A Source Book of Mediaeval History Part 55

=2.= In order to realize this, it must be understood that man alone of all beings holds the middle place between corruptibility and incorruptibility, and is therefore rightly compared by philosophers to the horizon which lies between the two hemispheres. Man may be considered with regard to either of his essential parts, body or soul. If considered in regard to the body alone, he is perishable; if in regard to the soul alone, he is imperishable. So the Philosopher[614] spoke well of its incorruptibility when he said in the second book, _On the Soul_, "And this only can be separated as a thing eternal from that which perishes."

=3.= If man holds a middle place between the perishable and the imperishable, then, inasmuch as every man shares the nature of the extremes, man must share both natures. And inasmuch as every nature is ordained for a certain ultimate end, it follows that there exists for man a two-fold end, in order that as he alone of all beings partakes of the perishable and the imperishable, so he alone of all beings should be ordained for two ultimate ends. One end is for that in him which is perishable, the other for that which is imperishable.

[Sidenote: Double aspect of human life]

=4.= Omniscient Providence has thus designed two ends to be contemplated by man: first, the happiness of this life, which consists in the activity of his natural powers, and is prefigured by the terrestrial Paradise; and then the blessedness of life everlasting, which consists in the enjoyment of the countenance of G.o.d, to which man's natural powers may not obtain unless aided by divine light, and which may be symbolized by the celestial Paradise.[615]

=5.= To these states of blessedness, just as to diverse conclusions, man must come by diverse means. To the former we come by the teachings of philosophy, obeying them by acting in conformity with the moral and intellectual virtues; to the latter, through spiritual teachings which transcend human reason, and which we obey by acting in conformity with the theological virtues, faith, hope, and charity. Now the former end and means are made known to us by human reason, which the philosophers have wholly explained to us; and the latter by the Holy Spirit, which has revealed to us supernatural but essential truth through the prophets and sacred writers, through Jesus Christ, the coeternal Son of G.o.d, and through His disciples. Nevertheless, human pa.s.sion would cast these behind, were not man, like horses astray in their brutishness, held to the road by bit and rein.

=6.= Wherefore a twofold directive agent was necessary to man, in accordance with the twofold end; the Supreme Pontiff to lead the human race to life eternal by means of revelation, and the Emperor to guide it to temporal well-being by means of philosophic instruction. And since none or few--and these with exceeding difficulty--could attain this port, were not the waves of seductive desire calmed, and mankind made free to rest in the tranquillity of peace, therefore this is the goal which he whom we call the guardian of the earth and Roman Prince should most urgently seek; then would it be possible for life on this mortal thres.h.i.+ng-floor to pa.s.s in freedom and peace. The order of the world follows the order inherent in the revolution of the heavens. To attain this order it is necessary that instruction productive of liberality and peace should be applied by the guardian of the realm, in due place and time, as dispensed by Him who is the ever-present Watcher of the whole order of the heavens. And He alone foreordained this order, that by it, in His providence, He might link together all things, each in its own place.

[Sidenote: The proper functions of Pope and Emperor]

=7.= If this is so, and there is none higher than He, only G.o.d elects and only G.o.d confirms. Whence we may further conclude that neither those who are now, nor those who in any way whatsoever have been, called electors[616] have the right to be so called; rather should they be ent.i.tled heralds of Divine Providence. Whence it is that those in whom is vested the dignity of proclamation suffer dissension among themselves at times, when, all or part of them being shadowed by the clouds of pa.s.sion, they discern not the face of G.o.d's dispensation.

=8.= It is established, then, that the authority of temporal monarchy descends without mediation from the fountain of universal authority. And this fountain, one in its purity of source, flows into multifarious channels out of the abundance of its excellence.

