Part 2

We have already mentioned his classical attainments. They are attested by a vast quantity of works, most of which were produced when he was in his teens. Wonderful monuments of industry, they were scarcely worth the price he paid for them: for it was in their composition that he ruined his health by over application.

As I have mentioned above, the "Operette Morali" are remarkable for their surpassing beauties of style, but they are no less so for depth, energy, and originality of thought.[2] The poet in Leopardi probably somewhat hampered the philosopher; and the philosopher may, now and then, have prevented the poet from revelling in the flights of fancy. Though not offering a new system of philosophy, his prose works are well worthy of study; but were I to express my candid opinion, I should say that the gloom which gives such tragic grandeur to his lyrics, is somewhat out of place in essays and dialogues, and is only redeemed by the perfection of the style. Indeed, if a foreigner may judge, his prose is almost too perfect, its extreme finish depriving it occasionally of energy. But no praise could be high enough for the beautiful manner in which his phrases are balanced, for their varied construction and noble harmony.

[Footnote 2: There is an excellent translation of Leopardi's Prose Works, by Charles Edwardes, in Trubner's Philosophical Series.]

His poem entitled "Paralipomeni della Batracomiomachia," is, as the name indicates, a sort of continuation of the Greek mock-heroic poem, describing the "War of the Frogs and Rats." The subject is not very happily chosen, and it is obvious that the narrative serves only to introduce the digressions, and it is in these digressions that the poet's brilliant imagination and felicity of style are displayed. Certainly, since the days of Ariosto, stanzas of equal beauty had not been produced in Italy. Still, the poem as a whole is not interesting, although it possesses an air of gaiety and vivacity, wonderful when we consider his habitual gloom.

But Leopardi's universal renown is founded on the forty-one poems and fragments of poems, published under the collective title of "Canti;" and it is from that collection, exclusively, that the poems in this volume are translated.

In the time of Leopardi, Italian poetry had sunk to a very low ebb. The leading poets of whom Italy could boast, were more remarkable for graceful fancy and lively wit, than for sublimity and originality. Parini and Alfieri alone exhibited striking intellectual qualities, but they died when our poet was in his infancy. Parini, in whose elegant satire all the refined frivolity of the eighteenth century is reflected, had no great richness of invention; and Alfieri, than whom no poet could boast of more boldness and energy of thought, was deficient in imagination. The tuneful verse of Metastasio enchanted Europe for fifty years; but the sweetness of his expression could not disguise the trifling prettiness of his thoughts. Casti had vigour and raciness enough to have made him a great satirist if he had chosen fitter subjects for his undoubted genius than tedious apologues, and lively, but licentious, tales. These poets were all dead before Leopardi rose on the literary horizon, and the only established poetical reputation he had to encounter, was that of Vincenzo Monti, to whom he dedicated his first two Odes. If we examine the works of Monti merely for the style, we shall find much to admire; but in truth, nature, depth, and emotion, he was utterly deficient. The only contemporary poets who at all approached Leopardi in intellect, were Foscolo and Manzoni; but Foscolo, besides the disadvantage of living in exile, frittered away his great powers on learned trifles; and Manzoni soon deserted poetry for the more popular field of romance. Thus it will be seen, that none of these poets were, in every respect, admirable, nor did they, with the exception of Alfieri and Parini, strike out new paths.

How necessary was an original and soaring spirit to infuse life into the poetry of Italy! At last the poet arose whose gifts were exactly adapted to the arduous task. That Leopardi fulfilled his mission with brilliant success, is proved by the ever increasing influence of his genius. During his life-time he was known only to the master-spirits of his age, but since his death, his works have become the property of the nation at large. His greatness is acknowledged daily more and more, and volumes are written on his life and writings, illustrating and examining them from every point of view, and the more his poems are studied, the more are their beauties revealed.

