[125] Compare Hannibal, A Historical Drama, by the late Professor John Nichol, act II. scene vi. p. 107—
Ed.
[126] Sanguinetto.—W.W. 1845.
[127] Lake Thrasymene is the largest of the Etrurian lakes, being ten miles in length and three in breadth.—Ed.
[128] C. Flaminius.—Ed.
[129] After the battle of Lake Thrasymene, Hannibal did not push on to Rome, but turned through the Apennines to Apulia, just as subsequently after the battle of Cannas he remained inactive.—Ed.
May 25th 1837
[Among a thousand delightful feelings connected in my mind with the voice of the cuckoo, there is a personal one which is rather melancholy. I was first convinced that age had rather dulled my hearing, by not being able to catch the sound at the same distance as the younger companions of my walks; and of this failure I had a proof upon the occasion that suggested these verses. I did not hear the sound till Mr. Robinson had twice or thrice directed my attention to it.]
[130] Laverna is a corruption of Alverna (now called Alverniac). It is about five or six hours’ walk from Camaldoli, on a height of the Apennines, not far from the sources of the Anio. To reach it, “the southern height of the Monte Valterona is ascended as far as the chapel of St. Romaiald; then a descent is made to Moggiona, beyond which the path turns to the left, traversing a long and fatiguing succession of gorges and slopes; the path at the base of the mountain is therefore preferable. The market town of Soci in the valley of the Archiano is first reached, then the profound valley of the Corsaline; beyond it rises a blunted cone, on which the path ascends in windings to a stony plain with marshy meadows. Above this rises the abrupt sandstone mass of the Vernia, to the height of 850 feet. On its S.W. slope, one-third of the way up, and 3906 feet above the sea-level, is seen a wall with small windows, the oldest part of the monastery, built in 1218 by St. Francis of Assisi. The church dates from 1284.… One of the grandest points is the Penna della Vernia (4796 feet), the ridge of the Vernia, also known as l’Apennino, the ‘rugged rock between the sources of the Tiber and Anio,’ as it is called by Dante (Paradiso, ii. 106).… Near the monastery are the Luoghi Santi, a number of grottos and rock-hewn chambers in which St. Francis once lived.” (See Baedeker’s Northern Italy, 1886, p. 463.)
“The Monte Alverno, or Monte della Verni is situated on the border of Tuscany, near the sources of the Tiber and Anio, not far from the Castle of Chiusi, where Orlando lived.” (Mrs. Oliphant’s Francis of Assisi, chap. xvi. p. 248.)
See also Herzog’s Real-Encyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche, vol. iv. p. 655.—Ed.
[133] From the difference in the colour of each side of the leaf, a grove of olives when wind-tossed is pre-eminently a “twinkling canopy.”—Ed.
[134] See note, p. 67.—Ed.
[135] St. Francis of Assisi, founder of the order of Friars Minors, after establishing numerous monasteries in Italy, Spain, and France, resigned his office and retired to this, one of the highest of the Apennine heights. See note, p. 67. He was canonised in 1230. Henry Crabb Robinson tells us, “It was at Laverna that he” [W.W.] “led me to expect that he had found a subject on which he could write, and that was the love which birds bore to St. Francis. He repeated to me a short time afterwards a few lines, which I do not recollect amongst those he has written on St. Francis in this poem. On the journey, one night only I heard him in bed composing verses, and on the following day I offered to be his amanuensis; but I was not patient enough, I fear, and he did not employ me a second time. He made inquiries for St. Francis’s biography, as if he would dub him his Leibheiliger (body-saint), as Goethe (saying that every one must have one) declared St. Philip Neri to be his.” (See the Memoirs of William Wordsworth, by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 331)—Ed.
[136] The characteristic feature of the Franciscan order was its vow of Poverty, and Francis desired that it should be taken in the most rigorous sense, viz. that no individual member of the fraternity, nor the fraternity itself, should be allowed to possess any property whatsoever, even in things necessary to human use.—Ed.
[137] The members of the Franciscan order were the Stoics of Christendom. The order has been powerful, and of great service to the Roman Church—alike in literature, and in practical action and enterprise.—Ed.
