Giacomo Leopardi

“ But in his breast, alas, stern and severe, Like adamantine column motionless, Eternal ennui sits, against whose might Avail not vigorous youth, nor prattle fond That falls from rosy lips, nor tender glance That trembles in two dark and lustrous eyes; The most bewildering of mortal things, Most precious gift of heaven unto man.
Another, as if hoping to escape Sad destiny, in changing lands and climes His days consuming, wandering o’er sea And hills, the whole earth traverses; each spot That Nature, in her infinite domain, To restless man hath made accessible, He visits in his wanderings. ”

“ The philosopher knew as much as the peasant. Of this mystery, Giacomo Leopardi was the echo in the solitude of his thought and his pain. His skepticism announced the dissolution of this theologico-metaphysical world, and inaugurated the reign of the arid True, of the Real. His songs are the most profound and occult voices of that laborious transition called the nineteenth century. That which has importance is not the brilliant exterior of that century of progress, and it is not without irony that he speaks of the progressive destinies of mankind. ”

“ Illustrious man, with what strange power
Does Fate thy ardent zeal befriend?
Or does Fate vainly with man's will contend?
Without the lofty counsel of the gods,
It surely could not be, that now,
When we were never sunk so low,
In desperate oblivion of the Past,
Each moment, comes a cry renewed,
From our great sires, to shake our souls, at last!
Heaven still some pity shows for Italy ”

“ Beneath the shadow of your fleecy locks, Will Italy increase, and Europe from The mouths of Tagus to the Hellespont, And all the world will taste the sweets of peace. And thou, O tender child, for whom these days Of gold are yet in store, begin to greet Thy bearded father with a smile, nor fear The harmless blackness of his loving face. Laugh, darling child; for thee are kept the fruits Of so much dazzling eloquence. Thou shalt Behold joy reign in cities and in towns, Old age and youth alike contented dwell, And undulating beards of two spans long! ”

“ But I will not to such low arts descend, Though envy it would be for me, The rest to imitate, And, raving, wilfully, To make my song more pleasing to thy ears: But I will sooner far reveal, As clearly as I can, the deep disdain That I for thee within my bosom feel; Although I know, oblivion Awaits the man who holds his age in scorn: But this misfortune, which I share with thee, My laughter only moves. Thou dream’st of liberty, And yet thou wouldst anew that thought enslave, By which alone we are redeemed, in part, From barbarism ”

“ And yet it was my wayward custom once, Though I was innocent, thy gracious ray To chide, amid the haunts of men, whene’er It would my face to them betray, and when It would their faces unto me reveal. Now will I, grateful, sing its constant praise, When I behold thee, sailing through the clouds, Or when, mild sovereign of the realms of air, Thou lookest down on this, our vale of tears. Me wilt thou oft behold, mute wanderer Among the groves, along the verdant banks, Or seated on the grass, content enough, If heart and breath are left me, for a sigh! ”

“ Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart;
And with thy plaintive music, dost consume
Both of the year, and of thy life, the bloom.
Alas, how much my ways
Resemble thine! The laughter and the sport,
That fill with glee our youthful days,
And thee, O love, who art youth's brother still,
Too oft the bitter sigh of later years,
I care not for; I know not why,
But from them ever distant fly:
Here in my native place,
As if of alien race,
My spring of life I like a hermit pass. ”

“ Who equalled Ilion's poet in his song.
And, oh inglorious day!
He hears not only that the body cold,
The naked bones afar
Are lying in a weary exile long,
But that not even within thy walls a stone,
O Florence! stands for him, whose glory old
Shines on thee like a star.
O ye, thrice bounteous, by whose deed alone
Shall this reproach be banished from our land!
A noble work is thine, whence love shall flow,
Renowned and courteous band,
From hearts that with deep love for Italy yet glow.
Yes, love for the ill-starred
Italian land, ye generous, be your guide! ”

