SOURCE: “The Image of the Sun in the Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis, the Sepolcri, and the Grazie of Ugo Foscolo,” in Italian Culture III, edited by Douglas Radcliff-Umstead, Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1983, pp. 63-70.

[In the following essay, Santi explains how Foscolo uses images of sun and night, and light and dark to reflect the state of mind of Jacopo in The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis. The critic further discusses Foscolo's use of this imagery in his poetic works, including The Sepulchres and The Graces.]

A Central Passage relating to the image of the “sun” in the Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis is found at the end of the terse note of April 3rd. In the preceding discursive letter, Jacopo, while contemplating the deplorable condition of his country betrayed by the “Giovine Eroe” (Napoleon Bonaparte) had fallen into a dark melancholy state: “La gloria, il sapere, la gioventù, le ricchezze, la patria, tutti fantasmi che hanno fino ad or recitato nella mia commedia, non fanno più per me. Calerò il sipario. …”¹ The variation of the protagonist's sentiments, however, is a constant in the narrative technique of the Ortis: the antithetical element is provided not by Lorenzo Alderani (the correspondent) but by Jacopo's own inner contradictions. Consequently, the protagonist recovers, and there follows an interlude of apparent serenity and renewed hope. In the letter of April 3rd, the pessimistic pattern of ideas and the dark moodiness of the tone switch suddenly to an ecstatic, bright homage to the “sun,” which is displayed in mythological, neoclassical imagery and rhythm:

Intanto la Natura ritorna bella—quale [a] dev'essere stata quando nascendo la prima [b] volta dall'informe abisso del caos, mandò foriera la ridente Aurora d'Aprile; ed ella abbandonando i suoi biondi capelli su l'oriente, e cingendo poi a poco a poco l'universo del roseo suo manto, diffuse benefica le fresche rugiade, e destò l'alito vergine de' venticelli per annunziare ai fiori, alle nuvole, alle onde e agli esseri tutti che la salutavano, il Sole: il Sole! [c] sublime immagine di Dio, luce, [d] anima, vita di tutto il creato.²

In the Ortis, nature is primarily meant to reflect some state of mind of the protagonist, rather than to influence him: it is a compliant, ubiquitous canvas upon which the artist projects his torments and desires. Shortly after Jacopo meets Teresa, “la divina fanciulla,” the sun or light motif appears more frequently (“E ieri appunto il Sole più sereno del solito riscaldava l'aria,” “ti scrivo di rimpetto al balcone donde miro la eterna luce,” “al Sole, ministro maggiore della Natura,” “sono uscito assai prima del Sole,” etc.). In the missive dated November 20 (Jacopo's and Teresa's visit to the house of Petrarch in Arquà) the “sun” gladdens not only the individual, but the entire universe: “S'apriva appena il più bel giorno d'autunno. Parea che la Notte seguìta dalle tenebre e dalle stelle fuggisse dal Sole, che uscia nel suo immenso splendore dalle nubi d'oriente, quasi dominatore dell'universo; e l'universo sorridea” (p. 304). The antithetical image of the night, fleeing from its enemy, emphasizes the concept of the sun as the consoling power of nature; and elsewhere in the novel the sun embodies the positive force which must conquer contrary elements, even if only for a short while:

Il Sole squarcia finalmente le nubi, e consola la mesta Natura, diffondendo su la faccia di lei un suo raggio. Ti scrivo di rimpetto [k] al balcone donde miro la eterna luce che si va a poco a poco perdendo nell'estremo orizzonte tutto raggiante di fuoco

(p. 309).

The conflict between light and darkness symbolizes essentially Jacopo's inner drama: the search for happiness (the sun) clashes against a basic unhappiness (the night). It is in this framework of images that Jacopo is often depicted as a solitary figure gazing intently at the heavens; for example, Teresa's portrait of Jacopo (which is conspicuously present in the final scene of his suicide) captures “l'amico suo che sdrajato su l'erba contempla il tramontare del Sole” (p. 463).