This famous sanctuary was the original establishment of Saint Romualdo (or Rumwald, as our ancestors saxonised the name) in the 11th century, the ground (campo) being given by a Count Maldo. The Camaldolensi, however, have spread wide as a branch of Benedictines, and may therefore be classed among the gentlemen of the monastic orders. The society comprehends two orders, monks and hermits; symbolised by their arms, two doves drinking out of the same cup. The monastery in which the monks here reside is beautifully situated, but a large unattractive edifice, not unlike a factory. The hermitage is placed in a loftier and wilder region of the forest. It comprehends between 20 and 30 distinct residences, each including for its single hermit an inclosed piece of ground and three very small apartments. There are days of indulgence when the hermit may quit his cell, and when old age arrives, he descends from the mountain and takes his abode among the monks.
My companion had, in the year 1831, fallen in with the monk, the subject of these two sonnets, who showed him his abode among the hermits. It is from him that I received the following[138] particulars. He was then about 40 years of age, but his appearance was that of an older man. He had been a painter by profession, but on taking orders changed his name from Santi to Raffaello, perhaps with an unconscious reference as well to the great Sanzio d’Urbino as to the archangel. He assured my friend that he had been 13 years in the hermitage and had never known melancholy or ennui. In the little recess for study and prayer, there was a small collection of books. “I read only,” said he, “books of asceticism and mystical theology.” On being asked the names of the most famous[139] mystics, he enumerated Scaramelli, San Giovanni della Croce, St. Dionysius the Areopagite (supposing the work which bears his name to be really his),[140] and with peculiar emphasis Ricardo di San Vittori. The works of Saint Theresa are also in high repute among ascetics.[141] These names may interest some of my readers.
We heard that Raffaello was then living in the convent; my friend sought in vain to renew his acquaintance with him. It was probably a day of seclusion. The reader will perceive that these sonnets were supposed to be written when he was a young man.—W.W. 1842.
The monastery of Camaldoli is on the highest point of the hills near Naples (1476 feet), and commands one of the finest views in Italy.—Ed.
[138] 1845.
[139] 1845.
[140] 1845.
[141] 1845.
[142] 1845.
[143] In justice to the Benedictines of Camaldoli, by whom strangers are so hospitably entertained, I feel obliged to notice, that I saw among them no other figures at all resembling, in size and complexion, the two Monks described in this Sonnet. What was their office, or the motive which brought them to this place of mortification, which they could not have approached without being carried in this or some other way, a feeling of delicacy prevented me from inquiring. An account has before been given of the hermitage they were about to enter. It was visited by us towards the end of the month of May; yet snow was lying thick under the pine-trees, within a few yards of the gate.—W.W. 1842.
[144] See note, pp. 72, 73.—Ed.
[I must confess, though of course I did not acknowledge it in the few lines I wrote in the Strangers’ book kept at the convent, that I was somewhat disappointed at Vallombrosa. I had expected, as the name implies, a deep and narrow valley overshadowed by enclosing hills; but the spot where the convent stands is in fact not a valley at all, but a cove or crescent open to an extensive prospect. In the book before mentioned, I read the notice in the English language that if anyone would ascend the steep ground above the convent, and wander over it, he would be abundantly rewarded by magnificent views. I had not time to act upon this recommendation, and only went with my young guide to a point, nearly on a level with the site of the convent, that overlooks the Vale of Arno for some leagues. To praise great and good men has ever been deemed one of the worthiest employments of poetry, but the objects of admiration vary so much with time and circumstances, and the noblest of mankind have been found, when intimately known, to be of characters so imperfect, that no eulogist can find a subject which he will venture upon with the animation necessary to create sympathy, unless he confines himself to a particular part or he takes something of a one-sided view of the person he is disposed to celebrate. This is a melancholy truth, and affords a strong reason for the poetic mind being chiefly exercised in works of fiction: the poet can then follow wherever the spirit of admiration leads him, unchecked by such suggestions as will be too apt to cross his way if all that he is prompted to utter is to be tested by fact. Something in this spirit I have written in the note attached to the Sonnet on the King of Sweden; and many will think that in this poem and elsewhere I have spoken of the author of Paradise Lost in a strain of panegyric scarcely justifiable by the tenor of some of his opinions, whether theological or political, and by the temper he carried into public affairs, in which, unfortunately for his genius, he was so much concerned.—I.F.]
