UC-NRLF 
 
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 I LIBRARY ] 
 
Now Appearing, Regularly. 
 
 CHOICE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 
 
 EDITED BY WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 
 
 "Little Classic" Style, - - - $1,25 a volume, 
 
 This series of the best autobiographies is prepared especially 
 for general reading. Each life is prefaced with a critical and 
 biographical essay by Mr. Howells, in which the sequel of the 
 author's history is given, together with collateral matter from 
 other sources, illustrative of his period and career. In some 
 cases the autobiographies are reduced in bulk by the rejection 
 of uninteresting and objectionable matter. It is designed to 
 include in the series the famous autobiographies of all lan- 
 guages, and to offer in a compact and desirable edition all that 
 is best in this most charming of all literature. 
 
 JAMES B, OSGOOD & CO,, Publishers, Boston, 
 
A UTOBIO GRAPH Y. 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 WITH AN ESSAY 
 
 BY WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 
 
 Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 
 1877. 
 
COPYRIGHT. 
 
 W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 1877. 
 
 University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
 Cambridge. 
 
VITTORIO ALPIERI 
 
 , the Italian poet whom 
 his countrymen would undoubtedly name 
 next after Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and 
 Tasso, and who, in spite of his limitations, 
 was a man of signal and distinct dramatic genius, not 
 surpassed if equalled since, is scarcely more than a 
 name to most English readers. He was born in the 
 year 1749, at Asti, a little city of that Piedmont 
 where there has always been a greater regard for 
 feudal traditions than in any other part of Italy ; and 
 he belonged by birth to a nobility which is still the 
 proudest in Europe. " What a singular country is 
 ours ! " said the Chevalier Nigra, one of the first diplo- 
 mats of our time, who for many years managed the 
 dolicate and difficult relations of Italy with France, 
 but who was the son of an apothecary. "In Paris 
 they admit me everywhere; I am asked to court and 
 petted as few Frenchmen are; but here, in my own 
 city of Turin, it would not be possible for me to be 
 received by the Marchioness Doria." And if this was 
 true in the afternoon of the nineteenth century, one 
 easily fancies what society must have been at Turin in 
 the forenoon of the eighteenth. 
 
 368 
 
6 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 It was in the order of the things of that day and 
 country that Alfieri should Iravr home while a child 
 and go to school at the Academy of Turin. Here, as 
 he tells m that most characteristic and amusing auto- 
 biography of his, he spent several years in acquiring 
 a profound ignorance of whatever he was meant to 
 learn ; and he came away a stranger not only to the 
 humanities, but to any one language, speaking a bar- 
 barous mixture of French and Piedmontese, and read- 
 ing little or nothing. Doubtless he does not spare 
 color in this statement, but almost anything you like 
 could be true of the education of a gentleman as a 
 gentleman got it from the Italian priests of the last 
 century. " We translated," he says, "the Lives of 
 Cornelius Nepos ; but none of us, perhaps not even 
 the masters, knew who these men were whose lives 
 we translated, nor where was their country, nor in what 
 times they lived, nor under what governments, nor what 
 any government was." He learned Latin enough to 
 turn Virgil's Georgics into his sort of Italian ; but 
 when he read Ariosto by stealth, he atoned for his 
 transgression by failing to understand him. Yet Al- 
 fieri was one of the first scholars of that admirable 
 academy, and he really had some impulses even then 
 towards literature; for he liked reading Goldoni and 
 Metastasio, though he had never heard of the name 
 of Tasso. This was whilst he was still in the pri- 
 mary classes, under strict priestly control; when he 
 passed to a more advanced grade, and found himself 
 free to do w T hat he liked in the manner that pleased 
 him best, in common with the young Russians, Ger- 
 mans, and Englishmen then enjoying the advantages 
 of the Academy of Turin, he says that being grounded 
 in no study, directed by. no one, and not understanding 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 7 
 
 any lanirnaire well, he did not know what study to 
 take up, nor how to study. " The reading of many 
 French romances," In- goes on, "the constant associa- 
 tion with foreigners, and the want of all occasion to 
 spi-uk Italian, or to hear it spoken, drove from my 
 head that small amount of wretched Tuscan which I 
 had contrived to put there in those two or three years 
 of burlesque study of the humanities and asinine rhet- 
 oric. In place of it," he says, "the French entered 
 into my empty brain"; but he is careful to disclaim 
 any literary merit for the French lie knew, and he 
 afterwards came to hate it, with everything else that 
 was French, very bitterly. 
 
 It was before this, a little, that Alfieri contrived his 
 first sonnet, which, when he read it to the uncle with 
 whom he lived, made that old soldier laugh unmerci- 
 fully, so that until his twenty-fifth year the poet made 
 no further attempts in verse. When he left school he 
 spent three years in travel, after the fashion of those 
 grand-tour'nii: days when you had to be a gentleman 
 of birth and fortune in order to travel, and when you 
 journeyed by your own conveyance from capital to 
 capital, with letters to your sovereign's ambassadors 
 everywhere, and spent your money handsomely upon 
 the pleasant dissipations of the countries through which 
 y< m passed. Alfieri is constantly at the tr< mble t< > have 
 us know that he was a very morose and ill-conditioned 
 young animal, and the figure he makes as a traveller 
 is no more amiable than edifying. He had a ruling 
 passion for horses, and then several smaller passions 
 quite as wasteful and idle. He was driven from place 
 to place by a demon of unrest, and was mainly con- 
 cerned, after reaching a city, in getting away from it 
 as soon as he could. He gives anecdotes enough in 
 
8 VITTORtO ALFIERI. 
 
 proof of this, and he forgets nothing that can enhance 
 the surprise of his future literary greatness. At the 
 Amhrosian Lihrary in Milan they showed him a man- 
 uscript of Petrarch's, which, " like a true barbarian," 
 as he says, he flung aside, declaring that he knew 
 nothing about it, having a rancor against this Petrarch, 
 whom he had once tried to read, and had altogether 
 failed to understand. At Rome the Sardinian minister 
 innocently affronted him by repeating some verses of 
 Marcellus, which the sulky young noble could not 
 comprehend. In Ferrara he did not remember that it 
 was the city of that divine Ariosto whose poem was 
 the first that came into his hands, and which he had 
 now read in part with infinite pleasure. " But my 
 poor intellect," he says, " was then sleeping a most 
 sordid sleep, and every day^ as far as regards letters, 
 rusted more and more. It is true, however, that with 
 respect to knowledge of the world and of men, I con- 
 stantly learned not a little, without taking note of it, 
 so many and diverse were the phases of life and man- 
 ners that I daily beheld." At Florence he visited the 
 galleries and churches, with much disgust and no feel- 
 ing for the beautiful, especially in painting^ his eyes 
 being very dull to color. u If I liked anything better, 
 it was sculpture a little, and architecture yet a little 
 more " ; and it is interesting to note how all his trage- 
 dies reflect these preferences, in their total lack of color 
 and in their sculpturesque strength and sharpness of 
 outline. 
 
 From Italy he passed as restlessly into France, yet 
 with something of a more definite intention, for he 
 meant to frequent the French theatre. He had seen 
 a company of French players at Turin, and had ac- 
 quainted himself with the most famous French trage- 
 
VITTORIC) ALFIERI. 
 
 dies and comedies, but with no thought of writing 
 tragedies of his own. He felt no creative impulse, 
 and he liked the comedies best; though, as he says, 
 he was by nature more inclined to tears than to laugh- 
 ter. But he does not seem to have enjoyed the thea- 
 tre much in Paris, a city for which he conceived at 
 once the greatest dislike, he says, "on account of the 
 squalor and barbarity of the buildings, the absurd and 
 pitiful pomp of the few hquses that affected to be pal- 
 aces, the filthiness and gothicism of the churches, the 
 vandalic structure of the theatres of that time, and the 
 many and many and many disagreeable objects that 
 all day fell under my notice, and worst of all the un- 
 speakably misshapen and beplastered faces of those 
 ugliest of women." 
 
 He had at this time already conceived that hatred of 
 kings which breathes, or, I may better say, bellows, 
 from his tragedies ; and he was enraged even beyond 
 his habitual fury by his reception at court, where it 
 was etiquette for Louis XV. to stare at him from head 
 to foot and give no sign of having received any im- 
 pression whatever. 
 
 In Holland he fell in love, for the first time, and as 
 was de rigueur in the polite society of that day, the 
 object of his passion was another man's wife. In 
 England he fell in love the second time, and as fash- 
 ionably as before. The intrigue lasted for months; 
 in the end it came to a duel with the lady's husband 
 and a great scandal in the newspapers ; but in spite of 
 these displeasures, Alfieri liked everything in England. 
 u The streets, the taverns, the horses, the women, 
 the universal prosperity, the life and activity of that 
 island, the cleanliness and convenience of the houses, 
 though extremely little," as they still strike every 
 
10 VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 
 
 one coming from Italy, these and other charms of 
 "that fortunate and free country" made an impression 
 upon him that never was effaced. He did not at that 
 time, he says, u study profoundly the constitution, 
 mother of so much prosperity," but he " knew enough 
 to observe and value its sublime effects." 
 
 Before his memorable sojourn in England, he spent 
 half a year at Turin reading Rousseau, among other 
 philosophers, and Voltaire, whose prose delighted and 
 whose verse wearied him. "But the book of books 
 for me," he says, "and the one which that winter 
 caused me to pass hours of bliss and rapture, was Plu- 
 tarch, hisJLives of the truly great ; and some of these, as 
 Timoleon, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, Cato, and others, 
 I read and read again, with such a transport of cries, 
 tears, and fury, that if any one had heard me in the 
 next room he would surely have thought me mad. In 
 meditating certain grand traits of these supreme men, 
 I often leaped to my feet, agitated and out of my senses, 
 and tears of grief and rage escaped me to think that I 
 was born in Piedmont, and in a time and under a gov- 
 ernment where no high thing could be done or said ; 
 and it was almost useless to think or feel it." 
 
 These characters had a life-long fascination for Al- 
 fieri, and his admiration of such types deeply influenced 
 his tragedies. So great was his scorn of kings at the 
 time he writes of, that he despised even those who liked 
 them, and poor little Metastasio, who lived by the 
 bounty of Maria Theresa, fell under Alfieri's bitterest 
 contempt when in Vienna he saw his brother-poet be- 
 fore the empress in the imperial gardens at Schon- 
 brunn, " performing the customary genuflexions with 
 a servilely contented and adulatory face." This loath- 
 ing of royalty was naturally intensified beyond utter- 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 11 
 
 ance in Prussia. " On entering the states of Frederick, 
 I felt redoubled and triplicated my hate for that infa- 
 mous military trade, most infamous and sole base 
 of arbitrary power." lie told his minister that he 
 would be presented only in civil dress, because there 
 were uniforms enough at that court, and he declares 
 that on beholding Frederick he felt "no emotion of 
 wonder or of respect, but rather of indignation and 
 
 rage The king addressed me the three or four 
 
 customary words; I fixed my eyes respectfully upon 
 his, and inwardly blessed Heaven that I had not been 
 born his slave ; and I issued from that universal Prus- 
 sian barracks .... abhorring it as it deserved." 
 
 In Paris Alfieri bought the principal Italian authors, 
 which he afterwards carried everywhere with him on 
 his travels ; but he says that he made very little use of 
 them, having neither the will nor the power to apply his 
 mind to anything. In fact, he knew very little Italian, 
 most of the authors in his collection were strange to 
 him, and at the age of twenty-two he had read nothing 
 whatever of Dante, Petrarch, Tasso, Boccaccio, or 
 Machiavelli. 
 
 He made a journey into Spain, among other coun- 
 tries, where he admired the Andalusian horses, and 
 bored himself as usual with what interests educated 
 people: and he signalized his stay at Madrid by a 
 murderous outburst of one of the worst tempers in the 
 world. One night his servant Elia, in dressing his 
 hair, had the misfortune to twitch one of his locks in 
 such a way as to give him a slight pain ; on which 
 Alfieri leaped to his feet, seized a heavy candlestick, 
 and without a word struck the valet such a blow upon 
 his temple that the blood gushed out over his face, and 
 over the person of a young Spaniard who had been 
 
12 yiTTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 supping with Alfieri. Elia sprang upon his master, 
 who drew his sword, but the Spaniard after great 
 ado quieted them both; " and so ended this horrible 
 encounter," says Alfieri, " for which I remained deeply 
 
 afflicted and ashamed I told Elia that he would 
 
 have done well to kill me j and he was the man to 
 have done it, being a palm taller than myself, who am 
 very tall, and of a strength and courage not inferior to 
 his height. .... Two hours later, his wound being 
 dressed and everything put in order, I went to bed, 
 leaving the door from my room into Elia's open as 
 usual, without listening to the Spaniard, who warned 
 me not thus to invite a provoked and outraged man to 
 vengeance : I called to Elia, who had already gone to 
 bed, that he could, if he liked and thought proper, kill 
 me that night, for I deserved it. But he was no less 
 heroic than I, and would take no other revenge than to 
 keep two handkerchiefs, which had been drenched in 
 his blood, and which from time to time he showed me 
 in the course of many years. This reciprocal mixture 
 of fierceness and generosity on both our parts will not 
 be easily understood by those who have had no expe- 
 rience of the customs and of the temper of us Pied- 
 montese " ; though here, perhaps, Alfieri does his coun- 
 try too much honor in making his ferocity a national 
 trait. 
 
 When at last he went back to Turin, he fell once 
 more into his old life of mere vacancy, varied before 
 long by an unworthy amour, of which he tells us that 
 he finally cured himself by causing his servant to tie 
 him in his chair, and so keep him a prisoner in his 
 own house. A violent distemper followed this treat- 
 ment, which the light-moraled gossip of tbe town said 
 Alfieri had invented exclusively for his own use ; many 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. lo 
 
 days he lay in bed tormented by this anguish; but 
 when he rose he was no longer a slave to his passion. 
 Shortly after, he wrote a tragedy, or a tragic dialogue 
 rather, in Italian blank verse, called Cleopatra, which 
 was played in a Turinese theatre with a success of 
 which he tells us he was at once and always ashamed. 
 
 Yet apparently it encouraged him to persevere in 
 literature, his qualifications for tragical authorship 
 being " a resolute spirit, very obstinate and untamed, 
 a heart running over with passions of every kind, 
 among which predominated a bizarre mixture of love 
 and all its furies, and a profound and most ferocious 
 rage and abhorrence against all tyranny whatsoever ; 
 .... a very dim and uncertain remembrance of vari- 
 ous French tragedies seen in the theatres many years 
 before ; .... an almost total ignorance of all the 
 rules of tragic art, and an unskilfulness almost total in 
 the divine and most necessary art of writing and man- 
 aging his own language. " With this stock in trade, 
 he set about turning his Filippo and his Polinice, 
 which he wrote first in French prose, into Italian 
 verse ; making at the same time a careful study of the 
 Italian poets. It was at this period that the poet 
 Ossian was introduced to mankind by the ingenious 
 and self-sacrificing Mr. McPherson, and Cesarotti's 
 translation of him came into Alfieri's hands. These 
 blank verses were the first that really pleased him ; 
 with a little modification he thought they would be an 
 excellent model for the verse of dialogue. 
 
 He had now refused himself the pleasure of reading 
 French, and he had nowhere to turn for tragic litera- 
 ture but to the classics, which he read in literal ver- 
 sions while he renewed his faded Latin with the help of 
 a teacher. But he believed that his originality as a 
 
14 V1TTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 tragic author suffered from his reading, and he deter- 
 mined to read no more tragedies till he had made his 
 own. For this reason he already had given up Shake- 
 speare. " The more that author accorded with my 
 humor (though I very well perceived all his defects), 
 the more I was resolved to abstain'," he tells us. 
 
 This was during a literary sojourn in Tuscany, 
 whither he had gone to accustom himself " to speak, 
 hear, think, and dream in Tuscan, and not otherwise, 
 evermore." Here he versified his first two tragedies, 
 and sketched others, and here, he says, u I deluged my 
 brain with the verses of Petrarch, of Dante, of Tasso, 
 and of Ariosto, convinced that the day would infallibly 
 come, in which all these forms, phrases, and words of 
 others would return from its cells, blended and identi- 
 fied with my own ideas and emotions." 
 
 He had now indeed entered with all the fury of his 
 nature into the business of making tragedies, which he 
 did very much as if he had been making love. He 
 abandoned everything else for it, country, home, 
 money, friends ; for having decided to live henceforth 
 only in Tuscany, and hating to ask and ask that royal 
 permission to remain abroad without which, annually 
 renewed, the Piedmontese noble of that day could not 
 reside out of his own country, he gave up his estates at 
 Asti to his sister, keeping for himself a pension that 
 came to only about half his former income. The King 
 of Piedmont was very well, as kings went in that day ; 
 and he did nothing to hinder the poet's expatriation. 
 The long period of study and production which followed, 
 Alfieri spent chiefly at Florence, but partly also at Rome 
 and Naples. 
 