The night, or the absence of the sun, conveys the negative background of Jacopo's situation. In the second part of the novel (after Teresa's marriage and after the tragic accident for which Jacopo feels responsible), the narration tends more and more toward nocturnal scenes. Writing on the 28th of July from Bologna, Ortis explicitly comments on this transition: “Pare che l'anima mia siegua lo stato negro e burrascoso della Natura,”³ and when he finally feels compelled to reveal his “crime” to Lorenzo, he begins: “Era la sera; io vedeva sorgere un tempo nero …” (p. 444). The nocturnal imagery becomes increasingly pressing—shortly after his fated return to the “colli Euganei” he writes: “È notte; alta, perfetta notte,” (p. 443)—until, at its climactic moment, it coincides with the idea of death: Jacopo decides to hurl himself “nella notte della morte.” The eloquent closing scene—“La notte mi strascinai dietro al [f] cadavere che da tre lavoratori fu sotterrato sul monte de' pini” (p. 475)—thus also has its structural function within the general chiaroscuro technique displayed in the novel.

The treatment of the “sun” in the Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis, as a symbol of hope and happiness, and of the “night,” as a symbol of melancholy and desperation, does not stop at the equation: Sun = Life; Absence of Sun = Death. In fact, the image of the sun as an auspice of happiness (or illusion of happiness) in the autobiographical mesh of the work (where the novel is less involved in lofty universal messages) is fused with the figure of Teresa. In the May 8 letter Jacopo states: “… ma s'io consentissi a strapparmi il velo dagli occhi, dovrei subito chiuderli in sonno eterno; poichè senza questo angelico lume (i.e. Teresa) la vita mi sarebbe terrore, il mondo caos, la Natura notte e deserto” (p. 356). Even without the negative background that would result from the absence of the “lume-sole,” the revitalizing conception of the woman finds expression in terms of “sun” or “light”:

Lorenzo! [b] l'anima sua celeste raggiava da' [c] lineamenti del viso. Vicino a lei io sono sì pieno di vita [d] che appena sento di vivere. [e] Così quand'io mi desto dopo un pacifico sonno, se il raggio del Sole mi riflette su gli occhi, la mia vista si abbaglia e si perde in un torrente di luce.⁴

In both passages the irradiative imagery is associated with a spiritual element: in the first, lume is qualified by angelico, and it recalls Ortis' panegyrical delineation of the incandescent heavenly sphere as “sublime immagine di Dio”; in the second, the irradiation emanates from l'anima celeste. In the last letter of Jacopo to Teresa, this associative process takes a funereal, rite-like form:

quando la notte eterna rapirà il mondo a questi occhi, allora solo seppellirò [b] meco i miei desiderj e il mio pianto. Ma gli occhi miei lagrimosi ti cercano ancora prima di chiudersi per sempre … eppure tu anche in questo frangente ritorni, [a] come solevi, davanti a questi occhi che morendo si fissano in te, in te che sacra risplendi di tutta la tua bellezza.⁵

The ritualistic correlation becomes more evident in the light of the following verses of the Sepolcri:

Rapian gli amici una favilla al Sole
A illuminar la sotterranea notte,
Perchè gli occhi dell'uom cercan morendo
Il Sole; e tutti l'ultimo sospiro
Mandano i petti alla fuggente luce.(6)

In the Carme the narrative figure of the woman has disappeared, but the image of the sun retains a major significance. In fact, in the initial verses of the poem (“Ove più il Sole / Per me alla terra non fecondi questa / Bella d'erbe famiglia e d'animali”) as well as the final verses (“finché il Sole / Risplenderà su le sciagure umane”) the “sun” is—at different levels—the dominant motif. The poem opens on a subjective and emotional note; here the sun image is essentially (as Teresa in the Ortis) a symbol of fertility, love, and hope. But the Carme closes with a cosmic crescendo; and here the sun appears impersonally objectified as shining above and aloof in its astronomical reality, without any symbolic connections with human destiny. The concepts of fecundity and love, still present, are confined in the feminine imagery proper. The concluding lines of the Sepolcri are the words of Cassandra who laments the fate of Troy and foresees the “vedovili lagrime,” that is, the dissolution of the love relationship. In this sense, the verses which immediately precede the discourse of Cassandra are noteworthy:

Ivi Cassandra, allor che il Nume in petto
Le fea parlar di Troia il dì mortale,
Venne; e all'ombre cantò carme amoroso,
E guidava i nepoti, e l'amoroso
Apprendeva lamento a' giovinetti.(7)

