Ravenna, A Study by Edward Hutton

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[Footnote 1: There is another work, an Annunciation, by Francesco
Longhi in S. Croce.]

[Footnote 2: Another work by Barbara Longhi, S. Peter visiting S.
Agata in Prison, may be seen in S. Maria Maggiore.]

Only one picture by a Bolognese master is really worthy of much notice
here; I mean the S. Romuald of Guercino (No. 33) in Sala I. In the
floor of this first room there is set a fine mosaic from S. Apollinare
in Classe which should be noted.

The third room in the Accademia, filled with various works of little
merit of the sundry schools of Italy, may be neglected. The fourth
room, however, is devoted to the beautiful tomb of Guidarello
Guidarelli, the very glorious work of Tullio Lombardi. Of old this
exquisite tomb stood in the Cappella Braccioforte at S. Francesco.
Guidarello of Ravenna was killed in battle at Imola in 1501, and
Tullio Lombardi, the son of Pietro, was employed to make his tomb. "I
doubt," says M. de Vogue, "whether, apart from the work of Donatello,
the early Renaissance produced anything more beautiful." Guidarello
the knight is represented in marble, a life-size figure, lying on his
back, his body encased in armour, his helmet on his head, his visor
raised, his gloved hands crossed over his sword which lies along his
body. He seems, weary of fighting at last, to be sleeping, but the
sweet expression upon the tired face makes us think rather of a monk
than a soldier. In truth he was a knight of the olden time.

We leave the room in which he sleeps for ever in his marble,
reluctantly, and, passing Sala V., which is full of late pictures of
no interest, come to Sala VI. where there are several delightful early
Italian works. One would not certainly expect to find in Ravenna a
picture of the most exquisite school in Tuscany, the school of Siena.
Yet here is a delightful Madonna and Child with S. Peter and S.
Barbara (No. 191) by Matteo di Giovanni (1435-1495); and a
fourteenth-century Annunciation (No. 176) from Tuscany. In the
Crucifixion (No. 225) we seem to have an early Venetian work, and
another Crucifixion (No. 181) might almost be from the hand of Lorenzo
Monaco. It is probable that we see a work of Antonio da Fabriano in
the S. Peter Damiano (No. 188), and certainly an Umbrian work in the
S. Francis receiving the Stigmata (216). But the most remarkable
Umbrian picture here is the Christ with the Cross between two angels
(No. 202), the work of Niccolo da Foligno. A few early works by the
mediocre masters of the Romagnuol school (Nos. 174, 171, 172, 182) are
to be seen here also.

Sala VI. is entirely devoted to an immense number of pictures in the
Byzantine manner, of considerable interest and much beauty, but not
yet to be discussed.

We leave the Accademia for the Museo close by. The building in which
the collections are housed is the old Camaldulensian monastery of
Classe built in 1515 by the monks of S. Apollinare in Classe, and
since S. Romuald, the founder of the order, was a Ravennese one may
think the monastery might have been left in the hands of the monks.
Even as it is it has considerably more interest for us than the
collections gathered within it. The beautiful seventeenth-century
cloisters, the old convent church of S. Romualdo in the baroque style
of 1630, and the convent itself are delightful. The collections are
mediocre. But here we may see all that is to be seen of the Ravenna of
Augustus and of the great years of the empire, fragments and
inscriptions and reliefs now and then of real interest, as in the
relief representing the Apotheosis of Augustus, in the eastern walk of
the cloisters, and in the remains of that suit of gold armour thought
to be Theodoric's in the old sacristy. But for the most part the
collection is without much attraction, yet certainly not to remain
unvisited.

[Illustration: THE PINETA]

XX

THE PINETA

Ravenna has so much that is rare and precious to show us that few
among the many who spend a day or two within her walls have the
inclination to explore the melancholy marshes in which she stands. No
doubt most of us drive out to S. Apollinare in Classe, but the road
thither does not encourage a further journey, for it is rude and rough
and the country over which it passes is among the most featureless in
Italy. Nevertheless he does himself a wrong who leaves Ravenna for
good without having spent one day at any rate in the Pineta which,
ruined though it now be, is still one of the loveliest and most
mysterious places in the Romagna.