 It was during this time that he wrote and printed 
 the greater number of his tragedies; and it was at 
 this time also that he formed that relation with the 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 15 
 
 Countess of Albany which continued as long as he 
 lived. The countess's husband was the Pretender 
 Charles Edward, the last of the English Stuarts, who, 
 like all his house, abetted his own evil destiny, and was 
 then drinking himself to death ; there were difficulties 
 in the way of her union with Alfieri which would not 
 perhaps have beset a less exalted lady. When her 
 husband was dead, she and Alfieri were privately mar- 
 ried. Their house became a centre of fashionable and 
 intellectual society in Florence, and to be received in it 
 was the best that could happen to any one. The rela- 
 tion seems to have been a sufficiently happy one. 
 if not always the perfect devotion the poet describes ; 
 and after Alfieri's death the countess gave to the painter 
 Fabre " a heart which," says Massimo d'Azeglio in his 
 Memoirs, " according to the usage of the time, and 
 especially of high society, felt the invincible necessity 
 of keeping itself in continual exercise." 
 
 In 1787 the poet, went to France to oversee the print- 
 ing of a complete edition of his works, and five years 
 later he found himself in Paris when the Revolution 
 was at its height. The countess was with him, and 
 after great trouble he got passports for both, and hur- 
 ried to the city barrier. The National Guards stationed 
 there would have let them pass, but a party of drunken 
 patriots coming up had their worst fears aroused by 
 the sight of two carriages with sober and decent people 
 in them, and heavily laden with baggage. While they 
 parleyed whether they had better stone the equipages, or 
 set fire to them, Alfieri leaped out, and a scene ensued 
 which placed him in a very characteristic light, and 
 which enables us to see him as it were in person. 
 When the patriots had read the passports, he seized 
 them, and, as he says, " full of disgust and rage, and 
 
16; VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 not knowing at the moment, or in my passion despising 
 the immense peril that attended us, I thrice shook my 
 passport in my hand, and shouted at the top of my 
 voice, ' Look ! Listen ! Alfieri is my name ; Italian 
 and not French ; tall, lean, pale, red hair ; I am he ; 
 look at me : I have my passport, and I have had it 
 legitimately from those who could give it ; we wish to 
 pass, and, hy Heaven, we will pass ! ; 3 
 
 They passed, and two days later the authorities that 
 had approved their passports confiscated the horses, 
 furniture, and books that Alfieri had left behind him 
 in Paris, and declared him and the countess both 
 foreigners to be refugee aristocrats ! 
 
 He established himself again in Florence, where, in 
 his forty-sixth year, he took up the study of Greek, 
 and made himself master of that literature, though, till 
 then, he had scarcely known the Greek alphabet. The 
 chief fruit of this study was a tragedy in the manner of 
 Euripides, which he wrote in secret, and which he read 
 to a company so polite that they thought it really was 
 Euripides during the whole of the first tw r o acts. 
 
 Alfierfs remaining years were spent in study and the 
 revision of his works, to the number of which he added 
 six comedies in 1800. The presence and domination 
 of the detested French in Florence imbittered his life 
 somewhat ; but if they had not been there he could 
 never have had the pleasure of refusing to see the 
 French commandant, who had a taste for literary 
 people if not for literature, and would fain have paid 
 his respects to the poet. He must also have found con- 
 solation in the thought that if the French had become 
 masters of Europe, many kings had been dethroned, 
 and every tyrant who wore a crown was in a very 
 pitiable state of terror or disaster. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 17 
 
 Nothing in Alfieri's life was more like him than his 
 death, of which the Ahbate di Caluso gives a full ac- 
 count in his conclusion of the poet's biography. His 
 malady was gout, and amidst its tortures he still 
 labored at his comedies. He was impatient at being 
 kept in-doors, and when they added plasters on the 
 feet to the irksomeness of his confinement, he tore 
 away the bandages that prevented him from walking 
 about his room. He would not go to bed, and they 
 gave him opiates to ease his anguish ; under their in- 
 Huence his mind was molested by many memories of 
 things long past. " The studies and labors of thirty 
 years/- says the abbate, " recurred to him, and what 
 was yet more wonderful, he repeated in order from 
 memory a good number of Greek verses from the be- 
 ginning of Hesiod, which he had read but once. 
 These he said over to the Signora Contessa, who sat 
 by his side, but it does not appear, for all this, that 
 there ever came to him the thought that death, which 
 he had been for a long time used to imagine near, was 
 then imminent. It is certain at least that he made no 
 sign to the contessa, though she did not leave him till 
 morning. About six o'clock he took oil and magnesia 
 without the physician's advice, and near eight he was 
 observed to be in great danger, and the Signora Con- 
 tessa, being called, found him in agonies that took 
 away his breath. Nevertheless he rose from his chair, 
 and, going to the bed, leaned upon it, and presently the 
 day w r as darkened to him, his eyes closed, and he ex- 
 pired. The duties and consolations of religion were 
 not forgotten, but the evil was not thought so near, 
 nor haste necessary, and so the confessor who was 
 called did not come in time." D'Azeglio relates that 
 the confessor arrived at the supreme moment, and saw 
 
18 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 the poet bow his head : " He thought it was a saluta- 
 tion, but it was the death of Vitturio Alfieri." 
 
 I once fancied that a very close parallel between 
 Alfieri and Byron might be drawn, but their disparities 
 are greater than their resemblances, on the whole. 
 Alfieri seems the vastly sincerer man of the two, and 
 though their lives were alike in some lamentable par- 
 ticulars, Alfieri's life strikes me as unmoral, and Byron's 
 ^is immoral. There is an antique simplicity in Alfieri ; 
 Byron is the essence of conscious romanticism, and 
 modern in the worst sense. But both were born noble, 
 both lived in voluntary exile, both imagined themselves 
 friends and admirers of liberty, both had violent, natures, 
 and both indulged the curious hypocrisy of desiring to 
 seem worse than they were, and of trying to make out 
 a shocking case for themselves when they could. They 
 were men who hardly outlived their boyishness. Alfieri, 
 indeed, had to struggle against so many defects of train- 
 ing that he could not have reached maturity in tho 
 longest life. He seems to have had no principles, good 
 or bad, but only passions 5 he hated with equal noisiness 
 the tyrants of Europe and the Frenchmen who dethroned 
 them. 
 
 When he left the life of a dissolute young noble for 
 that of tragic authorship, he seized upon such histories 
 and fables as would give the freest course to a harsh, 
 narrow, gloomy, vindictive, and declamatory nature ; 
 and his dramas reproduce the terrible fatalistic tradi- 
 tions of the Greeks, the stories of (Edipus, Myrrha, 
 Alcestis, Clytemnestra, Orestes, and such passages of 
 Roman history as those relating to the Brutuses and to 
 Virginia. In modern history he has taken such char- 
 acters and events as those of Philip II., Mary Stuart, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 19 
 
 Don Garcia, and the Conspiracy of the Pazzi. Two of 
 his tragedies are from the Bible, the Abel and the Saul; 
 one, the Ilosmunda, from Lougobardic history. And 
 these themes, varying so vastly as to the times, races, 
 and religions with which they originated, are all treated 
 in the same spirit, the spirit Alfieri believed Greek. 
 Their interest comes from the situations and events ; 
 of character, as we have it in the romantic drama, and 
 supremely in Shakespeare, there is scarcely anything ; 
 and the language is shorn of all metaphor and pictur- 
 esque expression. Of course their form is wholly unlike 
 that of the romantic drama ; Alfieri holds fast by the 
 famous unities as the chief and saving grace of tragedy. 
 All his actions take place within twenty-four hours ; 
 there is no change of scene, and so far as he can master 
 that most obstinate unity, the unity of action, each piece 
 is furnished with a tangible beginning, middle, arid 
 ending. The wide stretches of time which the old 
 Spanish and English and all modern dramas cover, and 
 their frequent transitions from place to place, were 
 impossible and abhorrent to him. 
 
 Schlegel, in his lectures on dramatic literature, blames 
 Alfieri as one whose style was wanting in imagery and 
 whose characters in fancy ; who made his Italian stiff 
 and brittle in trying to make it strong, and whose verse 
 is harsh and unmusical. According to the German he 
 paints naked and general ideas in unrelieved black and 
 white; his villains are too openly villanous, his virtuous 
 persons unlovely ; he forgets, in casting aside grace and 
 ornament for the sake of the moral effect, that a poet 
 cannot teach except by pleasing ; his tragedies are not 
 Greek at all, and not comparable with the best French 
 tragedies; he depicts tyrants with the colors of the 
 school rhetoricians ; he fails with modem subjects 
 
20 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 because his ideal of the tragic forbids a local and deter- 
 minate presentation ; the Greek subjects lose their 
 heroic magnificence in his hands, and take a modern, 
 almost vulgar air. He manages best the public life of 
 the Romans, and it is a great merit of his Virginia that 
 the scene is in the forum, and partly before the eyes 
 of the people. At other times, in his anxiety to observe 
 the unity of scene, he places his action in some out-of- 
 the-way corner, whither come only persons in difficulties. 
 He strips his kings and heroes of external pomp, and 
 the world around them seems depopulated. 
 
 In many respects I think this all just enough 5 but I 
 find AlfieriV Greek tragedies far from vulgar. They 
 have a grandeur quite independent of the graces which 
 Schlegel supposes necessary to poetry, and they are not 
 wanting in very delicate touches of pathos. On the 
 other hand, I do not care for his Roman tragedies, or 
 Tragedies of Liberty, as he calls them, which weary 
 you with their windy tirades against tyrants. 
 
 It is equally hard to agree in all things with Emiliani- 
 Giudici, the Italian critic, who most disagrees with 
 Schlegel, and who, writing about the middle of our 
 century, declares that when the fiery love of freedom 
 shall have purged Italy, the Alfierian drama will be the 
 only representation worthy of a great and free people. 
 This critic holds that Alfieri ? s tragical ideal was of such 
 a simplicity that it would seem derived regularly from 
 the Greek, but for the fact that when he felt irresistibly 
 moved to write tragedy, he probably did not know even 
 the names of the Greek dramatists, and could not have 
 known the structure of their dramas by indirect means, 
 having read then only some Metastasian plays of the 
 French school ; so that he created that ideal of his by 
 pure, instinctive force of genius. With him, as with 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 21 
 
 the Greeks, art arose spontaneously ; he felt the form 
 of Greek art by inspiration. He believed from the very 
 first that the dramatic, poet should assume to render the 
 spectators unconscious of theatrical artifice, and make 
 them take pail with the actors ; and he banished from 
 the scene everything that could diminish their illusion ; 
 he would not mar the intensity of the effect by changing 
 the action from place to place, or by compressing within 
 the brief time of the representation the events of months 
 and years. To achieve the unity of action, he dispensed 
 with all those parts which did not seem to him the most 
 principal, and he studied how to show the subject of 
 the drama in the clearest light. In all this he went to 
 the extreme, but he so wrought " that the print of his 
 cothurnus stamped upon the field of art should remain 
 forever singular and inimitable. Reading his tragedies 
 in order, from the Cleopatra to the Saul, you see how 
 he never changed his tragic ideal, but discerned it more 
 and more distinctly until he fully realized it. ^Eschylus 
 and Alfieri are two links that unite the chain in a circle. 
 In Alfieri art once more achieved the faultless purity 
 of its proper character ; Greek tragedy reached the same 
 height in the Italian's Saul that it touched in the Greek's 
 Prometheus, two dramas which are perhaps the most 
 gigantic creations of any literature." Emiliani-Giudici 
 thinks that the literary ineducation of Alfieri was the 
 principal exterior cause of this prodigious development, 
 that a more regular course of study would have restrained 
 his creative genius, and, while smoothing the way be- 
 fore it, would have subjected it to methods and robbed 
 it of originality of feeling and conception. " Tragedy, 
 born sublime, terrible, vigorous, heroic, the life of lib- 
 erty, .... was, as it were, redeemed by Vittorio Alfieri, 
 reassumed the masculine, athletic forms of its original 
 
22 VITTORIO ALFIE1U. 
 
 existence, and recommenced the exercise of its lost 
 ministry." 
 
 I do not begin to think this is all true. Alfieri him- 
 self owns his acquaintance with the French, theatre 
 before the time when he began to write, and we must 
 believe that he got at least some of his ideas of Athens 
 from Paris, though he liked the Frenchmen none the 
 better for his obligation to them. A less mechanical 
 conception of the Greek idea than his would have pre- 
 vented its application to historical subjects. In Alfieri's 
 Brutus the First, a far greater stretch of imagination is 
 required from the spectator in order to preserve the 
 unities of time and place than the most capricious 
 changes of scene would have asked. The scene is al- 
 ways in the forum in Rome ; the action occurs within 
 twenty-four hours. During this limited time, we see 
 the body of Lucretia borne along in the distance; 
 Brutus harangues the people with the bloody dagger 
 in his hand. The emissaries of Tarquin arrive and 
 organize a conspiracy against the new republic; the 
 sons of Brutus are found in the plot, and are convicted 
 and put to death. 
 
 But such incongruities as these do not affect us in 
 the tragedies based on the heroic fables ; here the poet 
 takes without offence any liberty he likes with time 
 and place ; the whole affair is in his hands, to do what 
 he will so long as he respects the internal harmony of 
 his own work. For this reason I think we find Alfieri 
 at his best in these tragedies, among which I have 
 liked the Orestes best, as giving the widest range of 
 feeling with the greatest vigor of action. The Aga- 
 memnon, which precedes it, and which ought to be read 
 first, closes with its most powerful scene. Agamemnon 
 has returned from Troy to Argos with his captive 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEPJ. 23 
 
 Cassandra, and ^Egisthus has persuaded Clytemnestra 
 that her husband intends to raise Cassandra to the 
 throne. She kills him and reigns with JEgisthus, 
 Electra concealing Orestes on the night of the murder, 
 and sending him secretly away with Strophius, King 
 of Phocis. 
 
 In the last scene, as Clytemnestra steals through the 
 darkness to her husband's chamber, she soliloquizes, 
 with the dagger in her hand : 
 
 It is the hour ; and sunk in slumber now 
 
 Lies Agamemnon. Shall he nevermore 
 
 Open his eyes to the fair light ? My hand, 
 
 Once pledge to him of stainless love and faith, 
 
 Is it to be the minister of his death ? 
 
 Did I swear that? Ay, that ; and I must keep 
 
 My oath. Quick, let me go ! My foot, heart, hand 
 
 All over I tremble. 0, what did I promise ? 
 
 Wretch ! what do I attempt ? How all my courage 
 
 Hath vanished from me since ^Egisthus vanished ! 
 
 I only see the immense atrocity 
 
 Of this my horrible deed ; I only see 
 
 The bloody spectre of Atrides ! Ah, 
 
 In vain do I accuse thee. No, thou lovest 
 
 Cassandra not. Me, only me, thou lovest, 
 
 Unworthy of thy love. Thou hast no blame, 
 
 Save that thou art my husband, in the world ! 
 
 Heaven ! Atrides, thou sent from the arms 
 
 Of trustful sleep, to death's arms by my hand ? 
 
 And where then shall I hide me? O perfidy ! 
 
 Can I e'er hope for peace? O woful life, 
 
 Life of remorse, of madness, and of tears ! . . . . 
 
 How shall jEgisthus, even ^Egisthus, dare 
 
 To rest beside the parricidal wife 
 
 Upon her murder-stained marriage-bed, 
 
 Nor tremble for himself? Away, away, - 
 
24 VITTORIO ALFIERL 
 
 Hence, horrible instrument of all my guilt 
 
 And harm, thou execrable dagger, hence ! 
 
 I '11 lose at once my lover and my life, 
 
 But not by this hand slain shall fall 
 
 So great a hero ! Live, honor of Greece 
 
 And Asia's terror i Live to glory, live 
 
 To thy dear children, and a better wife ! 
 
 But what are these hushed steps ? Into these rooms 
 
 Who is it comes by night ? ^Egisthus ? Lost, I am lost ! 
 
 ^GISTHUS. Hast thou not done the deed ? 
 
 CLY. ^Egisthus 
 
 JEg. "What, stand'st thou here, wasting thyself in tears ? 
 "Woman, untimely are thy tears ; 't is late, 
 'T is vain, and it may cost us dear ! 
 
 CLY. v Thou here! 
 
 But how woe 's me, what did I promise thee ? 
 What wicked counsel 
 
 jEo. Was it not thy counsel? 
 
 Love gave it thee and fear annuls it well ! 
 Since thou repentest, I am glad ; and glad 
 To know thee guiltless shall I be in death. 
 I told thee that the enterprise was hard, 
 But thou, unduly trusting in the heart, 
 That hath not a man's courage in it, chose 
 Thyself thy feeble hands to strike the blow. 
 Now may Heaven grant that the intent of evil 
 Turn not to harm thee ! Hither I by stealth 
 And favor of the darkness have returned, 
 Unseen, I hope. For I perforce must come 
 Myself to tell thee that irrevocably 
 My life is dedicated to the vengeance 
 Of Agamemnon. 
 
