Medieval Sourcebook:
Petrarch:
The Ascent of Mount Ventoux
Petrarch's motives for climbing Mount Ventoux - to see the view - is often cited as
the mark of a new humanistic "Renaissance" spirit. It is worthing noting,
however, that in his distinctly non-humanistic work on the "Misery of the Human
Condition", Pope Innocent III had asked the question about why people climb
mountains, and had come up with the same need to see the view.
To Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro
(307) To-day I made the ascent of the highest mountain in this region, which is not
improperly called (308)Ventosum. My only motive was the wish to see what so great an
elevation had to offer. I have had the expedition in mind for many years; for, as you
know, I have lived in this region from infancy, having been cast here by that fate which
determines the affairs of men. Consequently the mountain, which is visible from a great
distance, was ever before my eyes, and I conceived the plan of some time doing what I have
at last accomplished to-day. The idea took hold upon me with especial force when, in
re-reading Livy's History of Rome, yesterday, I happened upon the place where Philip of
Macedon, the same who waged war against the Romans, ascended Mount Haemus in Thessaly,
from whose summit he was able, it is said, to see two seas, the Adriatic and the Euxine.
Whether this be true or false I have not been able to determine, for the mountain is too
far away, and writers disagree. Pomponius Mela, the cosmographer - not to mention others
who have spoken of this occurrence - admits its truth without hesitation; Titus Livius, on
the other hand, considers it false. (309)I, assuredly, should not have left the question
long in doubt, had that mountain been as easy to explore as this one. Let us leave this
matter one side, however, and return to my mountain here, - it seems to me that a young
man in private life may well be excused for attempting what an aged king could undertake
without arousing criticism.
When I came to look about for a companion I found, strangely enough, that hardly one
among my friends seemed suitable, so rarely do we meet with just the right combination of
personal tastes and characteristics, even among those who are dearest to us. This one was
too apathetic, that one over-anxious; this one too slow, that one too hasty; one was too
sad, another over-cheerful; one more simple, another more sagacious, than I desired. I
feared this one's taciturnity and that one's loquacity. The heavy deliberation of some
repelled me as much as the lean incapacity of others. I rejected those who were likely to
irritate me by a cold want of interest, as well as those who might weary me by their
excessive enthusiasm. Such defects, however grave, could be borne with at home, for
charity suffereth all things, and friendship accepts any burden; but it is quite otherwise
on a journey, where every weakness becomes much more serious. So, as I was bent upon
pleasure and anxious that my enjoyment should be unalloyed, I looked about me with unusual
care, balanced against one another the various characteristics of my friends, and without
committing any breach of friendship I silently condemned every trait which might prove
disagreeable (310) on the way. And - would you believe it? - I finally turned homeward for
aid, and proposed the ascent to my only brother, who is younger than I, and with whom you
are well acquainted. He was delighted and gratified beyond measure by the thought of
holding the place of a friend as well as of a brother.
