down here - to marvel at mortal wives.

Another image of Laura, which the poet cherished, was carved on cloud agate. This cameo was made by the Avignon master Guido by order of Petrarch, who knew a lot about the ancient art of glyptics (carving on colored natural minerals) and gathered a whole collection of antique gems (images on stones).

It is worth noting that the poet believed in the miraculous power of gems, believed that they were able to protect from troubles and misfortunes, protect from evil eye, bring good luck and bewitch the beloved.

The idea to make a cameo with a portrait of Laura as his talisman originated in the poet’s head after an ancient gem made of heliotrope with the image of kissing Cupid and Psyche fell into his hands. It seemed to him that, constantly wearing a cameo at the very heart, he would be able to bring Laura inaccessible during his life. This thought made Francesco go to Avignon.

Guido's master, who made the cameo, tried to make the stone portrait look like the original. They say that Petrarch, seeing for the first time a cameo with the image of Laura, exclaimed: “What a beauty! It’s like she’s alive, now Summer herself is powerless to take her from me ... "

That same evening, the poet, inspired by his talisman, wrote a sonnet. On a yellow sheet with an even rounded handwriting with a barely noticeable slope to the right, beautiful words were imprinted, reminiscent of the words of a prayer that praises the Lord that among thousands of women he met the one who forever became his lady of the heart:

Bless the day, minute, share
Minutes, season, month, year,
And the place, and the wonderful chapel,
Where a bright look doomed me to captivity.
Bless the sweetness of the first pain
And arrows targeted flight,
And the bow that sends these arrows to the heart,
Skillful shooter obeys the will.
Bless the name of the names
And my voice trembling with excitement
When he turned to his beloved.
Bless all my creations
For her glory, and every sigh, and a groan,
And my thoughts are her possessions.

Probably, loving Laura, Petrarch often drew parallels between his feelings and the mystical love of Emperor Charlemagne, a story about which the poet heard during his stay in Aachen. According to legend, feelings for a woman whose name remained unknown were so swallowed by Emperor Karl that, estranged from government affairs, he devoted himself to his beloved. Nothing could distract the ruler’s thoughts from this woman until she died. However, the joy of the subjects was premature, Karl's passionate love turned to a lifeless corpse. Not allowing the beloved to be buried, the emperor spent all the time in a cold bed with her; sobbing, he called his girlfriend, as if she could answer him something. No one was able to help the inconsolable ruler. At that time, there lived one high priest at the court, a holy man who possessed great knowledge. He saw salvation only in appeals to the Almighty and spent days and nights in selfless prayers. And then one day an angel appeared to him and said: "Under the tongue of the deceased lies the reason for Karl's fury." Having crept into the room where the corpse of the imperial lover was resting, the high priest put a finger in her mouth and found a gem under the tongue, which looked like a small ring. Taking the talisman, the savior threw it into the nearest swamp. And then Charlemagne received his sight. Finding in his bed the withered corpse of his beloved, he commanded to bury him with all the honors.

However, the magical effect of gemma on this did not stop. Karl ordered the construction of a beautiful palace with a temple on the banks of the swamp and transferred the capital of his state there. Since then, nothing could distract the emperor from his beloved place. Here, on the banks of the swamp, he was buried. Or maybe Laura, whom Petrarch idolized, was the owner of magical gems. Otherwise, how can one explain such an unusual exalted love of an unhappy poet?

Fra Filippo Lippi. Stolen happiness

Fra Filippo Lippi hated monasteries where there is so little light, where there is no place for beauty and inspiration. Nevertheless, he lived in the monastery from early childhood. Filippo early left an orphan. He did not know maternal affection: his mother died during childbirth, and then, two years later, the boy's father also died. He was a merchant, but, unfortunately, extremely unlucky, so the heir was left without money.

For some time Filippo was brought up by an aunt, but she was almost impoverished and felt that she was not able to feed a relative. Therefore, when once the Carmelite monks offered her a couple of coins for a child, she happily agreed.

It turns out that Filippo should have felt a sense of gratitude to the monastery and the fraternity that it had been keeping for many years, but instead he wholeheartedly hated these thick damp walls and narrow windows blocking the cheerful and gentle light of the sun.

Fra Filippo Lippi

The monks considered Filippo stupid and incapable of learning. He did not perceive either psalms or prayers at all. If only he did some work! So no, he literally all fell out of hand. But the boy secretly painted holy books for days with ugly people. The most offensive is that the Carmelite monks could easily recognize themselves in these little monsters.

Filippo was often beaten for these godless drawings, even left without food, but here he showed enviable tenacity. If there was no pencil at hand, he could draw with anything - a charcoal on the wall or a stick on the ground. Once Filippo got colored clay and decorated the entire monastery courtyard. The Carmelite brothers were sure that now it’s certain that the abbot will beat the little villain, but what’s strange - the father-abbot spent two hours, no less, all walked around the yard and carefully examined each drawing for a long time. He was especially shocked by the plot in which the pope himself handed over the Carmelite monastery charter to his father-abbot.

