VIn the Apennines

COURTYARD OF CAMALDOLI

ancient courtyard. We wandered into the roomy church. One of the old monks had died that afternoon, and prayers were being offered for his salvation. We met the bier as it was carried out from the church.

Like other monasteries, Camaldoli has experienced many vicissitudes in times of war and in times of peace. Throughout the Middle Ages it remained a famous goal for pilgrimages, and its woodland air and mountain freshness made it a favourite health resort. The converts to the order were at first devoted to outdoor pursuits—the hermits in their little gardens tended plants that were used for making drugs, and the monks were devoted to the culture of the forests. Later, they contracted a taste for learning, and a famous library was collected, chiefly by Ambrogio Traversari, who took an important place in the early Italian Renaissance. Of this intellectual life no trace remains. The books were scattered at the beginning of this century. Some are at Poppi, others are at Florence, and the love of letters is dead. But with the older achievements time has dealt more sparingly. A pharmacy still makes part of the settlement, and the surrounding forest retains the fame of being one of the finest in Europe. When the Government appropriated Camaldoli, the traditions of the monks regarding the cultivation of the trees were carried on, and Vallombrosa, themonastery on the further side of the Pratomagno, was turned into a school of forestry. All the forests throughout the district were placed under its care, and thus the great fir trees, theabeteof Camaldoli, its chestnut groves, and its beech and oak forests have preserved some of their old grandeur.

LANDMARK OF CAMALDOLI

. . . “appiè del CasentinoTraversa un’ acqua c’ha nome l’ArchianoChe sovra l’Ermo nasce in Appennino.”(Purg.5, 96 ff.)

Earlyon the following morning we left the monastery of Camaldoli for the hermitage. It was a beautiful walk of about three miles, along a steep, paved path through the ancient pine forest. The air was cold but the sun was bright, and the trees emitted a strong resinous fragrance. I have never walked under trees more stalwart in stature, the stem of each straight, smooth and rounded as a shaft, with branches loaded with hanging verdure jutting out in grander sweeps.

At one point of the road three large wooden crosses marked the limit which the hermits formerly from their side were not allowed to cross; from this side no woman was allowed to penetrate beyond them. But the story goes that a princess of the house of Medici, dressed in man’s clothing, once braved the restriction. She visited the hermitage, with no further consequences, however, but that, having satisfiedher curiosity, she went and confessed to the Pope, and he bid her give money to build an additional cell in expiation of her crime, which, to this day, is designated by the armorial balls, thepalle, of the Medici family.

The paved path mostly followed the course of the Fosso of Camaldoli which rises above the Eremo. Dante apparently looked upon this stream not as a tributary of the Archiano, but as the Archiano itself, for he lets Buonconte in Purgatory speak of the Archiano as “taking its rise above the hermitage.” The river came down between moss-grown rocks, carrying with it a stream of mountain fragrance, and the path which followed it ended on a wide grass-grown space, at one end of which stood the hermitage. And up here, in the midst of the forest, at an elevation of 3700 feet above sea level, and in a climate which these thin-skinned southerners talked of as cold and rough in the extreme, stood the twenty-four little stone cells of the hermitage, each inside the walled enclosure of its garden. Here in the depth of mountain solitude, cut off from intercourse with the world, and restricted in their intercourse with each other, the hermits of Camaldoli lived the same life of seclusion and solitude which St Romuald considered the surest way of attaining to happiness and heaven. Here they lived, dwelling alone, eating alone and working alone, with theconceptions of time and space obliterated as far as disregard of the ordinary interests of life will obliterate them, with no hope or expectation of change, a life in which time can mend and mar nothing.

We were told that all the cells were tenanted except the original cell of St Romuald, which is always kept standing empty. All the cells are constructed on the same plan. Each consists of a small house divided into two rooms opening out of each other, with an additional recess in which stands the bed. The windows and the door open on a small garden, which is surrounded by walls so as to close in the view. Each hermit attends to his own garden, in which he grows herbs and vegetables. The cooking for the whole settlement is done in an outhouse, and the food is brought round and handed in to each of the cells. Seven times in the twenty-four hours the hermits wander forth and assemble in church to pray together; otherwise they are alone.

