Die Besteigung des Mont Ventoux by Francesco Petrarca

Die Besteigung des Mont Ventoux Reviews

• 
  Yann

  
  
  Ce tout petit livre contient une lettre écrite par Pétrarque(1304-1374), un poète latin du temps de la papauté d'Avignon, ville en laquelle il habite depuis dix ans lorsqu'il l'écrit le 26 avril 1336 à son confesseur Denis de Borgo San Sepulcro, professeur à l'Université de Paris. J'étais déjà un peu familiarisé avec l'auteur, avec
  Sur sa propre ignorance et celle de beaucoup d'autres,
  Mon secret,
  La vie solitaire. Il raconte ici le dessein qu'il forme de gravir le mont Ventoux voisin, les précautions dont il s'entoure pour trouver un compagnon de confiance pour l'accompagner, son frère, puis le périple lui-même.
  
  
  
  Cette ascension n'est sans doute pas réelle, mais reflète une sorte d'anagogie, car la montée est rythmée par des aventures curieuses: En chemin, il rencontre un vieillard qui avait entrepris ce même chemin auparavant, sans doute le Jean Buridan (1292 - 1363) dont l'âne indécis est devenu fameux. Puis Pétrarque, au lieu de suivre d'un chemin ferme et hardi son frère sur la pente la plus raide et la plus rapide, folâtre en chemin sur des sentiers qui montent plus doucement, mais dont les lacets le conduisent à de bien longs détours, lorsqu'ils ne le font pas même descendre de temps en temps.
  
  A mesure qu'il s'élève, Pétrarque est préoccupé par la division de ses aspirations changeantes lors des dernières années écoulées: quelle partie de lui-même va l'emporter sur l'autre? A un moment, alors qu'il vient d'admirer une vue à couper le souffle des Alpes lointaines par delà lesquelles s'étale la belle Italie, hautes cimes qu'Hannibal avait attaqué à coup de vinaigre pour ouvrir une voie à ses éléphants, il devient mélancolique, tandis que s'éveille le souvenir de ses études dix ans auparavant à l'université de Bologne. Qu'as tu fait de ta vie ? Plein de pensées douloureuses et inquiètes, il tombe sur ce passage d'une page de ses Confessions d'Augustin - indispensables à l'alpinisme spirituel - qu'il ouvre au hasard:
  
  

  Les hommes ne se lassent pas d'admirer la cime des montagnes, l'ample mouvement des flots marins, le large cours des fleuves, l'océan qui les entoure, la course des astres; mais ils oublient de d'examiner eux-mêmes.

  
  
  Cet imprévu ne manque pas de l'impressionner, et de susciter en lui un profond trouble, un désir de s'amender et de s'occuper sérieusement de son âme, tandis que lui reviennent à l'esprit les graves maximes des l’Évangile et des pères de l’Église. Plus rien ne le charme plus dans le paysage, il n'est plus qu'absorbé que par lui-même à se demander qui il est vraiment et comment il pourrait devenir meilleur. Mais la nuit approche, et au clair de lune, c'est le cœur purifié notre poète se hâte de redescendre au pied de la montagne dans le petit village de Malaucène.
  
  L'idée de cette jolie petite lettre lui aurait été inspiré par l'exemple de la correspondance laissée par Cicéron. Elle reflété de ce tiraillement qui l'a travaillé entre des aspirations et des intérêts contradictoires, entre d'un côté une sensibilité pour les écrits des anciens, la nature et la femme, et de l'autre une foi pieuse et sincère qui aurait du lui faire prendre des distances avec ces vanités. L'ouvrage est agrémenté d'un petit commentaire savant, et d'une vie de Pétrarque, fort bienvenus.
• 
  Alex Pler

  "Lo que solía amar, ya no lo amo; miento: lo amo, pero menos; otra vez he mentido: lo amo, pero con más vergüenza, con más tristeza; por fin he dicho la verdad. En efecto, así es: amo, pero lo que querría no amar, lo que desearía odiar; a pesar de todo amo, pero sin querer, a la fuerza, triste y afligido. Y, desgraciado, siento en mis carnes el significado de aquel famosísimo versito: Te odiaré si puedo; si no, te amaré a la fuerza."
• 
  Alex

  "Ascent of Mount Venoux" also known as "My Journey Up the Mountain" by Francesco Petrarch is a short essay consisting of an inspiring metaphor for discouraged wanderers.
  
