Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  Except that, since the dictates, power, meaning, and influence of nature may well be overshadowed and enfeebled, but not extinguished in any age, and by any custom, opinion, etc., it is highly probable that even if writers of the seventeenth century found that barbarous style more beautiful than good style, they still did not experience through it the pleasure which we experience through good, that is to say, natural style, and they easily became sated, etc. This was a consequence not of the falsely beautiful, since no beauty is false, but of the falsified nature of things, which even in those times was the same.

  But how many things contrary to nature does habituation, which is a second nature, cause us even today to pass off as beautiful! What differences of taste there are even in those periods which overall and by and large have good taste! How many different opinions regarding this beauty or that, or some part of it, are produced by civilization itself, which (1) is diverse and differs in various different places and times, etc., and (2) very often differs from nature [1409] itself, and to no small degree! Causes that not only produce the opinion, but also the resulting sense of and taste for the beautiful in things which are not natural, in things actually contrary to nature. How many styles of dress that are not natural, how many misshapings of our own bodies, how many gestures, habits, etc., though utterly different from nature or at odds with it, appear to us through habit and opinion to be really beautiful, and their opposites, the natural forms, really ugly! Dogs with clipped ears, horses with docked tails, etc. etc. I could cite countless other examples!

  That’s not all. Nature, although it is in the main and essentially uniform, varies in very many accidental (but very important) matters according to races, climates, periods, and circumstances. The Ethiopian differs from the White man. The taste that is evident in Eastern writing differs from the European. The Bards’ taste from that of the Greeks. That of modern northerners from that of southerners, that of the Italians, etc., from that of the French. And each taste, being in accord with their respective natures, is good for each of these peoples, etc., [1410] but bad for the others, and produces in each of them an effect that would be produced in another people by a taste that was (at any rate in many respects) antagonistic, which conversely would and does seem bad to that other people, period, etc. Who is right? Which of these tastes, indeed, natures, deserves preference? In any case, one might prefer to grant the preference to one or other nature rather than to one or another taste, which, because it is natural, is not only good but, if it were in accordance with another nature, would be bad and not enduring in that people, just as French taste has not endured in English poetry, etc. Addison’s Cato is esteemed but does not give pleasure in England,1 and what for a long period of time does not give pleasure (and perhaps never has) to a whole nation is not beautiful in relation to that nation, and insofar as it is created for it, it then becomes ugly, even though it may be to the liking of other nations.

  Just as elsewhere [→Z 1199–1200] we have distinguished the beautiful from that which brings pleasure to the sight so too we must formally distinguish the beautiful from the natural. [1411] Not indeed because what gives pleasure to sight cannot be beautiful, or because the beautiful cannot give pleasure to sight (indeed, external and sensible beauty does of its essence give pleasure to it), but because these two qualities are different, and it is one thing to delight the eyes, but quite another to be beautiful. Likewise it is one thing to be natural, but quite another to be beautiful, and a thing can be not natural, and yet beautiful, or vice versa, and be natural and beautiful for one person, and natural but not beautiful for another, etc. (29 July 1821.)

  Simplicity is nearly always beauty, whether in the arts, or in style, in bearing, in dress, etc. etc. etc. Good taste always loves the simple. Is simplicity absolutely and abstractly beautiful and good? That is what we are given to suppose. But it is not true. Why then is it usually beautiful?

  I have said [→Z 1406–407] that the natural is proper, and hence for the most part beautiful, that is to say, judged to be such. So, simplicity is usually beautiful, that is, seems to be beautiful: (1) because it tends to be characteristic of nature, which (being capable of behaving quite otherwise) has for the most part behaved simply, with simple means, etc. etc. (which is particularly evident in [1412] my theory of nature), at any rate as regards the appearance of things. And only appearance has to be considered where the beautiful is concerned, for when nature is forcibly and unnaturally uncovered and unveiled,1 it is no longer nature as it is, and so it is no longer a source of beauty, etc. etc.