We were shown over the church by a white-robed monk, who readily talked of the smaller interests of life—of the severity of the winter, the daily routine, and the relics and pictures of the different chapels. But he did not respond when I expressed regret at the severance of intercourse between the different existing settlements of the Order of Camaldoli, a severancewhich is inevitably leading to the collapse of the whole organisation. It may be part of these men’s attitude of mind, or it may be a self-imposed limitation, that any allusion to change is met by cheerful and unquestioning acceptance of things as they are. Is it that the future of their order has become a matter of indifference to them, or is it that a tacit agreement among them prevents them from discussing their own affairs with outsiders? The monk also showed us over the cell of St Romuald, which is unchanged, they say, except that the piety of a later age has covered the inside of its rough walls with panelling. On occasions this cell has been offered to distinguished visitors. It was so offered to St Francis, but he felt the honour too great to accept.

Many visitors in the course of centuries have visited this hermitage. Popes, emperors, men of piety and men of learning have prayed in its chapel. And up here in the shade of these huge pines those conversations took place which the learned Cristofero Landini has described, when some of the ablest scholars of the Early Italian Renaissance stayed here together in the summer of 1468, and whiled away several days in learned philosophical discussion.

TheConversations of Camaldoliare remarkable chiefly for their learned interest, but their setting is attractive, as they enable us torealise the friendly relations of some of the most distinguished men of the Medicean circle—men to whom the revival of learning and modern scholarship owes a debt of gratitude. For these conversations take us back to the time when the Republic of Florence, following the example of the Republic of Venice, had become the home of several learned Greeks. The spirit of a new era was stirring in every department of human knowledge, and those who studied the works of Plato and of his expositors at first hand and with some thoroughness, showed a renewed interest in Virgil and Horace, Dante and Petrarch. The Greek writers were translated into Latin, and many of them in a Latin garb first saw the daylight of print. But the works of Latin and Italian authors likewise engrossed attention, and Italian itself once more was looked upon as a language capable of expressing the great thoughts of great men.

Among those who, according to Landini, met together at Camaldoli on a summer day of 1468, were several whose life-work was bound up in revising, editing and translating the great works of antiquity. The first to arrive were the two young Medici, Lorenzo, afterwards surnamed the Magnificent, and his brother Giuliano, who was afterwards stabbed in the rising organised by the Pazzi. They were accompanied by Alemanno Rinuccini,who is known for his translation of some of Plutarch’s Lives; by Donato Acciajuoli, the author of a commentary on Aristotle; by Donato’s brother Piero; by Marco Parenti, and by Antonio Canegiano, “most learned men,” Landini calls them, “who had studied eloquence for years and who had gained proficiency in philosophical discussion by means of arduous study.” They were resting at the hermitage when Landini describes himself as arriving. He brought his brother with him. Landini is chiefly remembered among us for his commentary on Dante, but he also wrote commentaries on Horace and Virgil. He taught Latin at the newly-founded Academy of Florence, and in later days he became Chancellor of the Republic.

The party had barely exchanged greetings when the news was brought that two other friends had arrived at the monastery, where they were leaving their horses to come up to the Eremo on foot, led by the prior Mariotto. The order of Camaldoli had recently lost a shining light in its general, Ambrogio Traversari, known asil famoso Greco, who not only read Greek but spoke it with fluency. Mariotto was his pupil. The men he was conducting were Leone Battista Alberti, and Marsilio Ficino—men as different as possible in appearance and bearing, but who stand asrepresentative figures of the Italian Renaissance, each in a special direction.

Whoever came into contact with Leone Battista felt that the gods had bestowed on him the fulness of their gifts, for he set the mark of originality on whatever he handled. His many-sidedness in after days was only excelled by that of Lionardo da Vinci. As a mere youth, Leon Battista wrote a comedy which passed for a rediscovered classic; and he is the author of the first treatises on painting, sculpture and architecture that can lay claim to a scientific basis. He worked as an architect, and the front of Santa Maria Novella at Florence was his design. He was a famous talker, a man of clever sayings, and eloquent in praise of beauty wherever he found it—in art, in nature and in man. From youth upwards he was renowned for his agility, and increasing years dealt kindly with his good looks. At the time of his coming to Camaldoli he was in the sixties.

