Petrarch on the Ascent of Mount Ventoux

[Excerpted from Petrarch, Francesco Petrarca: The First Modern Scholar and Man of Letters, James Harvey Robinson, ed. and tr. (New York: G.P. Putnam, 1898), pp. 307-320]

While the Fourteenth Century was era of crisis, in which the institutions of medieval Western Christendom were falling apart, it was also an era in which new institutions and attitudes were being formed. Some Europeans began to have a new outlook on the ancient past and their own era. They viewed the Greco-Roman tradition on its own terms rather than through the prism of the teachings of the church. They also began to investigate the world around them and human affairs rather than only abstractions. This intellectual change, which is called humanism, issued in a cultural change that we know as the Renaissance. The first recognized humanist was Francesco Petrarch. Below is a letter of Petrarch in which he describes his impressions climbing of a mountain in northern Italy. Perhap his climbing of Mount Ventoux was an intellectual precursor to Columbus' crossing of the Atlantic 160 years later.

To Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro

To-day I made the ascent of the highest mountain in this region, which is not improperly called 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.

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 with-out committing any breach of friendship I silently condemned every trait which might prove disagree able 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 bought 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 in-creased 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 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 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 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 hike one dazed. I beheld 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 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 have no longer. And yet what am I saying ? I still hove 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 hove, and I feel in my miserable self the truth of the well known words, ' I will hate if I can ; if not, I will hove 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 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 h u man 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 hook 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 hook 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 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 sonic-thing 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 Iliad 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 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 fulfill 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 hook 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 lot 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 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 hot 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 earthhly impulses. With no consciousness of the difficulties of the way, amidst these preoccupations which I have so frankly revealed, we canine, 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.

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 [1334?].

http://www.shsu.edu/~his_ncp/Petrarch.html

Francis Petrarch
Familiar Letters
From James Harvey Robinson, ed. and trans.
Petrarch: The First Modern Scholar and Man of Letters
(New York: G.P. Putnam, 1898)

Hanover Historical Texts Project
Scanned by Jason Boley and Jacob Miller in August, 1995.
Proofread by Monica Banas, Stephanie Hammett, and Heather Haralson in April, 1996.
Proofread and pages inserted by Jonathan Perry, March 2001.



The Ascent of Mount Ventoux
To Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro
307-320

[Page 307] To-day I made the ascent of the highest mountain in this region, which is not improperly called [Page 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. [Page 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 [Page 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 [Page 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 [Page 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 [Page 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 [Page 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 rne 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 [Page 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 [Page 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 [Page 317] opened the compact little volume, small indeed in size, but of infinite charm, with the intenition 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 [Page 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 cousel 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 [Page 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 earthhly 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.

[Page 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.

http://history.hanover.edu/texts/petrarch/pet17.html

In 1336, Italian poet Francesco Petrarcha climbed Mount Ventoux in southern France. Mt Ventoux is not very challenging as summits go and Petrarch, as he would later be known, had plenty of help.  He traveled with his brother Gherardo, servants, and I would imagine, a light-bodied Chianti. But what stands out about his ascent, or more precisely his writing about his ascent, is the fact that he climbed Mt Ventoux for no practical purpose at all. Petrarch climbed Ventoux because he wanted to “see what so great an elevation had to offer.”

Scholars have their doubts about whether Petrarch made it anywhere near Ventoux. This is beside the point. His writings about his ascent, whether real or fiction, express a new attitude towards travel, mountains, and the process of enlightenment. After a long day, Petrarch tells us that his party reached the summit of Ventoux where he looked down upon the clouds, the distant Alps, and “stood like one dazed.” For Renaissance scholars, the ascent of Mt. Ventoux represented a critical moment in the development of humanism, a desire to access truths about the world through secular experience, rather than rely upon prayer, church teachings, or the reading of Scripture. In Petrarch’s “seeing what the mountain had to offer” the modern ear hears an echo of George Mallory’s 1923 statement to the New York Times explaining that he wanted to climb Everest “Because its there.”

This secular vision of the mountain – a place for human achievement and perhaps self-enlightenment- is a modern thing as historical processes go. For most of recorded history, mountains were landscapes for the supernatural. Roman, Celtic, and Hindu cultures (among others) placed their gods in the mountains. I was struck, as I read Isserman and Weaver’s Fallen Giants this week, that the first Western descriptions of the Himalaya were not from climbers but from Christian missionaries who trekked through Nepal and China.