As Carlyle said of Dante: "He is great, not because he is world-wide, but because he is world-deep." This depth, so unfathomable, and yet so remote from obscurity, is the first and greatest of his intellectual qualities. Closely allied to it is his amazing originality of thought and style. He deserted the hackneyed vehicles of expression current in his day, the minute Sonnet and the elaborate Petrarchan Canzone. His thoughts, for the most part, flow in an easy and pellucid style through an alternation of rhymed and unrhymed verses. He knew, what so few poets of modern times even suspect, the value of economy. What he can say in one line, he does not dilute into five, If one simile suffices for his purpose, he does not regale the reader with ten. Bombast and grandiloquence he shunned, nay, he rather courted the other extreme of severe simplicity. Though a man of vast learning, he seldom indulged in allusions. In reading his poems we are brought into direct contact with Nature, and with her alone, so perfectly does he divest himself of every thought foreign to his present subject. His verses seem the inspiration of the moment, and not the result of elaborate study. We see him in the "Ricordanze," surveying the objects that revive the memories of the past; we see him in the little poem to the Moon, ascending the hill to behold the familiar radiance; we see him in the "Ginestra," gazing on the sparkling heavens and the fiery crater of Vesuvius, until we quite lose the sense of perusing a written performance.

And yet we know that he bestowed elaborate care on his works. He says himself that he had an ideal of unattainable perfection in his mind, which deterred him from writing works of great extent, whether in prose or verse. But that ideal I think he really has attained in some of his finest poems. The merit of his works, not only in degree, but in kind, is so immeasurably superior to that of his contemporaries, that we cannot find a standard for judging it without going back to the greatest masters of the art of poetry. I have no hesitation in placing him immediately after Dante and Ariosto for strength of poetical genius. He surpasses Petrarch in variety and comprehensiveness of mind, although he may not always equal him in richness of style. For genuine poetical inspiration in the purely lyrical sphere he has no rivals in modern times except Shelley, Keats, and Goethe. To prove that this eulogy is not exaggerated, we will now examine the "Canti" in the order of their arrangement.

I. "All 'Italia." This poem, written at the age of twenty, though appearing first in the collection, was not by any means a first attempt at poetry. Leopardi had, it is true, up to this time devoted his attention chiefly to learned subjects, but he had written as well a considerable amount of verse, one of his earliest productions being a tragedy in three acts, "Pompeo in Egitto," which shows great command of language for the age of thirteen, at which it was written. We find, therefore, in this first poem of the celebrated series, full mastery over the mechanism of verse and fine flashes in the three opening stanzas, but the introduction of Simonides is not a happy fiction. He should have confined himself to the history of his own country, which offers more striking themes than this classical reminiscence.

II. "Sopra il Monumento di Dante." The tyranny of Napoleon I., that weighed so heavily on Italy in the early part of this century, is most forcibly described, especially in the wonderful stanzas narrating the death of the Italian troops in the Russian campaign of 1812. How sublime are the opening lines of the tenth stanza:

"Di lor querela il boreal deserto, E conscie fur le sibilanti selve."

The apostrophe to Dante in the fifth stanza is full of fervour; but, perhaps the only instance of bombast to be found in our poet is the preceding address to the sculptors.

III. "Ad Angelo Mai." I have mentioned above that I consider this Ode to Angelo Mai on his discovery of Cicero's "Republic," one of our poet's three great masterpieces. I was confirmed in this opinion by Johannes Scherr, who, in his "Allgemeine Literaturgeschichte," extols it as one of the sublimest Odes in any language. How great, therefore, was my surprise on perusing Montefredini's Life of Leopardi, to find that the author has nothing but blame and ridicule for this poem. He, though so ardent an admirer of Leopardi, cannot find words strong enough to express his contempt for such rubbish. We may, indeed, agree with him, that the discovery of an old manuscript by a monk is scarcely an event of sufficient importance to warrant poetical raptures. But if we condemn all poems that take their starting point from a slight occurrence, we must begin by denying merit to Pindar, for what can be more intrinsically trivial than the foundation on which he builds his lofty fabrics? It is further a mystery to me how Montefredini can understand the eighth stanza to allude to Tasso, when it is obvious that it applies to no one but Ariosto, and is a most exquisite description of the effect produced by that poet on the mind, offering, perhaps, the finest passage in a poem replete with beauties. How sublime are the verses on Columbus, and how picturesque is the lamentation on the decline of the imaginative powers!