Marsilio Ficino, whom he is here described as having met on his way from Rome, was the greatest Hellenist of his age and the keenest intellect among the older Florentine humanists. Small, frail and visionary, he combined in himself the qualities that distinguish and endear the typical scholar—patience, sagacity, preciseness, extreme modesty and a high tone of mental elevation. His famerests on his translation into Latin of the works of Plato, and he was the colleague of Landini at the Florentine Academy, where he taught Greek. In the large fresco of Domenico Ghirlandajo in Santa Maria Novella at Florence, Marsilio Ficino and Landini are both represented among the painter’s distinguished contemporaries.

Such were the men who met together at the hermitage of Camaldoli, upwards of four hundred years ago, rejoicing in the thought of spending a few days together. On the first day they rested. On the next they attended mass, and then they sallied forth into the forest, and there, under a spreading beech, they sat down and Leone Battista opened the discussion. Starting from the fact that the responsibilities of public life were about to devolve on the two young Medici owing to the ill-health of their father, he spoke of the duties of a citizen, and passed on to compare the respective merits of a life of activity and of a life of contemplation. This was a favourite subject of discussion at the time, and Leone Battista ended by pronouncing in favour of contemplation, a view which was in accordance with Plato’s ideality and with the Christian exaltation of Mary above Martha. On the following day the same subject was discussed in the same company, and on the days after they spoke of the greatest good and ofthe true aim of human existence. No doubt theseConversationsare largely of Landini’s making, but they were much appreciated by his contemporaries, and Marsilio Ficino is known to have admired them greatly. They were often reprinted at that period; now they have fallen into oblivion, and only the student now and again disturbs the dust which accumulates round them on the bookshelf.

On leaving the hermitage we had intended ascending to thePrato al Soglio, from where there is a splendid view, and from there crossing the mountains by a path which led to Badia a Prataglia. But owing to the snow that lay behind the Eremo this was impossible, and we found ourselves instead on a grassy road skirting the mountain always at about the same level. From one point of this road we looked down on the huge monastery of Camaldoli; further along and the outlook was over apparently limitless masses of pine forest; further again and the slopes below us were clothed with beeches, their leafless branches just touched by the first tinge of red. Finally we were out again on the bare mountain, with the panorama of the Apennines about us, and Serravalle with its tower hanging far below in the blue mist like a bird. The road now became a rough path over uneven, mountainous ground, such as we had crossed on the previous day, but we were at a higher elevation, and the surroundings of sky and scenery were proportionately grander.

I have often thought that the sky of different mountainous regions is different, just as the sea along different lines of the coast varies. Whether we have seen the Mediterranean in sunny weather or in rough, we carry away with us the impression of its restless readiness to run to froth be it counter to a breeze or against a jutting headland. Similarly the North Sea stays with us in its glassy reluctance to break, and the Atlantic in the mighty inherent roll of its waves. As great a difference in character belongs to the sky of different mountainous regions, though it is less easily fixed in word and thought. To me heaviness and sullenness seemed to characterise the sky of the Apennines; once it sank into the mountains, there it stayed. The obvious reason was the poor clothing of the soil and the want of running water; there were none of those surface currents which carry down and dissolve the mists of thick weather elsewhere. For once outside the forest region of Camaldoli, there was a marked want of trees and a marked want of water. The denudation of the soil is something terrible, and already in April many streams were running dry.

The path we followed had many beautiful outlooks, but there was a good deal of snow, and we had come far out of our way. We wereglad at last to catch sight of the white line of the driving road into Romagna winding in and out among the mountains below, for the days in April are short. In this case a shower of rain caused us to put on additional speed; we were down in the road before dark, and soon afterwards established in comfortable quarters at the Casa Rossi. This is no inn, in the ordinary sense of the word—the family let the upper part of their house in summer—but they took us in for a couple of nights and made us welcome.

Badia a Prataglia lies at about an hour’s distance below the pass of the driving road from the Casentino into Romagna. The place boasted of one of the oldest abbacies in the Apennines, which dated its foundation further back than St Romuald and Camaldoli. But in course of time the abbacy of Prataglia lost its standing, while that of the monastery of Camaldoli increased, with the result that the older abbey became a dependency of the newer monastery. At present nothing remains of the old settlement but the convent church. But Prataglia itself is a growing place. Its numerous houses lie scattered in groups up and down the valley, and there are several new villa residences belonging to families who come up from Romagna and Tuscany to escape the heat of the summer. Apensionsituated some distanceabove the place on the hills is fast becoming a favourite summer resort.

