CHAPTER XXXI
A SURVEY OF ITALY (1580-1581)
At the end of the sixteenth century Italy is well under way on a new stretch of history, which lasted until the nineteenth century. Except Venice, always individual, and the Papacy, freshly revivified, Italy has lost all moral force, and become wholly effeminate. In twenty-five years three hundred and twenty-six volumes of sonnets were published. Her political life has become what one may call grand-ducal; her religion formal, superstitious; her literature affected, stilted; her architecture Baroque; her painting and sculpture steeped in mannerism and exaggeration. Nevertheless, Italy is Italy, and has her own charm, her own individuality, her own coquetry. As formerly she lured Barbarian nations, so now she lures individual Barbarians, and becomes the roaming-ground of travellers. She seems less a real country than a theatre, where rococo dukes, cavaliers, and ladies curl their hair and powder their cheeks.
For two centuries this artificial existence continued. Its history is not to be found in the solemn volumes of Cesare Cantù, Carlo Botta, or other Italian historians, but in the journals of German, French, and English travellers: for during these centuries Italy was not a country in either a political or a sentimental sense; it was a place of recreation for gentlemen on the grand tour, pious folk bound Romeward, virtuosi seeking classical remains, and elderly statesmen hoping to cure the gout. The several petty states were so many artificial gardens, where the peasants wore pretty costumes, the dukes sang prize songs, the duchesses trilled tra la la in rival endeavour, and the ecclesiastics trolled out the chorus. It was the Italian opera bouffe on the most charming stage in the world. The best summary of the history of the coming century will be a series of extracts from the diary of a keen-witted French gentleman, travelling for pleasure, Michel de Montaigne, who, in the company of some friends, spent several months in Italy (1580-81). They crossed the Alps over the Brenner Pass and went by way of Trent. Montaigne's diary is sometimes written in the second and sometimes in the third person. He describes many of the principal cities.
Verona (within the territory of the Republic of Venice). "Without health certificates which they had got at Trent they could not have entered the city, although there was no rumour of any danger of pest; but it is the custom (in order to cheat us of the few pennies they cost). We went to see the cathedral, where Montaigne deemed the behaviour of the men at High Mass very peculiar; they chatted even in the choir of the church, standing up, with their hats on and their backs turned to the altar, and did not seem to pay any attention to the service except on the elevation of the Host. There were organs and violins to accompany the mass.... We went to see the castle and were shown all over by the lieutenant in charge. The [Venetian] government keeps sixty soldiers there, rather, according to what they said to Montaigne, against the people of the city than against foreigners. We also saw a congregation of monks called the Gesuati of St. Jerome [not Jesuits]. They are not priests; they neither say mass nor preach; most of them are ignorant, but they carry on a business of distilling lemon-flower water, both in Verona and elsewhere. They are dressed in white, with little white caps, and a dark brown gown over it; good-looking young men." They visited the Ghetto (Jews' quarter), and the Roman amphitheatre, which Montaigne thought the noblest building he had ever seen.
Vicenza. "It is a big city, a little smaller than Verona, all full of palaces of the nobility." The fair, which was held twice a year, was going on upon the parade-ground; booths had been built on purpose, and no shops in the city were allowed to keep open. In the town there was another establishment of the Gesuati, selling their perfumes and also medicines for every ailment. "These monks tell us that they whip themselves every day; each one has his switch at his post in the oratory, where they meet at certain hours of the day and pray, but they have no singing.... The old wine has given out, which vexed me, as it is not good for me, on account of my colic, to drink the new wines, though they are very good in their way." From Vicenza they journeyed by a broad straight road, ditched on either side and raised a little, which ran through a fertile champaign with mountains in the distance, to Padua. The inns here could not be compared with German inns except that they were cheaper by a third. "The streets narrow and ugly, not many people, few handsome houses. We went about all the next day and saw the schools of fencing, dancing, and riding, where there were more than a hundred French gentlemen together." In fact, young men went in great numbers, young Frenchmen in particular, to the schools of Padua, less to acquire a knowledge of books than to acquire the accomplishments which were then the mode. One of Montaigne's party stopped here and found good lodging for seven crowns a month, and "he might have lodged a valet for five crowns more; ordinarily, however, they do not have valets, only a general servant for the house, or else maids; every one has a nice bedroom, but fire and lights in the bedroom are extra. The accommodation was very good, and you can live there very reasonably, and that, I think, is the reason why many strangers go there to live, even those who are not students."