 He appeals to her pity for him, and her fear for her- 
 self; he reminds her of Agamemnon's consent to the 
 sacrifice of Iphigenia, and goads her on to the crime 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 25 
 
 from which she had recoiled. She goes into Aga- 
 memnon's chamber, whence his dying outcries are 
 
 heard : 
 
 O treachery ! 
 Thou, wife ? heavens, I die ! treachery ! 
 
 Clytemnestra comes out with the dagger in her 
 hand : 
 
 The dagger drips with blood ; my hands, my robe, 
 
 My face, they all are wet with blood. What vengeance 
 
 Shall yet be taken for this blood ! Already 
 
 I see this very steel turned on my breast, 
 
 And by whose hand ! 
 
 The son whom she forebodes as the avenger of Aga- 
 memnon's death passes his childhood and early youth 
 at the court of Strophius in Phocis. The tragedy 
 named for him opens with Electra's soliloquy as she 
 goes to weep at the tomb of their father : 
 
 Night, gloomy, horrible, atrocious night, 
 Forever present to my thought, each year 
 For now two lustres I have seen thee come, 
 Clothed on with darkness and with dreams of blood, 
 And blood that should have expiated thine 
 Is not yet spilt ! O memory, O sight ! 
 
 Agamemnon, hapless father, here 
 Upon these stones I saw thee murdered lie, 
 Murdered, and by what hand ! . . . . 
 
 I swear to thee, 
 
 If I in Argos, in thy palace live, 
 Slave of yEgisthus, with my wicked mother 
 Nothing makes me endure a life like this 
 Saving the hope of vengeance. Far away 
 Orestes is ; but living! I saved thee, brother; 
 
 1 keep myself for thee, till the day rise 
 
 When thou shalt make to stream upon yon tomb 
 Not helpless tears like these, but our foe's blood. 
 
26 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 While Electra fiercely muses, Clytemnestra enters 
 with the appeal : - 
 
 CLY. Daughter ! 
 
 EL. What voice ! Heaven, thou here ? 
 
 CLY. My daughter, 
 
 Ah, do not fly me ! Thy pious task I fain 
 "Would share with thee. JEgisthus in vain forhids, 
 He shall not know. Ah, come, go we together 
 Unto the tornh. 
 
 EL. Whose tomb ? 
 
 CLY. Thy hapless father's. 
 
 EL. Wherefore not say thy husband's tomb ? 'T is well : 
 Thou darest not speak it. But how dost thou dare 
 Turn thitherward thy steps, thou that dost reek 
 Yet with iiis blood ? 
 
 CLY. Two lustres now are passed 
 
 Since that dread day, and two whole lustres now 
 I weep my crime. 
 
 EL. And what time were enough 
 
 For that ? Ah, if thy tears should be eternal, 
 They yet were nothing. Look ! Seest thou not still 
 The blood upon these horrid walls, the blood 
 That thou didst splash them with ? And at thy presence 
 Lo, how it reddens and grows quick again ! 
 Fly thou, whom I must nevermore call mother ! 
 
 CLY. O, woe is me ! What can I answer ? Pity 
 But I merit none ! And yet if in my heart, 
 Daughter, thou couldst but read ah, who could look 
 Into the secret of a heart like mine, 
 Contaminated with such infamy, 
 And not abhor me ? I blame not thy wrath, 
 No, nor thy hate. On earth I feel already 
 The guilty pangs of hell. Scarce had the blow 
 Escaped my hand before a swift remorse, 
 Swift but too late, fell terrible upon me. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 27 
 
 From that hour still the sanguinary ghost 
 
 By day and night, and ever horrible, 
 
 Hath moved before mine eyes. Where'er I turn 
 
 I see its bleeding footsteps trace the path 
 
 That I must follow ; at table, on the throne, 
 
 It sits beside me ; on my bitter pillow 
 
 If e'er it chance I close mine eyes in sleep, 
 
 The spectre fatal vision ! instantly 
 
 Shows itself in my dreams, and tears the breast, 
 
 Already mangled, with a furious hand, 
 
 And thence draws both its palms full of dark blood, 
 
 To dash it in my face ! On dreadful nights 
 
 Follow more dreadful days. In a long death 
 
 I live my life. Daughter, whate'er I am, 
 
 Thou art my daughter still, dost thou not weep 
 
 At tears like mine ? 
 
 Clytemnestra confesses that ^Egisthns no longer loves 
 her, but she loves him, and she shrinks from Electra's 
 fierce counsel that she shall kill him. He enters to find 
 her in tears, and a violent scene between him and 
 Electra follows, in which Clytemnestra interposes. 
 
 CLY. daughter, he is my husband. Think, ^Egisthus, 
 She is my daughter. 
 
 jEo. She is Atrides' daughter ! 
 
 EL. He is Atrides' murderer ! 
 
 CLY. Electra ! 
 
 Have pity, jEgisthus ! Look the tomb ! 0, look, 
 The horrible tomb ! and art thou not content ? 
 
 /EG. Woman, be less unlike thyself. Atrides, 
 Tell me by whose hand in yon tomb he lies? 
 
 CLY. O mortal blame ! What else is lacking now 
 To my unhappy, miserable life ? 
 Who drove me to it now upbraids my crime ! 
 
 EL. O marvellous joy ! O only joy that 's blessed 
 My heart in these ten years ! I see you both 
 
28 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 At last the prey of anger and remorse ; 
 
 I hear at last what must the endearments be 
 
 Of love so blood-stained. 
 
 The first act closes with a scene between ^Egisthus 
 and Clytemnestra, in which he urges her to consent 
 that he shall send to have Orestes murdered, and re- 
 minds her of her former crimes when she revolts from 
 this. The scene is very well managed, with that 
 frugality of phrase which in Alfieri is quite as apt to he 
 touchingly simple as hare and poor. In the opening 
 scene of the second act, Orestes has returned in disguise 
 to Argos with Pylades, the son of Strophius, to whom 
 he speaks : 
 
 We are come at last. Here Agamemnon fell, 
 Murdered, and here ^Egisthus reigns. Here rose 
 In memory still, though I a child departed, 
 These natal walls, and the just Heaven in time 
 Leads me back hither. 
 
 Twice five years have passed 
 This very day since that dread night of blood, 
 "When, slain by treachery, my father made 
 The whole wide palace with his dolorous cries 
 Echo again. O, well do I remember ! 
 Electra swiftly bore me through this hall 
 Thither where Strophius in his pitying arms 
 Received me, Strophius, less by far thy father 
 Than mine, thereafter, and fled onward with me 
 By yonder postern -gate, all tremulous ; 
 And after me there ran upon the air 
 Long a wild clamor and a lamentation 
 That made me weep and shudder and lament, 
 I knew not why, and weeping Strophius ran, 
 Forbidding with his hand my outcries shrill, 
 Clasping me close, and sprinkling all my face 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 29 
 
 With bitter tears ; and to the lonely coast, 
 Where only now we lauded, with his charge 
 He came apace ; and eagerly unfurled 
 His sails before the wind. 
 
 Pylades strives to restrain the passion for revenge in 
 Orestes, which scarcely brooks the control of prudence, 
 and imperils them both. The friend proposes that 
 they shall feign themselves messengers sent by Stro- 
 phius with tidings of Orestes' death, and Orestes has 
 reluctantly consented, when Electra reappears, and 
 they recognize each other. Pylades discloses their 
 plan, and when her brother urges, u The means is 
 -vile," she answers, all woman, 
 
 Less vile than is ^Egisthus. There is none 
 
 Better or surer, none, believe me. When 
 
 You are led to him, let it be mine to think 
 
 Of all the place, the manner, time, and arms, 
 
 To kill him. Still I keep, Orestes, still 
 
 I keep the steel that in her husband's breast 
 
 She plunged whom nevermore we might call mother. 
 
 ORESTES. How fares it with that impious woman ? 
 
 EL. Ah, 
 
 Thou canst not know how she drags out her life ! 
 Save only Agamemnon's children, all 
 Must pity her and even we must pity. 
 Full ever of suspicion and of terror, 
 And held in scorn even by ^gisthus' self, 
 Loving ^Egisthus though she kiioAv his guilt ; 
 Repentant, and yet ready to renew 
 Her crime, perchance, if the unworthy love 
 Which is her shame and her abhorrence, would; 
 Now wife, now mother, never wife nor mother, 
 Bitter remorse gnaws at her heart by day 
 Unceasingly, and horrible shapes by night 
 Scare slumber from her eyes. So fares it with her. 
 
30 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 In the third scene of the following act Clytemnestra 
 meets Orestes and Pylades, who announce themselves 
 as messengers from Phocls to the king ; she bids them 
 deliver their tidings to her, and they finally do so, 
 Pylades struggling to prevent Orestes from revealing 
 himself. There are touchingly simple and natural 
 passages in the lament that Clytemnestra breaks into 
 over her son's death, and there is fire, with its true 
 natural extinction in tears, when she upbraids -^Egis- 
 thus, who now enters : 
 
 My fair fame and my husband and my peace, 
 My only son beloved, I gave thee all. 
 
 All that I gave thou didst account as nothing 
 
 "While aught remained to take. Who ever saw 
 
 At once so cruel and so false a heart ? 
 
 The guilty love that thou didst feign so ill 
 
 And I believed so well, what hindrance to it, 
 
 "What hindrance, tell me, was the child Orestes ? 
 
 Yet scarce had Agamemnon died before 
 
 Thou didst cry out for his son's blood ; and searched 
 
 Through all the palace in thy fury. Then 
 
 The blade thou durst not wield against the father, 
 
 Then thou didst brandish. Ay, bold wast thou then 
 
 Against a helpless child ! . . . . 
 
 Unhappy son, what booted it to save thee 
 
 From thy sire's murderer, since thou hast found 
 
 Death ere thy time in strange lands far away. 
 
 jEgisthus, villanous usurper ! Thou, 
 
 Thou hast slain my son ! ./Egisthus 0, forgive ! 
 
 I was a mother, and am so no more. 
 
 Throughout this scene, and in the soliloquy pre- 
 ceding it, Alfieri paints very forcibly the struggle in 
 Clytemnestra between her love for her son and her 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 31 
 
 love for .^Egisthus, to whom she clings even while he 
 exults in the tidings that wring her heart. It is all 
 too boldly presented, doubtless, but it is very effective 
 and affecting. 
 
 Orestes and Pylades are now brought before ,<Egis- 
 thus, and he demands how and where Orestes died, 
 for after his first rejoicing he has come to doubt the 
 fact. Pylades responds in one of those speeches with 
 which Alfieri seems to carve the scene in bas-relief : 
 
 Every fifth year an ancient use renews 
 In Crete the games and offerings to Jove. 
 The love of glory and innate ambition 
 Lure the youth to that coast ; and by his side 
 Goes Pylades, inseparable from him. 
 In the light car upon the arena wide, 
 The hopes of triumph urge him to contest 
 The proud palm of the flying-footed steeds, 
 And too intent on winning, there his life 
 He gives for victory. 
 
 MG. But how ? Say on. 
 
 PYL. Too fierce, impatient, and incautious, he 
 Now frights his horses on with threatening cries, 
 Now whirls his blood-stained whip, and lashes them, 
 Till past the goal the ill-tamed coursers fly 
 Faster and faster. Reckless of the rein, 
 Deaf to the voice that fain would soothe them now, 
 Their nostrils breathing fire, their loose manes tossed 
 Upon the wind, and in thick clouds involved 
 Of choking dust, round the vast circle's bound, 
 As lightning swift they whirl and whirl again. 
 Fright, horror, mad confusion, death, the car 
 Spreads in its crooked circles everywhere, 
 Until at last, the smoking axle dashed 
 With hideous shock against a marble pillar, 
 Orestes headlong falls 
 
32 VITTORIO ALFIEEI. 
 
 CLY. No more ! Ah, peace ! 
 
 His mother hears thee. 
 
 PYL. It is true. Forgive me. 
 
 I will not tell how, horribly dragged on, 
 His streaming life-blood soaked the arena's dust 
 Pylades ran in vain within his arms 
 His friend expired. 
 
 CLY. wicked death ! 
 
 PYL. In Crete 
 
 All men lamented him, so potent in him 
 Were beauty, grace, and daring. 
 
 CLY. Nay, w r ho would not 
 
 Lament him save this wretch alone ? Dear son, 
 Must I then never, never see thee more ? 
 O me I too well 1 see thee crossing now 
 The Stygian stream to clasp thy father's shade : 
 Both turn your frowning eyes askance on me, 
 Burning with dreadful wrath ! Yea, it was I, 
 'T was I that slew you both. Infamous mother 
 And guilty wife ! Now art content, .ZEgisthus ? 
 
 JSgisthns still doubts, and pursues the pretended 
 messengers with such insulting question that Orestes, 
 goaded beyond endurance, betrays that their character 
 is assumed. They are seized and about to be led to 
 prison in chains, when Electra enters and in her an- 
 guish at the sight exclaims, " Orestes led to die!" 
 Then ensues a fine scene, in which each of the friends 
 claims to be Orestes. At last Orestes shows the dag- 
 ger Electra has given him, and offers it to Clytemnes- 
 tra, that she may stab ^Egisthus with the same weapon 
 with which she killed Agamemnon : 
 
 To thee I give rny dagger 
 
 Whom then I would call mother. Take it ; thou knowest how 
 To wield it ; plunge it in ^Egisthus' heart 1 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 33 
 
 Leave me to die ; I care not, if I see 
 My father avenged. I ask no other proof 
 Of thy maternal love from thee. Quick, now, 
 Strike ! O, what is it that I see ? Thou tremhlest ? 
 Thou growest pale ? Thou weepest ? From thy hand 
 The dagger falls ? Thou lov'st ^Egisthus, lov'st him 
 And art Orestes' mother ? Madness ! Go, 
 And never let me look on thee again ! 
 
 ^Egisthus dooms Electra to the same death with 
 Orestes and Pylades, but on the way to prison the 
 guards liberate them all, and the Argives rise against 
 the usurper with the beginning of the fifth act, which 
 I shall give entire, because I think it very character- 
 istic of Alfieri, and necessary to a conception of his 
 vehement, if somewhat arid genius. I translate as 
 heretofore almost line for line, and word for word, 
 keeping the Italian order as nearly as I can. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 JEGISTHUS and Soldiers. 
 
 /EG. treachery unforeseen ! madness ! Freed, 
 Orestes freed ? Now we shall see 
 
 Enter CLYTEMNESTRA. 
 
 CLY. Ah ! turn 
 
 Backward thy steps. 
 
 jEo. Ah, wretch, dost thou arm too 
 
 Against me ? 
 
 CLY. I would save thee. Hearken to me, 
 
 I am no longer 
 
 &G. Traitress 
 
 CLY. Stay ! 
 
 ./EG. Thou 'st promised 
 
 Haply to give me to that wretch alive ? 
 
 CLY. To keep thee, save thee from him, I have sworn, 
 
34 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 Though I should perish for thee ! Ah, remain 
 And hide thou here in safety. I will be 
 Thy stay against his fury 
 
 ^Eo. Against his fury 
 
 My sword shall be my stay. Go, leave me ! 
 I go 
 
 CLY. Whither ? 
 
 ^EG. To kill him ! 
 
 CLY. To thy death thou goest ! 
 
 me ! What dost thou ? Hark ! Dost thou not hear 
 The yells and threats of the whole people ? Hold ! 
 
 1 will not leave thee. 
 
 JEG. Nay, thou hop'st in vain 
 
 To save thy impious son from death. Hence ! Peace ! 
 Or I will ejse 
 
 CLY. yes, ^Egisthus, kill me, 
 
 If thou believ'st me not. " Orestes ! " Hark ! 
 " Orestes ! " How that terrible name on high 
 Rings everywhere ! I am no longer mother 
 When thou 'rt in danger. Against my blood I grow 
 Cruel once more. 
 
 JEo. Thou knowest well the Argives 
 
 Do hate thy face, and at the sight of thee 
 The fury were redoubled in their hearts. 
 The tumult rises. Ah, thou wicked wretch, 
 Thou wast the cause ! For thee did I delay 
 Vengeance that turns on me now. 
 
 CLY. Kill me, then ! 
 
 MG. I '11 find escape some other way. 
 
 CLY. I follow 
 
 JEo. Ill shield wert thou for me. Leave me away, 
 
 away ! 
 At no price would I have thee by my side ! [Exit. 
 
 CLY. All hunt me from them ! O most hapless state 1 
 My son no longer owns me for his mother, 
 My husband for his wife : and wife and mother 
 
VITTOPJO ALFIERI. 35 
 
 I still must be ! O misery ! Afar 
 I '11 follow him, nor lose the way he went. 
 Enter ELECTKA. 
 
 EL. Mother, where goest thou? Turn thy steps again 
 Into the palace. Danger 
 
 CLY. Orestes speak ! 
 
 Where is he ? "What does he do ? 
 
 EL. Orestes, 
 
 Py lades, and myself, we are all safe. 
 Even jEgisthus' minions pitied us. 
 They cried, " This is Orestes ! " and the people, 
 " Long live Orestes ! Let ^Egisthus die ! " 
 
 CLY. What do I hear! 
 