The Rossi at whose house we stayed are the originators and the owners of a home industry which has considerably raised the standard of comfort throughout the district. The firm exports simple wooden furniture, the different parts of which are cut and carved to certain patterns in the various homes and fitted together on the premises. That evening being Saturday, men were coming to the house bringing their week’s work, in exchange for which they carried away payment in money or payment in kind from the store kept by the Rossi. We were shown examples of the articles manufactured—chairs, stools, cradles and such like, all of the simplest shape. Among other things, we were shown a spinning-wheel, but we were told that the attempt to introduce it has failed. The Italian women prefer spinning from the distaff, and it seems obvious that they will continue to do so till the use of machines supersedes hand-labour.

Rain, wind, hail, a thunderstorm and a snowstorm, we experienced them all in the one day which we spent exploring the heights of the neighbouring pass. But with a good road within reach and food awaiting one under cover, battling with the elements for a time adds to one’s enjoyment. Then the reflection camethat the snow prevented progress along the mountain paths, and we determined to return into the valley. We left Prataglia white in its wintry garb, and in the short space of an afternoon we passed from the nipping blasts of winter into the bright geniality of spring. Below Serravalle the falling snowflakes changed into driving mists. As the mountains receded, the valley of the Arno lay before us, its vineyards and cornfields brown and golden in the light of the afternoon sun. We were bound for Poppi, which lies at about an hour’s distance up the valley from Bibbiena—“Poppi, the capital of the Casentino,” as Vasari called it.

“Pupium agri Clusentini caput.”(Vasari.)

Poppilies on a steep hill which rises abruptly from the valley of the Arno, forming a vantage ground, as it were, in regard to the upper part of the Casentino. The castle, its most notable feature, occupies the highest part of this hill looking south. This is the ancient stronghold, as it was rebuilt in the thirteenth century, curiously like the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, but more commanding in appearance owing to the height on which it stands.

Poppi already in the tenth century was a centre of influence of the Guidi, one of the most powerful families of Tuscany during the Middle Ages. The property they owned extended far north and south of the Apennines, and the Casentino bristled with their strongholds. Romena, Porciano, Battifolle, Soci, all recall episodes in their history. With the exception of Poppi, all these castles lie in ruins; their walls stand desolate and their towers are open to wind and rain. Alone at Poppi the palace with

CASTLE OF POPPI

its soaring tower stands unbroken, a lasting monument of the power to which the Guidi attained.

The annals of this family have engrossed the attention of historians partly because the Guidi to some extent influenced the course of Florentine history, partly because Dante repeatedly referred to them in theDivine Comedyand was in personal relation to several members of the family. Their history goes back to the ninth century; in the thirteenth the climax of their influence was reached. But in Dante’s time the members of the family were still numerous, and in the remoteness of the Casentino their power continued unimpaired.

Poppi nowadays is a town of some importance. A steep, paved path and a driving road in wide zig-zags lead up into the town from Ponte di Poppi, a suburb which has grown up on the Arno at the foot of the hill. The paved path enters the town near the church, which lies on the point of the ridge farthest away from the castle, and from the church one walks up the main street with arcades and shops on either hand. And on either hand, whenever a gap occurs between the houses, or a shop is thrown open and a window appears in its depth, one looks right away across the dip of the hill and the plains below into the green distance of the mountains.

The place is first mentioned in the tenthcentury in connection with Count Tegrimo Bevisangue, who, with his wife Gisla, founded the abbey of Strumi in close proximity to the stronghold. The Guidi were of Langobard descent. They were one of the noble families who had come into Italy as part of a barbarian invasion, and who, in the course of time, came to rank among the great feudatories of the Empire. A legendary colouring is given to the opening chapter of their history, but its essentials are corroborated by contemporary references. Count Tegrimo is the first member of the family who figures in the annals of the Casentino. At the time he was the sole surviving member of the family. His father, Count Guido, married Engelrada, the daughter of Duke Martino of Ravenna. This gave him a place of authority at Ravenna. But a dispute arose between him and the archbishop; he caused the archbishop to be imprisoned. There was a popular rising, and Count Guido and all his family were put to death—all excepting Tegrimo, who was saved by his nurse. The name Bevisangue afterwards attached to him either because of the revenge he took on his father’s murderers, or else because he had contracted a habit of licking his sword after he had spilt blood.