IV. "Nelle Nozze della Sorella Paolina." This poem on a marriage that never took place, but was only projected, is not equal to its predecessors, but it is nevertheless original, and in parts forcible, and full of patriotic inspiration. His sister was the only member of his family whom he has immortalized in verse.

V. "A un Vincitore nel Pallone." I did not think it necessary to translate this ode, as it only repeats feebly what its predecessors uttered energetically. These five poems form a distinct class, the patriotic, in our poet's works. Henceforth his horizon becomes wider, and he laments, not only the sorrows of Italy, but those of all mankind.

VI. "Bruto Minore." In the foregoing poems Leopardi plays, as it were, a prelude; but now the curtain rises on the tragedy of his life. To avoid justifying his despair, he puts his soliloquy into the mouth of Brutus, after the disaster of Phillipi. There are flashes in the poem that seem to illuminate an abyss of misery and gloom, and here he first gives utterance to one of those piercing laments which make his subsequent poems so impressive:

"O casi! O gener vano! Abbietta parte Siam delle cose."

He himself looked upon this as one of his most remarkable poems, but I cannot consider it one of the most beautiful; the thoughts are not always presented with all possible force, and the odd idea of animals committing suicide is rather ludicrous. But the poem is full of significance. Montefredini observes very justly: "It is the first wail of his tortured soul, the first malediction against the cruelty of Nature. The sentiment is powerful, and rushes forth furiously. So young, he is utterly miserable, and his opinions of life and the world are already full of despair. Even the calm aspect of nature wounds him as though it were an insult to his sorrow, a cruel mocking of the tempest of the soul.... The physical and mental life of Leopardi assumed too soon a fatal bent. As in his youth his bodily sufferings were excessive, so are his early poems finally and immensely sad. No other youthful poems contain so much despair or proceed from such a bleeding heart. Leopardi buries himself in his immense sorrow, deserting the region of airy fancy in which young poets delight.... This tumult of emotion proves that he had not yet resigned himself to his fate. He was not born for such bitter utterance, nor are these the fit inspirations of early poetry. Instead of the beautiful themes of joy, hope and fond desire, our poet can only sing of his despair."

VII. "Alla Primavera." He was too much of a poet to desert the realms of fancy without a glance of affectionate regret, and in this poem to Spring, he conjures up with magic voice the fables of the past. Between the gloom of Brutus and the radiant loveliness of these visions, how great is the contrast! This is, in my opinion, one of the most elaborate and polished of his productions, and I am again obliged to differ from Montefredini as to the merits of this Ode.

VIII. "Inno ai Patriarchi." This hymn also has the misfortune of not pleasing Montefredini. Still, it contains passages wonderfully picturesque, and is a worthy fruit of our poet's intimate acquaintance with Hebrew literature.

IX. "Ultimo Canto di Saffo." As in the monologue of Brutus, Leopardi uttered his own views of life; so in the "Last Song of Sappho" he expresses how keenly he felt his physical afflictions. How august and calm is the opening, and how beautifully the poet blends his sorrow with the description of Nature! The third stanza rises to Æschylean sublimity. Two spirits seem to be battling for mastery over the poet--the one pronouncing, the other lamenting, his doom. Most beautiful is the effect achieved by the mysterious pathos of the conclusion.

X. "Il Primo Amore." After such a poem we almost doubt whether we shall read further--whether any other poem can be read after that supreme effort. But the "Primo Amore," though different in kind, is, as poetry, equally valuable. The former piece astonished us with its sublimity; this delights us with its delicacy. For depth of feeling and reality of narration I know no love poem that surpasses it; but here and there we find some obscurity and flatness in the diction.

