IV
This is not intended as a commemorative essay: Oriani does not lend himself to the usual solemnities. Nor is it an introductory essay: it would take a book, not an article, to present Oriani. Nor is it an apology or a vindication: time is working quietly to prepare readers for those who deserve them.
Oriani might have chosen as motto for his Political Struggle the proud phrase of Kepler: “My book can wait for its reader.” His spiritual life was as sad as his own novels. His love was not requited, his intelligence was not recognized, his greatness remained as lonely as a fire dying uselessly in a desert.
Only in recent years has this hungry wanderer begun to win justice. I am offering my testimony for what it may be worth. My testimony is that of a man called destructive, and yet it is more capable of tenderness and admiration than are many of those who so judge it. My testimony maintains that Oriani is not forgotten and must not be forgotten.
I never knew him personally. In 1905 I had the honor of publishing in the Leonardo an unpublished chapter of his Ideal Revolt; but I never saw him. Perhaps it is just as well: we should hardly have had time to smooth our angu-