 EL. Calm thyself, mother ; soon 
 
 Thou shalt behold thy son again, and soon 
 Th' infamous tyrant's corse 
 
 CLY. Ah, cruel, leave me! 
 
 I go 
 
 EL. No, stay ! The people rage, and cry 
 Out on thee for a parricidal wife. 
 Show thyself not as yet, or thou incurrest 
 Great peril. 'T was for this I came. In thee 
 A mother's agony appeared, to see 
 Thy children dragged to death, and thou hast now 
 Atoned for thy misdeed. My brother sends me 
 To comfort thee, to succor and to hide thee 
 From dreadful sights. To find ^Egisthus out, 
 All aimed meanwhile, he and his Pylades 
 Search everywhere. Where is the wicked wretch ? 
 
 CLY. Orestes is the wicked wretch. 
 
 EL. Heaven ! 
 
 CLY. I go to save him or to perish with him. 
 
 EL. Nay, mother, thou shalt never go. Thou ravest 
 
 CLY. The penalty is mine. I go * 
 
 EL, mother ! 
 
 The monster that but now thy children doomed 
 To death, \vouldst thou 
 
36 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 CLY. Yes-, I would save him I ! 
 
 Out of my path ! My terrible destiny 
 I must obey. He is. my husband. All 
 Too dear he cost me. I will not, cannot lose him. 
 You I abhor, traitors, not children to me ! 
 I go to him. Loose me, thou wicked girl ! 
 At any risk I go, and may I only 
 Reach him in time ! [Exit. 
 
 EL. Go to thy fate, then, go, 
 
 If thou wilt so, but be thy steps too late ! 
 Why cannot I, too, arm me with a dagger, 
 To pierce with stabs a thousand-fold the breast 
 Of infamous ^Egisthus ? O blind mother, O, 
 How art thou fettered to his baseness ! Yet, 
 And yet I tremble If the angry mob 
 Avenge their murdered king on her Heaven ! 
 Let me go after her But who comes here ? 
 Pyiades, and my brother not beside him ? 
 
 Enter PYLADES. 
 0, tell me ! Orestes - 
 
 PYL. Compasses the palace 
 
 About with swords. And now our prey is safe. 
 Where lurks JEgisthus ? Hast thou seen him ? 
 
 EL. Nay, 
 
 I saw and strove in vain a moment since 
 To stay his maddened wife. She flung herself 
 Out of this door, crying that she would make 
 Herself a shield unto jEgisthus. He 
 Already had fled the palace. 
 
 PYL. Durst he then 
 
 Show himself in the sight of Argos ? Why, 
 Then he is slain ere this ! Happy the man 
 That struck him first. Nearer and louder yet 
 I hear their yells. 
 
 EL. " Orestes ! " Ah, were 't so ! 
 
 PYL. Look at him in his fury where he comes ! 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 37 
 
 Enter ORESTES and his followers. 
 
 OR. No man of you attempt to slay ^Egisthus : 
 There is no wounding sword here save my own. 
 /Egisthus, ho ! Where art thou, coward? Speak ! 
 jEgisthus, where art thou ? Come forth : it is 
 The voice of Death that calls thee ! Thou coinest not ? 
 Ah, villain, dost thou hide thyself? In vain : 
 The midmost deep of Erebus should not hide thee. 
 Thou shalt soon see if I be Atrides' son. 
 
 EL. He is not here ; he 
 
 OR. Traitors ! You perchance 
 
 Have slain him without me ? 
 
 PYL. Before I came 
 
 He had fled the palace. 
 
 On. In the palace still 
 
 Somewhere he lurks ; but I will drag him forth ; 
 By his soft locks I '11 d/ag him with my hand : 
 There is no prayer, nor god, nor force of hell 
 Shall snatch thee from me. I will make thee plough 
 The dust with thy vile body to the tomb 
 Of Agamemnon, I will drag thee thither 
 And pour out there all thine adulterous blood. 
 
 EL. Orestes, dost thou not believe me ? me ! 
 
 OR. Who 'rt thou ? I want ^gisthus. 
 
 EL. He is fled. 
 
 Or. He 's fled, and you, ye wretches, linger here ? 
 But I will find him. 
 
 Enter CLYTEMNESTRA. 
 
 CLY. O, I have pity, son ! 
 
 OR. Pity ? Whose son am I ? Atrides' son 
 Am I. 
 
 CLY. ^Egisthus, loaded with chains 
 
 OR. He lives yet ? 
 
 O joy ! Let me go slay him ! 
 
 CLY. Nay, kill me ! 
 
38 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 I slew thy father I alone. ^Egisthus 
 Had no guilt in it. 
 
 OR. Who, who grips my arm ? 
 
 Who holds me hack ? O madness ! Ah, ^Egisthus ! 
 I see him ; they drag him hither Off with thee ! 
 
 CLY. Orestes, dost thou not know thy mother ? 
 
 OR. Die, 
 
 JEgisthus ! By Orestes' hand, die, villain ! [Exit. 
 
 CLY. Ah, thou 'st escaped me. Thou shalt slay me first ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 EL. Pylades, go ! Run, run ! 0, stay her ! Fly ; 
 Bring her back hither ! [Exit PYLADES. 
 
 I shudder ! She is still 
 His mother, and he must have pity on her. 
 Yet only now she saw her children stand 
 Upon the brink of an ignoble death, 
 And were her sorrow and her daring then 
 As great as they are now for him ? At last 
 The day so long desired has come ; at last, 
 Tyrant, thou diest ; and once more I hear 
 The palace all resound with wails and cries, 
 As on that horrible and bloody night, 
 Which was my father's last, I heard it ring. 
 Already hath Orestes struck the blow, 
 The mighty blow ; already is jEgisthus 
 Fallen the tumult of the crowd proclaims it. 
 Behold Orestes conqueror, his sword 
 Dripping with blood ! 
 
 Enter ORESTES. 
 
 brother mine, come, 
 Avenger of the king of kings, our father, 
 Argos, and me, come to my heart ! 
 
 OR. Sister, 
 
 At last thou seest me Atrides' worthy son. 
 Look, 't is ^Egisthus' blood ! I hardly saw him 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 39 
 
 And ran to slay him where he stood, forgetting 
 
 To drag him to our father's sepulchre. 
 
 Full twice seven times I plunged and plunged my sword 
 
 Into his cowardly and quaking heart ; 
 
 Yet have I slaked not my long thirst of vengeance. 
 
 EL. Then Clytemncstra did not come in time 
 To stay thine arm ? 
 
 OK. And who had been enough 
 
 For that ? To stay mine arm ? I hurled myself 
 Upon him ; not more swift the thunderbolt. 
 The coward wept, and those vile tears the more 
 Filled me with hate. A man that durst not die 
 Slew thee, my father ! 
 
 EL. Now is our sire avenged. 
 
 Calm thyself now, and tell me, did thine eyes 
 Behold not Pylades ? 
 
 OR. I saw jEgisthus ; 
 
 None other. Where is dear Pylades ? And why 
 Did he not second me in this glorious deed ? 
 
 EL. I had confided to his care our mad 
 And desperate mother. 
 
 OR. I knew nothing of them. 
 
 Enter PYLADES. 
 
 EL. See, Pylades returns Heavens, what do I see ? 
 Returns alone ? 
 
 OR. And sad ? 0, wherefore sad, 
 
 Part of myself, art thou ? Know'st not I 've slain 
 Yon villain ? Look, how with his life-blood yet 
 My sword is dripping ! Ah, thou didst not share 
 His death-blow with me ! Feed then on this sight 
 Thine eyes, my Pylades ! 
 
 PYL. sight ! Orestes, 
 
 Give me that sword. 
 
 OR. And wherefore ? 
 
 PYL. Give it me. 
 
 OR. Take it. 
 
40 V1TTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 PYL. O, listen. We may not tarry longer 
 Within these borders ; come 
 
 On. But what 
 
 EL. O, speak ! 
 
 "Where 's Clytemnestra ? 
 
 OR. . Leave her ; she is perchance 
 
 Kindling the pyre unto her traitor husband. 
 
 PYL. 0, thou hast far more than fulfilled thy vengeance. 
 Come, now, and ask no more. 
 
 OR. What dost thou say ? 
 
 EL. Our mother ! I beseech thee yet again ! 
 Pylades O, what chill is this that creeps 
 Through all my veins ? 
 
 PYL. The heavens 
 
 EL. v Ah, she is dead ! 
 
 OR. Hath turned her dagger, maddened, on herself. 
 
 EL. Alas ! Pylades. Why dost thou not answer ? 
 
 OR. Speak! What hath been ? 
 
 PLY. Slain - 
 
 OR. And by whose hand ? 
 
 PYL. Come. 
 
 EL. (to ORESTES). Thou sle west her. 
 
 OR. I parricide ? 
 
 PYL. Unknowing 
 
 Thou plungedst in her heart thy sword, as blind 
 With rage thou rannest on ^Egisthus 
 
 OR. O, 
 
 What horror seizes me ! I parricide ? 
 My sword ! Pylades, give it me ; I '11 have it 
 
 PYL. It shall not be. 
 
 EL. Brother 
 
 OR. Who calls me brother ? 
 
 Thou, haply, impious wretch, thou that didst save me 
 To life and matricide ? Give me my sword ! 
 My sword ! O fury ! Where am I ? What is it 
 That I have done ? Who stays me ? Who follows me ? 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 41 
 
 Ah, whither shall I fly, where hide myself ? 
 O father, dost thou look on me askance ? 
 Thou wouldst have blood of me, and this is blood ; 
 For thee alone for thee alone I shed it. 
 
 EL. Orestes, Orestes miserable brother ! 
 He hears us not, ah ! he is mad. Forever, 
 Pylades, we must go beside him. 
 
 PYL. Hard, 
 
 Inevitable law of ruthless Fate ! 
 
 Alfieri himself wrote a critical comment on each of 
 his tragedies, discussing their qualities and the ques- 
 tion of their failure or success dispassionately enough. 
 For example, he frankly says of his Maria Stuarda 
 that it is the worst tragedy he ever wrote, and the 
 only one that he could wish not to have written ; of 
 his Agamennone, that all the good in it came from the 
 author and all the bad from the subject ; of his Fi- 
 lippo II., that it may make a very terrible impression 
 indeed of mingled pity and horror, or that it may dis- 
 gust, through the cold atrocity of Philip, even to the 
 point of nausea. On the Orestes we may very well 
 consult him more at length. " This tragic action," 
 he declares, " has no other motive or development, nor 
 admits any other passion, than an implacable revenge ; 
 but the passion of revenge (though very strong by 
 nature), having become greatly enfeebled among civ- 
 ilized peoples, is regarded as a vile passion, and its 
 effects are wont to be blamed and looked upon with 
 loathing. Nevertheless, when it is just, when the 
 offence received is very, atrocious, when the persons 
 and the circumstances are such that no human law can 
 indemnify the aggrieved and punish the aggressor, 
 then revenge, under the names of war, invasion, con- 
 spiracy, the duel, and the like, ennobles itself, and so 
 
42 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 works upon our minds as not only to be endured but 
 to be admirable and sublime. 77 In his Orestes he con- 
 fesses that he sees much to praise and very little to 
 blame : u Orestes, to my thinking, is ardent in sublime 
 degree, and this daring character of his, together with 
 the perils he confronts, may greatly diminish in him 
 
 the atrocity and coldness of a meditated revenge 
 
 Let those who do not believe in the force of a passion 
 for high and just revenge add to it, in the heart of 
 Orestes, private interest, the love of power, rage at 
 beholding his natural heritage occupied by a murder- 
 ous usurper, and then they will have a sufficient 
 reason for all his fury. Let them consider also the 
 ferocious ideas in which he must have been nurtured 
 by Strophius, king of Phocis, the persecutions which 
 he knows to have been everywhere moved against him 
 by the usurper, his being, in fine, the son of Aga- 
 memnon, and greatly priding himself thereon, and 
 all these things will certainly account for the vindic- 
 tive passion of Orestes 
 
 " Clytemnestra is very difficult to treat in this tragedy, 
 since she must be here, 
 
 ' Now wife, now mother, never wife nor mother/ 
 
 which is much easier to say in a verse than to man- 
 age in the space of five acts. Yet I believe that Cly- 
 temnestra, through the terrible remorse she feels, 
 the vile treatment which she receives from ^Egisthus, 
 and the awful perplexity in which she lives .... 
 will be considered sufficiently punished by the spec- 
 tator. 
 
 " ^Egisthus is never able to elevate his soul 5 .... 
 he will always be an unpleasing, vile, and difficult 
 personage to manage well j a character that brings 
 
VITTORIO ALPIERI. 43 
 
 small praise to the author when made sufferable, and 
 much blame if not made so 
 
 " I believe the fourth and fifth acts would produce the 
 highest effect on the stage if well represented. In the 
 fifth, there is a movement, a brevity, a rapidly operat- 
 ing heat, that ought to touch, agitate, and singularly 
 surprise the spirit. So it scents to me, but perhaps it 
 is not so." 
 
 This analysis is not only very amusing for the candor 
 with which Altieri praises himself, but it is also re- 
 markable for the justice with which the praise is given, 
 and the strong, conscious hold which it shows him to 
 have had upon his creations. It leaves one very little 
 to add, but I cannot help saying that I think the man- 
 agement of Clytemnestra especially admirable through- 
 out. She loves ^Egisthus with the fatal passion which 
 no scorn or cruelty on his part can quench ; but while 
 he is in power and triumphant, her heart turns tenderly 
 to her hapless children, whom she abhors as soon as his 
 calamity comes ; then she has no thought but, to save 
 him. She can join her children in hating the murder 
 which she has herself done on Agamemnon, but she 
 cannot avenge it on JEgisthus, and thus expiate her 
 crime in their eyes. ^Egisthus is never able to conceive 
 of the unselfishness of her love ; he believes her ready 
 to betray him when danger threatens, and to shield 
 herself behind him from the anger of the Argives ; it is 
 a deep knowledge of human nature that makes him 
 interpose the memory of her unatoned-for crime between 
 her and any purpose of good. 
 
 Orestes always sees his revenge as something sacred, 
 and that is a great scene in which he offers his dagger 
 to Clytemnestra and bids her kill ./Egisthus with it, 
 believing fur the instant that even she must exult to 
 
44 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 share his vengeance. His feeling towards ^Egisthus 
 never changes ; it is not revolting to the spectator, 
 since Orestes is so absolutely unconscious of wrong in 
 putting him to death. He shows his blood-stained 
 sword to Pylades with a real sorrow that his friend 
 should not also have enjoyed the rapture of killing the 
 usurper. His language is fiercely terse, and his story 
 of his escape on the night of Agamemnon's murder is 
 as simple and grand in movement as that of figures in an 
 antique "bas-relief. Here and elsewhere one feels how 
 Alfieri does not paint, hut sculptures his scenes and 
 persons, cuts their outlines deep, and strongly carves 
 their attitudes and expression. 
 
 Electrads the worthy sister of Orestes, and the family 
 likeness between them is sharply traced. She has all 
 his faith in the sacredness of his purpose, while she 
 has, woman-like, a far keener and more specific hatred 
 of ^Egisthus. The ferocity of her exultation when 
 Clytemnestra and ^Egisthus upbraid each other is terri- 
 ble, but,, the picture she draws for Orestes of their 
 mother's life is touched with an exquisite filial pity. 
 She seems to me studied with marvellous success. 
 
 The close of the tragedy I think very noble indeed, 
 full of fire and life, yet never wanting in a sort of lofty, 
 austere grace, that lapses at last into a truly statuesque 
 despair. Orestes mad, with Electra and Pylades on 
 either side : it is the attitude and gesture of Greek 
 sculpture, a group forever fixed in the imperishable 
 sorrow of stone. 
 
 In reading Alfieri, I am always struck with what I 
 may call the narrowness of his tragedies. They have 
 height and depth, but not breadth. The range of sen- 
 timent is as limited in any one of them as the range of 
 phrase in this Orestes, where the recurrence of the 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 45 
 
 same epithets, horrible, bloody, terrible, fatal, awful, 
 is not. apparently felt by the poet as monotonous. Four 
 or five persons, each representing a purpose or a pas- 
 sion, occupy the scene, and obviously contribute by 
 every word and deed to the advancement of the tragic 
 action ; and this narrowness and rigidity of intent 
 would be intolerable, if the tragedies were not so brief: 
 I do not think any of them is much longer than a sin- 
 gle act of one of Shakespeare's plays. They are in all 
 other ways equally unlike Shakespeare's plays. When 
 you read Macbeth or Hamlet, you find yourself in a 
 world where the interests and passions are complex and 
 divided against themselves, as they are here and now. 
 The action progresses fitfully, as events do in life ; it is 
 promoted by the things that seem to retard it ; and it 
 includes long stretches of time and many places. When 
 you read Orestes, you find yourself attendant upon an 
 imminent calamity, which nothing can avert or delay. 
 In a solitude like that of dreams, those hapless phan- 
 tasms, dark types of remorse, of cruel ambition, of in- 
 exorable revenge, move swiftly on the fatal end. They 
 do not grow or develop on the imagination ; their char- 
 acter is stamped at once, and they have but to act it 
 out. There is no lingering upon episodes, no digres- 
 sions, no reliefs. They cannot stir from that spot 
 where they are doomed to expiate or consummate their 
 crimes ; one little day is given them, and then all is 
 over. 
 