[Sidenote: The ideal relation of the two powers]

=9.= I believe I have now approached sufficiently close to the goal I had set myself, for I have taken the kernels of truth from the husks of falsehood, in that question which asked whether the office of monarchy was essential to the welfare of the world, and in the next which made inquiry whether the Roman people rightfully appropriated the empire, and in the last which sought whether the authority of the monarch derived from G.o.d directly, or from some other. But the truth of this final question must not be restricted to mean that the Roman Prince shall not be subject in some degree to the Roman Pontiff, for well-being that is mortal is ordered in a measure after well-being that is immortal. Wherefore let Caesar honor Peter as a first-born son should honor his father, so that, brilliant with the light of paternal grace, he may illumine with greater radiance the earthly sphere over which he has been set by Him who alone is Ruler of all things spiritual and temporal.[617]

81. Petrarch's Love of the Cla.s.sics

Francesco Petrarca was born at Arezzo in northern Italy in July, 1304.

His father was a Florentine notary who had been banished by the same decree with Dante in 1302, and who finally settled at Avignon in 1313 to practice his profession in the neighborhood of the papal court.

Petrarch was destined by his father for the law and was sent to study that subject at Montpellier and subsequently at Bologna. But from the moment when he first got hold of the Latin cla.s.sics, notably Cicero and Vergil, he found his interest in legal subjects absolutely at an end. He was charmed by the literary power of the ancients, as he certainly was not by the logic and learning of the jurists, and though his father endeavored to discourage what he regarded as a sheer waste of time by burning the young enthusiast's precious Latin books, the love of the cla.s.sics, once aroused, was never crushed out and the literary instinct remained dominant. The beginnings of the Renaissance spirit, which are so discernible in Dante, become in Petrarch the full expression of the new age. In the words of Professor Adams, "In him we clearly find, as controlling personal traits, all those specific features of the Renaissance which give it its distinguis.h.i.+ng character as an intellectual revolution, and from their strong beginning in him they have never ceased among men. In the first place, he felt as no other man had done since the ancient days the beauty of nature and the pleasure of mere life, its sufficiency for itself; and he had also a sense of ability and power, and a self-confidence which led him to plan great things, and to hope for an immortality of fame in this world. In the second place, he had a most keen sense of the unity of past history, of the living bond of connection between himself and men of like sort in the ancient world. That world was for him no dead antiquity, but he lived and felt in it and with its poets and thinkers, as if they were his neighbors. His love for it amounted almost, if we may call it so, to an ecstatic enthusiasm, hardly understood by his own time, but it kindled in many others a similar feeling which has come down to us. The result is easily recognized in him as a genuine culture, the first of modern men in whom this can be found.... Finally, Petrarch first put the modern spirit into conscious opposition to the mediaeval. The Renaissance meant rebellion and revolution. It meant a long and bitter struggle against the whole scholastic system, and all the follies and superst.i.tions which flourished under its protection. Petrarch opened the attack along the whole line. Physicians, lawyers, astrologers, scholastic philosophers, the universities--all were enemies of the new learning, and so his enemies. And these attacks were not in set and formal polemics alone, his letters and almost all his writings were filled with them. It was the business of his life."[618]

In the latter part of his life Petrarch enjoyed the highest renown throughout Europe. The cities of Italy, especially, vied with one another in showering honors upon him. A decree of the Venetian senate affirmed that no Christian poet or philosopher could be compared with him. Arezzo, the town of his birth, awarded him a triumphal procession. Florence bought the estates once confiscated from his father and begged him to accept them as a meager gift to one "who for centuries had no equal and could scarcely find one in the ages to come." The climax came in 1341 when both the University of Paris and the Roman Senate invited him to present himself and receive the poet's crown, in revival of an old and all but forgotten ceremony of special honor. The invitation from Rome was accepted and the celebration attending the coronation was one of the most splendid of the age. In 1350 Petrarch became acquainted with Boccaccio and thenceforth there existed the warmest friends.h.i.+p between these two great exponents of Renaissance ideals and achievement. In 1369 he retired to Arqua, near Padua, where he died in 1374.