But lovely though it is, and full of memories, what can be said of
this vast ruined forest of stone pines with its mystery of mere and
fen, its coolness and shadow, its astonishing silence? Only this I
think, that if once you find it, nothing else in Ravenna will seem
half so precious as this green wood. You will love it always and for
its own sake more than anything else in Ravenna, and in this you will
not be alone; every one who has come to it these thousand years has
felt the same, Dante, Boccaccio, Byron, Carducci, the Pineta knows the
footsteps of them all and they seem to haunt it still.

Dante would seem to have loved it best in the morning; out of it he
conjures his _Paradiso Terrestre_ in the twenty-eighth canto of the
_Purgatorio_:

"Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade
With lively greenness the new-springing day
Attemper'd, eager now to roam, and search
Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank;
Along the champain leisurely my way
Pursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sides
Delicious odour breathed. A pleasant air
That intermitted never, never veer'd,
Smote on my temples, gently as a wind
Of softest influence, at which the sprays,
Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part
Where first the holy mountain casts his shade,
Yet were not so disordered, but that still
Upon their top the feathered quiristers
Applied their wonted art, and with full joy
Welcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrill
Amid the leaves that to their jocund lays
Kept tenour; even as from branch to branch
Along the piny forests on the shore
Of Chiassi rolls the gathering melody
When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed
The dripping south. Already had my steps,
Though slow, so far into that ancient wood
Transported me, I could not ken the place
Where I had entered; when, behold, my path
Was bounded by a rill which to the left
With little rippling waters bent the grass
That issued from its brink. On earth no wave
How clear so'er that would not seem to have
Some mixture in itself, compared with this
Transpicuous clear; yet darkly on it rolled,
Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'er
Admits or sun or moon-light there to shine."

Well, is not it the very place? And did not Dante, who knew Italy as
few have known it, do well to remember it when he would describe for
us the Earthly Paradise? In the forest the morning is sacred to him
and there one should turn, with less misunderstanding than anywhere
else, the precious pages of that poem which is in itself a universe.

But if the clear morning there is Dante's, when we may still hear the
voice he heard pass by there, in the stillness, singing, _Beati quorum
tecta sunt peccata_, the long noon belongs to Boccaccio, for it is
full of the most tragic and pitiful of his tales.

[Illustration: THE PINETA]

"Ravenna being a very ancient City in Romania, there dwelt sometime a
great number of worthy Gentlemen, among whom I am to speake of one
more especially, named Anastasio, descended from the Family of the
Honesti, who by the death of his Father, and an Unckle of his, was
left extraordinarily abounding in riches, and growing to yeares
fitting for marriage, (as young Gallants are easily apt enough to do)
he became enamored of a very bountifull Gentlewoman, who was Daughter
to Signior Paulo Traversario, one of the most ancient and noble
Families in all the Countrey. Nor made he any doubt, but by his meanes
and industrious endeavour, to derive affection from her againe; for he
carried himselfe like a brave-minded Gentleman, liberall in his
expences, honest and affable in all his actions, which commonly are
the true notes of a good nature, and highly to be commended in any
man. But, howsoever Fortune became his enemy, these laudable parts of
manhood did not any way friend him, but rather appeared hurtfull to
himselfe: so cruell, unkind, and almost meerely savage did she shew
her self to him; perhaps in pride of her singular beauty, or presuming
on her nobility by birth, both which are rather blemishes, then
ornaments in a woman, especially when they be abused.

"The harsh and uncivill usage in her, grew very distastefull to
Anastasio, and so unsufferable, that after a long time of fruitlesse
service, requited still with nothing but coy disdaine; desperate
resolutions entred into his brain, and often he was minded to kill
himselfe. But better thoughts supplanting those furious passions, he
abstained from any such violent act; and governed by more manly
consideration, determined, that as shee hated him, he would requite
her with the like, if he could: wherein he became altogether deceived,
because as his hopes grew to a dayly decaying, yet his love enlarged
it selfe more and more.

"Thus Anastasio persevering still in his bootlesse affection, and his
expences not limited within any compasse; it appeared in the judgement
of his Kindred and Friends, that he was falne into a mighty
consumption, both of his body and meanes. In which respect, many times
they advised him to leave the City of Ravenna, and live in some other
place for such a while; as might set a more moderate stint upon his
spendings, and bridle the indiscreete course of his love, the onely
fuell which fed this furious fire.