“ Lo, all things are alike; discovery But proves the way for dull vacuity. Farewell to thee, O Fancy, dear, If plain, unvarnished truth appear! Thought more and more is still estranged from thee; Thy power so mighty once, will soon be gone, And our poor, wounded hearts be left forlorn.
But thou for these sweet dreams wast born, And the old sun upon thee shone, Delightful singer of the arms, and loves, That in an age far happier than our own, Men’s lives with pleasing errors filled. New hope of Italy! O towers, O caves, O ladies, cavaliers, O gardens, palaces! ”

“ But here some pity Nature shows, though small, Once in this spot to me so courteous! Thou, too, O Nature, turn’st away thy gaze From misery; thou, too, thy sympathy Withholding from the suffering and the sad, Dost homage pay to royal happiness. No friend in heaven, on earth, the wretched hath, No refuge, save his trusty dagger’s edge. Sometimes I sit in perfect solitude, Upon a hill, that overlooks a lake, That is encircled quite with silent trees. There, when the sun his mid-day course hath reached, His tranquil face he in a mirror sees: Nor grass nor leaf is shaken by the wind ”

“ Those narrow brows, Cannot such great conceptions hold. The man, Deceived, builds false hopes on those lustrous eyes, And feelings deep, ineffable, nay, more Than manly, vainly seeks in her, who is By nature so inferior to man. For as her limbs more soft and slender are, So is her mind less capable and strong.
Nor hast thou ever known, Aspasia, Or couldst thou comprehend the thoughts that once Thou didst inspire in me. Thou knowest not What boundless love, what sufferings intense, What ravings wild, what savage impulses, Thou didst arouse in me ”

“ He invariably rated the glory of his writings at a lower value than that acquired from his consulship and his labours on behalf of the republic.
"Indeed, if human life be the principal subject of literature, and to rule our actions the first lesson of philosophy; there can be no doubt that action itself is as much more important and noble than thoughts and writing, as the end is nobler than the means, or as things and subjects in comparison with words and reasoning. For no man, however clever he be, is naturally created for study, nor born to write. Action alone is natural to him. ”

“ Introduction Giacomo Leopardi is a great name in Italy among philosophers and poets, but is quite unknown in this country, and Mr. Townsend has the honor of introducing him, in the most captivating way, to his countrymen. In Germany and France he has excited attention. ”

“ Giordani, with his usual tendency to extravagance, gives his friend the following pompous panegyric:—"His style possesses the conciseness of Speroni, the grandiloquence of Tasso, the smoothness of Paruta, the purity of Gelli, the wit of Firenzuola, the solidity and magnificence of Pallavicino, the imagination of Plato, and the elegance of Cicero." Leopardi has been aptly termed an aristocrat in his writing. Too much of a reasoner to be very popular with the masses, who do not care for the exertion of sustained thought, his logic is strikingly clear to the intelligent. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Came forth, with all the treasures of their lore,
Those ancient bards, divine, with whom
Great Nature spake, but still behind her veil,
And with her mysteries graced
The holidays of Athens and of Rome.
O times, now buried in eternal sleep!
Our country's ruin was not then complete;
We then a life of wretched sloth disdained;
Still from our native soil were borne afar,
Some sparks of genius by the passing air.
Thy holy ashes still were warm,
Whom hostile fortune ne'er unmanned ”

“ Thy holy ashes still were warm, Whom hostile fortune ne’er unmanned; Unto whose anger and whose grief, Hell was more grateful than thy native land. Ah, what, but hell, has Italy become? And thy sweet cords Still trembled at the touch of thy right hand, Unhappy bard of love. Alas, Italian song is still the child Of sorrow born. And yet, less hard to bear, Consuming grief than dull vacuity! O blessed thou, whose life was one lament! Disgust and nothingness are still our doom, And by our cradle sit, and on our tomb. ”

