spirit begin with Dante. Not only does he awaken in us by a few vigorous
lines the sense of the morning airs and the trembling light on the
distant ocean, or of the grandeur of the storm-beaten forest, but he
makes the ascent of lofty peaks, _with_ the only possible object of
enjoying the view--the first man, perhaps, since the days of antiquity
who did so. In Boccaccio we can do little more than infer how country
scenery affected him; yet his pastoral romances show his imagination to
have been filled with it.
But the significance of nature for a receptive spirit is fully and
clearly displayed by Petrarch--one of the first truly modern men. That
clear soul--who first collected from the literature of all countries
evidence of the origin and progress of the sense of natural beauty, and
himself, in his _Ansichten der Natur_, achieved the noblest masterpiece
of description--Alexander von Humboldt, has not done full justice to
Petrarch; and, following in the steps of the great reaper, we may still
hope to glean a few ears of interest and value.
Petrarch was not only a distinguished geographer--the first map of Italy
is said to have been drawn by his direction--and not only a reproducer
of the sayings of the ancients, but felt himself the influence of
natural beauty. The enjoyment of nature is, for him, the favorite
accompaniment of intellectual pursuits; it was to combine the two that
he lived in learned retirement at Vaucluse and elsewhere, that he from
time to time fled from the world and from his age. We should do him
wrong by inferring from his weak and undeveloped power of describing
natural scenery that he did not feel it deeply. His picture, for
instance, of the lovely Gulf of Spezzia and Porto Venere, which he
inserts at the end of the sixth book of the _Africa_, for the reason
that none of the ancients or moderns had sung of it, is no more than a
simple enumeration, but the descriptions in letters to his friends of
Rome, Naples, and other Italian cities in which he willingly lingered,
are picturesque and worthy of the subject. Petrarch is also conscious of
the beauty of rock scenery, and is perfectly able to distinguish the
picturesqueness from the utility of nature. During his stay among the
woods of Reggio, the sudden sight of an impressive landscape so affected
him that he resumed a poem which he had long laid aside. But the deepest
impression of all was made upon him by the ascent of Mont Ventoux, near
Avignon. An indefinable longing for a distant panorama grew stronger and
stronger in him, till at length the accidental sight of a passage in
Livy, where King Philip, the enemy of Rome, ascends the Haemus, decided
him. He thought that what was not blamed in a gray-headed monarch might
be well excused in a young man of private station.
The ascent of a mountain for its own sake was unheard of, and there
could be no thought of the companionship of friends or acquaintances.
Petrarch took with him only his younger brother and two country people
from the last place where he halted. At the foot of the mountain an old
herdsman besought him to turn back, saying that he himself had attempted
to climb it fifty years before, and had brought home nothing but
repentance, broken bones, and torn clothes, and that neither before nor
after had anyone ventured to do the same. Nevertheless, they struggled
forward and upward, till the clouds lay beneath their feet, and at last
they reached the top. A description of the view from the summit would be
looked for in vain, not because the poet was insensible to it, but, on
the contrary, because the impression was too overwhelming. His whole
past life, with all its follies, rose before his mind; he remembered
that ten years ago that day he had quitted Bologna a young man, and
turned a longing gaze toward his native country; he opened a book which
then was his constant companion, the _Confessions_ of St. Augustine, and
his eye fell on the passage in the tenth chapter, "and men go forth, and
admire lofty mountains and broad seas and roaring torrents and the ocean
and the course of the stars, and forget their own selves while doing
so." His brother, to whom he read these words, could not understand why
he closed the book and said no more.
Some decades later, about 1360, Fazio degli Uberti describes, in his
rhyming geography, the wide panorama from the mountains of Auvergne,
with the interest, it is true, of the geographer and antiquarian only,
but still showing clearly that he himself had seen it. He must, however,
have ascended higher peaks, since he is familiar with facts which only
occur at a height of ten thousand feet or more above the
sea--mountain-sickness and its accompaniments--of which his imaginary
comrade Solinus tries to cure him with a sponge dipped in essence. The
ascents of Parnassus and Olympus, of which he speaks, are perhaps only
fictions.