XI. "Il Passero Solitario." Not one of the least admirable qualities of our poet is the great variety of expression he commands. The five patriotic poems may be considered as producing one effect; but each of the following is quite distinct from its predecessor, and the "Passero Solitario" is again quite different from them all. It is also remarkable as the first poem in his later manner--that of the "Canto Notturno" and the "Ginestra." It is an idyl such as Theocritus, or, rather, Wordsworth, might have written. The gloom is past, the despair at rest, a gentle pensiveness alone remains. The picture of the setting sun:

"Che tra lontani monti, Dopo il giorno sereno, Cadendo si dilegua, e par che dica Che la beata gioventù vien meno,"

always seemed to me the most perfect instance of subjective colouring of nature in the whole range of poetry.

XII. "L'Infinito." This little gem concentrates in a few lines the lustre of the richest poetry. The more we examine it, the more we admire.

XIII. "La Sera del Dè di Festa." Though not equal to its four immediate predecessors, I think this poem worthy of high admiration for the delicacy and rapidity of its transitions. It is wonderful to observe with what ease the poet rises from simplicity to sublimity, and returns again to simplicity. What perfection of art and what discrimination of style!

XIV. "Alla Luna." A more tender sigh was never breathed in song than here. I wish I could have done justice to the exquisite lines:

"E tu pendevi allor su quella selva Siccome or fai, che tutta la rischiari."

XV. "Il Sogno" is a very trifling production, with a few lines worthy of its author, but too insignificant to deserve translation.

XVI. "La Vita Solitaria." The second paragraph contains the finest poetical illustration I know of what Schopenhauer calls "Willensfreie Anschauen," and is in our poet's noblest style; the concluding apostrophe to the Moon is very animated, but the poem is disjointed and incoherent, and each paragraph would make a separate poem.

XVII. "Consalvo." If we were to judge from internal evidence alone, we should say that this production was the work of a feeble and unskilful imitator of our poet; so indifferent in execution as to be almost a parody on his manner. Hysterical, exaggerated, and heavy, it offers not one spark of his genius. Here, for once, Montefredini's unsparing severity is in the right place; I have therefore omitted it in my translation.

XVIII. "Alla Sua Donna." This poem was the tenth in the first edition of the "Canti." I do not know, why the poet removed it to its present place in the edition of 1837. It is eminently beautiful, and written throughout in the author's happiest style. As the expression of a yearning towards a superhuman ideal, it is peerless. There is nothing more sublime in Petrarch.

XIX. "Al Conte Carlo Pepoli." This epistle is somewhat Horation in diction, with some beautiful thoughts and charming verses, but not so characteristic of the author as to be essential to a translation. It might have been written by a less distinguished poet than Leopardi. It is, however, a proof of his great variety of style.

XX. "Il Risorgimento" is the pearl of this collection.

"Credei ch'ai tutto fossero In me, sul fier degl 'anni, Mancati i dolci affanni Della mia prima età: I dolci affanni, i teneri Moti del cor profondo, Qualunque cosa al mondo Grato il sentir ci fa."

What melody and sweetness of style! How richly h e describes his gloom, and how vividly his revival to the joys of life!

"Meco ritorna a vivere La piaggia, il bosco, il monte; Parla al mio core il fonte, Meco favella il mar."

And how noble is the conclusion:

"Mancano, il sento, all anima, Alta, gentile e pura, La sorte, la natura, Il mondo e la beltà. Ma se tu vivi, O misero, Se non concedi al fato, Non chiamerò spietato Chi lo spirar mi dà."

Of the other poems I hope I have been able to give an almost adequate rendering; but of this, such a rendering was impossible. The sense is so blended with the music of the verse, and the music is so peculiar to the Italian language, that I doubt whether any translation could ever do it full justice. It is quite unique among his works. He never wrote anything before or afterwards even remotely like it. He seems to have revelled in the sweetness of the melody, and to have sported with his sorrow in the music of the lines.

XXI. "A Silvia." The subject of this poem was a young girl of Recanati, whom the poet and his brother Carlo used frequently to see in their young days. It is a beautiful specimen of his almost supernatural powers of concentration and depth. From bewailing her untimely end, the poet rises to contemplate the vanity of earthly things. "Before such masterpieces," Montefredini justly observes, "as 'Silvia' and the 'Passero Solitario,' we are struck dumb with admiration." It is an instance of how powerful an effect a great writer can produce by slight means.