At the time fixed we left the house, and by evening reached Malaucene, which lies at
the foot of the mountain, to the north. Having rested there a day, we finally made the
ascent this morning, with no companions except two servants; and a most difficult task it
was. The mountain is a very steep and almost inaccessible mass of stony soil. But, as the
poet has well said, "Remorseless toil conquers all." It was a long day, the air
fine. We enjoyed the advantages of vigour of mind and strength and agility of body, and
everything else essential to those engaged in such an undertaking and so had no other
difficulties to face than those of the region itself. We found an old shepherd in one of
the mountain dales, who tried, at great length, to dissuade us from the ascent, saying
that some fifty years before he had, in the same ardour of youth, reached the summit, but
had gotten for his pains nothing except fatigue and regret, and clothes and body torn by
the rocks and briars. No one, so far as he or his companions knew, had ever tried the
ascent before or after him. But his counsels increased rather than diminished our desire
to proceed, since youth is suspicious of warnings. So the old man, finding that his
efforts were in vain, went a (311)little way with us, and pointed out a rough path among
the rocks, uttering many admonitions, which he continued to send after us even after we
had left him behind. Surrendering to him all such garments or other possessions as might
prove burdensome to us, we made ready for the ascent, and started off at a good pace. But,
as usually happens, fatigue quickly followed upon our excessive exertion, and we soon came
to a halt at the top of a certain cliff. Upon starting on again we went more slowly, and I
especially advanced along the rocky way with a more deliberate step. While my brother
chose a direct path straight up the ridge, I weakly took an easier one which really
descended. When I was called back, and the right road was shown me, I replied that I hoped
to find a better way round on the other side, and that I did not mind going farther if the
path were only less steep. This was just an excuse for my laziness; and when the others
had already reached a considerable height I was still wandering in the valleys. I had
failed to find an easier path, and had only increased the distance and difficulty of the
ascent. At last I became disgusted with the intricate way I had chosen, and resolved to
ascend without more ado. When I reached my brother, who, while waiting for me, had had
ample opportunity for rest, I was tired and irritated. We walked along together for a
time, but hardly had we passed the first spur when I forgot about the circuitous route
which I had just tried, and took a lower one again. Once more I followed an easy,
roundabout path through winding valleys, only to (312) find myself soon in my old
difficulty. I was simply trying to avoid the exertion of the ascent; but no human
ingenuity can alter the nature of things, or cause anything to reach a height by going
down. Suffice it to say that, much to my vexation and my brother's amusement, I made this
same mistake three times or more during a few hours.
After being frequently misled in this way, I finally sat down in a valley and
transferred my winged thoughts from things corporeal to the immaterial, addressing myself
as follows: - "What thou hast repeatedly experienced to-day in the ascent of this
mountain, happens to thee, as to many, in the journey toward the blessed life. But this is
not so readily perceived by men, since the motions of the body are obvious and external
while those of the soul are invisible and hidden. Yes, the life which we call blessed is
to be sought for on a high eminence, and strait is the way that leads to it. Many, also,
are the hills that lie between, and we must ascend, by a glorious stairway, from strength
to strength. At the top is at once the end of our struggles and the goal for which we are
bound. All wish to reach this goal, but, as Ovid says, 'To wish is little; we must long
with the utmost eagerness to gain our end.' Thou certainly dost ardently desire, as well
as simply wish, unless thou deceivest thyself in this matter, as in so many others. What,
then, doth hold thee back? Nothing, assuredly, except that thou wouldst take a path which
seems, at first thought, more easy, leading through low and worldly pleasures. But
nevertheless in the end, after long (313)wanderings, thou must perforce either climb the
steeper path, under the burden of tasks foolishly deferred, to its blessed culmination, or
lie down in the valley of thy sins, and (I shudder to think of it!), if the shadow of
death overtake thee, spend an eternal night amid constant torments." These thoughts
stimulated both body and mind in a wonderful degree for facing the difficulties which yet
remained. Oh, that I might traverse in spirit that other road for which I long day and
night, even as to-day I overcame material obstacles by my bodily exertions! And I know not
why it should not be far easier, since the swift immortal soul can reach its goal in the
twinkling of an eye, without passing through space, while my progress to-day was
necessarily show, dependent as I was upon a failing body weighed down by heavy members.
One peak of the mountain, the highest of all, the country people call
"Sonny," why, I do not know, unless by antiphrasis, as I have sometimes
suspected in other instances; for the peak in question would seem to be the father of all
the surrounding ones. On its top is a little level place, and here we could at last rest
our tired bodies. Now, my father, since you have followed the thoughts that spurred me on
in my ascent, listen to the rest of the story, and devote one hour, I pray you, to
reviewing the experiences of my entire day. At first, owing to the unaccustomed quality of
the air and the effect of the great sweep of view spread out before me, I stood like one
dazed. I beheld the clouds under our feet, and what I had read (314)of Athos and Olympus
seemed less incredible as I myself witnessed the same things from a mountain of less fame.