Besides his poems Petrarch wrote a great number of letters, some in Latin and some in Italian. Letter-writing was indeed a veritable pa.s.sion with him; and he not only wrote freely but was careful to preserve copies of what he wrote. His prose correspondence has been cla.s.sified in four divisions. The largest one comprises three hundred forty-seven letters, written between the years 1332 and 1362, and given the general t.i.tle of _De Rebus Familiaribus_, because in them only topics presumably of everyday interest were discussed and without particular attention to style. The second group, the so-called _Epistolae Variae_, numbers about seventy. The third, the _Epistolae de Rebus Senilibus_ ("Letters of Old Age"), includes one hundred twenty-four letters written during the last twelve years of the poet's life. The fourth, comprising about twenty letters, was made up of epistles containing such sharp criticism of the papal regime at Avignon that the author thought it best to suppress the names of those to whom they were addressed. Their general designation, therefore, is _Epistolae sine t.i.tulo_. The following pa.s.sages are taken from a letter found in the _Epistolae Variae_. It was written to a literary friend, August 18, 1360, while Petrarch was at Milan, uncertain whither the political storms of the period would finally drive him. In the portion which precedes that given below the writer has been commenting on various invitations which had reached him from friends in Padua, Florence, and even beyond the Alps. This gives him occasion to lament the unsettled conditions of his times and to voice the longing of the scholar for peace and quiet. Thence he proceeds to speak of matters which reveal in an interesting way his pa.s.sionate love for the beauties of cla.s.sical literature and his sympathy with its dominant ideas. Cicero was his favorite Latin author; after him, Vergil and Ovid. Greek literature, unfortunately, it was impossible for him to know at first hand. In spite of a lifelong desire, and at least one determined effort (which is referred to in the letter below), he never acquired even a rudimentary reading knowledge of the Greek language.

At best he could only read fragments of Homer, Plato, and Aristotle in extremely faulty Latin translations.[619]

Source--Franciscus Petrarca, _Epistolae de Rebus Familiaribus et Variae_ ["Letters of Friendly Intercourse, and Miscellaneous Letters"], edited by J. Fraca.s.setti (Florence, 1869), Vol.

III., pp. 364-371. Adapted from translation in Merrick Whitcomb, _Source Book of the Italian Renaissance_ (Philadelphia, 1903), pp. 14-21 _pa.s.sim_.

[Sidenote: Petrarch's longing for peace and seclusion]

If you should ask me, in the midst of these opinions of my friends, what I myself think of the matter, I can only reply that I long for a place where solitude, leisure, repose, and silence reign, however far from wealth and honors, power and favors. But I confess I know not where to find it. My own secluded nook, where I have hoped not only to live, but even to die, has lost all the advantages it once possessed, even that of safety. I call to witness thirty or more volumes, which I left there recently, thinking that no place could be more secure, and which, a little later, having escaped from the hands of robbers and returned, against all hope, to their master, seem yet to blanch and tremble and show upon their foreheads the troubled condition of the place whence they have escaped. Therefore I have lost all hope of revisiting this charming retreat, this longed-for country spot. Still, if the opportunity were offered me, I should seize it with both hands and hold it fast. I do not know whether I still possess a glimmer of hope, or am feigning it for self-deception, and to feed my soul's desire with empty expectation.

[Sidenote: Drawbacks of even Milan and Padua]

But I proceed, remembering that we had much conversation on this point last year, when we lived together in the same house, in this very city [Milan]; and that after having examined the matter most carefully, in so far as our light permitted, we came to the conclusion that while the affairs of Italy, and of Europe, remain in this condition, there is no place safer and better for my needs than Milan, nor any place that suits me so well. We made exception only of the city of Padua, whither I went shortly after and whither I shall soon return; not that I may obliterate or diminish--that I should not wish--but that I may soften the regret which my absence causes the citizens of both places. I know not whether you have changed your opinion since that time; but for me I am convinced that to exchange the tumult of this great city and its annoyances for the annoyances of another city would bring me no advantage, perhaps some inconvenience, and beyond a doubt, much fatigue. Ah, if this tranquil solitude, which, in spite of all my seeking, I never find, as I have told you, should ever show itself on any side, you will hear, not that I have gone, but that I have flown, to it....

In the succeeding paragraph of your letter you jest with much elegance, saying that I have been wounded by Cicero without having deserved it, on account of our too great intimacy.[620] "Because,"

you say, "those who are nearest to us most often injure us, and it is extremely rare that an Indian does an injury to a Spaniard."