In the fifteenth century, the great masters of the Flemish school,
Hubert and Johann van Eyck, suddenly lifted the veil from nature. Their
landscapes are not merely the fruit of an endeavor to reflect the real
world in art, but have, even if expressed conventionally, a certain
poetical meaning--in short, a soul. Their influence on the whole art of
the West is undeniable, and extended to the landscape-painting of the
Italians, but without preventing the characteristic interest of the
Italian eye for nature from finding its own expression.
On this point, as in the scientific description of nature, Æneas Sylvius
is again one of the most weighty voices of his time. Even if we grant
the justice of all that has been said against his character, we must,
nevertheless, admit that in few other men was the picture of the age and
its culture so fully reflected, and that few came nearer to the normal
type of the men of the early Renaissance. It may be added
parenthetically that even in respect to his moral character he will not
be fairly judged if we listen solely to the complaints of the German
Church, which his fickleness helped to balk of the council it so
ardently desired.
He here claims our attention as the first who not only enjoyed the
magnificence of the Italian landscape, but described it with enthusiasm
down to its minutest details. The ecclesiastical state and the South of
Tuscany--his native home--he knew thoroughly, and after he became pope
he spent his leisure during the favorable season chiefly in excursions
to the country. Then at last the gouty man was rich enough to have
himself carried in a litter through the mountains and valleys; and when
we compare his enjoyments with those of the popes who succeeded him,
Pius, whose chief delight was in nature, antiquity, and simple but noble
architecture, appears almost a saint. In the elegant and flowing Latin
of his _Commentaries_ he freely tells us of his happiness.
His eye seems as keen and practised as that of any modern observer. He
enjoys with rapture the panoramic splendor of the view from the summit
of the Alban hills--from the Monte Cavo--whence he could see the shores
of St. Peter from Terracina and the promontory of Circe as far as Monte
Argentaro, and the wide expanse of country round about, with the ruined
cities of the past, and with the mountain chains of central Italy
beyond; and then his eye would turn to the green woods in the hollows
beneath, and the mountain lakes among them. He feels the beauty of the
position of Todi, crowning the vineyards and olive-clad slopes, looking
down upon distant woods and upon the valley of the Tiber, where towns
and castles rise above the winding river. The lovely hills about Siena,
with villas and monasteries on every height, are his own home, and his
descriptions of them are touched with a peculiar feeling. Single
picturesque glimpses charm him, too, like the little promontory of Capo
di Monte that stretches out into the Lake of Bolsena. "Rocky steps," we
read, "shaded by vines, descend to the water's edge, where the evergreen
oaks stand between the cliffs, alive with the song of thrushes." On the
path round the Lake of Nemi, beneath the chestnuts and fruit-trees, he
feels that here, if anywhere, a poet's soul must awake--here in the
hiding-place of Diana! He often held consistories or received
ambassadors under huge old chestnut-trees, or beneath the olives on the
greensward by some gurgling spring. A view like that of a narrowing
gorge, with a bridge arched boldly over it, awakens at once his artistic
sense. Even the smallest details give him delight through something
beautiful, or perfect, or characteristic in them--the blue fields of
waving flax, the yellow gorge which covers the hills, even tangled
thickets, or single trees, or springs, which seem to him like wonders of
nature.
The height of his enthusiasm for natural beauty was reached during his
stay on Monte Amiata, in the summer of 1462, when plague and heat made
the lowlands uninhabitable. Half way up the mountain, in the old Lombard
monastery of San Salvatore, he and his court took up their quarters.
There, between the chestnuts which clothe the steep declivity, the eye
may wander over all Southern Tuscany, with the towers of Siena in the
distance. The ascent of the highest peak he left to his companions, who
were joined by the Venetian envoy; they found at the top two vast blocks
of stone one upon the other--perhaps the sacrificial altar of a
prehistorical people--and fancied that in the far distance they saw
Corsica and Sardinia rising above the sea.