 Both kinds of tragedy are in the region of the ideal, 
 but Alfieri idealizes passions and Shakespeare idealizes 
 men. If art is a pure essence, separable from the life 
 we know, and enjoyable in and for itself, we must 
 allow to Alfieri the more artistic expression. Mr. 
 Lowell, in his magnificent essay on Dry den, speaks of 
 
46 VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 
 
 u a style of poetry whose great excellence was that it 
 was in perfect sympathy with the genius of the people 
 among whom it came into being," and this I conceive 
 to he the virtue of the Alfierian poetry. The Italians 
 love heauty of form, and we Goths love picturesque 
 effect ; and Alfieri has little or none of the kind of 
 excellence which we enjoy. But while 
 
 " I look and own myself a happy Goth," 
 
 I have moods, in the presence of his simplicity and 
 severity, when I feel that he and all the classicists may 
 he right. When I see how much he achieves with 
 his sparing phrase, his sparsely populated scene, his 
 narrow plot and angular design, when I find him per- 
 fectly sufficient in expression and entirely adequate in 
 suggestion, I am seized with a dismaying doubt of the 
 Romantic principle, that it is after all barbarous, 
 clumsy, rudely profuse, uncouth. Then the Classic 
 alone appears elegant and true till I read Shake- 
 speare again ; or till I turn to Nature, whom I do not 
 find sparing or severe, hut full of variety and change 
 and relief, and yet having a sort of elegance and truth 
 of her own. 
 
 In the treatment of historical subjects Alfieri allowed 
 himself every freedom. He makes Lorenzo de' Medici, 
 the most polite, gentle, and considerate of usurpers, a 
 brutal and very insolent tyrant, a tyrant after the high 
 Roman fashion, a tyrant almost after the fashion of 
 the late Edwin Forrest. Yet there are some good 
 passages in the Congiura dei Pazzi, of the peculiarly 
 hard Alfierian sort : 
 
 " An enemy insulted and not slain ! 
 What breast in triple iron armed, but needs 
 Must tremble at him?" 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 47 
 
 is a saying of Giuliano de ? Medici, who, when asked if 
 he does not fear one of the conspirators, puts the whole 
 political wisdom of the sixteenth century into his 
 answer, 
 
 " Being feared, I fear." 
 
 The Filippo of Alfieri must always have an interest 
 for English readers because of its chance relation to 
 Keats, who, sick to death of consumption, bought a 
 copy of Alfieri when on his way to Rome. As Mr. 
 Lowell relates in his sketch of the poet's life, the dying 
 man opened the book at the second page, and read the 
 lines, perhaps the tenderest that Alfieri ever wrote, 
 
 " Misero me ! sollievo a me lion resta 
 Altro che il pianto, e il pianto e delitto ! " 
 
 Keats read these words, and then laid down the book 
 and opened it no more. The closing scene of the fourth 
 act of this tragedy can well be studied as a striking 
 example of Alfieri' s extraordinary power of condensa- 
 tion. 
 
 Some of the non-political tragedies of Alfieri are still 
 played ; Ristori plays his Mirra, and Salvini his Saul ; 
 but I believe there is now no Italian critic who praises 
 him so entirely as Giudici did. Yet the poet finds a 
 warm defender against the French and German critics 
 in De Sanctis,* a very clever and brilliant Italian, who 
 accounts for Alfieri in a way that helps to make all 
 Italian things more intelligible to us. He is speaking 
 of Alfieri's epoch and social circumstances : 
 
 " Education had been classic for ages. Our ideal 
 was Rome and Greece, our heroes Brutus and Cato, 
 our books Livy, Tacitus, and Plutarch ; and if this was 
 
 * Saggi Critici. Di Fraiicesco di Sanctis. Napoli : Antonio Morano. 
 1859. 
 
48 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 true of all Europe, how much more so of Italy, where 
 this history might be called domestic, a thing of our 
 own, a part of our traditions, still alive to the eye in 
 our cities and monuments. From Dante to Maclria- 
 velli, from Machiavelli to Metastasio, our classical tradi- 
 tion was never broken In the social dissolution 
 
 of the last century, all disappeared except this ideal. 
 In fact, in that first enthusiasm, when the minds of men 
 confidently sought final perfection, it passed from the 
 schools into life, ruled the imagination, inflamed the 
 
 will. People lived and died Rornanly The 
 
 situations that Alfieri has chosen in his tragedies have a 
 visible relation to the social state, to the fears and to 
 the hopes of his own time. It is always resistance 
 to oppression, of man against man, of people against 
 
 tyrant In the classicism of Alfieri there is no 
 
 positive side. It is an ideal Rome and Greece, outside 
 of time and space, floating in the vague .... which 
 his contemporaries filled up w r ith their own life." 
 
 Giuseppe Arnaud, in his admirable criticisms on the 
 Patriotic Poets of Italy, has treated of the literary 
 side of Alfieri in terms that seem to me on the whole 
 very just : " He sacrificed the foreshortening, which 
 has so great a charm for the spectator, to the sculp- 
 tured full figure that always presents itself face to face 
 with you, and in entire relief. The grand passions, 
 which are commonly sparing of words, are in his sys- 
 tem condemned to speak much, and to explain them- 
 selves too much To what shall we attribute 
 
 that respectful somnolence which nowadays reigns over 
 the audience during the recitation of Alfieri's tragedies, 
 if they are not sustained by some theatrical celebrity ? 
 You will certainly say, to the mediocrity of the actors. 
 But I hold that the tragic effect can be produced even 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 49 
 
 by mediocre actors, if this effect truly abounds in the 
 
 plot of the tragedy I know that these opinions 
 
 of mine will not be shared by the great majority of the 
 Italian public, and so be it. The contrary will always 
 be favorable to one who greatly loved his country, 
 always desired to serve her, and succeeded in his own 
 time and own manner. Whoever should say that Al- 
 fieri's tragedies, in spite of many eminent merits, were 
 constructed on a theory opposed to grand scenic effects 
 and to one of the two bases of tragedy, namely, com- 
 passion, would certainly not say what was far from the 
 truth. And yet, with all this, Alfieri will still remain 
 that dry, harsh blast which swept away the noxious 
 niiasms with which the Italian air was infected. He 
 will still remain that poet who aroused his country from 
 its dishonorable slumber, and inspired its heart with 
 intolerance of servile conditions and with regard for its 
 dignity. Up to his time we had bleated, and he 
 roared." 
 
 " In fact," says D'Azeglio, " one of the merits of 
 that proud heart was to have found Italy Metastasian 
 and left it Alfierian ; and his first and greatest merit 
 was, to my thinking, that he discovered Italy, so to 
 speak, as Columbus discovered America, and initiated 
 the idea of Italy as a nation. I place this merit far 
 beyond that of his verses and his tragedies." 
 
 Besides his tragedies, Alfieri wrote, as I have already 
 stated, some comedies in his last years ; but I must own 
 my ignorance of all six of them ; and he wrote various 
 satires, odes, sonnets, epigrams, and other poems. 
 Most of them are of political interest ; the Miso-Gallo 
 is an*expression of his scorn and hatred of the French 
 nation ; the America Liberata celebrates our separa- 
 tion from England ; the Etruria Vendicata praises the 
 
50 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 murder of the abominable Alessandro de 1 Medici by his 
 kinsman, Lorenzaccio. None of the satires, whether 
 on kings, aristocrats, or people, have lent themselves 
 easily to my perusal; the epigrams are signally un- 
 readable, but some of the sonnets are very good. He 
 seems to find in their limitations the same sort of 
 strength that he finds in his restricted tragedies ; and 
 they are all in the truest sense sonnets. 
 
 Here is one, which loses, of course, by translation. 
 In this and other of my versions, I have rarely found 
 the Englith too terse for the Italian, and often not terse 
 enough : 
 
 HE IMAGINES THE DEATH OF HIS LADY. 
 
 The sacl bell that within my bosom aye 
 
 Clamors and bids me still renew my tears, 
 Doth stun my senses and my soul bewray 
 
 With wandering fantasies and cheating fears ; 
 The gentle form of her that is but ta'en 
 
 A little from my sight I seem to see 
 At life's bourn lying faint and pale with pain, 
 
 My love that to these tears abandons me. 
 " my own true one/' tenderly she cries, 
 
 " I grieve for thee, love, that thou winnest naught 
 Save hapless life with all thy many sighs." 
 
 " Life ? Never ! Though thy blessed steps have taught 
 My feet the path in all well-doing, stay ! 
 At this last pass 'tis mine to lead the way." 
 
 There is a still more characteristic sonnet of Alfieri T s, 
 with which I shall close, as I began, in the very open 
 air of his autobiography : 
 
 HIS PORTRAIT. 
 
 Thou mirror of veracious speech sublime, 
 What I am like in soul and body, show : 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 51 
 
 Red hair, in front grown somewhat thin with time ; 
 
 Tall stature, with an earthward head bowed low; 
 A meagre form, with two straight legs beneath ; 
 
 An aspect good ; white skin with eyes of blue; 
 A proper nose ; fine lips and choicest teeth ; 
 
 Face paler than a throned king's in hue ; 
 Now hard and bitter, yielding now and mild ; 
 
 Malignant never, passionate alway, 
 With mind and heart in endless strife embroiled ; 
 
 Sad mostly, and then gayest of the gay. 
 Achilles now, Thersites in his turn: 
 Man, art thou great or vile ? Die, and thou 'It learn ! 
 
 The following translation of Alfieri's autobiography 
 is reprinted from the London edition of 1810, and is in 
 the main a faithful version, though it often lacks the 
 peculiar color and fury of the original. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 |ELF-LOVE is unquestionably the chief mo- 
 tive which leads any one to speak, and more 
 especially to write, respecting himself. I 
 shall not, therefore, offer to my readers any 
 weak apologies or false and unsatisfactory reasons for 
 having written these memoirs, since they would afford 
 a bad specimen of my future veracity. I frankly 
 acknowledge, that among all the different sentiments 
 which induced me to become my own biographer, the 
 most powerful was self-love. Nature has implanted 
 this feeling, in a greater or less degree, in the breast 
 of every individual; she has been lavish of it to au- 
 thors, and particularly to poets, or those who term 
 themselves such. This precious gift is the principal 
 motive of all the great actions of man, when he unites 
 to a knowledge of his own powers an enlightened 
 enthusiasm for the sublime and beautiful, which are in 
 fact only one and the same thing. 
 
 Without dwelling longer on these general reasons, I 
 shall proceed to notice those in particular which in- 
 duced me to compose these memoirs j and afterwards 
 point out the rules I prescribed to myself in the execu- 
 tion of this task. 
 
54 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Even, at present, my literary productions are pretty 
 voluminous. Hence it is not unnatural to suppose 
 that a few individuals, either among my contempora- 
 ries or their descendants, to whom my productions may 
 have afforded some degree of pleasure, will be anxious 
 to know something of my character. This opinion 
 cannot, I flatter myself, be deemed presumptuous, 
 since I daily observe the lives , of authors read with 
 avidity, who are perhaps less known from the merit 
 than the number of their works : besides, if no other 
 reason existed, it is certain, as soon as I should be no 
 more, some bookseller, in order to enhance his gains 
 on a new edition of my works, w r ould prefix to it a 
 life of the author. This life would probably be writ r 
 ten by some one who was completely ignorant of the 
 events which compose it, and who drew the materials 
 from doubtful or partial sources. In short, it could 
 never be equally authentic as one from my own pen, 
 'since a writer in the pay of a publisher usually pane^ 
 'gyrizes the author; both flattering themselves, by this 
 means, to insure a greater sale for his works. In order, 
 therefore, to render this biographical sketch more aeciir 
 rate and as impartial as any which could be written 
 after my death, I, who was never known to forfeit my 
 promise, here covenant with myself and my readers to 
 free myself, as much as it is in the power of man to 
 do, from the mist of passion and prejudice, in the 
 delineation of my own character. 
 
 I have entered into this engagement because, on the 
 most rigorous scrutiny of my own character, I have 
 found, or believe I have found, the good preponderate 
 over the evil. Besides, if I possess not the courage or 
 the indiscretion to speak of myself as I deserve, I shall, 
 at least, not have the baseness to gloss over my faults 
 
INTRODUCTION. 55 
 
 by advancing an untruth. As to the method which I 
 propose to follow, in order to spare, or, at least, to 
 abridge the trouble of the reader, by leaving him at 
 liberty to pass over those years of my life which may 
 appear to him the least interesting, it is my intention 
 to divide this work into five epochs, corresponding 
 with the five ages of man, infancy, adolescence, 
 youth, manlioocl, and old age ; but from the manner 
 in which I have written the three first parts, and more 
 than a half of the fourth, I cannot Hatter myself w r ith 
 being able to preserve that brevity \vhich I have been 
 always solicitous to attain in my works, and which 
 would be more particularly necessary and praiseworthy 
 when speaking of myself. 
 
 I am, moreover, afraid that in the fifth part, should 
 I ever reach that period, I may fall into that garrulity 
 w r hich is the inseparable concomitant of imbecile old 
 age. If, then, in consequence of this declension of my 
 faculties, I should become tedious and diffuse, I entreat 
 beforehand that the reader may forgive this fault, and 
 throw aside the last part without petusing it. 
 
 When I say that I cannot flatter 'myself with being 
 so concise as I could wish, even in the four first 
 periods, I do not certainly mean to extend them to a 
 ridiculous length by the detail of a thousand minute 
 circumstances. I shall only relate those which, in my 
 opinion, may contribute to the knowledge of man in 
 general, whose nature we can best understand by study- 
 ing ourselves. 
 
 It is not my intention to speak of any individual 
 whose history is not, in some way or other, connected 
 with, my own. I profess only to write facts which 
 have a relation to myself, and not those in which 
 others are concerned. I shall avoid naming any per- 
 
56 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 son, and if I recall the remembrance of a few, it will 
 only be in regard to things which are either indifferent 
 or praiseworthy. The object of this work relates 
 chiefly to the study of man in general. And of what 
 man can any one speak so correctly as of himself f 
 What other can he study more easily, know more in- 
 timately, or estimate with greater accuracy, having 
 for so many years penetrated into his most secret 
 thoughts ? 
 
 As to the style of these memoirs, dictated by the 
 heart and not the head, I have undeviatingly through- 
 out employed that spontaneous and natural simplicity 
 which, in my opinion, is best suited to a subject of this 
 nature. v 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 FIRST % EPOCH. 
 
 INFANCY. 
 INCLUDING NINE YEARS OF MY LIFE. 
 
 I. 
 
 WAS born in the city of Asti, in Piedmont, 
 on the 17th of January, 1749, of noble, 
 wealthy, and respectable parents. I particu- 
 larly mention these three circumstances, be- 
 cause I regard them as extremely fortunate, for the 
 following reasons : my noble birth enabled me, without 
 incurring the charge of envy or meanness, to despise 
 those nobles who were distinguished only by their ori- 
 gin, and to unveil their follies, their abuses, and crimes, 
 while at the same time its influence was sufficiently 
 powerful to prevent me sullying the dignity of the art I 
 professed. The affluence of my circumstances enabled 
 me to dedicate my labors to the interests of truth ; and 
 
58 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the probity of my parents prevented me from blushing 
 that I had been born a gentleman. If any one of 
 these circumstances had been wanting, my different 
 works must necessarily have suffered by it, and I my- 
 self might even perhaps have been either a worse 
 philosopher or a less respectable man. 
 
 The name of my father was Anthony Alfieri 5 that 
 of my mother Monica Maillard de Tournon. She was of 
 Savoyard origin, as her barbarous surnames sufficiently 
 indicate, though her family had been long settled at 
 Turin. My father, who had been bred to no profession, 
 was a man of strict morals, and. wholly devoid of ambi- 
 tion, as I have been informed by those who were most 
 intimately acquainted with him. 
 
 Possessing a fortune adequate to his rank in life, 
 gentle in his manners, and moderate in all his desires, 
 his days glided happily on. When above the age of 
 fifty, he became enamored of my mother, whom he 
 made his wife ; she was still very young, and the widow 
 of the Marquis of Cacherano, a nobleman of Asti. A 
 daughter, whose birth preceded mine by two years, 
 rendered my father more than ever anxious for a son -j 
 hence my entrance into the world w r as hailed with every, 
 demonstration of joy. 1 know not whether he merely 
 rejoiced at this event, as most aged men are apt to do 
 under similar circumstances, or whether his satisfaction 
 arose from his extreme anxiety to perpetuate his name 
 and family to future generations. It probably proceeded 
 from a combination of both these causes. Be this, 
 however, as it may, I was sent to nurse in the village 
 of Rovigliasco, two miles from Asti, where he came to 
 see me almost every day on foot, being a man wholly 
 destitute of ostentation, and extremely simple in his 
 manners. He was, at this period, above sixty years, 
 
viTiorao ALFIERI. $9 
 
 of age, though still strong and robust ; but, during one/ 
 of his daily excursions, in which he paid no attention 
 to the state of the weather, he so overheated himself 
 that he was seized with an inflammation in his lungs, , 
 which in a few days conducted him to the tomb. 
 