"Anastasio held out thus a long time, without lending an eare to such
friendly counsell: but in the end, he was so neerely followed by them,
as being no longer able to deny them, he promised to accomplish their
request. Whereupon, making such extraordinary preparation, as if he
were to set thence for France or Spaine, or else into some further
distant countrey: he mounted on horsebacke, and accompanied with some
few of his familiar friends, departed from Ravenna, and rode to a
countrey dwelling house of his owne, about three or foure miles
distant from the Cittie, which was called Chiasso, and there (upon a
very goodly greene) erecting divers Tents and Pavillions, such as
great persons make use of in the time of a Progresse: he said to his
friends, which came with him thither, that there he determined to make
his abiding, they all returning backe unto Ravenna, and might come to
visite him againe so often as they pleased.

"Now, it came to passe, that about the beginning of May, it being then
a very milde and serrene season, and he leading there a much more
magnificent life, then ever hee had done before, inviting divers to
dine with him this day, and as many to morrow, and not to leave him
till after supper: upon the sodaine, falling into remembrance of his
cruell Mistris, hee commanded all his servants to forbeare his
company, and suffer him to walke alone by himselfe awhile, because he
had occasion of private meditations, wherein he would not (by any
meanes) be troubled. It was then about the ninth houre of the day, and
he walking on solitary all alone, having gone some halfe miles
distance from his Tents, entred into a Grove of Pine-trees, never
minding dinner time, or any thing else, but onely the unkind requitall
of his love.

"Sodainly he heard the voice of a woman, seeming to make most
mournfull complaints, which breaking off his silent considerations,
made him to lift up his head, to know the reason of this noise. When
he saw himselfe so farre entred into the Grove, before he could
imagine where he was; hee looked amazedly round about him, and out of
a little thicket of bushes and briars, round engirt with spreading
trees, hee espyed a young Damosell come running towards him, naked
from the middle upward, her haire dishevelled on her shoulders, and
her faire skinne rent and torne with the briars and brambles, so that
the blood ran trickling downe mainely; she weeping, wringing her
hands, and crying out for mercy so lowde as she could. Two fierce
Blood-hounds also followed swiftly after, and where their teeth tooke
hold, did most cruelly bite her. Last of all (mounted on a lusty
blacke Courser) came galloping a Knight, with a very sterne and angry
countenance, holding a drawne short Sword in his hand, giving her very
vile and dreadful speeches, and threatning every minute to kill her.

"This strange and uncouth sight, bred in him no meane admiration, as
also kinde compassion to the unfortunate woman; out of which
compassion, sprung an earnest desire, to deliver her (if he could)
from a death so full of anguish and horror: but seeing himselfe to be
without Armes, he ran and pluckt up the plant of a Tree, which
handling as if it had bene a staffe, he opposed himselfe against the
Dogges and the Knight, who seeing him comming, cryed out in this
manner to him. Anastasio, put not thy selfe in any opposition, but
referre to my Hounds and me, to punish this wicked woman as she hath
justly deserved. And in speaking these words, the Hounds tooke fast
hold on her body, so staying her, untill the Knight was come neerer to
her, and alighted from his horse: when Anastasio (after some other
angry speeches) spake thus unto him: I cannot tell what or who thou
art, albeit thou takest such knowledge of me, yet I must say, that it
is meere cowardize in a Knight, being armed as thou art, to offer to
kill a naked woman, and make thy dogges thus to seize on her, as if
she were a savage beast; therefore beleeve me, I will defend her so
farre as I am able.

"Anastasio, answered the Knight, I am of the same City as thou art,
and do well remember, that thou wast a little Ladde, when I (who was
then named Guido Anastasio, and thine Unckle) became as intirely in
love with this woman, as now thou art of Paulo Traversarioes daughter.
But through her coy disdaine and cruelty, such was my heavy fate, that
desperately I slew my selfe with this short sword which thou beholdest
in mine hand: for which rash sinfull deede, I was, and am condemned to
eternall punishment. This wicked woman, rejoycing immeasurably in mine
unhappy death, remained no long time alive after me, and for her
mercilesse sinne of cruelty, and taking pleasure in my oppressing
torments; dying unrepentant, and in pride of her scorne, she had the
like sentence of condemnation pronounced on her, and sent to the same
place where I was tormented.