In the cool air of the hills, among the old oaks and chestnuts, on the
green meadows where there were no thorns to wound the feet and no snakes
or insects to hurt or to annoy, the Pope passed days of unclouded
happiness. For the _segnatura_, which took place on certain days of the
week, he selected on each occasion some new shady retreat "_novas in
convallibus fontes et novas inveniens umbras, quæ dubiam jacerent
electionem_." At such times the dogs would perhaps start a great stag
from his lair, who, after defending himself a while with hoofs and
antlers, would fly at last up the mountain. In the evening the Pope was
accustomed to sit before the monastery on the spot from which the whole
valley of the Paglia was visible, holding lively conversations with the
cardinals. The courtiers, who ventured down from the heights on their
hunting expeditions, found the heat below intolerable, and the scorched
plains like a very hell, while the monastery, with its cool, shady
woods, seemed like an abode of the blessed.
All this is genuine modern enjoyment, not a reflection of antiquity. As
surely as the ancients themselves felt in the same manner, so surely,
nevertheless, were the scanty expressions of the writers whom Pius knew
insufficient to awaken in him such enthusiasm.
The second great age of Italian poetry, which now followed at the end of
the fifteenth century, as well as the Latin poetry of the same period,
is rich in proofs of the powerful effect of nature on the human mind.
The first glance at the lyric poets of that time will suffice to
convince us. Elaborate descriptions, it is true, of natural scenery are
very rare, for the reason that, in this energetic age, the novels and
the lyric or epic poetry had something else to deal with. Bojardo and
Ariosto paint nature vigorously, but as briefly as possible, and with no
effort to appeal by their descriptions to the feelings of the reader,
which they endeavor to reach solely by their narrative and characters.
Letter-writers and the authors of philosophical dialogues are, in fact,
better evidences of the growing love of nature than the poets. The
novelist Bandello, for example, observes rigorously the rules of his
department of literature; he gives us in his novels themselves not a
word more than is necessary on the natural scenery amid which the action
of his tales takes place, but in the dedications which always precede
them we meet with charming descriptions of nature as the setting for his
dialogues and social pictures. Among letter-writers, Aretino
unfortunately must be named as the first who has fully painted in words
the splendid effect of light and shadow in an Italian sunset.
We sometimes find the feeling of the poets, also, attaching itself with
tenderness to graceful scenes of country life. Tito Strozza, about the
year 1480, describes in a Latin elegy the dwelling of his mistress. We
are shown an old ivy-clad house, half hidden in trees, and adorned with
weather-stained frescoes of the saints, and near it a chapel, much
damaged by the violence of the river Po, which flowed hard by; not far
off, the priest ploughs his few barren roods with borrowed cattle. This
is no reminiscence of the Roman elegists, but true modern sentiment.
It may be objected that the German painters at the beginning of the
sixteenth century succeed in representing with perfect mastery these
scenes of country life, as, for instance, Albrecht Durer, in his
engraving of the prodigal son. But it is one thing if a painter, brought
up in a school of realism, introduces such scenes, and quite another
thing if a poet, accustomed to an ideal or mythological framework, is
driven by inward impulse into realism. Besides which, priority in point
of time is here, as in the descriptions of country life, on the side of
the Italian poets.
RIENZI'S REVOLUTION IN ROME
A.D. 1347
R. LODGE
When for nearly forty years Rome had been deserted by the
popes, who had betaken themselves in 1309 to a long
residence at Avignon, France, and when the Eternal City was
virtually without an imperial government--the Teutonic
emperors having likewise abandoned her--she fell back upon
the memories of her great past, recalling the glories of her
ancient supremacy and the means whereby it had been
established and maintained. Whatever might promise to
restore it she was ready to welcome.
At this time the real masters of Rome were the princes or
barons dwelling in their fortified castles outside or in
their strong palaces within the city. Over the northern
district, near the Quirinal, reigned the celebrated old
family of the Colonnas; while along the Tiber, from the
Campo-di-Fiore to the Church of St. Peter, extended the sway
of the new family of the Orsini. Other members of the
nobility, in the country, held their seats in small
fortified cities or castles. Under such domination Rome had
become almost deserted. "The population of the seven-hilled
city had come down to about thirty thousand souls." When at
peace with one another--which was rarely--the barons
exercised over the citizens and serfs a combined tyranny,
while the farmers, travellers, and pilgrims were made
victims of their plunder. At this period Petrarch--that
"first modern man"--wrote to Pope Clement VI that Rome had
become the abode of demons, the receptacle of all crimes, a
hell for the living.