At the time when Tegrimo founded Strumi—the original site of which is said to be marked by a church which is seen from Poppi lyingin the midst of dark cypresses—the family already owned strongholds near Pistoja and Florence and the stronghold of Modigliana above Faenza, which is identical with the Castrum Mutilum mentioned by Livy. One by one the strongholds with which the counts fortified their possessions, or which they snatched from their neighbours, appear in the annals of the family. Tegrimo’s son Guido dated a charter from Porciano, which is situated at the uppermost end of the Casentino, a proof that here also a stronghold on a commanding site was in their possession.

Historians of a later date—Malespini and Villani, the contemporary of Dante—state that the ancestor of the Guidi came into Italy with the Saxon Emperor Otto I. and from him received the castle of Modigliana. Also that Otto IV. on his passage through Florence saw Gualdrada, the daughter of the rich citizen Berti, and that his follower, one of the Guidi, married her and received the Casentino in dower. As the Guidi owned Modigliana before Otto I. came to Italy, and held extensive property in the Casentino long before the days of Gualdrada, these stories in themselves are untrue, but a true estimation of facts underlies them. The Saxon emperors, in order to strengthen their authority over the greater barons of Italy, favoured the lesser, and among them they favoured the Guidi. TheCount Guido who married Gualdrada was on good terms both with Florence and Otto IV.

After the time of Bevisangue we find the Guidi steadily increasing in power, fighting against other lords and against rising communes, sometimes on their own account, sometimes in support of the Imperial policy. True representatives of the rural nobility, they were at once turbulent and prosperous, and they made their influence felt in ecclesiastical as well as in other matters. It was owing to protection given him by a lady member of the Guidi family that Giovanni Gualberto became the founder of Vallombrosa, and in three different generations a member of the family was bishop of Pistoja. At the close of the eleventh century a father and a son Guido were in frequent attendance on Countess Matilda, the daughter and heir of the last margrave of Tuscany, whose strenuous opposition to the Imperial policy and support of the claims of Tuscany secured her lasting popularity. Probably to secure the father’s interest she adopted the son, to whom the surnameil Marcheseattached in consequence. This Count Guido in his youth joined the first crusade, and was imprisoned by Saladin. Property was mortgaged with the canons of Pistoja to pay for his ransom. After his father’s death he bestowed land on the faithful follower who had shared his hardships.

Count Guidoil Marchesefavoured various schemes conducive to his vassals’ welfare. He helped to carry out the plan of building the aqueduct by which Pistoja is provided with water from the hills; he became the founder of the city of Empoli; he built a leprosy near Poppi. About the year 1106 the “Great” Countess Matilda gave up the plan of constituting him her heir and bestowed her extensive property on the Church. Matilda enjoyed such popularity throughout Tuscany, that songs in praise of her were long sung in the churches of Florence according to Boccaccio. In theDivine Comedyshe is described as guardian of the earthly Paradise, in which she led the way to the triumph of the Church. In remembrance of her the name Contessa or Tessa continues frequent to this day. The reader will recall the sweetcontadinaof Romola. In the Casentino Matilda is popularly credited with building a number of churches which are remarkable for the sculpture which adorns them.

One of these churches, that of San Martino di Vado, is about an hour’s walk from Poppi up the valley of the Solano; another flanks the hill of Romena; a third is at Stia, and another is at Montemignajo, high up a side valley. The column capitals inside these churches deserve attention for the place they claim in the history of early Tuscan sculpture. Not two of them are alike,and the way the foliage and figures on them is treated is always quaint and often beautiful. I have sometimes thought what a gain it would be if some of the numerous amateur photographers one meets would combine and systematically go over separate districts, issuing a list of the views taken by them. In the Casentino only a few general views were obtainable, and we in vain sought to procure photographs of interesting remains; I ignore if any have been taken. In this case one longed for photographs of these capitals to compare them with the early sculptures of Pistoja and Arezzo. One of the columns in the church of Romena bore the date 1152—the earliest sculptures at Pistoja are dated 1166—and the erection of the parish church at Arezzo belongs to the same period. As a direct connection existed between these places at the time owing to the rights of overlordship held by the Guidi, it may be owing to their influence that a style of sculpture which has so much of the Langobard spirit came to be introduced into the different parts of Tuscany.