  (2) Simplicity is beautiful, because very often it is nothing other than naturalness. That is, we call a thing simple, not because it is abstractly and in itself simple, but only because it is natural, not affected, not artificial, simple in relation to men, not in relation to itself and to nature, etc.

  For these and no other reasons, simplicity forms an essential part and characteristic of good taste, and although men are capable of moving away from simplicity, it is certain they will come back, that is, come back to nature, which in essential matters is immutable. Consequently, Greek poems or texts will always be beautiful, not as regards the beautiful in itself but as regards their simplicity and naturalness, etc. And those periods, countries, and men who did not appreciate them or despise them, are said to have had bad taste, and indeed they did, [1413] not because they did not know, etc., the eternal and necessary laws of the beautiful (as people maintain), which do not exist, but because, thanks to corrupt, that is, unnatural habits, etc., improper, unbefitting to mankind, they had shrunk into not knowing, or misunderstanding, or not hearing nature, which really is or can be called eternal. And they therefore resisted that taste which alone can endure, and be universal in men, because it alone has its foundation in the reality of things as they are, and if their taste was unable to please everyone, or over a long period of time, it was false in this respect, not in itself. The same is true of Greek paintings, statues, and architecture. The same of Italian literature, which is universally preferred, despite the diversity of tastes, etc., inasmuch as not beauty but nature is universal, and Italian literature is the most true to nature. And for that reason, not in respect of beauty independently, ancient literatures, etc., are considered to be, and are, models of good taste, because [1414] they are closer, even physically, to nature, and hence simpler, etc. That unaffected manner, that capacity to depict things or feelings, passions, etc., from life, and to have a very great impact almost without meaning to, is eternal beauty, because it is natural, and is the only true way of imitating nature, since one can imitate nature badly even when imitating it in a very vivid fashion, and the most precise imitation can be, and indeed is for the most part, the least natural, and hence less of an imitation. See my discourse on the Romantics where there is a comment on Ovid, etc.1

  The much vaunted, immutable, and universal laws of the beautiful are therefore correct (overall and essentially) not because the beautiful is in itself immutable and universal and absolute, but because nature is, and, being nature, is therefore the principal and most reliable source of all that is proper in what it contains, and therefore of the beautiful. Therefore, the theory of the fine arts (except in the case of some details) remains solid, so far as its precepts are concerned, although speculatively it is mistaken as regards its fundamental principles. But in our case, abstraction generally does no harm to the concrete, because it is only a question of what the theory of the fine arts generally calls absolutely necessary laws of the beautiful being called laws of nature, which are necessary so far as we are concerned, but free so far as nature is concerned. Thus, the rules of rhetoric, poetics, etc., remain, the signs enabling one to distinguish and shun false tastes, etc., remain, provided that the latter are called false not in themselves, nor in relation to the beautiful, but as contrary to the real mode of being of things. From which it follows that the principle of the [1415] fine arts, etc. etc., must be recognized in nature, and not, as has been done hitherto, in the b
eautiful, which is almost independent of nature.

  We now come to some considerations that will demonstrate how simplicity, which is held to be an absolutely beautiful quality, varies in the judgment of men and in nature itself: (1) as simplicity; (2) as beauty.

