The Poems of Leopardi

by Giacomo Leopardi

In May, 1823, he returned to Recanati as ailing as when he left it, and life appeared to him more "weary, stale, flat and unprofitable" than before. He had hoped, as he says in the "Ricordanze," that beyond the "azure mountains" bounding his native horizon, a world of unknown felicity extended; he had explored it, and found nothing but vanity and affliction of spirit.

But as years advanced, his genius was becoming more mature, his thoughts more profound, his style more beautiful. In 1824 he published, at Bologna, the first edition of his "Canti," containing the three poems already mentioned, and seven others, of which the last is that entitled "Alla Sua Donna," which is, in the present arrangement of his poems, the eighteenth, its former place being now occupied by the "Primo Amore." These splendid verses show his genius in its full meridian.

Two years had elapsed since his return from Rome when he received an offer from the Milanese publisher, Stella, to undertake an edition of the complete works of Cicero, and to reside with him whilst engaged on this task. He accepted the invitation readily, and started in July, 1825, staying at Bologna for a month on the way, during the great heat. Bologna he liked more than any other town he had yet seen, and he had some agreeable friends, amongst others, the devoted Giordani. When he arrived in Milan there were too many gaieties to please him, and he longed to return to Bologna. He did so towards the end of September, and stayed in Bologna until November of the following year, excepting a short trip to Ravenna. During this period, he was occupied with the edition of Cicero, translations from the Greek, and a commentary on Petrarch. But the pleasure he took in Bologna did not last long; the cold winter tried him, and he began to regret the liveliness and hospitality of Milan.

Always wretched at Recanati, he still, by an amiable contradiction of sentiment, when absent, pined for home; and in November, 1826, his family had him again in their midst, although he was so enfeebled that he was obliged to make the journey by short stages. 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.

He sought a remedy for his sorrows by returning to Bologna, but in vain; and, on the twentieth of June, 1827, he removed to Florence, where he enjoyed the society of Giordani; but an acute inflammation of the eyes confined him to the house, and long prevented him from inspecting the treasures of art that overflow the Tuscan city. At this epoch he published his "Operette Morali," a series of dialogues and essays, offering, according to the best critics of his country, the most perfect specimen of prose in the Italian language.

In the autumn he somewhat recovered, and wishing to continue the improvement, he avoided the cold of Florence by wintering at Pisa. Florence, as a residence, he did not like, but with Pisa he was enchanted. The improvement, however, was but slight, and his nerves were in such a weak state that any sort of application or study was out of the question. In April, 1828, he was able to apply himself again to composition and seemed to revive; when the death of one of his brothers afflicted him profoundly. From June to November he was again in Florence, but his yearning for home made itself felt after the recent bereavement.

He started on the twelfth of November for Recanati, in the company of a young man, who was afterwards known to fame as Vincenzo Gioberti. He found his birthplace darkened by the shadow of death, that seemed to him the herald of his own. His former gloom returned, but in a more terrible; he saw only annihilation before him, and took the last glance of life in his superb "Ricordanze," the most richly coloured, the most deeply pathetic, the most unfathomably profound of all his poems.

In 1830, his Florentine friends, wishing to have him once more in their midst, urged his return to their city. Accordingly, in May, he took leave of his family, little thinking he should never see them again. It would be curious to enquire what made him so wretched when at home, and yet, when absent, always longing to be there. His brother Carlo said many years later to Prospero Viani, the editor of his correspondence, that none of his poems written elsewhere had the beauty of those composed at Recanati; and when Viani mentioned the "Ginestra," Carlo replied that even the "Ginestra" was conceived at Recanati. Some biographers say the "Risorgimento" was written at Pisa, but Ranieri, who was probably well informed, says it was written at, Recanati, and this assertion is, I think, borne out by internal evidence. The "Canto Notturno" seems also to have been written in his birthplace. Thus Carlo's statement would be correct. It is observable that the poems subsequent to the "Canto Notturno," with the exception of "Aspasia" and the little poem "To Himself," have an air of languor foreign to his earlier productions. This languor is perceptible even in the sublime "Ginestra," and it is not absent in passages of the "Pensiero Dominante," "Amore e Morte," and the long mock-heroic "Paralipomeni." The repose, sepulchral as it may have seemed to him, of Recanati, and the exquisite beauty of its scenery, were conducive to the exercise of the imagination. Nor must we forget that he spoke of other places—except Pisa and Bologna—with equal bitterness. The climate seems really to have worked havoc on his delicate frame. He allowed its inhabitants only one merit, that of speaking Italian with purity and elegance.

His stay in Florence, which extended from May, 1830, to October of the following year, was made memorable by the publication of another edition of his "Canti," with many poems added to the former ten, and with a dedicatory epistle to his "Tuscan friends." At this period he made the acquaintance of Ranieri, a Neapolitan with literary talents, who was to be his intimate friend and future biographer.

In October, 1831, he suddenly vanished from Florence and appeared in Rome; why, none could tell. He wrote to his brother Carlo on the subject, begging him not to ask for the details of a long romance, full of pain and anguish. It is conjectured that he fixed his affections on an unworthy object and was bitterly undeceived. Whatever the circumstances may have been, it is certain that in Rome his mental misery, always great, rose to an intolerable height, and, sad to relate, he for a time harboured thoughts of self-destruction But the strength of his character overcame the strength of his affliction, and he gradually softened to a serener mood. At this time, the Florentine Academia della Crusea elected him a member—a worthy tribute to his genius and eloquence. After five months sojourn in Rome he returned to Florence, where he fell so dangerously ill that the rumour was spread of his decease. The doctors urged him to try a milder climate, and in September, 1833, he set out for Naples, accompanied by Ranieri.