"There the three impartiall Judges, imposed this further infliction on
us both; namely, that she should flye in this manner before me, and I
(who loved her so deerely while I lived) must pursue her as my deadly
enemy, not like a woman that had a taste of love in her. And so often
as I can overtake her, I am to kill her with this sword, the same
Weapon wherewith I slew my selfe. Then am I enjoyned, therewith to
open her accursed body, and teare out her hard and frozen heart, with
her other inwards, as now thou seest me doe, which I give unto my
Hounds to feede on. Afterward, such is the appointment of the supreame
powers, that she reassumeth life againe, even as if she had not bene
dead at all, and falling to the same kinde of flight, I with my Hounds
am still to follow her; without any respite or intermission. Every
Friday, and just at this houre, our course is this way, where she
suffereth the just punishment inflicted on her. Nor do we rest any of
the other dayes, but are appointed unto other places, where she
cruelly executed her malice against me, being now (of her deare
affectionate friend) ordained to be her endlesse enemy, and to pursue
her in this manner for so many yeares, as she exercised moneths of
cruelty towards me. Hinder me not then, in being the executioner of
divine justice; for all thy interposition is but in vaine, in seeking
to crosse the appointment of supreame powers.

"Anastasio having attentively heard all this discourse, his haire
stood upright like Porcupines quils, and his soule was so shaken with
the terror, that he stept backe to suffer the Knight to do what he was
enjoyned, looking yet with milde commisseration on the poore woman.
Who kneeling most humbly before the Knight, and stearnely seized on by
the two blood-hounds, he opened her brest with his weapon, drawing
foorth her heart and bowels, which instantly he threw to the dogges,
and they devoured them very greedily. Soone after, the Damosell (as if
none of this punishment had bene inflicted on her) started up
sodainly, running amaine towards the Sea shore, and the Hounds swiftly
following her, as the Knight did the like, after he had taken his
sword, and was mounted on horse-backe; so that Anastasio had soone
lost all sight of them, and could not gesse what was become of them.

"After he had heard and observed all these things, he stoode a while
as confounded with feare and pitty, like a simple silly man, hoodwinkt
with his owne passions, not knowing the subtle enemies cunning
illusions in offering false suggestions to the sight, to worke his
owne ends thereby, and encrease the number of his deceived servants.
Forthwith he perswaded himselfe, that he might make good use of this
womans tormenting, so justly imposed on the Knight to prosecute, if
thus it should continue still every Friday. Wherefore, setting a good
note or marke upon the place, he returned backe to his owne people,
and at such time as he thought convenient, sent for divers of his
kindred and friends from Ravenna, who being present with him, thus he
spake to them.

"Deare Kinsmen and Friends, ye have a long while importuned me, to
discontinue my over-doating love to her, whom you all thinke, and I
find to be my mortall enemy: as also, to give over my lavish expences,
wherein I confesse my selfe too prodigall; both which requests of
yours, I will condiscend to, provided, that you will performe one
gracious favour for me; Namely, that on Friday next, Signior Paulo
Traversario, his wife, daughter, with all other women linked in linage
to them, and such beside onely as you shall please to appoint, will
vouchsafe to accept a dinner heere with me; as for the reason thereto
mooving me, you shall then more at large be acquainted withall. This
appeared no difficult matter for them to accomplish: wherefore, being
returned to Ravenna, and as they found the time answerable to their
purpose, they invited such as Anastasio had appointed them. And
although they found it some-what an hard matter, to gaine her company
whom he so deerely affected; yet notwithstanding, the other women won
her along with them.

"A most magnificent dinner had Anastasio provided, and the tables were
covered under the Pine-trees, where he saw the cruell Lady so pursued
and slaine: directing the guests so in their seating, that the yong
Gentlewoman his unkinde Mistresse, sate with her face opposite unto
the place, where the dismall spectacle was to be seen. About the
closing up of dinner, they beganne to heare the noise of the poore
prosecuted Woman, which drove them all to much admiration; desiring to
know what it was, and no one resolving them, they arose from the
Tables, and looking directly as the noise came to them, they espyed
the wofull Woman, the Dogges eagerly pursuing her; and the armed
Knight on horsebacke, gallopping fiercely after them with his drawne
weapon, and came very nere unto the company, who cryed out with lowd
exclaimes against the dogs and the Knight, stepping forth in
assistance of the injured woman.