Franco Ferrucci in his book, Addio al Parnaso, also emphasizes the importance of the sun in Foscolo's poetry: “Un grande protagonista della natura foscoliana è ovviamente il sole. Ma esso è presentato in modo assai diverso secondo le circonstanze, e i suoi effetti sembrano contraddittori.”⁸ It is surprising, however, that Ferrucci maintains that the sun in Foscolo is a “paternal” image and consequently he equates the death of Foscolo's father to the figure of the dying sun which is seen throughout his works. If the effects of the sun in Foscolo are contradictory, as Ferrucci states, it seems that this is consistent with the romantic concept of love, which is in itself a contradiction. In the Ortis, for example, Jacopo's love for Teresa in one moment leads him to ecstasy, and in the next to despair.⁹

The previously cited lines of the Sepolcri (“tutti l'ultimo sospiro / Mandano i petti alla fuggente luce”) are not only conclusive in illustrating the relationship between the sun and femininity in Foscolo's conceptualization, but they also serve to link these two romanticized Ortisian myths to the figure of Venus in the Grazie.¹⁰ In the “Inno Primo” of the Grazie, Venus is the classical divinity whose appearance on earth brings light to the “terrene ombre” and a love of beauty and harmony to the “uomini ferini.” In the poet's vision of her departure from the earthly sphere, Venus is also (like Teresa in the Ortis and the sun in the Sepolcri) a “fuggente luce” which is followed by the tearful eyes and heavy hearts of those below:

Più non parlava, ma spargea co' raggi
de le pupille sue sopra le figlie
eterno il lume della fresca aurora,
e si partiva: e la seguian cogli occhi
di lagrime soffusi, e lei da l'alto
vedean conversa. …(11)

While Foscolo's association of “luce” and “aurora” with Venus is compatible with the prevalently neoclassical tone of the poem,¹² the same images often announce the appearance of Teresa in the Ortis. The subliminal approximation of the “aurora” with Teresa, for example, is evident in the letter of March 5th from Rimini: “Spuntasse almeno l'aurora!—Forse Teresa si ricorda in questo momento di me—pensiero consolatore!” (p. 443). And at the beginning of the letter which recounts the pilgrimage to Arquà, nature reflects the presence of the Cytherian goddess:

… l'universo sorridea. Le nuvole dorate e dipinte a mille colori salivano su la volta del cielo che tutto sereno mostrava quasi di schiudersi per diffondere sovra [e] i mortali le cure della Divinità. [a] … i venti dell'aurora rasciugavano il soverchio umore delle piante. Avresti udito una solenne armonia spandersi confusamente fra le selve … sacra beltà della campagna.¹³

Jacopo's conclusion is, however, personal and limited within the scope of the work: “Allora ho veduto [d] Teresa nel più bell'apparato delle sue grazie” (p. 305).

In the Ortis, Foscolo endeavors to envelop Teresa with divine attributes by associating her with the sun (“sublime immagine di Dio”) and by using light imagery and classical motifs which evoke a vision of Venus. The result is the creation of a feminine image which closely coincides with that of the Graces. In the Grazie, one reads:

                                                                                                    Udiro intente
le Grazie; e in cor quell'armonia fatale
albergàro, e correan su per la terra
a spirarla a' mortali.(14)

In the Ortis, Teresa's response to the harmonious atmosphere emanating from the countryside of Arquà is quite similar: “In tanta piena di affetti [e] le anime si schiudono per versarli [f] nell'altrui petto: ed ella si volgeva a Odoardo.”¹⁵ The Graces' main function (“a la infelice / Terra ed a' figli suoi voi rimanete / confortatrici”) is also analogous to Teresa's role in the novel (“All'apparir del suo volto ritornano le illusioni”).¹⁶ The figure of Teresa, however, remains firmly rooted to egocentric and short-ranging considerations, and the full transmutation to a myth cannot occur; it will not be until the Grazie that an idea which was present in the Ortis in embryonic form finds its proper expression and fruition.¹⁷

By following a progressive and logical conceptual and visual scheme, the “sun” in Foscolo ultimately becomes synthesized in the figure of Venus; through this symbol of love, fecundity, light, and divinity the poet transcends the illusion of happiness in the tenuous ideal of femininity and attains an apotheosis of the woman image. Thus it seems that, on one level, one passes from a purely subjective vision in the Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis, to a prevalently objective correlation in the Sepolcri, to a truth fixed for eternity in the myth of Venus in the Grazie. Nevertheless, a constant basic inspiration, albeit in different forms, pervades all three; just as the romanticized divine halo of the “divina fanciulla.” in the Ortis assumes classical tones, so also under the classical veneer of the Grazie one senses the presence of the romantic idea.