Venice. Here he dined with the French ambassador "very well;" among other things "that the ambassador told him this seemed odd, that he had no social relations whatever with anybody in the city, because the people were so suspicious that a [Venetian] gentleman who should speak to him twice would fall under distrust." One is inclined, however, considering the fate of Milan, to regard a certain distrust of foreigners as not unnatural. Montaigne thought that the four most remarkable things about Venice were the situation, the police, the Piazza of St. Mark's, and the crowds of foreigners. He received as a gift a little book of "Letters" from a Venetian lady, one of that celebrated class of Venetian women who were outside the matrimonial pale yet lived in ostentatious luxury, recognized by the government and by masculine society. This lady at mid-life had changed her ways and devoted herself to literature, and hearing of the famous French author, sent him her book.
Returning by way of Padua, Montaigne passed the sulphur springs, frequented in May and August by the fashionable sick, who took mud or vapour baths and drank the waters. He noted the canals; the system of irrigation in the plains, where rows of vine-laden trees intersected fields of wheat; the big, strong, gray oxen; the broad mud flats, once swamps, which the government was struggling to reclaim.
Rovigo, a little town in Venetian territory near the Adige. "There is as great abundance of meat here as in France, whatever it may be the custom to say, and though they use no lard for the roast, they do not take away the savour. The bedrooms, because there is no glass and they don't shut the windows, are not so clean as in France; the beds are better made, smoother, and well supplied with mattresses, but they have nothing but coarse coverings, and they are very sparing of white sheets; if a man travels alone, or with little style, he won't get any. It is about as dear as in France, or a little dearer."
He crossed the Po, as he had crossed the Adige, upon some kind of pontoon bridge, and went on to
Ferrara (duchy of Ferrara), where he was delayed on account of his health certificate. The ducal regulations on this point were very particular. On the door of every room in the inn was written up, "Remember the health certificate;" immediately on arrival, names of travellers were reported to the magistrates. Montaigne found most of the streets broad and straight, all paved with bricks; there were many palaces, but few people, and he missed the porticos of Padua, so convenient against the rain. He did the town, paid his respects to the duke, saw Tasso in the madhouse, and found the lemon-flower distilling Gesuates again.
At Bologna (in the Papal States), a large, fine city, bigger than Ferrara, and with many more people; he also found young Frenchmen come to learn riding and fencing. He admired the fine porticos, that covered almost every sidewalk, the handsome palaces, the buildings of the School of Sciences, the bronze statue of Neptune designed by John of Bologna, and enjoyed a company of players. "The cost of living was about the same as at Padua, very reasonable; but the city is less peaceful in the older quarters, which make debatable land between the partisans of different nations, on one side always the French, and on the other the Spaniards, who are there in great numbers."
This unpeaceful and factional condition was not confined to Bologna, but spread throughout the Papal States. Even fifty years later a perplexed visitor to Ravenna wrote: "The city is divided, as you know, into Guelfs and Ghibellines, so much so that one man won't go to another's church, and each side has its place in the public square; a tailor who works for one need not look for employment from the other, and so with all the trades; they distinguish one faction from the other by the way they wear their hair, their caps," etc. But these pale shadows of the great old parties were slight inconveniences compared with the banditti, who also decked themselves with old names, and, under pretence of fighting one another, robbed, burnt, pillaged, and murdered with perfect impartiality. The soldiers and the common people united against these rascals, but they were too strong to be utterly extirpated. In the Papal States, one Piccolomini, a member of a famous Sienese family, raided where he chose, and once led a band of two hundred men within a mile or two of the walls of Rome. Terms were made with him, for he was under the protection of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and although he confessed to three hundred and seventy murders within twenty-five years, he was pardoned and absolved.