 I had not then completed my first year. My mother 
 was pregnant with another boy, who died in his infancy, 
 so that there only remained to her a boy and girl of my 
 father's, and two daughters and a son by her first hus- 
 band, the Marquis of Cacherano. My mother, though 
 a, widow for the second time, being still young, espoused, 
 as a third husband the Chevalier Hyacinth Alfieri de; 
 Magliano, sprung from a different branch of a family 
 bearing the same name as my own. The chevalier, by 
 tjie death of his eldest brother, who left no issue, be-r 
 came heir to all his immense possessions. With this-, 
 husband, who was nearly about her own age, of a pre- < 
 possessing figure, and noble and dignified manners, my 
 amiable mother enjoyed the most perfect happiness. 
 
 When writing these memoirs, at the age of forty-one, 
 this union still exists. For more than thirty-seven 
 years, this respectable couple have exhibited a model' 
 of every domestic virtue ; they are beloved, respected, 
 and admired by all their countrymen, particularly myi 
 mother, who, animated by a zealous and heroic piety,; 
 entirely devotes herself to the relief of the indigent and 
 unfortunate. 
 
 During this period she successively lost her eldest: 
 sou and daughter, the fruit of her first marriage, as well 
 as the two boys whom she had by her third husband, 
 so that in her old age I am the only one of her sons 
 who survives. The fatality of my destiny compels me 
 to reside at a distance from her, a circumstance which, 
 has proved to me a source of much uneasiness, and ,to 
 
60 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which no consideration would have tempted me to sub- 
 mit, had I not been well assured that she found in the 
 energy of her character and in true piety an ample 
 compensation for the loss of her children. I trust I 
 may be pardoned this digression in favor of the best 
 of mothers. 
 
 II. 
 
 I RETAIN no recollection of the occurrences which 
 took place during my boyish days, except that a pater- 
 nal uncle, when I was only three or four years of age, 
 placed me upon an old chest, and while caressing me, 
 gave me some excellent sweetmeats. I remember little 
 more respecting him than the figure of the square shoes 
 which he usually wore. Several years after his death, 
 the sight of a pair of old-fashioned boots, with similar 
 toes, suddenly recalled to my mind the sensations I had 
 experienced on receiving the caresses and sweetmeats 
 from my uncle, whom I never saw after I acquired the 
 use of reason ; the words, the manners, of the worthy 
 old man, even the very taste of the sweetmeats, vividly 
 recurred to my imagination. I have related this in- 
 fantile anecdote, as it cannot be wholly useless to the 
 individual who wishes to investigate the mechanism of 
 our ideas, and the relations which subsist between 
 thoughts and sensations. 
 
 When about five years of age, I was reduced to the 
 last extremity by a violent dysentery. It seems to me 
 as if I still retained in my mind a certain recollection 
 of my torments. I knew not then what death was, yet 
 I anxiously looked forward to it as the termination of 
 my sufferings. I had heard it said, when my youngest 
 brother died, that he would become a little angel. 
 
 Notwithstanding all my efforts to recall my primitive 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. Gl 
 
 ideas, or the sensations I had felt previous to my sixth 
 year, I can only remember these two. After the nup- 
 tials of my mother, my sister Julia and myself left our 
 paternal mansion, and accompanied her to the house 
 of her husband, who proved more than a father to us 
 during the time we remained under his roof. 
 
 My mother's eldest son and daughter were succes- 
 sively sent to Turin ; the one to the college of Jesuits, 
 and the other to a convent. Shortly after my sister 
 Julia was placed in a convent at Asti. I perfectly re- 
 member this little domestic event, as my faculties began 
 about that period to unfold themselves. I still recollect 
 the grief I experienced, and the tears I shed, on this 
 separation, though we were for some time permitted to 
 see each other daily. Upon reviewing the sensations 
 which I then experienced, I found they were similar to 
 those I afterwards felt, when, in the heyday of youth, 
 I was compelled to relinquish the society of any beloved 
 female, or sincere friends, to whom I was ardently at- 
 tached; for I have been fortunate enough, during my 
 progress through life, to possess three or four of the 
 latter, a happiness denied to many others, perhaps 
 far better deserving of it than myself. The recollection 
 of the grief I suffered, on the separation from my sister, 
 has afforded me a convincing proof that all the affections 
 of man, however different they may appear, originate 
 from the same principle. 
 
 After the departure of the other children, a worthy 
 priest, named Ivaldi, was taken into the family, as my 
 preceptor. From him I learned writing, and the four 
 first rules of arithmetic; he also taught me to read 
 Cornelius Xepos, as well as Phsedrus's fables ; but the 
 good Father Ivaldi was himself exceedingly ignorant, 
 as I afterwards discovered ; and if I had remained under 
 
62 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his tuition after my ninth year, my learning must neces- 
 sarily have continued stationary. My parents them- 
 selves were wholly destitute of literary acquirements, 
 and I have frequently heard them repeat the common- 
 place maxim of those days, that a nobleman had no 
 occasion to be a doctor. 
 
 I had, however, a natural inclination for study, espe- 
 cially since the departure of my sister ; besides, the, 
 perfect solitude in which I lived with my tutor tended 
 to generate a disposition to melancholy and a habit 
 of abstraction. 
 
 III. 
 
 I MUST here mention a singular circumstance con- 
 cerning the development of my romantic feelings. From 
 the period of my sister's departure, I had become much 
 more melancholy and serious than usual. My visits to 
 this beloved sister became gradually less frequent, be- 
 cause, in order that I might bestow an undivided atten- 
 tion on my studies, I only had permission to visit her 
 on certain holidays and festivals. I experienced a 
 species of consolation in my solitude, from the habit 
 I had acquired of daily frequenting a Carmelite church 
 adjoining our house, from listening to the music, ob- 
 serving the officiating monks, from attending to the 
 ceremonies of high mass, the processions, and similar 
 spectacles. In a few months I ceased to think so often 
 of my sister, and in the end her image scarcely ever 
 occurred to my mind ; so much was I occupied by 
 attending morning and evening at the Carm elites. To 
 this attendance I was induced by the following reason : 
 From the period when my sister was sent to the con- 
 vent, I had never beheld a youthful countenance, except 
 those of the Carmelite novices, most of whom were about 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 63 
 
 fourteen or sixteen years of age, and who assisted at the ; 
 different festivals, habited in the white robes of their, 
 order. Their features, which partook of the feminine, 
 character, made .on my tender and artless heart the 
 same impression as those of my sister, and I felt the same 
 desire to again behold them. This sentiment, modified 
 in so many different ways, was however equivalent to 
 love. When reflecting on it, several years afterwards, 
 I became more fully convinced of this truth ; for at the ; 
 time I was wholly unacquainted with the true nature 
 of my own feelings. I merely obeyed the pure impulse 
 of nature. So ardent did my innocent attachment to 
 these novices become, that I unceasingly thought on 
 them and their functions. Sometimes my imagination 
 represented; them to me holding their wax tapers in : 
 their hands, performing the service with a devout and> 
 angelic air, sometimes burning incense at the foot of 
 the altar. Wholly absorbed by these images, I neg- 
 lected my studies ; all employment was irksome to me, 
 and I became disgusted with society. Being one day 
 left alone by my preceptor, I sought in my Latin and 
 Italian dictionaries for the word Monk ; I immediately 
 cancelled it, and wrote that of Father in its stead ; thus; 
 conceiving, I knew not why, that I was ennobling the 
 young monks whom I saw every day, but with whom 1 
 I had never conversed, and respecting whom I could' 
 not define my own sentiments. The reason which in- 
 duced me to make this alteration was, having often 
 heard the term Monk pronounced with a sort of con- 
 tempt, and the word Father with veneration and affec- 
 tion. I carefully concealed from my preceptor those 
 rude corrections awkwardly made with a pen. He 
 neither perceived nor appeared to suspect it ; such an 
 idea could never enter his mind. Whoever reflects on. 
 
64 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 this trifling action, and endeavors to trace in it the germ 
 of human passions, will not perhaps conceive it so puerile 
 and ridiculous as it may at first sight appear. 
 
 These singular effects, proceeding from a sentiment 
 wholly unknown to myself, but yet acting so power- 
 fully on my imagination, gave rise to that melancholy 
 which became gradually a predominant trait of my 
 character, and ultimately influenced all the other qual- 
 ities of my mind. 
 
 When about seven or eight years of age, finding 
 myself in one of these melancholy humors, perhaps 
 occasioned by the weak state of my health, after having 
 seen my preceptor and attendant go out, I darted from 
 my little ^cabinet, which was level with the ground, and 
 proceeded to a second court, covered with a profusion 
 of plants, which I immediately began to tear up by 
 handfuls, and devour with the greatest avidity, not- 
 withstanding their pungent and bitter taste. I had 
 heard hemlock mentioned as being an herb fatal to the 
 life of man ; and though I wished not to die, nor indeed 
 scarcely knew what death was, nevertheless, led away 
 by a sort of natural instinct, mingled with some secret 
 and undefined grief, I eagerly devoured the plants 
 which fell in my way, under the supposition that I had 
 discovered hemlock ; but, disgusted with their nauseous 
 and bitter taste, and finding myself sick at stomach, I 
 went into a garden adjoining the house, without being 
 seen by any one, and disgorged what I had swallowed. 
 Returning to my chamber, I remained alone, without 
 uttering a word, experiencing a slight colic and pains 
 in my stomach. On my preceptor's return, he did not 
 remark my uneasiness, and I was silent on the subject. 
 Shortly after I was summoned to dinner, and iny 
 mother, on perceiving my eyes swollen and inflamed as 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 65 
 
 they usually are after violent retching, insisted on know- 
 ing what had happened. While she continued to im- 
 portune me, the colic pains increased so much that I 
 could not eat, nevertheless I still obstinately remained 
 silent, and made the greatest efforts to conceal my 
 sufferings. On attentively observing me for some time, 
 she became more and more convinced that I really 
 labored under some severe ailment, and at the same 
 time, noticing the greenish color of my lips, which I had 
 forgotten to wash, she became terrified, and, hastily 
 approaching me, entreated with so much earnestness 
 that I would impart to her the cause of my distress, 
 that, overcome by terror and grief, I burst into tears, 
 and avowed the truth. Some simple remedies were 
 administered, and I suffered no injurious consequences 
 from my folly, except a few days' seclusion in my 
 chamber, by way of punishment, which afforded me an 
 opportunity of brooding over my melancholy ideas. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I MUST now give a sketch of the character which I 
 displayed at the period when reason began to dawn on 
 my infant mind. Taciturn and calm, petulant and 
 talkative by turas, my spirits were always in extremes ; 
 resisting force, but submissive to the voice of friend- 
 ship. I was more restrained by the dread of being repri- 
 manded, than by any other consideration; in short, 
 though excessively timid, I was inflexible when any 
 one attempted to overcome me by open force. 
 
 The better to account to my readers and myself for 
 these primitive qualities, which nature had imprinted 
 011 my mind, among other little anecdotes of my child- 
 hood, I shall relate two or three which I perfectly 
 
66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 "remember, and which clearly depict my character. Of 
 all the punishments at anytime inflicted on me, that 
 which affected me with the most violent grief was being- 
 sent to mass, with a net on my head in the form of a 
 nightcap, and which almost entirely concealed my 
 hair. The first time I underwent this penance, on 
 what occasion I do not now recollect, my preceptor 
 dragged me by the hand to the Carmelite church 
 already mentioned, which was never much frequented, 
 'aiid which at this time contained only about forty per- 
 sons. This punishment afflicted me so much that for 
 about three months my behavior was irreprehensible. 
 This effect appears to have been chiefly produced by 
 the two v following causes: I supposed that all eyes 
 must necessarily be fixed on the fatal nightcap, and 
 that it rendered me extremely ugly and deformed 5 in 
 short, that every one who beheld me punished in this 
 terrible manner would regard me as the worst of cul- 
 prits. But what above all pierced me to the heart, 
 was the dread of being observed in such a situation by 
 my revered novices. My readers will behold in these 
 traits of my infantile feeling a picture of themselves, 
 and of human beings of every age, since men may in 
 Isome measure through life be regarded as children. 
 ; The salutary effect produced on me by this punish- 
 ment gave so much satisfaction to my preceptor and 
 my parents, that on the least appearance of a fault I 
 was threatened with the detested nightcap, at the sight 
 of which I always trembled, and promptly returned to 
 my duty. Having, however, one day committed & 
 trifling fault, to excuse which I told my mother a false- 
 hood, this so-much-dreaded punishment was again to 
 be inflicted on me ; added to which, I was told, that in 
 place of being conducted to the deserted Carmelite 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. '67 
 
 church, I should be taken to that of Saint Martini, 
 which stood at a considerable distance from our house, 
 in the centre of the city, and was always crowded at 
 noon with the indolent votaries of fashion. Alas ! 
 what horror did I not experience ! I entreated, I wept, 
 I was in despair, but all in vain. What a night I 
 passed ! I conceived it would be the last of my life ; I 
 never closed my eyes. Amid all the misfortunes I have 
 experienced in my progress through life, I do not 
 recollect to have spent one more dreadful. The hour 
 at length arrived : covered with the dreadful nightcap, 
 weeping, howling, I set out, dragged by my preceptor, 
 and pushed forward by the domestic. In this manner 
 I traversed two or three streets, without encountering 
 a living being ; but as soon as w r e entered the more 
 frequented parts of the city near to the church, I sud- 
 denly ceased to weep or cry, and instead of requiring 
 to be dragged forward, I walked peaceably, and at a 
 raj id pace, close by the side of Father Ivaldi, in the 
 hope of partly screening myself from notice under the 
 large sleeve of his cloak, and to which my little figure 
 hardly reached. I arrived in the middle of the church, 
 led by the hand like one who was blind ; for in fact, 
 having shut my eyes the moment I set my foot on the 
 threshold, I never opened them till I was forced to 
 kneel in my place in order to hear the mass, and even 
 then I lowered them, so as not to distinguish any of 
 the congregation. On leaving the church, I returned 
 home in the same manner, despair in my heart, believ- 
 ing myself forever dishonored. During the remainder 
 of the day, I neither ate, spoke, studied, nor even wept; 
 in fact, my grief was so violent that I fell sick, and 
 continued indisposed for several days, which so terrified 
 Uriy affectionate motheiy that I was never again sub- 
 
68 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 jected to a similar punishment ; while, on my part, I 
 carefully avoided being guilty of another falsehood. I 
 know not whether it is imputahle to the happy effect 
 of the nightcap, that I have been through life the 
 most candid and least given to deceit of any individual 
 with whom I am acquainted. I shall here mention 
 another little anecdote : My maternal aunt, a lady 
 of distinction at Turin and the widow of one of the 
 greatest noblemen of the court, arrived on a visit at 
 Asti, surrounded with all that pomp and splendor which 
 make such a powerful impression on the minds of chil- 
 dren. She remained a few days with my mother, but 
 though she lavished on me caresses, unreasonable as it 
 may appear, I never could become familiar with her. 
 Before her departure, she inquired what would please 
 me, and I should have it. But shame, timidity, and 
 irresolution, combined with obstinacy, withheld me 
 from making any reply except the word nothing ; and 
 though all those by whom I was surrounded reiterated 
 the question in twenty different ways, in order to draw 
 from me a more polite answer, yet they could only gain 
 by their importunity the repetition of the same eternal 
 nothing. For some time this word was uttered with 
 vivacity, and in a voice trembling with irritation, but 
 at length it was accompanied with tears and interrupted 
 by sobs. I was dismissed from their presence, as I so 
 well merited, and shut up in my chamber, where I 
 could repeat at my ease my favorite nothing, while in 
 the mean time my aunt departed. But though I had 
 thus obstinately refused her gifts, I had several days 
 before stolen from one of her trunks, which had been 
 accidentally left open, a fan, which I concealed in my bed, 
 and which was discovered some time afterwards. On 
 being questioned respecting it, I truly said that I intended 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 69 
 
 to present it to my sister ; a severe chastisement followed 
 this robbery. But although a thief is certainly worse 
 than a liar, 1 was neither threatened nor punished with 
 the nightcap, so much more terrified was my mother 
 to see me fall sick of grief than alarmed lest I should 
 become a little knave. Dishonesty is a crime not much 
 to be feared, nor is it difficult to eradicate among those 
 who are not driven to it through necessity. Respect 
 for the property of others quickly takes root, and grows 
 up among individuals who possess wealth of their own. 
 
 I shall here only mention another anecdote respecting 
 my first confession ; when I was between seven and eight 
 years of age. 
 