Notes

1. Ugo Foscolo, Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis, edizione critica a cura di Giovanni Gambarin (Florence: Le Monnier, 1955), p. 339. Whenever relevant, the variants of the Ortis will be introduced; following the format of the “Edizione nazionale,” Gt will indicate the 1802 Milan edition and Z will refer to the Zurich edition of 1816. All italics within quotes are mine. I should also like to take this opportunity to thank Professor Fredi Chiappelli for his invaluable suggestions in the preparation of the final draft of this article.

2. Ibid., p. 340. Gt, “la comparsa del Sole: del Sole! sublime immagine di Dio, e luce, anima, vita di tutto il creato.” By eliminating the preposition “di” and the conjunction “e” in the final version, Foscolo creates a more precise equation in which the association of the “sun” and “divinity-light” is unmistakable.

3. Ibid., p. 400. One might mention that this is a good illustration of the concept of pathetic fallacy which is inherent in Romantic poetry.

4. Ibid., p. 348. Gt, “I'anima sua celeste risplendeva”; Gt, “sí pieno della esistenza che appena sento di esistere.” The first change in the final version renders the sun imagery more concrete (“risplendeva” becomes “raggiava”), while the second (“esistenza” to “vita” and “esistere” to “vivere”) is consistent with Foscolo's previous definition of the sun as “vita di tutto il creato.” See also Mario Fubini, Ugo Foscolo (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1962), p. 17: “Così l'amore per Teresa ci deve apparire come l'estremo sussulto dell'istinto vitale che sopravvive a tutte le ragioni di vita e si agita come fuoco, che, vicino a spegnersi, riarde improvviso e divampa a guizzi.”

5. Foscolo, op. cit., pp. 468-69, 472. Gt, “in questo momento torni.” The variation (from “momento” to “frangente”) is, once again, intended to underline the light motif.

6. Ugo Foscolo, Opere a cura di Guido Bezzola (Milan: Rizzoli, 1956), p. 88.

7. Ibid., pp. 94-95. See also the letter of April 11 in the Ortis: “una lagrima cade su l'erba che spunta su la sepoltura, e appaga l'ombra amorosa,” Foscolo, Ultime lettere, p. 341.

8. Franco Ferrucci, Addio al Parnaso (Milan: Bompiani, 1971), p. 63.

9. See Douglas Radcliff-Umstead, “Novelist of Despair,” in Ugo Foscolo (New York: Twayne, 1970), pp. 44-76.

10. For a more complete discussion of the Grazie see Sante Marotta, Nuovo studio sulle “Grazie” di Ugo Foscolo (Padua: Milani, 1963); Mario Praz, “Foscolo tra romanticismo e neo-classicismo,” Cultura e Scuola 67 (1978): 17-29; and Glauco Cambon, “Vatic Conjuring: the Graces,” in Ugo Foscolo Poet of Exile (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), pp. 182-299.

11. Foscolo, Opere, p. 142.

12. See Alberto Frattini, Il Neoclassicismo e Ugo Foscolo (Rocca San Casciano: Cappelli, 1965), pp. 210-23.

13. Pp. 304-5. See also the letter of May 15th in which the protagonist writes of the effects of his contact with “la divina fanciulla” in clearly Neoplatonic terms: “Dopo quel bacio io son fatto divino. … Mi pare che tutto s'abbellisca a' miei sguardi; il lamentar degli augelli, il bisbiglio de' zefiri fra le frondi son oggi più soavi che mai; le piante si fecondano, e i fiori si colorano sotto a' miei piedi” (p. 367).

14. Foscolo, Opere, p. 143.

15. Foscolo, Ultime lettere, p. 305. In the letter of April 17, this association is also evident: “Tu sei uno di que' pochi angioli sparsi qua e là su la faccia della terra per accreditare la virtù, ed infondere negli animi perseguitati ed afflitti l'amore dell'umanità” (p. 347).

16. This “bridge” to divinity is also present in the respective passages: “sol per voi sovr'essa / ogni lor dono pioveranno i Numi (Foscolo, Opere, p. 141) and “l'anima mia … s'imparadisa nella contemplazione della bellezza” (Foscolo, Ultime lettere, p. 356).

17. Giulio Natali, Ugo Foscolo (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1962), p. 141, writes of the Grazie: “qui si vede come l'arte li purifichi; come il Foscolo, devoto all'Amore più che a gli amori, trasfiguri le donne amate e le congiunga in un gruppo armonioso, dove le singole grazie, le singole bellezze compongono un'unica grazia, un'unica bellezza.”