True it is. It is on this account that in reading of the wars of the Athenians and Lacedaemonians, and in contemplating the troubles of our own people with our neighbors, we are never struck with astonishment; still less so at the sight of the civil wars and domestic troubles which habit has made of so little account that concord itself would more easily cause surprise. But when we read that the king of Scythia has come to blows with the king of Egypt, and that Alexander of Macedonia has penetrated to the ends of India, we experience a sensation of astonishment which the reading of our histories, filled as they are with the deeds of Roman bravery in their distant expeditions, does not afford. You bring me consolation, in representing me as having been wounded by Cicero, to whom I am fondly attached, a thing that would probably never happen to me, at the hands of either Hippocrates[621] or Alb.u.mazar....[622]

[Sidenote: Common indifference to people and events near at hand]

You ask me to lend you the copy of Homer that was on sale at Padua, if, as you suppose, I have purchased it (since, you say, I have for a long time possessed another copy) so that our friend Leo[623] may translate it from Greek into Latin for your benefit and for the benefit of our other studious compatriots. I saw this book, but neglected the opportunity of acquiring it, because it seemed inferior to my own. It can easily be had with the aid of the person to whom I owe my friends.h.i.+p with Leo; a letter from that source would be all-powerful in the matter, and I will myself write him.

[Sidenote: A request for a copy of Homer]

[Sidenote: Fondness for Greek literature]

If by chance the book escape us, which seems to be very unlikely, I will let you have mine. I have been always fond of this particular translation and of Greek literature in general, and if fortune had not frowned upon my beginnings, in the sad death of my excellent master, I should be perhaps to-day something more than a Greek still at his alphabet. I approve with all my heart and strength your enterprise, for I regret and am indignant that an ancient translation, presumably the work of Cicero, the commencement of which Horace inserted in his _Ars Poetica_,[624] should have been lost to the Latin world, together with many other works. It angers me to see so much solicitude for the bad and so much neglect of the good. But what is to be done? We must be resigned....

[Sidenote: Difficulty of translating works of literature]

[Sidenote: Longing for the translation of Homer]

I wish to take this opportunity of warning you of one thing, lest later on I should regret having pa.s.sed it over in silence. If, as you say, the translation is to be made literally in prose, listen for a moment to the opinion of St. Jerome as expressed in his preface to the book, _De Temporibus_, by Eusebius of Caesarea, which he translated into Latin.[625] Here are the very words of this great man, well acquainted with these two languages, and indeed with many others, and of special fame for his art of translating: _If any one_, he says, _refuses to believe that translation lessens the peculiar charm of the original, let him render Homer into Latin, word for word; I will say further, let him translate it into prose in his own tongue, and he will see a ridiculous array and the most eloquent of poets transformed into a stammerer._ I tell you this for your own good, while it is yet time, in order that so important a work may not prove useless. As for me, I wish the work to be done, whether well or ill. I am so famished for literature that just as he who is ravenously hungry is not inclined to quarrel with the cook's art, so I await with a lively impatience whatever dishes are to be set before my soul. And in truth, the morsel in which the same Leo, translating into Latin prose the beginning of Homer, has given me a foretaste of the whole work, although it confirms the sentiment of St. Jerome, does not displease me. It possesses, in fact, a secret charm, as certain viands, which have failed to take a moulded shape, although they are lacking in form, preserve nevertheless their taste and odor. May he continue with the aid of Heaven, and may he give us Homer, who has been lost to us!

[Sidenote: A loan of a volume of Plato]

In asking of me the volume of Plato which I have with me, and which escaped the fire at my transalpine country house, you give me proof of your ardor, and I shall hold this book at your disposal, whenever the time shall come. I wish to aid with all my power such n.o.ble enterprises. But beware lest it should be unbecoming to unite in one bundle these two great princes of Greece, lest the weight of these two spirits should overwhelm mortal shoulders. Let your messenger undertake, with G.o.d's aid, one of the two, and first him who has written many centuries before the other. Farewell.