The Count Guido, to whose lifetime the erection of these churches belongs, was the son of Guidoil Marchese, and was known himself as Guidoguerra. In him the influence of the family reached its climax. The vastness of his possessions was such that Sanzanome, the earliest historian of Florence, spoke of them as

COURTYARD OF CASTLE, POPPI (CASENTINO)

constituting a state or province in themselves. Moreover, he was a shining representative of knighthood. His contemporary, the Bishop Otto of Freysing, described him as the most powerful lord of Tuscany, and Tolosanus, the chronicler of Faenza, who knew him, spoke of him as holding the foremost place in honour and courtesy. “All Italy wept at his death and especially Faenza,” he tells us, for the city of Faenza had appealed to him for help on account of the encroachments made on its territory by the city of Forli, and had found in him a powerful protector. The acts of Count Guidoguerra argue in favour of his mental horizon being wide. He joined the crusade of 1147, he stood in high esteem with the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, and the enterprises he led in Italy were invariably successful. It was only by taking advantage of his temporary absence that the citizens of Florence succeeded in destroying Montedicroce, a most important stronghold of his which had therefore become an object of hatred to Florence.

For the city of Florence, as it increased in importance, was bent on improving the conditions of its trade. Florence is surrounded by hills, and these hills in the twelfth century bristled with the strongholds of nobles, who were ready to swoop down and plunder the trains of passing traderson the slightest provocation. In the interest of its further development the city was prompted to make war on the surrounding nobility, attacks which went hand-in-hand with a policy that was productive of important and unexpected changes.

The first attempts of the Florentines to subdue their troublesome neighbours belonged to the lifetime of Guidoil Marchese. Emboldened by success, and encouraged by the inactivity of the margraves, they attacked Fiesole, the ancient Etruscan city which towered high above Florentine territory, for here, as Villani related, the rural nobles, whom he designated ascattani, collected and harboured outlaws who did damage to the trade and the territory of Florence. The undertaking proved successful in the campaigns of 1123-1125, and large parts of Fiesole were razed to the ground. Its “destruction” was followed by attacks on Montegrifone, which belonged to the Ormanni, and on Monteboni, which belonged to the Buondelmonti. A special significance attached to the latter event. For the Florentines, intent on securing friendly relations with their neighbours, made it a condition of peace that the nobles they defeated should reside inside Florence during a stated part of the year. The first to agree to the arrangement were the Buondelmonti; they werefollowed by a number of others, including the Guidi, who were nothing loth to gain a foothold inside the city. To the older inhabitants of Florence, which included the greater citizens—theillustri cittadiniof Dante—and the lesser citizens, a third element was now added in the form of the rural nobles, who soon contracted a taste for city life while they remained indifferent to its responsibilities. They came into Florence with crowds of retainers; they built themselves houses which were strongholds to all intents and purposes; they fought out their private feuds inside the city walls, and as soon as occasion offered they turned the balance of the constitution in their favour. And more than this. They brought with them a taste for display and splendour which subverted all accepted standards, and which put an end to the simplicity and soberness of the older Florentines.

In the eye of Dante the influx of these rural nobles was a reason of the city’s misfortune. “Ever was the confusion of persons the origin of the city’s ills,” are the words which he put into the mouth of his ancestor Cacciaguida. Cacciaguida in theComedycompares the state of Florence as it was in Dante’s time with what it had been a century and a half before, and he deplores the increased luxuriousness of the Florentines. In those simpler days “Bellincion Berti went about in leathern belt with boneclasp, and his dame came from the mirror unpainted.”

This Bellincion Berti and his wife were the parents of the lady Gualdrada, through whom not the Casentino, as Villani recorded, but the valuable Ravignani property in Florence near the Porta San Piero came into the possession of the Guidi. Gualdrada was the second wife of Count Guido, surnamed il Vecchio, and the epithetbuonawhich Dante bestowed on her she doubtless owed to her attempts to soften her husband’s fierceness. For Guido Vecchio in the eyes of the chronicler of Faenza was the direct opposite of his father; knightly dignity and pride with him took the form of wilfulness and overbearing.