I turned my eyes toward Italy, whither my heart most inclined. The Alps, rugged and
snow-capped, seemed to rise close by, although they were really at a great distance; the
very same Alps through which that fierce enemy of the Roman name once made his way,
bursting the rocks, if we may believe the report, by the application of vinegar. I sighed,
I must confess, for the skies of Italy, which I beheld rather with my mind than with my
eyes. An inexpressible longing came over me to see once more my friend and my country. At
the same time I reproached myself for this double weakness, springing, as it did, from a
soul not yet steeled to manly resistance. And yet there were excuses for both of these
cravings, and a number of distinguished writers might be summoned to support me.
Then a new idea took possession of me, and I shifted my thoughts to a consideration of
time rather than place. "To-day it is ten years since, having completed thy youthful
studies, thou didst leave Bologna. Eternal God! In the name of immutable wisdom, think
what alterations in thy character this intervening period has beheld! I pass over a
thousand instances. I am not yet in a safe harbour where I can calmly recall past storms.
The time may come when I can review in due order all the experiences of the past, saying
with St. Augustine, 'I desire to recall my foul actions and the carnal corruption of
(315)my soul, not because I love them, but that I may the more love thee, 0 my God.' Much
that is doubtful and evil still clings to me, but what I once loved, that I hove no
longer. And yet what am I saying? I still love it, but with shame, but with heaviness of
heart. Now, at last, I have confessed the truth. So it is. I love, but love what I would
not love, what I would that I might hate. Though loath to do so, though constrained,
though sad and sorrowing, still I do love, and I feel in my miserable self the truth of
the well known words, 'I will hate if I can; if not, I will love against my will.' Three
years have not yet passed since that perverse and wicked passion which had a firm grasp
upon me and held undisputed sway in my heart began to discover a rebellious opponent, who
was unwilling longer to yield obedience. These two adversaries have joined in close combat
for the supremacy, and for a long time now a harassing and doubtful war has been waged in
the field of my thoughts." Thus I turned over the last ten years in my mind, and
then, fixing my anxious gaze on the future, I asked myself, "If, perchance, thou
shouldst prolong this uncertain life of thine for yet two lustres, and shouldst make an
advance toward virtue proportionate to the distance to which thou hast departed from thine
original infatuation during the past two years, since the new longing first encountered
the old, couldst thou, on reaching thy fortieth year, face death, if not with complete
assurance, at least with (316)hopefulness, calmly dismissing from thy thoughts the
residuum of life as it faded into old age?"
These and similar reflections occurred to me, my father. I rejoiced in my progress,
mourned my weaknesses, and commiserated the universal instability of human conduct. I had
well-nigh forgotten where I was and our object in coming; but at last I dismissed my
anxieties, which were better suited to other surroundings, and resolved to look about me
and see what we had come to see. The sinking sun and the lengthening shadows of the
mountain were already warning us that the time was near at hand when we must go. As if
suddenly wakened from sleep, I turned about and gazed toward the west. I was unable to
discern the summits of the Pyrenees, which form the barrier between France and Spain; not
because of any intervening obstacle that I know of but owing simply to the insufficiency
of our mortal vision. But I could see with the utmost clearness, off to the right, the
mountains of the region about Lyons, and to the left the bay of Marseilles and the waters
that lash the shores of Aigues Mortes, altho' all these places were so distant that it
would require a journey of several days to reach them. Under our very eyes flowed the
Rhone.
While I was thus dividing my thoughts, now turning my attention to some terrestrial
object that lay before me, now raising my soul, as I had done my body, to higher planes,
it occurred to me to look into my copy of St. Augustine's Confessions, a gift that I owe
to your love, and that I always have about me, in memory of both the author and the giver.