82. Petrarch's Letter to Posterity

The following is a letter of Petrarch addressed, by a curious whim, to Posterity. It gives an excellent idea of the poet's opinion of himself and reveals the sort of things that interested the typical man of culture in the early Renaissance period. It is supposed to have been written in the year 1370, when Petrarch had completed the sixty-sixth year of his life. The letter betrays a longing for individual fame which was common in cla.s.sical times and during the Renaissance, but not in the Middle Ages.

Source--Franciscus Petrarca, _Epistolae de Rebus Familiaribus et Variae_ ["Letters of Friendly Intercourse, and Miscellaneous Letters"], edited by J. Fraca.s.setti (Florence, 1869), Vol. I., pp. 1-11. Translated in James H. Robinson and Henry W. Rolfe, _Petrarch, the First Modern Scholar and Man of Letters_ (New York, 1898), pp. 59-76 _pa.s.sim_.

_Francis Petrarch, to Posterity, greeting_:

It is possible that some word of me may have come to you, though even this is doubtful, since an insignificant and obscure name will scarcely penetrate far in either time or s.p.a.ce. If, however, you should have heard of me, you may desire to know what manner of man I was, or what was the outcome of my labors, especially those of which some description or, at any rate, the bare t.i.tles may have reached you.

[Sidenote: Petrarch's early life]

To begin, then, with myself. The utterances of men concerning me will differ widely, since in pa.s.sing judgment almost every one is influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil report alike know no bounds. I was, in truth, a poor mortal like yourself, neither very exalted in my origin, nor, on the other hand, of the most humble birth, but belonging, as Augustus Caesar says of himself, to an ancient family. As to my disposition, I was not naturally perverse or wanting in modesty, however the contagion of evil a.s.sociations may have corrupted me.

My youth was gone before I realized it; I was carried away by the strength of manhood. But a riper age brought me to my senses and taught me by experience the truth I had long before read in books, that youth and pleasure are vanity--nay, that the Author of all ages and times permits us miserable mortals, puffed up with emptiness, thus to wander about, until finally, coming to a tardy consciousness of our sins, we shall learn to know ourselves.

[Sidenote: Physical appearance]

In my prime I was blessed with a quick and active body, although not exceptionally strong; and while I do not lay claim to remarkable personal beauty, I was comely enough in my best days. I was possessed of a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for long years a keen vision, which, however, deserted me, contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance, to resort to gla.s.ses.[626] Although I had previously enjoyed perfect health, old age brought with it the usual array of discomforts.

[Sidenote: Preference for plain and sensible living]

My parents were honorable folk, Florentine in their origin, of medium fortune, or, I may as well admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty. They had been expelled from their native city,[627]

and consequently I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in the year 1304 of this latter age, which begins with Christ's birth, July the 20th, on a Monday, at dawn. I have always possessed an extreme contempt for wealth; not that riches are not desirable in themselves, but because I hate the anxiety and care which are invariably a.s.sociated with them. I certainly do not long to be able to give gorgeous banquets. I have, on the contrary, led a happier existence with plain living and ordinary fare than all the followers of Apicius,[628] with their elaborate dainties. So-called convivia, which are but vulgar bouts, sinning against sobriety and good manners, have always been repugnant to me. I have ever felt that it was irksome and profitless to invite others to such affairs, and not less so to be bidden to them myself. On the other hand, the pleasure of dining with one's friends is so great that nothing has ever given me more delight than their unexpected arrival, nor have I ever willingly sat down to table without a companion. Nothing displeases me more than display, for not only is it bad in itself and opposed to humility, but it is troublesome and distracting.

[Sidenote: Intimacy with renowned men]

In my familiar a.s.sociations with kings and princes, and in my friends.h.i.+p with n.o.ble personages, my good fortune has been such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel fate of those who are growing old that they can commonly only weep for friends who have pa.s.sed away. The greatest kings of this age have loved and courted me.

They may know why; I certainly do not. With some of them I was on such terms that they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embarra.s.sing me, but, on the contrary, bringing with it many advantages. I fled, however, from many of those to whom I was greatly attached; and such was my innate longing for liberty that I studiously avoided those whose very name seemed incompatible with the freedom that I loved.