“ It would appear that during his sojourn at Bologna he had not been insensible to the attractions of love, but love could be for him nothing but a source of torment; and, as his first return home was signalised by the wreck of hope, so was his second by the blighting of affection. He seemed like the hero of the "Pilgrim's Progress," to be writhing in the grasp of Giant Despair; and from the day of his arrival, till his departure in the following April, he was not once seen in the streets of Recanati. ”

“ So the boldest of us is ready perhaps at last to say from his heart with Giacomo Leopardi: “Nothing lives that were worth thy pains, and the earth deserves not a sigh. Our being is pain and weariness, and the world is mud—nothing else. ”

“ And oh, the last, most bitter blow of all, When on the ground, as she in anguish lay, It seemed, indeed, thy country’s dying day!
O happy thou, whom Fate did not condemn To live amid such horrors; who Italian wives didst not behold By ruffian troops embraced; Nor cities plundered, fields laid waste By hostile spear, and foreign rage; Nor works divine of genius borne away In sad captivity, beyond the Alps, The roads encumbered with the precious prey ”

“ Oh, fortunate a thousand-fold is he, Who loses not his fancy’s freshness as The years roll by; whom envious Fate permits To keep eternal sunshine in his heart, Who, in his ripe and his declining years, As was his custom in his glorious youth, In his deep thought enhances Nature’s charms, Gives life to death, and to the desert, bloom. May heaven this fortune give to thee; and may The spark that now so warms thy breast, make thee In thy old age a votary of song! I feel no more the sweet illusions of That happy time ”

“ In Naples and its vicinity the remainder of his life was to be passed. The natural beauties of the surrounding country were delightful to one so appreciative of their charm. His health improved after a time, and he was able to display the riches of his intellect by writing the "Paralipomeni," many detached thoughts in prose like the "Pensées" of Pascal and the Maxims of La Rochefoucauld; and, above all, his philosophic and immortal poem, the "Ginestra," of which it may be said that, had he written nothing else, his fame would be perpetuated by this production alone. ”

“ And so the truth of our hard lot, And of the humble place Which Nature gave us, pleased thee not; And like a coward, thou hast turned thy back Upon the light, which made it evident; Reviling him who does that light pursue, And praising him alone Who, in his folly, or from motives base, Above the stars exalts the human race.
A man of poor estate, and weak of limb, But of a generous, truthful soul, Nor calls, nor deems himself A Crœsus, or a Hercules, Nor makes himself ridiculous Before the world with vain pretence Of vigor or of opulence ”

“ Leopardi’s invention is equal to Lucian’s and his only drawback in comparison with his exemplar is that, while the latter’s campaign against pretence and imposture commands hearty sympathy, Leopardi’s philosophical creed is a repulsive hedonism in the disguise of austere stoicism. The chief interlocutors in his dialogues all profess the same unmitigated pessimism, claim emancipation from every illusion that renders life tolerable to the vulgar, and assert or imply a vast moral and intellectual superiority over unenlightened mankind. ”

“ What saidst thou, heart, when she departed, who
Had caused thee all thy throbs, and suffering?
No sooner had I felt within, the heat
Of love's first flame, than with it flew away
The gentle breeze, that fanned it into life.
Sleepless I lay, until the dawn of day;
The steeds, that were to leave me desolate,
Their hoofs were beating at my father's gate.
And I, in mute suspense, poor timid fool,
With eye that vainly would the darkness pierce,
And eager ear intent, lay, listening,
That voice to hear, if, for the last time, I
Might catch the accents from those lovely lips ”

“ These latter attributes are now so essential to the cultivation of the belles lettres, that their absence would be inconceivable, did we not find an infinite number of Italian littérateurs of the present day, in whom they are wanting.
He was remarkable for his simplicity, his compassion for the unfortunate and his own country, his fidelity, high-mindedness, and the courage with which he bore the adversities of nature and fortune, which tormented him during the whole course of his miserable and lowly life. Death however drew him from obscurity. ”