The Man of Letters
(Francesco Petrarca)
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Is it true that this disease of writing, like other malignant disorders, is, as the Satirist claims, incurable, and, as I begin to fear, contagious as well? How many, do you reckon, have caught it from me? Within our memory, it was rare enough for people to write verses. But now there is no one who does not write them; few indeed write anything else. Some think that the fault, so far as our contemporaries are concerned, is largely mine. I have heard this from many, but I solemnly declare, as I hope sometime to be granted immunity from other ills of the soulfor I look for none from thisthat I am now at last suddenly awakened for the first time by warning signs to a consciousness that this perhaps be true; while intent only upon my own welfare, I may have been unwittingly injuring, at the same time, myself an others. I fear that the reproaches of an aged father, who unexpectedly came to me, with a long face and almost in tears, may not be without foundation, While I, he said, have always honored your name, see the return you make in compassing the ruin of my only son! I stood for a time in embarrassed silence, for the age of the man and the expression on his face, which told of great sorrow, went to my heart.
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Directions: answer the following questions based on your reading of the above passage by Petrarch.
1. What does Petrarch compare writing to?
2. What does he say has happened with regards to writing in recent years?
3. Does he hold himself responsible for this? Why or why not?
4. Do others? Why or why not?
5. How does he react to the old man?
