A consideration of Petrarch's influence on, and appearance in, French texts - and in particular, his appropriation by the Avignonese. Was Petrarch French? This book explores the various answers to that bold question offered by French readers and translators of Petrarch working in a period of less well-known but equally rich Petrarchism: the nineteenth century. It considers both translations and rewritings: the former comprise not only Petrarch's celebrated Italian poetry but also his often neglected Latin works; the latter explore Petrarch's influence on and presence in French novels aswell as poetry of the period, both in and out of the canon. Nineteenth-century French Petrarchism has its roots in the later part of the previous century, with formative contributions from Voltaire, Rousseau, and, in particular, the abbe de Sade. To these literary catalysts must be added the unification of Avignon with France at the Revolution, as well as anniversary commemorations of Petrarch's birth and death celebrated in Avignon and Fontaine-de-Vaucluse across the period (1804-1874-1904). Situated at the crossroads of reception history, medievalism, and translation studies, this investigation uncovers tensions between the competing construction of a national, French Petrarch and a local, Avignonese or Provencal poet. Taking Petrarch as its litmus test, this book also asks probing questions about the bases of nationality, identity, and belonging. Jennifer Rushworth is a Junior Research Fellowat St John's College, Oxford.

This book brings together, in a novel and exciting combination, three authors who have written movingly about mourning: two medieval Italian poets, Dante Alighieri and Francesco Petrarca, and one early twentieth-century French novelist, Marcel Proust. Each of these authors, through their respective narratives of bereavement, grapples with the challenge of how to write adequately about the deeply personal and painful experience of grief. In Jennifer Rushworth's analysis, discourses of mourning emerge as caught between the twin, conflicting demands of a comforting, readable, shared generality and a silent, solitary respect for the uniqueness of any and every experience of loss. Rushworth explores a variety of major questions in the book, including: what type of language is appropriate to mourning? What effect does mourning have on language? Why and how has the Orpheus myth been so influential on discourses of mourning across different time periods and languages? Might the form of mourning described in a text and the form of closure achieved by that same text be mutually formative and sustaining? In this way, discussion of the literary representation of mourning extends to embrace topics such as the medieval sin of acedia, the proper name, memory, literary epiphanies, the image of the book, and the concept of writing as promise. In addition to the three primary authors, Rushworth draws extensively on the writings of Sigmund Freud, Julia Kristeva, Jacques Derrida, and Roland Barthes. These rich and diverse psychoanalytical and French theoretical traditions provide terminological nuance and frameworks for comparison, particularly in relation to the complex term melancholia.