[145] The name of Milton is pleasingly connected with Vallombrosa in many ways. The pride with which the Monk, without any previous question from me, pointed out his residence, I shall not readily forget. It may be proper here to defend the Poet from a charge which has been brought against him, in respect to the passage in Paradise Lost, where this place is mentioned. It is said, that he has erred in speaking of the trees there being deciduous, whereas they are, in fact, pines. The fault-finders are themselves mistaken; the natural woods of the region of Vallombrosa are deciduous, and spread to a great extent; those near the convent are, indeed, mostly pines; but they are avenues of trees planted within a few steps of each other, and thus composing large tracts of wood; plots of which are periodically cut down. The appearance of those narrow avenues, upon steep slopes open to the sky, on account of the height which the trees attain by being forced to grow upwards, is often very impressive. My guide, a boy of about fourteen years old, pointed this out to me in several places.—W.W. 1842.
[146] Compare Paradise Lost, book i. l. 302. Vallombrosa—the shady valley—is 18 miles distant from Florence. Wordsworth’s quotation from Milton was from memory. It is not quite accurate.—Ed.
[147] See for the two first lines, Stanzas composed in the Simplon Pass.—W.W. 1842. (See vol. vi. p. 357.)—Ed.
[148] The monastery of Vallombrosa was founded about 1050, by S. Giovanni Gnalberto. It was suppressed in 1869, and is now converted into the R. Instituto Forestale, or forest school. The “cell,” the “sequestered retreat” referred to by Wordsworth, is doubtless Il Paradisino, or Le Celle, a small hermitage 266 feet above the monastery, which is itself 2980 feet above the sea.—Ed.
[149] Compare Milton’s letter to Benedetto Bonmattei of Florence, written during his stay in the city, September 10, 1638.—Ed.
[150] 1845.
[151] 1845.
[152] Compare Paradise Lost, book iii. l. 29—
Ed.
[153] 1845.
[Upon what evidence the belief rests that this stone was a favourite seat of Dante, I do not know; but a man would little consult his own interest as a traveller, if he should busy himself with doubts as to the fact. The readiness with which traditions of this character are received, and the fidelity with which they are preserved from generation to generation, are an evidence of feelings honourable to our nature. I remember how, during one of my rambles in the course of a college vacation, I was pleased on being shown a seat near a kind of rocky cell at the source of the river, on which it was said that Congreve wrote his Old Bachelor. One can scarcely hit on any performance less in harmony with the scene; but it was a local tribute paid to intellect by those who had not troubled themselves to estimate the moral worth of that author’s comedies; and why should they? He was a man distinguished in his day; and the sequestered neighbourhood in which he often resided was perhaps as proud of him as Florence of her Dante: it is the same feeling, though proceeding from persons one cannot bring together in this way without offering some apology to the Shade of the great Visionary.—I.F.]
[154] The Sasso di Dante is built into the wall of the house, No. 29 Casa dei Canonici, close to the Duomo.—Ed.
[It was very hot weather during the week we stayed at Florence; and, never having been there before, I went through much hard service, and am not therefore ashamed to confess I fell asleep before this picture and sitting with my back towards the Venus de Medicis. Buonaparte—in answer to one who had spoken of his being in a sound sleep up to the moment when one of his great battles was to be fought, as a proof of the calmness of his mind and command over anxious thoughts—said frankly, that he slept because from bodily exhaustion he could not help it. In like manner it is noticed that criminals on the night previous to their execution seldom awake before they are called, a proof that the body is the master of us far more than we need be willing to allow. Should this note by any possible chance be seen by any of my countrymen who might have been in the gallery at the time (and several persons were there) and witnessed such an indecorum, I hope he will give up the opinion which he might naturally have formed to my prejudice.—I.F.]