"Ascanium surgentem, et spes hæredis Tuli
Respice, cui regnum Italiæ, romanaque tellus
Debetur.... (Æn. iv. 272.)
What may it profit thee to subdue Cremona? Brescia, Bergamo, Pavia, and other cities will continue to revolt until thou hast extirpated the root of the evil. Art ignorant mayhap where the rank fox lurketh in hiding? The beast drinketh from the Arno, polluting the waters with its jaws. Knowest thou not that Florence is its name? Florence is the viper that stings its mother's breast, the black sheep that corrupts the whole flock, the Myrrha guilty of incest with her father. In fact it is Florence who rends the bosom of the mother—Rome, that created her in the likeness of herself, and violates the commands of the Father of the Faithful, who is agreed with thee. And Florence, while contemning her own sovereign, sides with an alien monarch and others' rights. Delay no more, but haste to slay the new Goliath with the sling of thy wisdom and the stone of thy might."[601]
This semi-scholastic, semi-Biblico-classical, and often inflated language, admirably represents the ideas of the period, and proves the excited state of Dante's mind. He was undoubtedly the first to put clearly into words the new Ghibelline theory that had been gradually developing and maturing in his mind ever since he had indignantly parted from his fellow-exiles, and turned to solitary study. Although, as we have already remarked, this new conception—more amply developed in Dante's "Monarchia"—was certainly theoretical and literary rather than practical, it was deeply rooted nevertheless in the thought of the period, and the work devoted to its disclosure already shows, by unmistakable signs, that the spirit of the age was about to be transformed. In reading the "Monarchia" we are often plunged back in the Middle Ages, but the pale gleaming of a new dawn often shimmers before our eyes. "The Empire represents the law upon which human society is firmly based; it is derived accordingly from God, the source of the Imperial, as of the Papal power." In this we may already discern the conception of an independent secular society emancipated from the Church, and thus the idea of a State founded upon law—an idea inspired by ancient Rome, and suggested by new practical needs—is first put into words at the close of the Middle Ages which had denied its possibility. But even Dante failed to see that the new State must be intrinsically national, neither could he perceive that the universal Empire he invoked, and now represented by Henry VII., was precisely what made it impossible for that State to be formed. Thus the novel and almost prophetic portion of his book is neutralised by its theoretic and scholastic elements. The independent secular State, foreseen by his lofty intellect, was indeed bound to triumph; but its victory implied the destruction of the mediæval Empire of which his book was intended to be the apotheosis. On the contrary, the "Monarchia" became its epitaph, as some one has justly remarked. Nevertheless, some vaguely distant conception of the State, and even of the national State, occasionally flashes forth in Dante's book, though still battling with the mists of revived classic lore. The Empire is not, in fact, to be separated from the Eternal City that gave it birth, and of which it is the heir. Rome, the natural and permanent seat of empire, was to be restored to her ancient grandeur by the coming of the emperor. Also, were not Rome and Italy one and the same thing? Henry VII. was the representative, not only of law but of peace, freedom, and civilisation, therefore by him Italy's woes would be brought to an end, and Italy's freedom guaranteed. Was not Henry the master of the world? Hence he could desire nothing more, and could not fail to be the just lord and father of all, respecting every legally acquired right and jurisdiction. But it was precisely the emperor's yearning to be lord of all men and all things that was so opposed to the national spirit that was already beginning to stir many minds, and that—if almost unawares—Alighieri was so earnestly lauding, while practically denying it by imploring the resurrection of the Empire.
This contradiction gave a truly tragic hue to Dante's mental state at the time. He was profoundly sincere, profoundly persuaded of the truth of his ideas. Inflamed with holy wrath against all supporters of the Pope and the Angevins, mindful of the deeds he had seen committed in Florence by Boniface VIII. and Charles of Valois, he had a premonition, amounting almost to second sight, of the numerous calamities to be wrought upon all Italy by the obstinacy of his opponents. But he failed to see that his own political theory would have thrust Italy back into the feudal Middle Ages, neutralising the work of the communes and the result of the prolonged struggles, in which he himself had been recently involved. The conflicting emotions stirring within him found vent in the "Divine Comedy" depicting two different and often contrasting worlds, and wherein the past is touched and transformed by a new spirit, made the source of a new future, new art, new literature and new civilisation. In this great poem the reality of human passion and human life breaks through the mystic clouds of the Middle Ages, and finally disperses them for ever. Therefore philosophers and historians may find in the poem all the constituents of an age in which one form of society was dying out, and another springing, almost visibly, to life. But although the conflict of thought in Dante's mind might produce immortal verse, it could not possibly create any efficient political system.
On the latter point the advantage lay with the Florentines, inasmuch as they always clung to actualities and the needs of the moment. They weighed and counted their bales of silks and woollens, and calculated the probable damage to their import and export trade from the triumph of the Empire in Italy. They saw that it would inevitably ruin their commerce; and by assuring victory to their foes, i.e., to the magnates, Pisans, and many petty Italian tyrants, would overthrow their own freedom and the government of the guilds. Was not this belief justified by the fate of Milan, Cremona, and Brescia? This was why the Florentines called the Guelph cities to their side, and in the name of Italy, freedom, and their common independence, united them all in a defensive alliance against the foreign foe. Nevertheless they had also leagued with King Robert and espoused the cause of France and the Pope, whose triumph was destined to prove fatal to Italian liberty and independence. As we have previously shown, the nation could only be built up on the ruins and by the destruction of both parties. The long and difficult course of historic evolution requisite to prepare the way for a distant future was then unknown to all. The Florentines only thought of securing present safety, and in this they were well advised and fortunate.