Leaving Bologna, Montaigne hesitated in his choice of roads on account of brigands, and chose wisely for he was not molested. He crossed the Apennines by a road, which he says is the first that could be called bad, and entered the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. One village on the way, still in papal territory, was famous for the knavery of the innkeepers, who made wonderful promises till the traveller was safely housed, and then rendered the scantest performance. At the next village, which was in Tuscany, rival hosts rode out to meet the traveller, and struggled to secure him, promising everything. One offered to serve a rabbit for dinner free, if Montaigne would lodge with him. The party prudently rode about to all the inns on a tour of inspection, examining food and wine, and making their bargain before dismounting; the host, however, managed to put extras on the bill, it being impossible to remember beforehand every item, wood, candles, linen, hay, etc.
Next day Montaigne rode out of his way to see Pratolino, the Grand Duke's famous country place, with its gardens, alleys, wonderful grottos, all decked with Nereids and Tritons, and fountains of extravagant baroque designs. From there he went on to
Florence, which appeared to him smaller than Ferrara. He went to see the ducal stables, the ducal menagerie, Michelangelo's statues, Giotto's campanile; and remarked that he had never seen a country with so few handsome women as Italy. Lodgings were inferior in comfort to those in France, and the food was far less generous and less well served than in Germany, where, also, sauces and seasonings were far superior; the windows were big and always open, for there was no glass, and if the shutters were shut they excluded light and air as well as wind; the beds were uncomfortable, the wines too sweet; moreover, Florence was esteemed the most expensive city in Italy.
Montaigne dined with the duke, Francesco I (son of Cosimo I), and his second wife, Bianca Cappello, the famous Venetian, who sat at the head of the table. She had a pleasant face, was reputed handsome, and seemed to have been able to keep her husband devoted to her for a long time. The duke mixed water freely with his wine; she scarcely at all. After a brief stay, during which he visited gardens and the environs of the city, which he admired greatly, Montaigne rode southward to
Siena. The country was cultivated everywhere and tolerably fertile, but the road was rough and stony. At Siena he notes the Duomo, the palaces, the piazza, the fountains, and, important point, that "there are good cellars and fresh;" also, that in Tuscany the city walls are let go to ruin, while the citadels are carefully fortified and no one is permitted to go near, showing that the duke feared domestic insurrection more than foreign attack. He observes "the French are kept in such affectionate remembrance here by the people of the country, that at any mention of them tears well up in their eyes, for war itself, with freedom in some form, seems to them sweeter than the peace which they enjoy under this tyranny." The French had aided Siena in its brave struggle for liberty, and a valiant remnant of French and Sienese had held out till the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis (1559), when France abandoned them to Cosimo dei Medici.
From Siena he rode southward past Bolsena, Viterbo, and a pleasant valley surrounded by hills covered with wood, "a commodity somewhat rare in this country." Incidentally he commends the customs: in good houses dinner was served at two o'clock and supper at nine; and if there was a play, it began at six and was over by supper time. "It is a good country for a lazy fellow for they get up late."
At Rome he put up for a day at the Bear, and then took lodgings, three good bedrooms, parlour, dining-room, kitchen, and stable, for twenty crowns a month, the host providing the cook and fire for the kitchen. "Apartments are ordinarily somewhat better furnished than in Paris, especially as they have a great deal of gilt leather, with which the walls of apartments of a certain grade are hung." He might have hired another apartment for the same price, furnished in silk and cloth of gold, but he did not think this luxury suitable, and the rooms were not so convenient. Ancient Rome impressed him immensely, and the modern city, too; he was astonished by the papal court, the number of prelates, the crowd of ecclesiasts, by the streets, so full of richly dressed men, of horses and coaches.