There was no question of punishment. On the orders of Father Rector Filippo, they bought paints and were given the task of painting the frescoes by the great Masaccio in the chapel of Brancaccio.

Masaccio was still considered an unsurpassed master. A painter like him has not yet been born. Masaccio was killed in the prime of his talent by envious rivals, and there were persistent rumors that the master announced before his death that he would return to this land in a strange body. He will return and declare himself as the greatest artist.

Finally, Filippo got the opportunity to do the only thing he loves. For several years he carefully copied the frescoes of Masaccio, studying the secrets of the craftsmanship of his great predecessor, and finally everyone could say: Filippo Lippi is in no way inferior to Masaccio.

They began to gossip about Filippo. They said that the spirit of Masaccio dwelt in him, because of this he draws, as if possessed by the devil. These rumors spread by envious people, nevertheless, had a completely opposite effect. Filippo Lippi has become fashionable to order paintings. Finally, he began to enjoy incredible success with the fair sex, both among married ladies and young girls. How many women the master has seen in his entire life, he probably could not have counted. And how inventive were his charming clients. They even liked that he was a monk. The ladies usually persuaded him to paint their portrait, and then it somehow turned out that he stayed with his model for the night.

Filippo adored women. He noticed that they inspire him to create beautiful paintings. Filippo felt a special desire to draw only when he was in love, and he often fell in love. Moreover, the more women were in his life, the more unbearably young and beautiful Madonnas created his brush.

So Filippo gained fame not only as a great artist, but also as an inveterate heartthrob obsessed with colors and women. At his workshop one could always see beautiful customers who, smiling and casting promising glances at him, asked to write another picture for them. For a monk, it is certainly a sin to love women that way, but Filippo Lippi's real life was in them.

Filippo himself understood that he was not a monk by nature, only under duress he carried this hated dignity. He repeatedly filed petitions, but the monastery was in no hurry to part with his negligent brother, because he invariably tithed orders from the cash desk of the monastery. And since Filippo had a great many orders, it was at least unreasonable to lose his monastery. Especially Lippi was patronized by such powerful and noble people as the Medici family and Pope Eugene IV.

In 1456, Fra Filippo Lippi was invited to paint the walls of the convent of St. Margaret Prato, in the vicinity of Florence. At this time, the painter was already 50 years old, but he continued to enjoy the glory of an incorrigible womanizer, and this circumstance extremely confused the abbess. Before Lippi arrived, mother warned the sisters that an obsessed artist was arriving in their quiet abode, and therefore they should stay as far away from him as possible.

Arriving at the monastery, Lippi realized that he had to fulfill a very difficult task. The structure turned out to be so dark that it was not clear how paints could be distinguished here. Filippo could not even understand who would need his painting if in the monastery he did not see a single normal woman. No matter how much he walked along the corridors, he saw only ancient old women. However, the order had to be completed. But how? Maybe in their refectory they’d be a little brighter? Lippi thought.

The refectory was located in the vaulted hall, but light also penetrated into it only through three small windows. Here, drawing was also quite problematic. Lippi felt annoyed. How can one be inside these musty walls when spring is raging outside and the hills are covered with young vines. How can these monks not understand that for inspiration he needs wine, sun and women? There is little sun, no wine at all, and instead of women only old women.

And then it dawned on Filippo. His new mural will certainly turn into a constant temptation for the monks, and he knows how to do it! In the refectory, he will depict Herod's feast. When the monks sit at their meager meal, their eyes will tease the magnificent dishes of the biblical king. The other wall will turn into a temptation for the old nuns. He will draw there Salome, thin, flexible and dazzlingly beautiful. And the altar painting will depict the young Mother of God, all shrouded in solar heat, light and tenderness. That's just bad he will have without a model. How would she be by the way - young, thin, golden-haired ... But, alas ... In this monastery, instead of tender creatures, only ugly old women live.

Thinking about his new job, Lippi did not even think that they could spy on him. And this is exactly what happened. For a long time, a young girl looked at him through a crack in the doorway. Her name was Lucretia Bouti. She was always distinguished by obedience and humility. Lucrezia's father was a merchant. Unfortunately, he went broke and sent his daughter to the monastery. Lucretia was saddened, but did not begin to argue with her parental will. The girl hoped that over time, the parent's business affairs would get better, and he could take her home from here. But time passed, and the affairs of Signor Buti did not improve. When Lucretia was 17 years old, the father stated that the daughter should become a novice and put up with this. And again, Lucretia did not say a word. How can you disobey the elders! So Mother Superior warned that a madman or possessed artist was arriving at the monastery, from whom you should stay away. Lucretia knew to obey. But she is not going to meet him: she will only look with one eye. Curiosity turned out to be stronger than prohibitions.