X.
Meanwhile that "crowned victim of his own fate," as Del Lungo calls Henry VII., continued his advance with untroubled self-confidence. The royal peacemaker felt no remorse at having drenched Italian cities in blood and disseminated discord. Not even the loss of wife and brother, the slaughter of his best soldiers, the desertion of numerous adherents, nor the scathing contempt of his foes availed to shake his self-assurance and certainty of success. Calm and composed as ever, he entered Pisa on the 6th of March, 1312, was welcomed with great pomp, and remained amid this truly friendly population until the 23rd of April. While at Lausanne he had already received sixty thousand florins from the Pisans, and they now showed the sincerity of their submission to him by accepting new magistrates at his hands and promising a second gift of money equal to the first.[602] Neither did he feel the slightest alarm on hearing that the army of Robert's brother, Prince John, had gained reinforcements in Rome.
That prince had brought with him a force of over six hundred Catalan and Apulian horse, and had now been joined by two hundred of the best Florentine cavalry, led by De la Rat, who, in addition to his Catalan troops, had also collected one thousand foot. Fresh contingents had poured in from Lucca, Sienna, and other towns. The Capitol, the Castle of St. Angelo, and Trastevere, and all the fortresses were therefore held by the prince. And as a final stroke, the Neapolitan king, after first stating that he occupied Rome for the Empire, now declared openly against Henry. Nevertheless the latter continued his march with only one thousand horse and a body of infantry, and on the 7th of May, 1312, entered the Eternal City. He quickly attacked and won the Capitol; but in seeking to force his way to St. Peter's to grasp the Imperial crown, a real battle took place in the streets; and a sortie from Castle St. Angelo repulsed him with heavy loss. Nor would his coronation have been accomplished at all, had not the Roman people declared in his favour and by threats of violence compelled the prelates to disregard custom and perform the solemn rite in the Lateran Church on the 29th of June. But Henry was now obliged to recognise that even the Pope was adverse, when the latter commanded him to refrain from attacking Naples, to make a twelvemonth's truce with the king, to leave Rome on the day of his coronation, to renounce all rights over the Eternal City, and never re-enter it without permission. At last the Pope had dropped his mask, and the Florentines were proved good prophets. But at the very moment in which their Guelph policy triumphed, and the breach between Pope and emperor was so plainly revealed, the people proclaimed Rome an Imperial city and their Capitol the permanent seat of the emperor, whose authority was to be acknowledged as emanating from the Roman people alone. "Dum sola tribunitia, exterminatis Patribus, potestas adolevisset illo sub magistratu ... omnia hæc parari Cæsari, ipsum evocandum in Urbem, vehendumque triumphaliter in Capitolium, principatum ab sola plebe recogniturum."[603]
Dante's own idea was now uttered by the voice of Rome.
At last, and after much hesitation, Henry decided to adopt the advice proffered by the great poet some time before, and went to lay siege to Florence. Crossing the Roman Campagna in August, his army was decimated by fever, and after the capture of Montevarchi and San Giovanni, he halted at Figline.[604] The Florentines, without good commanders and with most disorderly haste, marched a large force of infantry and 1,800 horse to the Castle of Incisa. But they then declined to accept battle, and the emperor continued his journey by another route, vigorously repulsing every sortie made from Incisa for the purpose of arresting his passage. On the 19th of September he invested Florence on all sides, establishing his headquarters at San Salvi. The citizens, having received no news from the army, were almost taken by surprise, but, snatching their weapons, hurried to the walls under the banners of the people, and accompanied by their bishop, sword in hand, together with all his clergy. Two days later the troops sent to take the field against the emperor made their way back to Florence across country; reinforcements arrived from Lucca, Sienna, Pistoia, Bologna, Romagna, and in short from all the cities of the League. Thus, Villani tells us, an army was collected of 4,000 horse and innumerable infantry. The emperor having only a force of 800 German knights, 1,000 Italian horse, and a considerable body of foot, was merely able to ravage the land. Fortunately for him, the year's harvest had been so abundant that there was no difficulty in provisioning his troops. Even now, in spite of their great numerical superiority, the Florentines still shrank from attempting a pitched battle; but inside the town they felt so completely secure that they only closed the gates facing the emperor's camp, leaving the others open to traffic as in times of peace. This state of things lasted to the month of November, but then Henry's patience being altogether exhausted, he raised the siege and set out for Poggibonsi and Pisa. The Florentines started in pursuit, and attacked him several times on the road, with varying results. The emperor tarried at Poggibonsi to the 6th of March, 1313, without provisions, or funds, and his army was so reduced that his cavalry had dwindled to 1,000 horse. Nevertheless he continued his march, and although, according to Villani, his assailants were four to one, he contrived to fight his way to Pisa, and arrived there on the 9th of March.