  I just happened to stumble upon this piece while flipping through my copy of The Lost Origins of the Essay edited and introduced by John D'Agata and its appearance couldn't have come at a better time.
  
  Petrarch writes about squandered youth and our fear of risk-taking, two things that speak to me as a disgruntled college student who no longer finds motivational speakers particularly motivating. Petrarch defines our quest for success in a tragically beautiful light that holds no illusions about what sorts of obstacles lie in our way. He emphasizes the merit of the journey rather than its (un)fortunate ending, which always seems to be a very distant, shadowy figure.
  
  If you're looking for a good read and a fresh take on motivation, definitely try and make time to read this 700+ year-old piece.
• 
  Antonio Gallo

  Dear Reader, I’m proposing you to face the reading of a pretty long passage translated from Italian, written more than seven hundred years ago. I can assure you that it is worthwhile. It seems to me the perfect context for an extended look into the psychology of a conversion, the dynamics of a particular religious experience, leading to reflections on the relationship of conversion to humanist thought in general as a modus for the management of consciousness.
  
  Francesco Petrarca, the Italian poet (1304-1374), accompanied by his brother Gherardo, made an ascent of 6,263-foot (1,912-meters) Mont Ventoux on April 26 in 1336, a towering rounded mountain that overlooks the Provence region of southern France. Mont Ventoux translated "Windy Peak" for the ferocious Mistral winds which rake its summit with gales exceeding 180 miles per hour, is not a difficult mountain to surmount by modern standards, but it was indeed in those days.
  
  With the idea of this ascent many historians, in conceptualising Renaissance, tried a game of perspectives. In defining this world and its natural man, the prose of the poet could be cited for the purpose of supporting the general thesis to perceive some of its essential concepts, such as humanism, search for truth, morality, scepticism, secularism, happiness, individualism, human all-roundness.
  
  The Ascent of Mount Ventoux gives various novel ideas of human being and the world unknown to the medieval times. In writing this the Poet is just writing for the joy of writing, as his background and his upbringing very much testify. On the other hand, it tells that Petrarch as a man of letters, can not be pigeonholed as most of his writings have been. His works do not just concern only with philosophical thoughts and history, but also with practical life.
  
  “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 …
  
  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 … 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 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 shown, 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 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 the 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 love 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 ..."
  
  Petrarch's Ascent Of Mount Ventoux The Familiaris Iv, I by Francesco Petrarca Petrarch's Ascent Of Mount Ventoux: The Familiaris Iv, I
  
• 
  Kristina

  Enjoyed every single word of it! I can't believe I have slept on this book for so long.
  
  From now on this book will be my companion on my usually solitary explorations outside in nature. And every time I find myself climbing or hiking I'll be reminded of these words: "What you have so often experienced today while climbing this mountain happens to you, you must know, and to many others who are making their way toward the blessed life. This is not easily understood by us men, because the motions of the body lie open, while those of the mind are invisible and hidden. The life we call blessed is located on a high peak. 'A narrow way,' they say, leads up to it. Many hilltops intervene and we must proceed 'from virtue to virtue' with exalted steps. On the highest summit is set the end of all, the goal toward which our pilgrimage is directed. Every man wants to arrive there. However, as Naso says: 'Wanting is not enough; long and you attain it. You certainly do not merely want; you have a longing, unless you are deceiving yourself in this respect as in so many others. What is it, then, that keeps you back? Evidently nothing but the smoother way that leads through the meanest earthly pleasures and looks easier at first sight. However, having strayed far in error, you must either ascend to the summit of the blessed life under the heavy burden of hard striving, ill deferred, or lie prostrate in your slothfulness in the valley of your sins. If 'darkness and the shadow of death' find you there - I shudder while I pronounce these ominous words - you must pass the eternal night in incessant torments."
  