Making a comparison between freedom in Venice and in Rome, he argued for Venice, and adduced these reasons: "Item, that in Rome houses were so insecure, that those who had considerable sums of money were advised to leave their purses at their bankers, so as not to find their chest broken open; item, that it was not very safe to go out at night; item, that, in the very first month of his visit, the General of the Cordeliers was abruptly dismissed from his post and put in prison, because in a sermon, which he preached before the Pope [Gregory XIII] and the cardinals, he had accused prelates of laziness and luxury, but without going into details, and using (with some asperity of voice) only perfectly common and current phrases on the subject; item, that his luggage had been examined on entering the city for the customs, and had been ransacked down to the smallest article of clothing, whereas in most of the other cities in Italy the officials had been satisfied with the mere offer to submit to examination; besides that, they had taken all the books they found in order to examine them, and took so long about it, that a man who had something to do might put them down as lost; add to that, that their rules were so extraordinary that the 'Book of Hours of Our Lady' fell under their suspicion, because it came from Paris and not from Rome, and they also kept books, written by some German doctors against heretics, because in combating them they made mention of their errors."
On Christmas day at St. Peter's during mass, Montaigne "was surprised to see Pope, cardinals, and other prelates, seated almost all through the mass, talking and conversing together. The ceremony seemed more magnificent than devotional." He obtained an interview with the Pope, very ceremonious; and dined with a French cardinal, where the benedicite and repetitions of grace, very long, were recited antiphonally by two chaplains. During dinner the Bible was read, and after the table was cleared, service was held; everything was exceedingly formal, but the chef does not appear to have equalled Cardinal Caraffa's chef, a culinary enthusiast, with whom Montaigne had a long talk on sauces, soups, and serving. Montaigne attended the Carnival sports on the Corso, a festival already at that time more than a hundred years old, where boys, Jews, old men, horses, asses, and buffalo ran races; fair ladies, without masks, looked on, and young cavaliers congregated where the ladies could see them; the ladies were richly clad, the gentlemen simply; and (Montaigne adds) the appearance of the dukes, counts, and marquesses was not equal to their titles.
Montaigne's "Essays" had been submitted to the Master of the Palace, who examined them with the aid of a French friar, for the Master knew no French. After a delay they were returned, and the Master left it to Montaigne's conscience to alter what might seem to be in bad taste, especially in those points to which the French friar objected; item, that Montaigne had used the word Fortune; item, that he had named poets who were heretics; item, that he had made an apology for Julian the Apostate; item, that he had suggested that when a man was saying his prayers he ought at that moment to be free from any unworthy inclination; item, that he judged any punishment in excess of death, cruelty; item, that a child should be educated to do all sorts of things, etc. Another book belonging to Montaigne, a history of the Swiss, was confiscated, because the translator was a heretic.
On Maundy Thursday he saw the Pope come forth on the balcony of St. Peter's attended by his cardinals. On one side a canon, speaking Latin; on the other, a cardinal read, in Italian, a long bull which excommunicated an everlasting list of people, including the Huguenots and all princes who withheld any portion of the territory of the Church. At this last article Cardinals Medici and Caraffa laughed heartily. At night there was a great procession of religious guilds, with twelve thousand torches, including files of Penitents, who scourged their bare backs till the blood ran. Montaigne, however, was of opinion that these Penitents were hired for this purpose. He agreed with the French ambassador, that the poor people were incomparably more devout in France than here, but that in Rome the rich, and especially the courtiers, were more devout than in France.
From Rome Montaigne made his way northward by Spoleto, where there was great alarm caused by a noted brigand. On the way he notes his food,—salt fish, beans uncooked, artichokes also uncooked, peas, green almonds, eggs, cheese, wine, and, in little places, olive oil instead of butter. "You meet monks every now and then who give holy water to travellers and expect alms in return, and a lot of children who beg and hold out their beads, promising to say a string of paternosters for the person who will give them something."