  Periods, customs, climates, races, etc. etc., diversify the judgment and taste of men with regard to simplicity no less than they do with regard to the beautiful and the graceful, etc. I have said [→Z 1413] that Italian literature, the simplest of the modern literatures, is universally preferred. Nonetheless, it is certain that the French, who are exceedingly civilized, differ entirely from other nations in their judgments as to what is simple, and, because it is simple, is natural, and because it is natural, is beautiful, even though they may agree with all nations that have good taste in judging that the simple and natural is beautiful, that is to say, proper. To the French an effect of the utmost simplicity, naïveté (and [1416] hence either grace or beauty) is produced by a thousand things that to us Italians (if we retain the Italian, or ancient taste), and to others also, seem either affected or at any rate precious, artificial, mannered, or in the end somewhat less close to nature than they seem to the French. And so we feel somewhat less grace and beauty in them, or none at all, or even ugliness, or else we redefine them as being among the beauties of artifice, etc. Examples would be La Fontaine, a model of simplicity for the French, Fénelon, a model of grace, Bossuet, of sublimity, etc. But the French, who are so far removed from nature, are struck by what is closer to it, even if by contrast with our state it may still be too far away from it. Conversely, what strikes us Italians as simple, natural, beautiful, and graceful seems so exceedingly simple to the French that it does not seem natural to them (judging what nature is, as always happens, on the basis of their present condition) nor do they feel grace or beauty in it, but meanness, baseness, and deformity. And it is very normal and very frequent for French grace, simplicity, and naturalness [1417] to be affectation, artifice, and preciosity to us, and for Italian simplicity, etc., to be uncouthness for the French, and hence intolerable and ridiculous. And yet we all agree to judge the simple and natural to be beautiful and graceful, just as we all agree to judge what is proper to be beautiful, without agreeing as to how what is proper is to be judged.

  The other nations do not differ any the less among themselves, and what was sufficiently natural or simple for the Italians would not be so for the English, and conversely what is natural, simple, and naïf for the English, etc. etc., would be indecent and uncouth for Italians.

  Times differ still more. Let us set aside classical Greek literature as compared with classical Latin literature, which was, however, modeled upon it. Even today the writers of the fourteenth century are well enough liked by us, but if today someone were to write exactly like them, in that language, even though it is the same, he would be deemed barbarous, and that simplicity, etc. etc., would nowadays seem excessive, that is, improper, improbable, and no longer natural, even though [1418] nature in all essential respects does not change. The French appreciate the Latins and the Greeks, but would take good care not to imitate many things of theirs that do not repel them, indeed strike them as beautiful, because they judge them to be proper in relation to the circumstances of their nature, times, etc. Furthermore, there is no shortage of French people who, even where the beautiful is concerned, prefer their own literature to the ancient literatures, a mark of false taste, that is to say, one removed from nature to a greater degree than other tastes are. Those French who have good taste, that is, more natural taste, will also appreciate the classic Italian authors, even though they are so opposed to their style. They will, however, appreciate them less than other nations will (and actually do), and will be offended by many things that strike us and the other nations as natural. I will not comment on the Eastern, or savage, etc. etc., literatures and tastes.

  I have argued in terms of literature alone, but as much could be said of the fine arts, modes of conversing, etc. etc., and of everything in which the simple and natural are involved.

  I have commented elsewhere [→Z 231–32] upon certain French naïvetés that seem to me to be highly affected, not relatively, [1419] that is to say, because they are not naïvetés for us, but (as I would put it) absolutely, because, being naïvetés for us also, and genuine naïvetés, they stand out and contrast markedly with the manner and style, etc., of that nation, and give rise to a sense of impropriety, at any rate in us who in this regard, and in judgments regarding naturalness (which is everything that is called refinement of taste, and which is venerated and studied in the old masters, etc.), are more sensitive. And that’s how absolute simplicity or naturalness itself, which is held to be absolutely beautiful, can often be ugly, because it is improper, according to circumstances, habits, opinions, etc. Which occurs in millions of cases, as I have demonstrated. In short, there are as many naturalnesses as there are habits, and hence good taste itself may be divided up into as many tastes as there are habits, etc., of time and place, etc. And where individuals are concerned there is no general rule as regards the beautiful in literature, the arts, etc.