  For someone who attaches more importance to the inner life than the outer, be that even nature with all its external splendour, I was delighted to find St. Augustine's words inside: "And men go to admire the high mountains, the vast floods of the sea, the huge streams of the rivers, the circumference of the ocean, and the revolutions of the stars - and desert themselves."
  
  I have always felt the natural world to be an extension of our inner state of being, something that reflects what we ourselves bring to it. If we approach it in a calm and steady state of mind with eyes full of wonder then it becomes more than a succession of sensory stimuli, revealing a transcendental reality hidden to the unaccustomed observer. The key with which to unlock this treasure is not located somewhere far away from us, but buried deep inside us.
• 
  Juliane

  Petrarcas well-known letter to his former confessor, Dionigi di Borgo San Sepolcro, about his Ascent of Mont Ventoux on April 26, 1336. Quite an interesting read. One quote I really loved was from Augustinus: "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."
• 
  Jane

  Egal ob Petrarca 1336 wirklich zum "Vater des Alpinismus" wurde, hier beschreibt er in ausgefeilter Sprache einen geistig-spirituellen Aufstieg.
• 
  VII

  Petrarch is supposed to be important and is viewed as some kind of early Shakespeare that even has a style of poetry named after him. This text, in particular, is one of the earliest ones that are tied to aestheticism, as the hero decides to climb a mountain for no reason but to enjoy the view. Unfortunately, I have to admit that while reading it, I wasn't impressed at all by it and I was able to spot only the endless christian references.
  
  Afterwards, however, I had access to a very interesting (although maybe a little far-fetching) analysis of this text that made it somewhat better. The book is supposed to have many layers. Petrarch seems to write an apology to his christian confessor for what he is going to do (seek aesthetic pleasure), using pagan references in a way that also provides aesthetic pleasure. Also, it is part of a tradition that was focusing on practices. Writing and meditating on what someone did during his day was part of a practice that would make him a better person and make him more capable of understanding his/herself and the world. It was not enough to think but you also had to actually do things, usually prescribed by some mentor. This way of doing philosophy is lost now and is more ancient Greek than Christian, related to the “επιμέλεια εαυτού” and self-reflection in general.
• 
  Giorgos

  "Αναστέναξα, τ' ομολογώ, μπροστά στον ουρανό της Ιταλίας, που ξανοιγόταν μάλλον στην ψυχή παρά στα μάτια μου"
  
  "Οι πράξεις που γεννούν λύπη κι αμφιβολία περισσεύουν μέσα μου. Δεν αγαπώ όσα αγαπούσα άλλοτε. Κι όμως, πάλι λέω ψέματα: τ' αγαπώ, αλλά τώρα μ' ένα αίσθημα ντροπής και θλίψης. Τούτη τη φορά λέω την αλήθεια. Ναί, αγαπώ αυτά που θα 'θελα να μην αγαπώ. Αγαπώ αυτά που θα ευχόμουν να μισώ, όμως τ' αγαπώ αθέλητα και βιασμένα, με βαριά την καρδιά και μαύρες σκέψεις. Και την αλήθεια τούτου του περίφημου στίχου τη νιώθω, ο άθλιος, μέσα μου: "Αν το μπορέσω, θα σε μισήσω• αλλιώς, αθέλητα θα σ' αγαπώ".
• 
  Micaela

  Me tocó lo más profundo del alma, sentí que subía el Cerro Piltriquitron, en Bolsón, de nuevo 🥲. Encontraste en la naturaleza y encontrarse en un libro son los regalos que nos deja Petrarca en esta epístola.
• 
  Pablo Sabalza

  4/5
  
  Se trata de una breve carta de Petrarca que parece ser el resumen de su ideología de vida, pues aquí encontraremos reflexiones con respecto a temas como la religión, la amistad y el arte, todo influenciado por la gran cantidad de conocimiento geográfico, teológico y literario grecorromano que el autor tenía para ofrecernos mediante sus escritos.
  