The incidents which led up to the marriage and its outcome are worth recording. Guido Vecchio began as the loyal supporter of the Imperial cause; he entertained Frederick Barbarossa in his castle at Modigliana, in 1167, and with the Imperial troops he marched on Rome, where Frederick succeeded in establishing the anti-pope. But the desire for municipal freedom was awakening in the smaller cities of Italy, and in order to frustrate the Emperor’s influence they began to form alliances among themselves and supported Pope Alexander. A struggle ensued which lasted seventeen years and in which Guido sided with the Emperor,thereby finding himself repeatedly plunged into war with Florence, and into supporting her rival Siena. When the Emperor and the Pope finally made peace at Venice, the relations between the cities of Tuscany were readjusted. Among the representatives of Florence who arranged the peace between this city and Siena was Bellincion Berti, the father of Gualdrada. In what year Guido married her is unknown, but he divorced his first wife Agnes in order to do so. His attitude towards Florence underwent a complete change in consequence. Henceforth there was friendship between them.

In other respects Guido lost ground. In opposing the growing municipalities he was tempted to strain his authority, with the result that he was defied more than once. Thus on one occasion he ordered his vassals at Modigliana to pull down their houses and rebuild them on the hill for greater safety. For five weeks they resisted, then they destroyed their houses and went to Faenza, which was outside their lord’s jurisdiction. This led to a war between the Count and the city of Faenza which extended over years. On another occasion he went to Camaldoli and carried off all the weapons which he found there to Poppi. He restored them afterwards, but only in return for an enormous amount of grain. Again he disputed with thenunnery of Rosano and won his suit, but in this case Countess Gualdrada carried the decision in person to Rosano, and declaring it annulled she tore it up. The acts of Guido Vecchio were such that the Pope wrote to him in his old age urging him to reform his ways, but even the warnings of a Pope were defied with impunity by these barons.

When Count Guido Vecchio died in the year 1213, the family split into five branches, each of his sons taking the name of count of the chief stronghold which fell to his share. Poppi in the first instance fell to Count Guido Magnifico of Bagno, then to his sons Guido Novello and Simone. The acts of these brothers, and the enmity which arose between them, take us into the very thick of the contentions which agitated Florence in the thirteenth century.

The terms Guelf and Ghibelline were used in Florence since 1215, marking the different tendencies of the citizens. The Guidi, like most other rural nobles, were Ghibellines; they wished to see the power of the city kept within certain limits, and in this they were opposed to the Guelf or patriotic party. Guido Novello and Simone, with other Ghibellines, left Florence for a time in 1248; ten years later they were altogether banished from the city. Shortly afterwards they fought at the battle of Montaperti, when the Florentines were beatenand the river Arbia, as Dante has it, ran red with blood. It was then that Count Guido Novello made the proposal that the city of Florence should be razed from the face of the earth, an insult which the Florentine patriotic party never forgave him. Farinate degli Uberti, also a Ghibelline, but one who felt some affection for the city, successfully opposed him; he is represented by Dante in Hell recalling this fact to the poet’s mind. Florence remained standing, but for the next six years it was at the mercy of the Ghibellines. Guido Novello, supported by the troops of King Manfred, ruled in a spirit which was little calculated to soften the acrimony of the Florentines against him. He caused Poppi to be fortified by a new wall in 1260; he then built the Porta Ghibellina at Florence, and constructed a new road out of it so as to be in direct communication with the Casentino. This road (the paved path which leads over the Consuma and along the valley of the Solano) he used to convey to Poppi crossbows, bucklers and armour which he abstracted from the arsenal at Florence. Villani tells how he showed his castle and these weapons to his uncle Tegrimo, Count of Modigliana and Porciano, asking him what he thought of them. Tegrimo replied that he liked them well enough, but that he knew the Florentines only “lent at a high rate of usury.” Subsequent events proved the truth of the remark. When King Manfred was overthrown, Guido Novello lost his support and was obliged to leave Florence. He did so without much dignity, and stones were thrown at him as he left the city. Twenty years later, at the instigation of the Bishop of Arezzo, he and other Ghibellines collected an army in the Casentino to march upon Florence. The Florentines came over the mountains and defeated them and ravaged the territory which belonged to the Guidi. And in the following year they came back and made an assault on Poppi, and finding the arms there which the Count had abstracted, they carried them back to Florence in triumph.