The Umbrian plain was beautiful and fertile, with grains and fruits in abundance, the whole country rich beyond description. So, too, had been the Roman Campagna, but that was not tenanted, for its owners, the Roman barons, had let it to merchant farmers, who did not maintain peasants there, but in harvest time hired husbandmen from all over Italy, to the number of forty thousand, to gather in the crops. From Foligno he turned to the right and crossed the Apennines just below Assisi, and travelled toward the Adriatic coast, making a pilgrimage to Loreto, a place like Lourdes, celebrated for its miracles, and for the "very same little house in which Jesus Christ was born in Nazareth." Here he found the people much more religious than elsewhere; even the attendants in the Church were ready to do anything, and would accept no tips. Thence he went to Ancona, Sinigaglia, Urbino, where he inspected the famous palace begun by Federigo da Montefeltro; then back to Florence, once more to admire the beautiful villas which decked the hills round about, and on to Prato and Pistoia, stagnating little towns, whose civic life had been crushed out by the Medici. So he rode on through lovely country, where long lines of little trees, trellised with vines, divided the rich fields of grain, skirting the hills covered with olive, mulberry, and chestnut, till he reached Lucca, which had saved itself from the clutch of the Medici by clinging to the skirts of Austria.
Lucca, girdled by fortifications worthy of a most martial ardour, maintained a comfortable prosperity by the manufacture of silk; but here, as elsewhere, it was becoming unfashionable to engage in trade, partly on account of decreasing returns and the general waning of energy, and partly from Spanish influences. Gentlemen retired from business, invested their money in landed estates, and were rapidly tending to become the characters which we find in Goldoni's comedies.
From Lucca Montaigne went to the Baths of Lucca and took the cure for near two months. He found the country lovely, but society a little slow; most of the men were apothecaries. After the cure he made another tour southward, then back to Lucca for more baths, from there northward, on the road to Milan, stopping at Pontremoli. At the inn in this place, the dinner began with cheese alla milanese, included a dish of olives, their pits taken out, dressed with oil and vinegar alla genovese; on a bench stood one basin in which all the guests washed their hands in the same water, alla pontremolese. From there he crossed the Apennines, where the mountaineers, horrid people, charged them most cruel prices, and went on into the duchy of Parma, where Alessandro Farnese, the great general, was the reigning duke. At Piacenza, the King of Spain, out of his abundant caution, still maintained a Spanish garrison in the castle, "badly paid as they told me." Thence they proceeded into the duchy of Milan.
At Pavia Montaigne remarks, that from Rome northward the best inn he had lodged at was the Post at Piacenza, and the worst the Falcon at Pavia: "You pay extra for wood, and there are no mattresses on the beds." Milan was the largest city in Italy, not unlike Paris, full of merchandise and craftsmen; it lacked the palaces of other cities, but in size excelled them all, and in throng of people rivalled Venice.
From Milan he rode westward, and entered the domains of the Duke of Savoy, crossing the Sesia near Vercelli, where the duke was building a fort in such haste, that he aroused the suspicion of his Spanish neighbours. Thence he went to Turin. Here the people imitated French ways, looked up to Paris, usually spoke French, or rather French words with Italian pronunciation, and altogether seemed very devoted to France. Montaigne liked Piedmont, finding the inns there better than elsewhere in Italy. The bread was bad but the wine good, there was plenty to eat, and the innkeepers were polite. He crossed the Alps over the Mt. Cenis Pass, half the time on horseback, half the time in a chaise borne by four porters, and then entered Savoy proper, passing its capital, Chambéri, crossing the Rhone to the north and then the little river Ain to the westward, and came to Montluel, the last town of Savoy, and so on to the Saône, Lyons, and French soil (November, 1581).
Such was the Italy of the long period from 1580 to 1789, the land of olives, mulberries, and chestnuts, of fertile fields crossed by vine-laden trees, of irrigated plains and treeless mountains, of innkeepers, good, bad, and indifferent, of Spanish garrisons, ducal citadels, and dare-devil banditti, of begging urchins, perfuming friars, of gentlemen too genteel to work, of prelates in coaches, of antique ruins and Renaissance glory, of blue sky and vivacious manners, in short, almost the Italy that our fathers knew before the perturbations of 1848.