  Quizá lo más interesante de esta epístola sea la manera en la que se hace una alegoría de la subida al Monte Ventoux con la cantidad de altibajos que acompañan al individuo durante toda su vida y cómo todo es parte de un proceso en busca de las virtudes al salir de los constantes baches.
• 
  Andreu Escrivà

  Com sempre que es llegeix als clàssics, te n'adones de quantes coses que pensàvem noves són ja dites des de temps ençà. 3,5 (4 per algunes frases èpiques i per l'extensió, i l'edició).
• 
  dany

  Hermoso. Simplemente hermoso.
• 
  Rakel

  Pensum.
• 
  Red

  Must read for all you mountaineers
• 
  Cécile

  Incroyablement pertinent malgré le fait que cela été écrit dans les années 1300.
  D’une grande beauté et sagesse, intemporel.
• 
  Etienne Mahieux

  C’est un Pétrarque encore jeune qui, poussé par les rodomontades de quelques géographes anciens sur l’étendue exacte du point de vue qu’on a du haut d’une montagne, et par une vieille familiarité avec le mont chauve au pied duquel il a passé une grande partie de son enfance, décide d’escalader le mont Ventoux, ce qu’il fait en une journée, accompagné de son jeune frère, et qu’il raconte le soir, à l’auberge, dans une lettre à son confesseur et ami qu’il a ensuite considérablement retouchée pour l’intégrer à ses œuvres complètes : c’est le petit texte que nous lisons aujourd’hui.
  Prévenu par un vieux berger, sorti par anticipation des clichés du film d’aventure, que le dernier qui a tenté l’ascension en est revenu tout déchiqueté, et que depuis, ma foi, on n’y va plus guère, le courageux humaniste commence par louvoyer, copieusement moqué par le frangin, avant de finir par admettre que pour escalader une montagne, il vaut mieux prendre les pentes dans le sens de la montée. De cette maladresse d’approche dont il ne nous cache rien, il tire un apologue sur la façon chrétienne de mener l’existence. Or le traducteur signale en note que cette allégorie relève du répertoire rhétorique de l’époque. Alors qu’est-ce qui rend cette « Ascension » mémorable ?
  C’est essentiellement le fait que Pétrarque développe l’allégorie morale au fil des épisodes d’une montée qui n’est pas toujours prestigieuse ; je ne crois pas pour le coup que le genre du récit d’alpinisme fût déjà fondé en 1336. Or il se présente lui-même en randonneur citadin et maladroit, toujours un livre en poche (de Saint Augustin), dans une posture qui ne deviendra un lieu commun qu’à la naissance du romantisme, et qui est d’une grande modernité. La réflexion morale est ainsi présentée comme une suite de monologues intérieurs du randonneur, d’une manière tout à fait crédible et vivante : car entreprendre une telle équipée, même en compagnie, c’est s’obliger à écouter les échos de sa propre vie intérieure. Et le lecteur du troisième millénaire sera d’autant plus happé que le propos, fût-il mince puisque l’œuvre est vraiment très brève, ne s’affirme pas comme une docte leçon faite avec autorité mais plutôt comme une méditation subjective et prise dans le temps. L’allégorie s’incarne dans le parcours d’un homme — instantanément, dans l’ascension du mont Ventoux et, plus largement, dans la révision de vie où Pétrarque songe à s’engager. Sur ce dernier point, la réécriture de la lettre en fait une véritable fiction préliminaire à l’ouvrage d'introspection profonde "Mon secret", élaboré postérieurement. Mais quelle que soit la part de réécriture, la façon dont Pétrarque observe les mouvements intérieurs de l’esprit dans leur lien avec les mouvements du corps est d’une stupéfiante modernité.