XXII. "Le Ricordanze." If I were asked to award the palm to one above all the other "Canti," I should name the "Ricordanze." It offers a combination of the rarest beauties. Possessing the highest biographical interest as a picture of his youth, it invests all the visions it conjures up with the richest poetical colouring. The reader will observe how simple is the opening, and how the verses gradually rise in thought and style until they reach the splendid outburst:

"E che pensieri immensi, Che dolci sogni mi spirò la vista Di quel lontano mar, quei monti azzurri, Che di qua scopro, e che varcare un giorno Io mi pensava, acani mondi, acana Felicità fingendo al viver mio!"

This superb passage is concluded with the utterance of tragic emotion:

"Ignaro del mio fato, e quante volte Questa mia vita dolorosa e nuda Volentier con la morte avrei cangiato."

Then, by a natural transition, he introduces the celebrated imprecation on Recanati, the energy of which leads us to forget its injustice. How beautifully is youth called "the solitary flower of barren life!" Still more beautiful is the following paragraph with its description of happy childhood. The apostrophe to his vanished hopes is full of sublimity, as also the picture of his gloomy meditations. The two last paragraphs make a worthy conclusion, especially the transcendant passage on Nerina, to which no parallel can be found in the whole range of lyric poetry.

XXIII. "Canto Notturno di un Pastore Errante dell' Asia." This poem was suggested by a passage in Baron Meyendorffs "Voyage d'Orenbourg à Boukhara," quoted in the "Journal des Savans," for September, 1826, where, speaking of a nomadic tribe of Asia, he says: "Plusieurs d'entre eux passent la nuit assis sur une pierre à regarder la lune, et à improviser des paroles assez tristes sur des airs qui ne le sont pas moins." Some critics are inclined to place the "Canto Notturno" above all other productions of our poet, and the opening is indeed divine:

"Che fai tu, Luna, in ciel? dimmi, che fai, Silenziosa Luna? Sorgi la sera, e vai, Contemplando i deserti; indi ti posi. Ancor non sei tu paga Di riandare i sempiterni calli? Ancor non prendi a schivo, ancor sei vaga Di mirar queste valli?"

"The picture of life in the second stanza," says Montefredini, "is as gloomily sublime as anything ever written of a similar nature. It seems laden with the sighs of oppressed humanity. And what repose amidst the universal darkness! What a style!--like the voice of an immortal. All is solemn, immense, eternal. This poem will ever be the poem of all nations--the noblest and grandest expression of human sorrow." Great praise is also due to the skill with which the poet preserves the character he has assumed. The shepherd does not enter into abstruse and subtle speculations--he only gives utterance to a vague wonder at the mystery of things, and this vagueness makes the poem deeply impressive. But still there remains something unsatisfactory in the latter part, and the gloom of the conclusion is exaggerated.

XXIV. "La Quiete dopo la Tempesta" is a feeble copy of verses. There is a lovely touch of natural description:

"Ecco il sereno Rompe là da ponente, alla montagna; Sgombrasi la campagna, _E chiaro nella valle il fiume appare._"

Otherwise it offers nothing remarkable.

XXV. "Il Sabato del Villaggio" opens with an exquisitely idyllic description of a girl returning with flowers from a country ramble, and of an old woman relating the memories of her youth, while spinning with her neighbours. The description of evening is worthy of Wordsworth:

"Già tutta l'aria imbruna, Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre Giù da colli e da' tetti, Al biancheggiar della recente luna."

But the remainder of the poem is insufferably languid and trivial. Those two pieces are omitted in translation.

XXVI. "Il Pensiero Dominante" is an instance of our poet's mighty originality. It is as profound as a chorus of Æschylus, and fathoming its mystic depths is like venturing on an unknown ocean. The simile of the Pilgrim is strikingly beautiful, and more so in a poet singularly sparing of such ornaments.

XXVII. "Amore e Morte" equals its predecessor in originality, and surpasses it in tenderness. The Greek simplicity and purity of style conceal the morbid and diseased sources of its inspiration. The apostrophe to death is the most fervent prayer ever uttered in song.