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.
[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.