Through the Casentino with Hints for the Traveller

by Lina Eckenstein

CHIESA MAGGIORE, LA VERNA

with its reminiscences of St Romuald?—which the retreat of La Verna, with its thoughts of St Francis? Our anticipations were in no way damped when we found ourselves half an hour later sitting in the little dining-room of the Albergo Amorosi. Certainly the chief merit of the broth was its warmth,—the pigeon was not drawn, though it was tender,—and the cheese could never have suggested the difference between this commodity and chalk. But the delicious fried artichokes, and the assurance of mine host that to-morrow he could procure anything we pleased, went far to restoring our confidence. It was Easter Sunday, visitors could hardly have been expected at this late hour. Besides, the bedrooms and general appurtenances of the place were unexceptionable. So we made the best of our meal, examined the visitors’ book with deliberate curiosity, and then we sat down by the window and watched the fading light of day across a bit of old-fashioned garden, with its blossoming almond tree, the tender green of the budding fig, and the rusty black of a row of cypresses between us and the distant mountains.

Looking back to the time when the Casentino as such emerges from the dimness of the unrecorded past, we find obscurity hanging over this district longer than over adjacent parts of Tuscany. The circle of its enclosing mountains gave the Casentino a remoteness, which qualified its fate in the past as it adds a special colour to its life of to-day. The period of Etruscan independence and the period of Roman rule have left few obvious traces; it is of the times following the barbarian invasion that the district chiefly speaks. When men are thrown into new surroundings, new qualities come into play. There is something fascinating in analysing the influence which race has had upon race, and the results of bringing peoples of different degrees of culture into juxtaposition. All that survived of Roman culture and learning after the advent of the barbarians was to be found in the towns. The German invaders on the banks of the Arno, as on those of the Rhine, were impatient of the restraints of mutual dependence—they avoided life in cities. Once in possession of new lands, the leaders of the conquering host divided, each leader sought a centre of authority for himself, and the lesser military chiefs strove to equal the autonomy of the greater. Solitary and as reserved towards compeers as the eagle, these men made their homes by preference on rocky heights, which nature protected against surprise, and which the art of defence succeeded in rendering almost impregnable.

History chronicled at least four distinct barbarian descents into Northern Italy in the fifth and sixth centuries. Different races and different branches of the same race ousted one another from possession of the land. When the tumult of contrary tides subsided, the Langobards held the sway, which they retained for over two hundred years. The Langobard’s spirit is that of the hunter—it lives to this day in the architectural decorations of North Italian churches, where the bristling boar and the leashed hound, the fierce wolf and the rampant lion, the flying deer and the hungry bird, with nondescript monsters of various kinds, do service in ornamenting façades, supporting columns and relieving capitals.

We know little concerning the settling of Langobard chiefs in the Casentino, but the district, with its fruitful upland tracts, its rocky elevations and wooded side valleys, had great attractions for the invaders, since it favoured the mode of life they held dear. When authentic records begin, many strongholds of the district were in the hands of men who were Langobards by descent, and who became progenitors of some of the most distinguished families of Tuscany. Among these the Guidi claim special attention. For the history of this family decided the history of the Casentino for over four hundred years. No family attained a power at all equalled by theirs, no family so deeply impressed the mind of Dante, and none is so frequently mentioned in the Divine Comedy.

It was against the further advance of the Langobards that the Pope in the eighth century called upon the loyal Franks to interfere in behalf of the temporal estates of the Church. Once again the fertile plains of Italy were overrun by Germans, but in this case by Germans who had grasped the idea of a centralised system of government. Before the unity of the Franks the scattered and divided nobles of Italy were as chaff before the wind. The greater number of her dukes, counts and barons recognised Frankish over-lordship, and in due course became feudatories to the Empire. This relation eventually secured to the Emperor his staunchest allies against the growing Italian communes—it in no way debarred the Italian nobles from living as independent chiefs, warring against one another as personal hatred, jealousy and private revenge prompted. The distinguishing qualities of these men—they may well be called virtues—were audacity, enterprise and a boundless self-reliance. But they were qualities unseparated as yet from the revolting contempt for life and limb of a rough barbarian age, a contempt that found expression in wanton stabbing, poisoning and mutilation as a convenient mode of retaliation on enemies.

But a safeguard necessary to the very existence of these men now lay in their recognition of the claims of the Church. The Pope, as a temporal ruler, might be defied; as a spiritual ruler, who had hosts untold at his command, he was a power and a strength to be respected. Turbulent barons, whose play often ended in bloodshed, began to defer to the priest and to patronise the monk. The ascent to the stronghold was flanked by a chapel, and monastic colonies were invited to settle in the most fruitful districts.

There can be no doubt that the men who, thus prompted, accepted Mother Church, accepted her from purely utilitarian motives. But Mother Church was apparently content to dwell with them on the terms proposed, for she blessed them with many blessings. Exactly those dynasties prospered whose piety is borne out by the numerous endowments which they made. Certainly these were made on conditions which left a loophole for interference on the part of those who made them. But the greater prevails over the lesser, whatever terms the lesser may make. The Church entered into the alliance in obedience to a call from the barons, but in course of time she shook herself free from their control.