 My preceptor prepared me for this ceremony by sug- 
 gesting all the various crimes of which he conceived 
 I might have been guilty, many of which I knew not 
 even by name. Having undergone this precious exam- 
 ination by Ivaldi, a day was fixed on which I was to 
 make my little confession at the feet of Father Angelo, 
 a Carmelite priest, who was also the confessor of my 
 mother. When I prostrated myself before him, I re- 
 mained silent, so great was the grief and repugnance I 
 felt at being forced to reveal my secrets, my actions, 
 and my thoughts, to one whom 1 scarcely knew. I 
 believe that the father himself suggested my confession, 
 though he declared himself satisfied, and bestowed on 
 me absolution ; at the same time enjoining me as a 
 penance, to throw myself before sitting down to dinner 
 at the feet of my mother, and publicly soliciting her 
 pardon for all my past faults. This penance was to 
 me extremely disagreeable, not that I felt the slightest 
 repugnance to ask pardon of my mother ; but to kneel 
 in presence of all those who might be present, was to 
 me an insupportable punishment. When I entered the 
 
70 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 dining-room on my return home, where I found a large 
 company already assembled, it seemed to me as if all 
 eyes were fixed on me, and I threw down mine. Ir- 
 resolute, confused, and immovable, I durst not approach 
 ,the table where they were taking their places, though 
 I suspected not that any one was acquainted with the 
 penance I had been enjoined. Assuming therefore a 
 little courage, I advanced to seat myself among the 
 others, when my mother, regarding me with a stern 
 aspect, inquired if I had really a right to place myself 
 at table ; if I had fulfilled my duty ; and if, in short, I 
 had nothing wherewith to reproach myself. Each of 
 these questions went like a dagger to my heart ; my 
 mournful aspect spoke with sufficient plainness, for I 
 was unable to articulate a single word. There were, 
 no means, however, to make me execute my penance, 
 or even declare what it was, as my mother on her side 
 was unwilling to commit my unfaithful confessor; so 
 that the affair ended in this, that she lost her obeisance 
 and I my dinner, and perhaps also the absolution given 
 to me by Father Angelo on such a hard condition. At 
 that period I had not, however, sagacity to discover that 
 the father had agreed with my mother what penance 
 it would be proper to impose on me. But the feelings 
 of my heart supplied the place of judgment; I con- 
 ceived from that period a great hatred towards the 
 monk, and displayed very little inclination to again 
 approach the confessional, though he never again at- 
 tempted to enjoin me any public penances. 
 
 V. 
 
 MY eldest brother, the Marquis Cacherano, who for 
 some years had pursued his studies in the College of 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 71 
 
 the Jesuits at Turin, came to spend the vacation at 
 Asti. He was then about fourteen, and I myself nearly 
 eight years of age ; his presence afforded me at the 
 same time a subject of pleasure and chagrin. Not 
 being children of the same father, he was in a great 
 measure a stranger to me, and I felt not for him any 
 real friendship. We often sported together, and I 
 believe habit might have produced in my mind some 
 affection towards him ; but he was older than I, had 
 more liberty, possessed more money, and received more 
 attention from his parents. He had likewise seen more 
 of the world, during his stay at Turin, could construe 
 Virgil, and w r hat was I yet acquainted with ? He 
 possessed many other little advantages over me, and, 
 for the first time, envy began to spring up in my mind. 
 
 It was not, however, a base passion, because it did 
 not lead me to hate the individual, but only ardently 
 to desire that I might possess the same advantages, 
 without wishing to deprive him of them. Such is the 
 distinction I would make between the two species of 
 envy; that which takes root in base minds displays 
 itself in hatred, against every one possessed of the 
 smallest superiority, and in a desire to injure and 
 deprive them even of what cannot benefit them- 
 selves; the other, which emanates from generous 
 souls, is evinced under the name of emulation, by an 
 ardent longing to obtain the same superiority in an 
 equal or even a greater degree than others. Thus we 
 see how imperceptible is the line which separates the 
 germ of our virtues and vices. 
 
 My brother and I passed our time sometimes in 
 sporting together, in wrestling, and in various other 
 exercises. In this way the summer glided on more 
 joyously with me than usual, as I had always before 
 
72 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 been the only child in the house, and nothing is more 
 wearisome to the youthful mind than perfect solitude. 
 One day, among others, which was excessively hot, 
 when the rest of the family retired after dinner to take 
 a nap, we amused ourselves with performing the Prus- 
 sian exercise, which my brother had previously taught 
 me. On making a half- turn to the right when march- 
 ing, I fell, and struck my head against one of the 
 andirons, which had been left by mistake in the chim- 
 ney since the preceding winter. The ornamental knobs 
 which are usually adapted to the point in front of the 
 chimney had been broken off; it was on one of the sharp 
 points that I wounded myself, about a finger-breadth 
 above the left eyebrow. The scar of this wound, 
 which was large and deep, is still visible, and will re- 
 main so through life ; I sprung up without assistance, 
 and immediately called out to my brother to say nothing, 
 as at the time I was not sensible I had received any 
 injury; and was besides keenly alive to the shame of 
 having displayed so little dexterity in the performance 
 of my exercise ; but I was too late, for my brother had 
 already flown to awaken my preceptor. The noise 
 had even reached my mother, and the whole house 
 was in an uproar. In the mean time I remained per- 
 fectly quiet, till, finding something warm flowing down 
 my visage, I put up my hand, and on perceiving it 
 was blood I began to cry bitterly. It was merely, 
 however, through terror, for I perfectly recollect that 
 I experienced no pain till the surgeon began to ex- 
 amine and dress the wound. Several weeks elapsed 
 before it was completely healed, and for a few days I 
 was wholly confined to my chamber, as the swelling 
 and inflammation were so excessive as to threaten the 
 loss of my eye. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 73 
 
 During my convalescence, and before the bandages 
 were thrown aside, I frequently attended the Carmelite 
 church with the greatest pleasure, though these dress- 
 ings disfigured me much more than the net nightcap, 
 which was of a green color, neatly made, and altogether 
 similar to those worn for ornament by the petits-maitres 
 of Andalusia. When travelling afterwards in Spain, I 
 myself adopted this fashion. I felt not then the least re- 
 pugnance to appear in public with all my surgical dress- 
 ings, either because the idea of the danger I had run 
 flattered my childish pride, or because I associated 
 some idea of glory with this wound. This must un- 
 questionably have been the case, for though not now 
 able to recall the precise ideas that passed through my 
 mind at the time, I well remember that when any one 
 inquired of my preceptor what accident had befallen 
 me, and he replied it was in consequence of a fall, I 
 always added, when performing my exercise. 
 
 It is evident, if we carefully attend to what passes 
 in the minds of children, that we may discover the 
 nascent principles of our virtues and vices; thus the 
 feelings I experienced on this occasion afforded an early 
 indication of the love of glory, though neither the 
 priest Ivaldi nor any of my family were capable of 
 perceiving it. 
 
 About a year after my eldest brother's return to the 
 college at Turin, he became affected with a pulmonic 
 complaint, which, degenerating into phthisic, soon con- 
 ducted him to the tomb. At the commencement of 
 his illness he returned from college, when I was sent 
 to the country to preserve me from receiving any in- 
 jury. In fact, he died at Asti in the course of the 
 summer, without my having ever again seen him. In 
 the mean time my paternal uncle, the Chevalier Pelle- 
 
74 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 grino Alfieri, to whom the management of my prop- 
 erty had been confided since the death of my father, 
 and who had just returned from his travels through 
 France, Holland, and England, paid us a visit at Asti. 
 Being a man of great intelligence, he immediately 
 perceived that I must remain extremely ignorant if 
 the same system were continued in regard to my edu- 
 cation. A few months after his arrival at Turin he 
 wrote to my mother, to inform her that it was his de- 
 termination to place me at the Academy of that city. 
 The period of my departure coincided with the death 
 of my brother. I can never forget the figure, actions, 
 and discourse of my mother, who was inconsolable on 
 this occasion. u God," she exclaimed, sobbing, "has 
 bereaved me of one child forever, and who knows for 
 how long a time I may be deprived of the other ? " 
 By her third husband she had an only daughter and 
 two sons, successively born during my stay in the 
 Academy of Turin. Her grief deeply affected me; 
 but in a short time the desire of beholding new scenes, 
 of travelling post in a few days, I, who had hitherto 
 never travelled beyond fifteen miles from Asti in a 
 carriage drawn by two peaceable oxen ; in short, a 
 thousand other infantile ideas which my vivid imagina- 
 tion presented to my mind tended in a great measure 
 to assuage the grief occasioned by my brother's death, 
 as well as by the affliction of my mother. But when 
 the moment of departure drew nigh, I was ready to 
 expire with grief; it cost me perhaps still more to 
 take leave of my preceptor Ivaldi than even to bid 
 adieu to my mother. 
 
 Placed almost by force in the carnage by a worthy 
 old man, who was to accompany me to my uncle's at 
 Turin, I at length set out, attended by a domestic. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 75 
 
 lie was named Andrea, from Alessandria, a youth of 
 great intelligence, and tolerably well educated, consid- 
 ering his condition in life, as in our country reading 
 and writing were not then very generally taught to 
 the lower orders. 
 
 It was in the month of June, 1758, I know not on 
 what day, that I left my maternal home at a very early 
 hour in the morning. I did nothing hut weep during 
 the first stage. On changing horses I alighted in a 
 courtyard, and being extremely thirsty, without asking 
 f,r a glass of water, I approached the horses' trough, 
 and, dipping in one of the corners of my hat, quenched 
 my thirst without further ceremony. My mentor, in- 
 formed of what I had done by the postilion, severely 
 reprimanded me ; but I replied that when people were 
 travelling they ought to accustom themselves to every- 
 thing, and that a good soldier should never drink in 
 any other manner. How I acquired these warlike 
 ideas I know not, for my mother had brought me up 
 very effeminately, and had taken the most ridiculous 
 precautions in order to preserve iny health. They must 
 have originated in a small portion of vanity, which 
 began to display itself in my character from the mo- 
 ment I was freed from the restraint of authority. 
 
 I shall here terminate the first epoch of my child- 
 hood. I am now about to enter on a more extensive 
 sphere of action, and I trust I shall be able better, 
 though with more brevity, to depict my character than 
 I have hitherto done. This sketch of my early infancy, 
 which perhaps, separately taken, is very useless, will 
 be /regarded as still more so by those who, believing 
 themselves men, forget that man is only a continuation 
 of the child. 
 
SECOND EPOCH. 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 INCLUDING EIGHT YEARS OF UNPRODUCTIVE 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 [EHOLD me then travelling with the utmost 
 rapidity, thanks to the drink-money which I 
 had obtained from my travelling companion 
 to bestow on the first postilion. This gained 
 me the good-will of the second, who posted on with 
 incredible celerity ; and from time to time turned his 
 head, smiling, and making a sign with his eye in order 
 to obtain a similar gratuity from the steward, who, 
 already old, and being exhausted by relating a thou- 
 sand foolish anecdotes in order to console me, after- 
 wards fell into a profound sleep, and snored aloud. 
 The rapid motion of the carriage conveyed to my mind 
 a sensation of pleasure I had never before experienced ; 
 for in my mother's coach, which I indeed seldom en- 
 tered, we never exceeded a slow trot. The entrance 
 into this city by the Porta Nuova, the whole way to 
 the Annunziata, near to which my uncle resided, ap- 
 peared in my eyes so extremely beautiful and magnifi- 
 cent as to overwhelm me with rapture. The evening, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEEI. 77 
 
 however, did not pass so happily away. I found my- 
 self in an unknown mansion among strangers, without 
 my mother, without my preceptor, and in presence of my 
 uncle, whom I had scarcely seen above once, and who 
 was infinitely less kind and affable than my mother. I 
 felt all the sorrow of the preceding day renewed. In a 
 few days, however, I became habituated to all these nov- 
 elties. I even acquired a degree of vivacity I had never 
 before displayed, and which became so troublesome to 
 my uncle that he found it necessary to restrain it. I not 
 only kept the house in an uproar, but, having no pre- 
 ceptor, my time was absolutely lost. Instead, there- 
 fore, of deferring my entrance to the Academy till 
 October, according to his original design, he sent me to 
 it on the 1st of August, 1758. 
 
 . Thus at the age of nine years and a half I suddenly 
 found myself transplanted among strangers, wholly 
 separated from my parent, isolated and abandoned, 
 thus to speak, to myself; for this species of public 
 education, if it deserve the name, has no influence 
 over the mind of youth ; and, God knows, even their 
 studies are too often neglected. No maxims of moral- 
 ity, no rules for their conduct through lite, are ever 
 inculcated in their tender minds; and how, indeed, 
 could it be done by professors, who are themselves, 
 both in theory and practice, wholly unacquainted with 
 the world I 
 
 This academy was a magnificent edifice of a quad- 
 rangular form, with an immense court in the middle. 
 Two sides of the building were occupied by the pupils, 
 the two others by the Theatre Royal and the Royal 
 Archives. Facing the latter was that which we occu- 
 pied, and which was called the second and third apart- 
 ment ; opposite the theatre were those of the first, of 
 
78 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which I shall shortly speak. The upper gallery on 
 our side was denominated the third apartment, and was 
 appropriated to the youngest pupils and the inferior 
 schools. The gallery upon the first floor, called the 
 second gallery, was reserved for adults, a half or 
 third of whom studied at the university, an edifice 
 contiguous to the academy ; the others were occupied 
 by those who studied military tactics. Every gallery 
 contained at least four sleeping-rooms, in each of which 
 eleven pupils were accommodated, over whom a priest 
 presided,' termed an assistant, and who, for the most 
 part, was only a peasant habited in the garb of a priest, 
 to whom no salary was allowed. Having board and 
 lodging, these assistants generally directed their atten- 
 tion to the study of theology or law. Sometimes, 
 however, old ignorant priests were appointed to this 
 office. One third, at least, of the side of this build- 
 ing, called the first apartment, was occupied by the 
 king's pages to the number of twenty or twenty-five, 
 who were completely separated from us by the oppo- 
 site angle of the laiye court. 
 
 As for us young students, we were, as must be ob- 
 vious, very ill situated, between a theatre which we 
 were not allowed to enter above five or six times in the 
 year, during the carnival; and the pages, who, from 
 attending the amusements of their royal master, seemed 
 to enjoy a much more free and varied mode of life than 
 our own; they even vied with those foreigners who 
 occupied the first apartment, almost to the exclusion 
 of the natives. They consisted 'chiefly of English, 
 Russians, and Germans, and a few individuals from 
 other states of Italy. It resembled an inn rather than 
 jin academy ; they were subjected to no restraint, except 
 that of returning before midnight. They were, besides, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 79 
 
 allowed to go to court, and to attend public spectacles 
 in whatever company they pleased. The greatest 
 punishment to us poor inhabitants of the second and 
 third apartment was the local situation of the place ; 
 being such, that, in order to reach the chapel, or repair 
 to the dancing or fencing room, we were obliged to 
 pass through the gallery of the first apartment, and 
 have constantly under our eyes the insulting and un- 
 ruly conduct of its foreign inmates, which we could ill 
 reconcile with the severity of the discipline to which we 
 were subjected, and which we compared to that of a 
 galley-slave. Those who formed such an arrangement 
 must have been altogether unacquainted with the nature 
 of the human heart, otherwise they must have been 
 aware of the baneful influence which the sight of such 
 constant dissipation must have produced on the minds 
 of youth. 
 
 II. 
 
 I WAS then domesticated in what was termed the 
 best chamber of the third apartment, under the care of 
 my domestic Andrea, who, in the absence of my mother, 
 uncle, and every other relative, tyrannized over me 
 with the malignity of a demon. The day after my en- 
 trance at the academy I underwent an examination in 
 presence of the professors, that they might ascertain 
 whether 1 was sufficiently qualified to be admitted into 
 the fourth class, and they assured me I might very 
 readily be transferred to the third in three months, if I 
 pursued my studies with assiduity. It was now that 
 I first became sensible of the power of emulation, since 
 in conjunction with other youths somewhat older than 
 myself, I was admitted to a new examination in the 
 month of November, in consequence of which I rose to 
 
80 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the third class. Our master was a priest, named De- 
 giovanui, if possible more ignorant than even my first 
 preceptor, Ivaldi, and who had not like him any affec- 
 tion towards me, or much solicitude for my improve- 
 ment, having the charge of fifteen or sixteen scholars, 
 who had all an equal right to that attention, of which 
 he was not very prodigal. 
 