But I think we read too much into the secular nature of Petrarch’s ascent. After enjoying the view for a few minutes, Petrarch tells us that he pulled out his copy of St Augustine’s Confessions (not the secularist’s obvious choice for mountain literature) where it opened, miraculously, to a passage about mountains:

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.

As I see it, the lesson Petrarch gleans from his mountain experience is the opposite of Romantic or modern notions about climbing: he tells us that one cannot find truth on the mountain through exertion and sublime experience. Indeed such spectacular landscapes present dangers to the pilgrim seeking real enlightenment. The true path, Petrarch tells us, is an inward path, one without the distractions offered by the wonders of the natural world.

It seems now that the world’s highest mountains have been shorn of their status as places of secular enlightenment and are now merely secular. Richard Salisbury and Elizabeth Hawley’s stunning piece of statistical work on Himalayan climbing makes clear that the 8000 meter peaks of South Asia are sought after more than ever before. Yet increasingly only a few peaks (Ama Dablam, Cho Ayu, and Everest) see increased traffic, mostly by commercial climbing companies which outfit expeditions for high-paying clients, a conveyor belt of climbers who don’t seem much interested in the process of climbing, the view, or anything much else except for the summit. Meanwhile, the other peaks of the Himalayas see fewer and fewer climbers, even “sacred” mountains such as Kangchenjunga. What thoughts goes through the hypoxic climber’s mind when he gets to Mallory’s “there” ? Does he see a vision of God? A warning from Augustine? Or only a picture for his blog site?