"It was in these circumstances that a momentary revival of
order and liberty was effected by the most extraordinary
adventurer of an age that was prolific in adventurers." This
was Cola Di Rienzi, who was born in Rome about 1313, and who
is sometimes styled "an Italian patriot." In his ambitious
endeavor to reinstate the Cæsarean power in Italy he appears
alternately in the figure of a hero and the character of a
charlatan. Believing himself the founder of a new era, he
was inflamed by his successes, and ended in "mystical
extravagances and follies which could not fail to cause his
ruin."
Cola Di Rienzi was born of humble parents, though he afterward tried to
gratify his own vanity and to gain the ear of Charles IV by claiming to
be the bastard son of Henry VII. A wrong which he could not venture to
avenge excited his bitter hostility against the baronage, while the
study of Livy and other classical writers inspired him with regretful
admiration for the glories of ancient Rome.
He succeeded in attracting notice by his personal beauty and by the
rather turgid eloquence which was his chief talent. In 1342 he took the
most prominent part in an embassy from the citizens to Clement VI; and
though he failed to induce the Pope to return to Rome, which at that
time he seems to have regarded as the panacea for the evils of the time,
he gained sufficient favor at Avignon to be appointed papal notary.
From this time he deliberately set himself to raise the people to open
resistance against their oppressors, while he disarmed the suspicions of
the nobles by intentional buffoonery and extravagance of conduct. On May
20, 1347, the first blow was struck. Rienzi, with a chosen band of
conspirators, and accompanied by the papal vicar, who had every interest
in weakening the baronage, proceeded to the Capitol, and, amid the
applause of the mob, promulgated the laws of the _buono stato_.
He himself took the title of tribune, in order to emphasize his
championship of the lower classes. The most important of his laws were
for the maintenance of order. Private garrisons and fortified houses
were forbidden. Each of the thirteen districts was to maintain an armed
force of a hundred infantry and twenty-five horsemen. Every port was
provided with a cruiser for the protection of merchandise, and the trade
on the Tiber was to be secured by a river police.
The nobles watched the progress of this astonishing revolution with
impotent surprise. Stefano Colonna, who was absent on the eventful day,
expressed his scorn of the mob and their leader. But a popular attack on
his palace convinced him of his error and forced him to fly from the
city. Within fifteen days the triumph of Rienzi seemed to be complete,
when the proudest nobles of Rome submitted and took an oath to support
the new constitution. But the suddenness of his success was enough to
turn a head which was never of the strongest.
The Tribune began to dream of restoring to the Roman Republic its old
supremacy. And for a moment even this dream seemed hardly chimerical.
Europe was really dazzled by the revival of its ancient capital. Louis
of Hungary and Joanna of Naples submitted their quarrel to Rienzi's
arbitration. Thus encouraged, he set no bounds to his ambition. He
called upon the Pope and cardinals to return at once to Rome. He
summoned Louis and Charles, the two claimants to the Imperial dignity,
to appear before his throne and submit to his tribunal.
His arrogance was shown in the pretentious titles which he assumed and
in the gorgeous pomp with which he was accompanied on public and even on
private occasions. On August 15th, after bathing in the porphyry font in
which the emperor Constantine had been baptized, he was crowned with
seven crowns representing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. His most
loyal admirer prophesied disaster when the Tribune ventured on this
occasion to blasphemously compare himself with Christ.
Rienzi's government deteriorated with his personal character. It had at
first been liberal and just; it became arbitrary and even treacherous.
His personal timidity made him at once harsh and vacillating. The heads
of the great families, whom he had invited to a banquet, were seized and
condemned to death on a charge of conspiracy. But a sudden terror of the
possible consequences of his action caused him to relent, and he
released his victims just as they were preparing for execution. His
leniency was as ill-timed as his previous severity. The nobles could no
longer trust him, and their fear was diminished by the weakness which
they despised while they profited by it. They retired from Rome and
concerted measures for the overthrow of their enemy.