I (317)opened the compact little volume, small indeed in size, but of infinite charm, with
the intention of reading whatever came to hand, for I could happen upon nothing that would
be otherwise than edifying and devout. Now it chanced that the tenth book presented
itself. My brother, waiting to hear something of St. Augustine's from my lips, stood
attentively by. I call him, and God too, to witness that where I first fixed my eyes it
was written: "And men go about to wonder at the heights of the mountains, and the
mighty waves of the sea, and the wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean, and
the revolution of the stars, but themselves they consider not." I was abashed, and,
asking my brother (who was anxious to hear more), not to annoy me, I closed the book,
angry with myself that I should still be admiring earthly things who might long ago have
learned from even the pagan philosophers that nothing is wonderful but the soul, which,
when great itself, finds nothing great outside itself. Then, in truth, I was satisfied
that I had seen enough of the mountain; I turned my inward eye upon myself, and from that
time not a syllable fell from my lips until we reached the bottom again. Those words had
given me occupation enough, for I could not believe that it was by a mere accident that I
happened upon them. What I had there read I believed to be addressed to me and to no
other, remembering that St. Augustine had once suspected the same thing in his own case,
when, on opening the book of the Apostle, as he himself tells us, the first words that he
saw there were, "Not in rioting (318)and drunkenness, not in chambering and
wantonness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not
provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof." The same thing happened
earlier to St. Anthony, when he was listening to the Gospel where it is written, "If
thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt
have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me." Believing this scripture to have
been read for his especial benefit, as his biographer Athanasius says, he guided himself
by its aid to the Kingdom of Heaven. And as Anthony on hearing these words waited for
nothing more, and as Augustine upon reading the Apostle's admonition sought no farther, so
I concluded my reading in the few words which I have given. I thought in silence of the
lack of good counsel in us mortals, who neglect what is noblest in ourselves, scatter our
energies in all directions, and waste ourselves in a vain show, because we look about us
for what is to be found only within. I wondered at the natural nobility of our soul, save
when it debases itself of its own free will, and deserts its original estate, turning what
God has given it for its honour into dishonour. How many times, think you, did I turn back
that day, to glance at the summit of the mountain which seemed scarcely a cubit high
compared with the range of human contemplation, - when it is not immersed in the foul mire
of earth? With every downward step I asked myself this: If we are ready to endure so much
sweat and labour in order that we (319)may bring our bodies a little nearer heaven, how
can a soul struggling toward God, up the steeps of human pride and human destiny, fear any
cross or prison or sting of fortune? How few, I thought, but are diverted from their path
by the fear of difficulties or the love of ease! How happy the lot of those few, if any
such there be! It is of them, assuredly, that the poet was thinking, when he wrote:
Happy the man who is skilled to understand
Nature's hid causes; who beneath his feet
All terrors casts, and death's relentless doom,
And the loud roar of greedy Acheron.
How earnestly should we strive, not to stand on mountain-tops, but to trample beneath
us those appetites which spring from earthly impulses. With no consciousness of the
difficulties of the way, amidst these preoccupations which I have so frankly revealed, we
came, long after dark, but with the full moon lending us its friendly light, to the little
inn which we had left that morning before dawn. The time during which the servants have
been occupied in preparing our supper, I have spent in a secluded part of the house,
hurriedly jotting down these experiences on the spur of the moment, lest, in case my task
were postponed, my mood should change on leaving the place, and so my interest in writing
flag.
(320)You will see, my dearest father, that I wish nothing to be concealed from you, for
I am careful to describe to you not only my life in general but even my individual
reflections. And I beseech you, in turn, to pray that these vague and wandering thoughts
of mine may some time become firmly fixed, and, after having been vainly tossed about from
one interest to another, may direct themselves at last toward the single, true, certain,
and everlasting good. Malaucene, April 26.
Source.
From: http://history.hanover.edu/early/petrarch/pet17.htm
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