http://timetoeatthedogs.com/20 ··· in%2F

Ascent of Mont Ventoux

페트라르카(Petrarca Francesco, 1304~1374) 페트라르카는 1304년 이탈리아 아레에서 태어났다. 중세 암흑기를 뚫고 문학의 재생에 기여하여 종말론적인 현상의 타파에 주력하면서 고대 로마의 산문과 운율의 아름다움을 재발견한 공적이 있는 문인 산악인이다. 페트라르카에 관한 기록은 이탈리아의 폴 귀통(1937년 이탈리아산악회 회보), 카르루치의 수필, 툼비니의 페트라르카 연구 등의 기록 가운데서 그의 산행 기록을 찾아낼 수 있다. 페트라프카는 1352년에 동베투의 등정기록을 적었다고 빌리아조 빌리 교수가 언급한 바 있다. 그는 절대적 의미의 등산가로 최초의 인물이었다. 그가 생존하던 시기, 산을 오르고 정찰루트를 잡아 탐색해 나가겠다는 행위는 현대 등반의 실마리가 되고도 남았다. 아비뇽 근처 6,427피트의 몽벤투를 등정한 해는 1336년이었다. 그는 현대의 우리들이 마터호른을 언젠가는 한 번 올라보겠다는 욕망을 지니고 있듯 그 등반에의 오랜 꿈을 지니고 있었다. 그가 친구 디오니시오 로베르트(Dionisio Roberto, 보르고 산 세폴크로 거주)에게 보낸 편지는 4월 26일 실행에 옮겨짐을 시사했다. 그는 이 등반으로 현대 낭만주의 알피니즘의 태동을 일게 하는 효시가 되었다. 페트라르카는 볼로냐에서 수학시절 만난 로라르를 극진히 사랑해서 몽벤투의 산에서 느낄 수 있는 관조의 세계를 그녀에 대한 사랑으로 견주기도 했다. 또한 대자연의 세계는 인간의 힘으로는 이해하기 힘들며, 신의 창조물인 이 알프스에서조차도 인간을 단순히 받아만 줄뿐이므로 인간을 창조하신 하느님의 섭리에 모든 것을 맡기고 인간은 인간답게 생활하는 자세가 필요하다고 했다. 이러한 모습은 중세가 지나고 인간을 되찾겠다는 르네상스의 노력에 일부로 돌출된 사상이었고 인간은 통합체의 핵심이 된다고 보았다. 레오나르도 다빈치(Leonardo Da Vinci)만큼이나 과학적인 두뇌가 명석하여 이와 같이 자연에 대한 관찰력이 심오한 페트라르카였기 때문에 몽벤투를 등반했을 지도 모른다. 아비뇽에서 25세까지 지낸 그는 도시생활에 만족을 느끼지 못하고 벨기에와 유럽 각지의 나라를 두루 방문하기 시작했다. 그 결과 세상에 대한 해박한 지식과 넓은 안목을 지니게 되었어도 자신에 대해 만족할 수 없었다. 몽벤투 등정 이후 결코 같은 산을 시도한다던지 다른 산을 시도하지도 않았다. 말기에 알프스 산록에 거처를 정하면서까지도 좀 더 깊은 등반의 세계에 몰입하지는 않았다. 월프렛노이드는 페트라르카를 박애주의자로 표현하고 있는데, 그에게 있어 산이란 절대적인 숭고한 세계이지 인간이 가까이 해서 그 격을 낮출 수 없는 대상이라는 믿음이 있었기 때문이라고 보았다. 알프스는 연인 로라와 같이 포근한 느낌을 그에게 주었으며 그녀가 손짓하는 느낌을 받았다고 한다. 그가 살던 당시 알프스는 생활을 보전키 위한 장벽이었으며 때로는 마녀가 사는 썩 기분 내키지 않는 세계로 인정되어 왔던 곳이다. 시인이나 철학자들이 산행을 하게 되는 동기에 대해서는 신비스럽기까지 하지만 대개는 정신적인 충전을 위한 것이었다. 또한 총체적으로 어느 정도까지는 피로감을 느낄 때까지 자신을 채찍질하기도 하였다. 도시근로자나 농부는 노동으로부터 탈출을 시도하려 하지 않는다. 페트라르카는 시인이었으며 산악자연환경에 대한 수준 이상의 숭배자였고 19세기 낭만주의의 산악관을 뛰어넘는 시대적 초월성을 지니고 있었다. 그 증거는 산을 관조하는 차원에서 만족감을 느꼈기 때문이다. 그리고 산악 숭고미의 절대성을 신봉하는 박애주의자였다. 페트라르카와 그의 형 게라르도(Gerardo)는 등반하기 전에 모든 준비를 완벽하게 했으며, 산행에서도 아주 완만한 보폭으로 전위를 세워 앞길을 관찰케 하고 상황판단에 따라 전진해 나가는 히말라야 원정방식으로 운행을 했다. 몽벤투(Mont Ventoux) 등정 하루 전 그들은 말라우체네(Malauchene)에서 하루 쉬기도 했다. 4월 25일 이른 아침 몽벤투 등정에 나선 일행은 처음으로 목동을 만난다. 그는 산이 험하니 되돌아가는 것이 좋겠다고 했다. 산의 경사가 두 손을 써가며 몸의 균형을 잡고 올라야 할 정도로 난공불락의 요새처럼 생겼다고 한다. 한참을 지난 그들은 암벽으로 이루어진 능선에 이르러 게라르도와 선등을 바꾸어 페트라르카가 앞서 바위의 좁은 틈을 빠져 나와 암릉의 첫 머리로 빠져 나왔다. 페트라르카 일행의 등반기 일부를 보면, 「게라르도가 산의 깊은 골짜기 지름길을 찾아 나가는 동안 나는 조심스레 아래서 지켜보며 그가 일을 가리키자 나는 오히려 더 앞서나가기 위해 전진해 나갔다. 이렇게 느릿하게 움직이는 것이 미안스러워 할 동안 게라르도는 훨씬 앞서 나갔고 산 계곡 속을 헤매며 내 혼신의 힘을 다 쏟을수록 더욱 더 지쳐버리는 기분을 느꼈다. 내가 저지르고 있는 작은 실수를 후회도 하기 전에 잠시 시야에 보이지 않던 게라르도와 조우하기 위해 길을 곧바로 잡아 그를 따라 잡았다. 그는 바위에 앉아 잠시 땀을 식히고 있었으며 곧 길을 재촉했다. 게라르도와의 산행은 이와 같은 흐름의 반복이었다. 사실인 즉, 클라이밍의 어려움으로 인해 두렵기도 하였으나 인간의 교묘함이라도 자연의 본질을 바꾸어 놓을 수가 없으리라. 또한 하산함으로써 지고의 높이에 이르는 물질적인 어떤 모습도 불가능하리라. "이 산을 오르는 동안 바로 우리에게 일어난 것은 궁극의 아름다움 그 자체일 것이다" 정상에 이르는 부분도 게라르도가 선등했다. 드디어 정상에 이른 페트라르카는 그의 발 밑에 펼쳐지는 알프스의 전경을 눈앞에 두고 신의 섭리에 깊은 경외심에 젖어 자신을 망실한 상태에 빠져들어 갔고, 등정의 영광스런 순간을 마음 속 깊이 느낄 수 있었다.」 페트라르카는 1374년 70세를 끝으로 생을 마감했다. 그는 6세기 후에 다가올 알피니즘의 문을 일찍이 두드렸던 선각자의 한 사람이었다.

