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ARNE NOVÁK
wise from childhood, the acme of human perfections, understand me? O would that someone of the living might come to understand me as Virgil, that benign departed, that silent wayfarer, in the realm of shadows understood me!
CHARLES IV.: The Christian Emperor is your friend, O pagan and haughty poet!
PETRARCH: For the which, my thanks, Sire; but I am neither pagan nor overweening. I am merely a true and suffering man who seeks safety and equality of spirit.
CHARLES IV.: Where else will the arms of the balance which holds all destinies come more firmly to equipoise than at the feet of God?
PETRARCH: The pinions of your prayers soar thither, but my thoughts take root only in lowly and more human regions.
CHARLES IV.: And does your pagan poet lead you thus to salvation? I should marvel if you succeeded in convincing me of this.
PETRARCH: O, to convince you, Sire, to gain possession of your faith, to hold sway over your will, that you might remain with us, with the people, with your brothers and fellow-countrymen here, in Italy, here in the South.
CHARLES IV.: Do not forget that I am a Northerner. Black pine-forests overshadow the dark castles where my inmost thought