  Before leaving the argument about simplicity, I wish to note that just as the pleasure one derives from the beautiful, the graceful, etc., is very often [1420] in proportion to the extraordinary, within specific limits, so too do we experience somewhat greater pleasure in the simplicity of the Greeks, the Italians of the fourteenth century, etc., than did their contemporaries, and so we admire it more and very often find it more beautiful, etc. The same happens with regard to the different nations. That is to say that just as the difference in nations and in periods, that is, in habits, etc., may lessen the esteem in which simplicity and naturalness, etc., is held, as I have shown, so too it may enhance it and alter men’s judgment and sense of it in this regard also. See p. 1424. So true is it that all human sensations are modified and depend almost exclusively on habituation and on circumstances, etc. See what I have said about grace pp. 1322–28 and apply it to simplicity. (30 July 1821.)

  As the English have a homeland, they are accused like the French of not finding anything beautiful or good unless it is English, and of having an exclusive taste for their own things. (30 July 1821.)

  Bodily strength, even if it is short-lived, aside from the effects noted elsewhere [→Z 96–97, 115], makes us still more courageous than usual, and less susceptible to fear, even [1421] of extraordinary dangers, etc. Hence the young are more courageous than the old, and disparage life more, even though they have so much more to lose, etc., as against the very common observation that the main source of courage is generally having little to lose, etc. (31 July 1821.)

  For p. 512, margin. We, too, apart from ove which is ubi [where], also have dove, which means the same thing, but is very nearly de ubi, that is unde [from where, whence]. Similarly, the Spanish say donde [where] (and adonde), which is very nearly de unde [from whence]. And we, too, apart from onde, that is, unde, have donde, which, however, does not mean ubi but unde. (31 July 1821.)

  Attention and reflection are none other than fixing one’s mind or thought, bringing it to a halt, etc. A habit that gives rise to science, invention, a thoughtful man, etc.1 A pure habit, as each thoughtful man may readily grasp in himself, and note that he exercises this habit without even being aware of it, and in things that matter the least to him, and daily. A habit which is, however, not at all common, and thinkers, and thoughtful men, etc., are therefore not found at all often. (31 July 1821.) See p. 1434, beginning.

  [1422] The system of national hatred is still seen today, both in the nations that best preserve nationality (as among the French and the English, etc.), and especially in the savage nations, which, like the very ancient nations, fight for life and property, give no quarter to the defeated, or press whole tribes into slavery, are in perpetual enmity, burn, flay, put to death the enemies of their tribes, etc., in the midst of the most terrible torments, eat their entrails, etc. etc. etc. (31 July 1821.)


  Just imagine the word commercio [commerce] in that precise, and at the same time very broad sense in which everybody employs it today, in relation to which so much is written, in relation to which all the philosophers consider and discuss this theme. The Crusca has no example of the word used in this sense, and in truth as used in such a sense it is not classical. We have the classical word mercatura, which, according to its etymology, etc., means more or less the same thing. Now, would it then be good to say the forces, consequences, science of commerce, using mercatura instead of commercio? Would we thereby produce the precise, etc., idea that this second word produces? The idea of that phenomenon which (if I may so put it) in the [1423] previous century was turned into a science, and forms so large a part of the considerations of the philosopher, and has so much influence upon the state of nations and of mankind? No, sir. And if I should say “the principal source of civilization is mercatura,” instead of saying commercio, not only would I not be properly understood either by foreigners or by Italians, but I would be mocked by both, and especially by the former. And if our Genovesi had given to his Lezioni di commercio1 the title Lezioni di mercatura, would we ourselves have been able to deduce the theme of that work from its title? The same goes for Algarotti’s Saggio sopra il commercio.2 Hence the importance of sticking precisely to the words transmitted to us and precisely applied according to convention, especially in matters having to do with science, etc., even when more elegant, more classical words are on offer, which in other circumstances could perfectly well be employed instead of the more common ones, as happens with mercatura, which can perfectly well be employed in many circumstances, as traffico [trade, traffic], etc., is employed, but not where the topic demands that precision of meaning which is peculiar to the European word commercio. (31 July 1821.) [1424] See p. 1427.