주로 산을 타는 즐거움으로 오르기 힘든 높은 산에 올라가는 스포츠. 따라서 동식물 채집 같은 학술조사를 위해 산에 올라가는 것은 등산이 아니다. 최근에는 세계적으로 등산인구가 늘어나, 등산은 관광레크리에이션화 또는 프로스포츠화되어 있다.

텐진	최초로 에베레스트를 등정한 영국 원정대 헌트, 힐러리,텐진, 안니마, 그레고리 로우	고상돈- 에베레스트 정상(1977년)

〔세계 등산의 변천〕

사람들은 자연의 아름다움을 아주 오랜 옛날부터 알고 있었다. 이탈리아의 시인 페트라르카는 1336년 프로방스의 몽벤투(1920m)에 올라가, 아버지에게 편지로 고된 등반 가운데의 즐거움을 전하고 있다. 1574년에는 세계 최초의 등산기술서가 취리히대학 지물러 교수에 의해 출판되었다. 18세기 중엽에는 알프스의 최고봉 몽블랑(4807m)에 큰 관심을 가졌던 제네바의 자연과학자 오라스 베네딕트 드 소쉬르가 몽블랑 등반자에게 상금을 걸어, 1786년 프랑스 샤모니의 의사 파카르와 수정재취인 팔머가 그 정상에 올랐다. 이리하여 알프스 스포츠등산 황금시대가 시작되었다. 알프스 제2의 고봉 몬테로자(4634m)는 1855년 영국의 스마이스 일행이 등정하는 등 영국 등산가를 중심으로 미등의 거봉들이 잇따라 정복되었으며, 57년에는 세계최고(世界最古)의 등산회인 알파인클럽이 영국 런던에서 발족했다. 알프스의 황금시대는 마터호른(4478m)의 등정으로 끝났으나 영국의 판화가 에드워드 휨퍼는 65년 드디어 그 정상에 섰다. 그러나 하산 도중 로프가 끊어져 추락했다. 이 사고로 한때 등산금지론까지 나왔으나, 등산자의 눈은 알프스에서 카프카스·안데스·히말라야 등으로 옮겨갔다. 97년 남아메러카의 아콩카과(6960m)가 영국의 피츠제럴드대(隊)에 의해, 1910년 알래스카의 매킨리(6187m)가 미국의 테일러 일행에 의해, 1889년 아프리카의 최고봉 킬리만자로(5895m)가 독일의 마이어 등에 의해 등정되어, 이제 남은 것은 히말라야 카라코룸·힌두쿠시 등 7000, 8000m의 고봉이었다. 36년 틸먼 등 영미합동대의 난다데비(7817m) 등정이 제2차세계대전 전의 최고기록이다. 제2차세계대전 후 프랑스의 M.에르조그대(隊)가 50년 안나푸르나(8091m) 등정에 성공하여 히말라야의 황금시대가 시작되어, 53년 영국의 J.헌트대(隊)가 에베레스트(8848m), 독일대가 낭가파르바트, 54년 이탈리아대가 K2, 오스트리아대가 초오유, 55년 프랑스대가 마칼루, 56년 일본대가 마나슬루(8125m), 스위스대가 로체, 오스트리아대가 가셰르브룸Ⅱ, 57년 오스트리아대가 브로드피크, 58년 미국대가 히든피크, 60년 스위스대가 다울라기리, 64년 중국대가 고사인탄을 등정하여 세계의 8000m급 거봉의 초등정이 끝났다. 60년대에는 일단 정복된 산이라도 더 험난한 루트에 의한 등반, 70년대부터는 단독등반에 더 많은 가치가 인정되었고 위험도가 높은 등산이 많아졌다.

http://poetry4u.net/xe/1629

Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374).

After portrait by A. del Castagno.

Francesco Petrarca: Italian scholar, poet and humanist whose poems addressed to Laura, an idealised beloved, contributed to the renaissance flowering of lyric poetry. He was regarded as the greatest scholar of his age.
Petrarch뭩 political views were more realistic than Dante뭩 and his poetic technique more elaborate though less powerful. Petrarch뭩 influence on literature was enormous and lasting. He rejected mediaeval Scholasticism and took as his model the classical Latin authors and the Church fathers.
The literary phenomenon known as Petrarcism developed rapidly within the poet뭩 lifetime and continued to grow during the following three centuries, deeply influencing the literatures of Italy, Spain, France and England. The theme in his literature is an appeal to the Italian people to recover their forefathers?courage and the heroic action. He had longing to the noble past.

Michel 382, Sassone 312, AFA 328

Date of issue: 1932

Face value: 2.75 l.