Countess of Blessington, The Idler in Italy

Blessington describes and records a performance by Signor Leoni, in which the latter improvises a poem on the death of Lord Byron. Blessington also discusses the gift of genius required for improvisational poetry, and her experience of watching improvised performances in Italy.

Performer Name:
Leoni; Hook
Performance Venue:
Naples
Performance Date:
 
Author:
Blessington, Countess of
Date Written:
1825
Language:
English
Publication Title:
The Idler in Italy
Article Title:
 
Page Numbers:
2:257-60
Additional Info:
2nd ed.; 2 vols
Publisher:
Colburn
Place of Publication:
London
Date Published:
1839

Text:

[257] Leoni, the celebrated improvisatore, made another of the party at the Count de Camaldoli's, and surprised, as well as pleased us, by the wonderful readi-[258]ness with which he recited poems; many of them so elaborately pointed, and happily turned, as to convey the impression that they had been carefully polished instead of being improvised at the instant; individuals, some of whom he had never previously seen, being the subject of them. I can well imagine that a wonderful facility in versifying may be attained by the frequent exercise of this rare gift of impromptu composition; but I am persuaded that none can reach excellence in it save those remarkable, not only for highly poetical minds, but for a quickness of apprehension, and readiness of wit seldom accorded even to poets. This art, if art that may be named which depends so much, if not entirely, on a peculiar attribute of genius, may well be called a lightning of the mind; for so vivid are the flashes of poetry which escape, as it were, from the improvisatore, when in the heat of inspiration, that I can compare them with nothing but those gleams of lightning that in summer follow each other so rapidly in hot climates. That this gift is singularly rare, is proved by the comparatively few examples of it seen even in Italy, for I cannot count mere ready rhymists improvisatores; and the solitary one in England, Mr. Theodore Hook, whose achievements in it are, I have often been told, truly surprising. In Italy, the improvisatore is encouraged, if not inspired, by the vivacity with which his points are seized, and the enthusiasm with which they are applauded; the mercurial temperaments and lively imaginations of his compatriots enabling them to appreciate every lucky hit, and applaud every poetical image. The enthusiasm he excites animates the improvisatore to still [259] higher flights of fancy; until his eyes gleam, and his cheeks glow, as he pours out a stream of verse which, if not of profound depth, is at least bright and sparkling to the last. The exhibition reminded me of what one imagines of a Pythoness on the Tripod, at the moment of inspiration: but a consciousness of the labour and difficulty of the performance, together with the exhaustion, mental and bodily, which it must produce, detracted from my enjoyment of it. I was painfully anxious lest the Signor Leoni should break down in any of his rhymes, or fail in any of his tropes or metaphors; and so mar an achievement, in the perfect success of which, not only his amour propre, but his fame, might have been compromised. But my fears were groundless: he accomplished his various tasks without a single fault in the performance, and sat down amid the enthusiastic plaudits of his delighted auditors. Having been asked to give a subject to Signor Leoni, I named the death of Lord Byron. The following is the sonnet which he instantly improvised: and which a friend present, endowed with the pen of a ready writer, committed to paper as the lines were uttered.

LA MORTE DI LORD BYRON,

IMPROVVISATO A RIME OBBLIGATE,

SONETTO.

Di Pindo i ligui in Messolunghi un canto
   Erser funebre per le vie del Cielo,
   Allor che Byron dal corporeo ammanto
   Lascio al'esequie estreme il freddo gelo.
Tremó la morte nel vibrar quel telo,
   Che tolse della vita al dolce incanto
   Lui, che fulgea come virgineo stelo;
   Ed onorato suse a Radamanto.
Seudo all'umanitâ, con largo core
   Visse poco l'Eroe, sparé qual lampo,
   E piange il genio Adico nel suo dolore.
Bardo animava i combattente in campo
   Greci, sclamando, sino all'ultim'ore
   Pugnate audaci; nel valor vié scampo!

Notes:

 

Collected by:
DP