"The Knight spake unto them, as formerly he had done to Anastasio,
(which made them draw backe, possessed with feare and admiration)
acting the same cruelty as he did the Friday before, not differing in
the least degree. Most of the Gentlewomen there present, being neere
allyed to the unfortunate Woman, and likewise to the Knight,
remembring well both his love and death, did shed teares as
plentifully, as if it had bin to the very persons themselves, in
usuall performance of the action indeede. Which tragicall Scoene being
passed over, and the Woman and Knight gone out of their sight: all
that had seene this straunge accident, fell into diversity of confused
opinions, yet not daring to disclose them, as doubting some further
danger to ensue thereon.

"But beyond all the rest, none could compare in feare and astonishment
with the cruell yong Maide affected by Anastasio, who both saw and
observed all with a more inward apprehension, knowing very well, that
the morall of this dismall spectacle, carried a much neerer
application to her then any other in all the company. For now she
could call to mind, how unkinde and cruell she had shewne her selfe to
Anastasio, even as the other Gentlewoman formerly did to her Lover,
still flying from him in great contempt and scorne: for which, she
thought the Blood-hounds also pursued her at the heeles already, and a
sword of vengeance to mangle her body. This feare grew so powerfull in
her, that to prevent the like heavy doome from falling on her, she
studied (by all her best and commendable meanes, and therein bestowed
all the night season) how to change her hatred into kinde love, which
at the length she fully obtained, and then purposed to prosecute in
this manner.

"Secretly she sent a faithfull Chamber-maide of her owne, to greete
Anastasio on her behalfe; humbly entreating him to come see her:
because now she was absolutely determined, to give him satisfaction in
all which (with honour) he could request of her. Whereto Anastasio
answered, that he accepted her message thankfully, and desired no
other favour at her hand, but that which stood with her owne offer,
namely, to be his Wife in honourable marriage. The Maide knowing
sufficiently, that he could not be more desirous of the match, then
her Mistresse shewed her selfe to be, made answer in her name, that
this motion would be most welcome to her.

"Heereupon, the Gentlewoman her selfe, became the solicitour to her
Father and Mother, telling them plainly, that she was willing to be
the Wife of Anastasio: which newes did so highly content them, that
upon the Sunday next following, the marriage was very worthily
solemnized, and they lived and loved together very kindly. Thus the
divine bounty, out of the malignant enemies secret machinations, can
cause good effects to arise and succeede. For, from this conceite of
fearfull imagination in her, not onely happened this long desired
conversion, of a Maide so obstinately scornfull and proud; but
likewise all the women of Ravenna (being admonished by her example)
grew afterward more kind and tractable to mens honest motions, then
ever they shewed themselves before. And let me make some use hereof
(faire Ladies) to you, not to stand over-nicely conceited of your
beauty and good parts, when men (growing enamored of you by them)
solicite you with their best and humblest services. Remember then this
disdainfull Gentlewoman, but more especially her, who being the death
of so kinde a Lover, was therefore condemned to perpetuall punishment,
and he made the minister thereof, whom she had cast off with coy
disdaine, from which I wish your minds to be as free, as mine is ready
to do you any acceptable service."[1]

[Footnote 1: This translation is from the English version of _The
Decameron_, first published in 1620, but in 1569 had appeared _A
Notable Historye of Nastagto and Traversan_, or rhymed version of
Boccaccio's tale, by C.T., usually supposed to be Christopher Tye the
musician. Dryden used this story for his fable _Theodore and Honoria_.
It is curious to note that Anita, Garibaldi's wife, was actually
hunted to death here in the Pineta by the Austrians.]

To Dante and to Boccaccio belong of right morning and noon in the
Pineta; but the evening is ours for it belongs to Byron:

"Sweet hour of twilight' in the solitude
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er,
To where the last Caesarean fortress stood,
Evergreen forest I which Boccaccio's lore
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee;

"The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,
Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,
Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine,
And vesper bells that rose the boughs along,
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line,
His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng
Which learn'd from this example not to fly
From a true lover--shadow'd my mind's eye

"Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day
When they from their sweet friends are torn apart.
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way
As the far bell of vesper makes him start,
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay,
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?
Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns!"

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