The first attack, which was led by Stefano Colonna, was repulsed almost
by accident; but Rienzi, who had shown more cowardice than generalship,
disgusted his supporters by his indecent exultation over the bodies of
the slain. And there was one fatal ambiguity in Rienzi's position. He
had begun by announcing himself as the ally and champion of the papacy,
and Clement VI had been willing enough to stand by and watch the
destruction of the baronage. But the growing independence and the
arrogant pretensions of the Tribune exasperated the Pope. A new legate
was despatched to Italy to denounce and excommunicate Rienzi as a
heretic. The latter had no longer any support to lean upon. When a new
attack was threatened, the people sullenly refused to obey the call to
arms. Rienzi had not sufficient courage to risk a final struggle. On
December 15th he abdicated and retired in disguise from Rome. His rise
to power, his dazzling triumph, and his downfall were all comprised
within the brief period of seven months.
For the next few years Rienzi disappeared from view. According to his
own account he was concealed in a cave in the Apennines, where he
associated with some of the wilder members of the sect of the Fraticelli
and probably imbibed some of their tenets. Rome relapsed into anarchy,
and men's minds were distracted from politics by the ravages of the
black death. The great jubilee held in Rome in 1350 became a kind of
thanksgiving service of those whom the plague had spared.
It is said that Rienzi himself visited the scene of his exploits without
detection among the crowds of pilgrims. But he was destined to reappear
in a more public and disastrous manner. In his solitude his courage and
his ambition revived, and he meditated new plans for restoring freedom
to Rome and to Italy. The allegiance to the Church, which he had
professed in 1347, was weakened by the conduct of Clement VI and by the
influence of the Fraticelli, and he resolved in the future to ally
himself with the secular rather than with the ecclesiastical power, with
the Empire rather than with the papacy. In August, 1351, he appeared in
disguise in Prague and demanded an audience of Charles IV. To him he
proposed the far-reaching scheme which he had formed during his exile.
The Pope and the whole body of clergy were to be deprived of their
temporal power; the petty tyrants of Italy were to be driven out; and
the Emperor was to fix his residence in Rome as the supreme ruler of
Christendom. All this was to be accomplished by Rienzi himself at his
own cost and trouble. Charles IV listened with some curiosity to a man
whose career had excited such universal interest, but he was the last
man to be carried away by such chimerical suggestions.
The introduction into the political proposals of some of the religious
and communistic ideas of the Fraticelli gave the Emperor a pretext for
committing Rienzi to the Archbishop of Prague for correction and
instruction. The Archbishop communicated with the Pope, and on the
demand of Clement VI Charles agreed to hand Rienzi over to the papal
court on condition that his life should be spared. In 1352 Rienzi was
conveyed to Avignon and thrust into prison. He owed his life perhaps
less to the Emperor's request than to the opportune death of Clement VI
in this year.
The new Pope, Innocent VI, was more independent of French control than
his immediate predecessors. The French King was fully occupied with
internal disorders and with the English war. Thus the Pope was able to
give more attention to Italian politics, which were sufficiently
pressing. The independence and anarchy of the Papal States constituted a
serious problem, but the danger of their subjection to a foreign power
was still more serious. In 1350 the important city of Bologna had been
seized by the Visconti of Milan, and the progress of this powerful
family threatened to absorb the whole of the Romagna. Innocent
determined to resist their encroachments and at the same time to restore
the papal authority, and in 1353 he intrusted this double task to
Cardinal Albornoz.
Albornoz, equally distinguished as a diplomatist and as a military
commander, resolved to ally the cause of the papacy with that of
liberty. His programme was to overthrow the tyrants as the enemies both
of the people and of the popes, and to restore municipal self-government
under papal protection. His attention was first directed to the city of
Rome, which, after many vicissitudes since 1347, had fallen under the
influence of a demagogue named Baroncelli.