Unexpectedly for herself, Lucretia pressed the door harder than she expected, and she creaked treacherously. The girl was scared. What if this possessed man rushes at her? But nothing of the kind happened. She saw an ordinary calm man in front of her. He could not be called dazzling handsome, but he was not ugly. He was very beautiful with a soft, kind smile and calm clear eyes.

Filippo turned and saw her, the model he was dreaming of. Young and beautiful, tender and thin, she stood in front of him, embarrassed, dropping her eyes, and a handkerchief crawled from her head, causing golden hair to scatter over her shoulders. Lippi thought for a moment the gloomy refectory was illuminated by the sunlight.

And Lucretia immediately rushed to run. She stopped only by slamming the door of her cell. She became stuffy, and she felt her cheeks glowing. It was quiet around, and only from the street came the endless twitter of cheerful birds and the fervent voices of children playing. Lucrezia's eyes filled with tears. She thought that she probably would not have children, and this consciousness filled with unbearable bitterness. On this day, at a common prayer, the girl felt like in a dream. For the first time, she forgot what words are supposed to pray ...

And Filippo at this time for the first time thought that he was already 50 years old, and this means that life has passed completely and irrevocably. It’s too late for him to fall in love. From now on, he will only paint portraits of these unbearably young and beautiful girls inaccessible to him. And that’s all he can count on ...

Well, apparently, so be it, and Fra Filippo Lippi went to his Mother Superior to ask permission to write Lucretius for the altarpiece of the Madonna. Mother hesitated for a long time, but then still forced the artist to swear that he would not offend the novice. Filippo hastened to assure her that he did not even have such thoughts in his head. He will not touch the girl with his finger. The master was indeed far from sensuality. In the presence of Lucretia, he became surprisingly timid, even afraid to breathe again!

Finally, the altar image was completed. And again, Filippo turned to the abbess. Now he needed to write Lucretius in the form of a dancing Salome. This is not the first time he has written Salomei: dad already ordered him this story once. Filippo remembered how, at that time, the first beauty of Florence served as a model for him. But now, when Filippo saw Lucretius in front of him, full of innocent grace, he caught himself thinking that in front of this shy woman, the most dazzling woman in Florence is just plain ugly.

A mad thought took possession of Filippo's soul: he decided that he would free Lucretia from this wretched monastic robe, because she deserves more. She should wear only the most luxurious clothes. Even at the time when Filippo painted her in the form of a Madonna with a baby in her arms, he always imagined that this was his child.

While Lucretia posed, Filippo talked a lot, like never before in his life. He told her about the beautiful cities and ringing fountains, about the dresses of Florentine beauties, about how wonderful the flowers smell and how shady forests rustle. He told her about the world that he loved so much and in which there is so much sunshine, joy and warmth. Lucretia, shocked, watched his work and suddenly said that she, too, more than anything else, would like to see this world. On the same day, they decided to leave the monastery together, to escape from it secretly. This happened during the celebration of the Removal of the Belt of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Prato usually gathered from all over the country for a celebration, and a procession of pilgrims with an invaluable relic slowly moved along the narrow streets of the city. In such a crowd it was easy to get lost, so the lovers easily slipped away from the abbess.

F. Lippi. Madonna and Child with Angels

A few days later, the father of Lucretia overtook the fugitives. He cursed and cursed his daughter for disgracing her family, deciding to have a relationship with a wicked sinner known for his debauchery. He shouted that he would not give his daughter a penny. And here usually quiet and submissive Lucretia did not obey her father. She did not care, in wealth or poverty, to live with her chosen one; she did not care that he was a monk and, apparently, could never marry her. She neglected the parental curse.

However, Filippo more than anything wanted an official marriage with Lucretia, and he began to act. First, the artist wrote a letter to his native monastery, and then he sent his patron Cosimo Medici a gift - a picture of the Madonna. This Madonna with the face of Lucretia blessed the whole world. The touched Medici petitioned Pope Pius II, and he freed Lippi from a monastic vow. It was 5 years before Filippo was finally able to get married to the stolen Lucretius.

By this time, they already had a son, whom Lucretia named in honor of her father - Filippino, that is, "little Filippo." And the happy Lippi endlessly painted his sweetheart as he always dreamed - with a baby in her arms. A few years later, the couple had a daughter, Alexander.

At 64, Filippo Lippi died unexpectedly. He was at that time in Spoleto, where, together with his friend Fra Diamante, he carried out another order. Once friends decided after work to go into the tavern and skip a glass, but stayed there for a week. They had fun for seven days, and on the eighth Lippi died. In the city they were sure that the father of the next dishonored girl had poisoned him.

Diamante returned to Florence alone. He did not even think of giving Lucretia half the money for the order her husband had done. It seemed tempting to the diamond to buy a property for herself. The Medici wished to transport the ashes of Lippi to Florence, but the locals did not agree to give it. Until now, the remains of Lippi are in the local cathedral. The watchmen say that at night in the cathedral someone sighs heavily and groans. They are convinced that the spirit of the restless Filippo cannot find peace, longing even after death for his beloved Lucretius and his native Florence.