The battle in which the Florentines fought the Ghibellines in the plain of Campaldino below Poppi on June 11, 1289, is memorable since Dante, at the time a youth of twenty-four, fought in the ranks of the victorious Guelfs. He referred to the fact himself in a letter, in which he said how he found himself “no mere child in the practice of arms, and was in great fear, and in the end rejoiced greatly through the varying fortunes of the battle.” For luck at first went against the Florentines; the Ghibellines gained an advantage, but they did not follow it up. Guido Novello, who was now an old man, backed upon Poppi, the Bishopof Arezzo fell fighting, and Buonconte, another Ghibelline leader, was wounded and fled. In theDivine ComedyBuonconte is represented giving an account of his flight to Dante—how with pierced and bleeding throat he reached the point where the Archiano falls into the Arno, and how the waters carried him away and his final resting-place was never known.

STATUE OF COUNT GUIDO,CASTLE OF POPPI

Guido Novello, who backed upon Poppi, cannot have stayed there, as the place was no longer his and no longer a stronghold of the Ghibellines. It had passed to his brother Simone and his son Guido of Battifolle, and Simone and his son, according to Villani, went over to the Guelfs because of Guido Novello’s cruelty. When therefore the Florentines made an assault on Poppi, they were damaging the property of a Guelf and an ally. Guido of Battifolle, sometimes also called Guido Novello, the son of Simone, pleaded in Florence for damage done to his property, and he received the sum of twelve hundred lire, which he spent in re-building his castle.

It is owing to this sequence of events that the remote little town of Poppi came to boast of its remarkable castle. Vasari in hisLives of the Painters and Architectstells us that Jacopo Lapo, called il Tedesco, “built many buildings in the Gothic style in Tuscany, among them the palace at Poppi in the Casentino.” And in the life of Arnolfo, whom Vasari wrongly called the son of Jacopo (he was his pupil), he adds that Arnolfo built the palace of the Signory at Florence on the plan of what his father had constructed at Poppi.

As one emerged from the streets and entered the open space before the castle the contrast was striking between our peace-loving, law-abiding age and that period when life was bound up with warfare. Trees veiled in spring foliage cast a fitful shadow over what was formerly an open ground for free fighting; near the ruined castle walls children played and old people loitered in the sun. We entered the courtyard without let or hindrance, and then the sound of a tinkling bell brought out aGovernmentcustode. With him we ascended to the first floor by the skilfully-constructed open-air staircase which leads from floor to floor round the four sides of the court. He led the way into the large hall, a beautiful room with carved and coloured beams and double arched windows set high in the thickness of the wall. We wandered from room to room and from storey to storey. Fragments of partitions taken down, of glaring wall-papers torn from the walls, of brick and mortar, lay about here and there—disfigurements of a later date which are now in course of being removed. After centuries of concealment the ceiling construction and the old fresco decorations of the walls were being bared to the light of day, for the castle is now in the hands of the Government and is in course of restoration as a national monument. The palace chapel contained curious frescoes attributed to Spinello Aretino and Jacopo del Casentino. Remains of old wall-painting in curious patterns and of earlier date decorated the dining and other halls. We ascended to the uppermost storey, and there in the way of a caryatide supporting a leafy volute, on which rested the inner cornice of the roof, stood the figure of Count Guido of Battifolle, the son of Simone, carved in stone. It is a beautiful youthful figure, the uncovered head full of clustering curls, the face strong and somewhatdefiant in expression, the body clad in plate-mail, with the one hand holding a short dagger, and the other resting on the hilt of a long sword. Whose the thought thus to place the owner of the palace, who the artist to carry it out, are not recorded, but as it stands the figure may well have delighted him who made it and him whom it represents.

ARMS OF THE GUIDI

“Per mezzo Toscana si spaziaUn fiumicel che nasce in FalteronaE cento miglia di corso nol sazia.”(Purg.14, 18 ff.)

Asone wandered about the palace and the streets of Poppi, the thought arose if and under what circumstances Dante stayed here. He is known to have come into the Casentino during the early part of his exile—that is, about the year 1305; he was here again in March and April of 1311, as is proved by the letters he wrote and dated from here. One of these contains the fierce invective against Florence, the other expresses the fears which the poet apprehended from the Emperor’s delay. They are dated “on the confines of Tuscany near the springs of the Arno,” and on the strength of this expression the strongholds of Poppi, Romena and Porciano, besides Pratovecchio, claim to have harboured the poet.

These different strongholds, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, were still in the possession of different branches of the Guidi family. The castle of Pratovecchio was owned by Count Guido Selvatico, who belonged to

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