 It was thus I was trained np in this little school, the 
 most ignorant among the ignorant, and under the care 
 of masters not much more enlightened than ourselves. 
 We had given us to translate Cornelius Nepos, and 
 some of the Eclogues of Virgil. We composed very 
 foolish insipid exercises, so that in any other college, 
 where the pursuits of the pupils were better directed, 
 we would have at most appeared as a very backward 
 fourth class. Stimulated, however, by emulation, I 
 had outstripped the best of my companions ; but as 
 soon as I had attained this eminence I slackened my 
 zeal, and sunk into a kind of torpor. This was, per- 
 haps, excusable, as nothing could exceed the weari- 
 someness and insipidity of such studies. We rendered, 
 it is true, the Lives of Cornelius Nepos into Italian ; but 
 none of us, not even the master himself, knew the his- 
 tory of the individuals whose lives we translated, what 
 country had given them birth, at what period and 
 under what government they flourished, nor, in short, 
 what was meant by a government. All our ideas were 
 limited, confused, or erroneous ; there were no objects 
 either to attract the scholar or the master. Our time 
 was shamefully lost ; not through want of application, 
 for those who exerted the most had nothing to learn. 
 In this manner the best days of our youth were con- 
 sumed in vain. The whole of the year J759 was 
 wasted in similar pursuits, after which I was trans- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 81 
 
 ferred to the higher classes. The master, Father 
 Amatis, who was an intelligent and sagacious priest, 
 afforded me all the information in his power; it was 
 under his tuition I received the most improvement, and 
 as far as the absurd mode of study established in these 
 classes would admit, I became a considerable proficient 
 in the Latin. About this time my emulation was still 
 further excited by a youth, who was my rival in com- 
 posing exercises, and who sometimes succeeded better 
 than myself. He left, me still farther behind in the 
 exercise of memory, sometimes reciting six hundred 
 verses of Virgil's Georgics, without stopping or making 
 a single mistake ; while I, on the contrary, could never 
 repeat above four hundred, and those very incorrectly ; 
 a circumstance which gave me great uneasiness. As 
 far as I can now recall to mind my feelings on the 
 occasion, it appears to me that even in these childish 
 disputes my character was not naturally bad; for 
 though suffocated with rage, and though I frequently 
 burst into tears at my defeat, and even violently re- 
 proached my rival, yet either from his being better 
 tempered than myself, or that I became appeased with- 
 out knowing why, we seldom fought, though nearly of 
 equal strength ; and, in fact, lived generally on terms 
 of friendship with each otker. I believe my infantile, 
 yet unbounded, ambition found consolation, and a 
 species of recompense for the inferiority of my memory, 
 from the success I enjoyed in regard to my exercises, 
 for the composition of which I usually bore away the 
 prize. Besides, this rival of mine had something so 
 frank, noble, and prepossessing about him, that it was 
 utterly impossible to hate him. I evinced from my 
 earliest infancy an innate love for everything great and 
 noble, both in the animate and inanimate works of 
 
82 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 creation ; whatever was stamped with this character 
 prejudiced my mind in the first instance, and for a time 
 clouded my judgment, and prevented me from discover- 
 ing the truth. 
 
 Though during the year I attended these classes my 
 morals remained pure and untainted, yet almost with- 
 out being conscious of it myself, I was in some measure 
 under the dominion of the passion of love. It was at 
 this period that Ariosto fell into my hands, though in 
 what manner I cannot now recollect : I certainly did 
 not purchase it, for at this period I did not possess a 
 single farthing ; neither, I am persuaded, did I purloin 
 it, the remembrance of a similar fault which I once 
 committed being still fresh in my memory. I rather 
 think I obtained it volume by volume from one of my 
 schoolfellows, in exchange for half a chicken, which 
 was usually given us every Sunday ; so that my first 
 Ariosto must have cost me the sacrifice of a couple of 
 chickens in four weeks. I am not, however, certain 
 of this fact, at which I am extremely sorry, for I should 
 wish to know whether the first time I drank at the 
 fountain of Hippocrene it was at the expense of my 
 stomach, and if I had sacrificed to the Muses the most 
 delicate morsel then in my possession. It was not the 
 only exchange which I madfr in this way, for I perfectly 
 well recollect having never tasted these highly esteemed 
 dominical chickens for six successive months, in order 
 to barter them for little histories which were related to 
 us by a certain parasite, who sharpened his wits in 
 order to fill his belly. He admitted none to the num- 
 ber of his auditors but those who could pay him in 
 eatables : but in whatever manner the acquisition was 
 made, I possessed an Ariosto, which I read here and 
 there without method, and without comprehending the 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 83 
 
 half of what I read. It may hence be judged how 
 little attention had been given to our improvement, 
 when I, the best scholar of the class, I, who could 
 translate into Italian prose Virgil's Georgics, which are 
 more difficult than even the uEneid itself, was un- 
 able to comprehend the most easy of our own poets. I 
 shall never forget when perusing the song of Alcini, 
 when I came to those charming passages in which her 
 beauty is so well portrayed, I exerted in vain every 
 effort to comprehend them. I found it impossible to 
 seize the true meaning of the two last verses of this 
 stanza : 
 
 " Non cosi strettamente cdera preme." 
 
 I consulted with my rival, but he was no wiser than 
 myself, and we lost ourselves in a labyrinth of conjec- 
 tures. These secret consultations were not, however, 
 long suffered to continue. 
 
 The assistant, having observed a small book in our 
 possession, which we concealed on his approach, at 
 length discovered onr hidden treasure, and ordered us 
 to deliver up the other volumes, which he carried to 
 the sub-prior; thus disconcerting us juvenile poets, 
 and leaving us without a guide. 
 
 III. 
 
 DURING the two first years of my abode at tho 
 academy, I learned scarcely anything. My health 
 began to decline ; for we were only provided with a 
 spare diet, the quality of which was not even good. 
 Little attention was, besides, paid to us in other re- 
 spects ; and the hours allotted for rest were too few. 
 I was the more sensibly hurt by this regimen, because 
 it was in direct opposition to that I was accustomed to 
 
84 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in my mother's house. I did not increase in stature, 
 and became so emaciated as to resemble a wax-taper. 
 I was besides successively attacked by a variety of 
 complaints, the most remarkable of which was an 
 eruptive disease on my head and temples resembling a 
 kind of leprosy, from which I suffered inconceivable 
 distress. 
 
 My paternal uncle, the Chevalier Pellegrino Alficri, 
 was nominated governor of Coni, where he resided 
 eight months in the year; so that I had no relatives 
 at Turin, except the family of Tournon, from whom 
 my mother was descended, and Count Benedict Alfieri, 
 whom I was in the habit of terming uncle, though he 
 was only a cousin of my father's. He was first archi- 
 tect to the king, and lived near the Theatre Royal, 
 which he had designed and executed with equal skill 
 and elegance. I sometimes went to dine at his house, 
 arid sometimes only to call, according to the caprice of 
 Andrea, who exerted over me the most despotic sway, 
 under pretence of having received letters from my 
 uncle at Coni. 
 
 Count Benedict, who was really a worthy character, 
 was extremely fond of me. He was passionately at- 
 tached to his art, of an unambitious character, and 
 almost totally unacquainted with everything uncon- 
 nected with the fine arts. I could mention many 
 proofs of his immoderate love for architecture. This 
 passion led him even to speak to me, who was then a 
 mere child, with the greatest enthusiasm, of the divine 
 Michael Angelo Buonarotti, whose name lie never 
 pronounced without bowing his head, or taking oiT his 
 hat, with a respect and devotion which can never be 
 effaced from my memory. He had spent the greatest 
 part of his life at Rome, and was an enthusiastic ad- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 85 
 
 mirer of the antique. In consequence of this, how- 
 ever, he sometimes departed from true taste in the 
 construction of his buildings, "by endeavoring to con- 
 form to the modern style; a proof of which may be 
 seen in the whimsical plan of the Church of Carig- 
 nano, built in the form of a fen : but none of these 
 defects are visible in the construction of the theatre 
 already mentioned, in the king's riding-school, in the 
 saloon of Stupinigi, and in the magnificent facade of 
 the Temple of San Pietro. Perhaps the flight of his 
 genius might, after all, be retarded by the insignifi- 
 cant remuneration which the King of Sardinia had it 
 only in his power to bestow on him for his services. 
 The noble plans which he left at his death, and which 
 are in the possession of his majesty, afford a f>roof of 
 the truth of this suggestion. Among these are vari- 
 ous projects for the embellishment of Turin, and par- 
 ticularly a plan for rebuilding the decayed wall sep- 
 arating the Piazza del Castello from the Piazza lieale. 
 This wall, on what account I know not ; is termed the 
 Pavilion. 
 
 I experience much gratification in speaking of this 
 uncle, though it is now only that I am able fully to 
 appreciate his abilities; for when I was at the acad- 
 emy, however sincerely I was attached to him, I fre- 
 quently became weary of his society. Such is the 
 whimsicality of the human mind and the influence of 
 prejudice ! What wearied me most was his wretched 
 pronunciation of the Tuscan, which he had adopted dur- 
 ing his stay at Rome, and which he never endeavored to 
 correct, although the Italian is wholly unknown at 
 Turin. Such, however, is the force of the sublime 
 and beautiful, that those who at the first scoffed at my 
 uncle's Tuscan, became in a little while so sensible of 
 
86 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 its superiority over their own barbarous jargon, that 
 on addressing him, they always imitated his mode of 
 expression. This was more particularly the case with 
 those nobles who were anxious that their houses 
 should resemble palaces. Fruitless attempt ! in which 
 this excellent man, without any profit, and merely 
 through friendship, lost the half of his time in giving 
 pleasure to others, a thing, as I have often heard 
 him acknowledge, not only disagreeable to himself, 
 but extremely injurious to his art. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As none of my relations took the smallest interest 
 in my concerns, I spent the best years of my life in 
 almost total idleness. 
 
 Constantly sick, and having my body covered with 
 sores or ulcers, I became the constant sport of my 
 companions, who bestowed on me the nickname of 
 Carcase ; while those among them who wished to ap- 
 pear still more witty added the epithet rotten. 
 
 From the state of my health and other circumstances, 
 I fell into a profound melancholy ; and my love of 
 solitude daily acquired new strength. Nevertheless, I 
 was admitted, during 1760, into the rhetorical class; 
 for notwithstanding the numerous disadvantages under 
 which I labored, I had contrived to dedicate a few mo- 
 ments to study ; and very little knowledge was neces- 
 sary in the candidate for this and similar distinctions. 
 The professor of rhetoric was less intelligent than my 
 last master ; for though he explained to us the ^Eneid, 
 and caused us to compose Latin verses, it seemed to 
 me that, instead of acquiring more knowledge, I be- 
 came daily less a proficient in the Latin tongue. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 87 
 
 During the year I attended rhetoric, I happened to 
 recover my little Ariosto, by picking it up volume by 
 volume from the sub-prior, who had placed them on his 
 shelves, among a great many others. I seized the op- 
 portunity of doing this, when the youths were admitted 
 into his chamber to witness the ascent of a balloon 
 from the windows which were in the front of the build- 
 ing, and from which we could enjoy a better view of this 
 spectacle than from those of the gallery, w r hich were in 
 the side. I took care, as soon as I had taken a single 
 volume, to press the books together, so as to fill up the 
 chasm, and prevent its loss being observed. It was in 
 this manner that during four successive days I w r as 
 fortunate enough to recover my lost treasure ; but, 
 though enchanted with my success, I maintained a pro- 
 found silence on the subject. Reflecting at present on 
 this fact, I perfectly recollect that from the moment I 
 recovered my Ariosto, I never again opened it. Several 
 circumstances led to this neglect ; for besides the bad 
 state of my health, which was certainly the principal, 
 such a capital rhetorician was J, that the difficulty of 
 comprehending this poet had rather augmented than 
 diminished. The constant interruption in the story of 
 the piece had likewise a tendency to make me relin- 
 quish the study of Ariosto, as I knew not where to find 
 the sequel, a circumstance which even now displeases 
 me, as being contrary to nature, and destructive of all 
 poetic effect. 
 
 At the period of which I am speaking, I was unac- 
 quainted with the name even of Tasso, whose works 
 would have been infinitely more conformable to my 
 taste. There fell into my hands at this time, however, 
 I recollect not in what manner, the ^Eneid of Annibal 
 Caro, which I read more than once with the greatest 
 
88 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 avidity, feeling warmly interested for Turnus and Ca- 
 milla. I succeeded in concealing this work, in order 
 to assist me in the translation of some exercises given 
 us by the master, a circumstance which greatly re- 
 tarded my advancement in a knowledge of the Latin. 
 I had then never perused any of the works of our other 
 poets, except some operas of Metastasio, such as Cato, 
 Artaxerxes, the Olympiad, etc., and a few others which 
 chance had thrown into my hands, among the small 
 collection which is performed during the carnival. 
 They amused me very much till I reached the chorus, 
 which interrupts the development of the passions at the 
 precise point where I had begun to identify myself with 
 the subject. This gave me greater pain and disgust 
 than even the interruptions of Ariosto. Different com- 
 edies of Goldoni, which were lent me by the master, 
 also afforded me much entertainment ; but my dramatic 
 genius, the germ of which perhaps existed in my mind, 
 was gradually extinguished, through want of proper 
 aliment, or encouragement of any kind. In short, rny 
 ignorance was as great as that of either my preceptors 
 or fellow T -students. 
 
 During the long and frequent intervals in which I 
 was obliged from ill health to keep my chamber, one 
 of the students, who, though somewhat older and much 
 stronger, was yet more ignorant than myself, employed 
 me occasionally in translating, extending, or composing 
 verses for him. He compelled me to comply with his 
 demands by this irresistible argument: "If you are 
 willing to do my work, I will give you two balls to 
 play with : here they are ; you see they are large, of 
 four colors, well made, of fine cloth, and extremely 
 elastic ; if you are not willing to do it, I will give you 
 two Wows" and he raised his athletic arm, which ho 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 89 
 
 held over my head. I chose the two halls, and pro- 
 ceeded with his work. At first I faithfully executed 
 my task in the hest manner I was ahle ; and the mas- 
 ter evinced not a little surprise at the unexpected prog- 
 ress of his scholar, who had been hitherto considered 
 as extremely dull and stupid. For my own part I relig- 
 iously kept the secret, more from the natural taciturnity 
 of my temper than from any dread of the threatened 
 blows. Nevertheless, as I soon became tired of his 
 balls, and disgusted with the fatigue, I began to pay 
 less attention to the composition of these exercises, not- 
 withstanding the praises bestowed on my talents, till 
 at last I committed va'rious solecisms, such as potebam, 
 which at length drew on him the hisses of his comrades 
 and the rod of the master. Though he found himself 
 thus ridiculed in public, and forced to resume his ass's 
 skin, he durst not openly vent his anger upon me ; 
 but he never afterwards employed me to execute his 
 tasks. The disgrace with which he would have been 
 loaded, had I discovered the secret, restrained the rage 
 with which he was agitated. I never betrayed him ; 
 but I secretly laughed when others related that potebam 
 and similar solecisms had found their way into his 
 compositions, in which no one suspected I had the 
 smallest share. I might probably be restrained within 
 the limits of discretion, by the recollection of the hand 
 which was held over my head, which I saw continually 
 before my eyes, ready to take vengeance on me for so 
 many balls expended to procure only ridicule. Hence 
 I learned that mankind are only governed by mutual 
 terror. 
 
 Having passed the year which ought to have been 
 dedicated to the study of rhetoric, in these puerile and 
 insipid occupations, sometimes sick, always indolent, I 
 
90 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was called to the customary examination, and judged 
 qualified to enter on the study of philosophy. We 
 went twice a day to the university, which was near the 
 academy, in order to attend these classes. The morn- 
 ing was dedicated to geometry, and the afternoon to 
 philosophy. Thus I commenced philosopher, before 
 having completed my thirteenth year; and so proud 
 was I of this appellation, that I already in imagina- 
 tion conceived myself in the highest class. I also 
 reaped much amusement from going out of the house 
 twice a day : besides, it often afforded me an oppor- 
 tunity of making an escape to the city, by leaving the 
 school under some pretext or other. 
 
 Though I was the least of all the scholars who in- 
 habited the second apartment, to which I had descended, 
 it was this very inferiority in point of age, stature, 
 and strength, which gave me greater courage, and in- 
 duced me to distinguish myself. In short, I studied at 
 first with so much assiduity as to enable me to make a 
 figure in the examinations, which took place every 
 evening in the academy. I usually replied to the ques- 
 tions as well, or perhaps better than any of the others ; 
 but this was only a simple act of memory, since, to 
 confess the truth, I did not comprehend this pedantic 
 philosophy, which is not only extremely insipid, but from 
 being enveloped in Latin, it was necessary always to 
 dispute with the dictionary in our hands. As to geom- 
 etry, a course of which I went through, consisting of 
 the first six books of Euclid, I was never able to un- 
 derstand the fourth proposition ; and I do not even at 
 present comprehend it, having always possessed an 
 antigeometrical head. 
 
 The peripatetic philosophy, which we attended after 
 dinner, usually acted as an opiate. During the first 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 91 
 
 half-hour we wrote what the professor dictated; and 
 he afterwards explained it in Latin God knows 
 how ! in the three quarters of an hour we remained. 
 All the students, enveloped in their large cloaks, slept 
 most profoundly. Among these philosophers, no other 
 noise was heard, save the languid voice of the professor, 
 and the high, low, and middle tones of the snorers, 
 which formed the finest concert imaginable. Besides 
 the irresistible power of this soporific philosophy, what 
 still contributed to subject us of the academy to the 
 influence of sleep was our rest being interrupted in the 
 morning, owing to the early hour at which we were 
 obliged to rise. As to myself, the short period I was 
 allowed for sleep deranged the functions of my stomach. 
 This circumstance became so evident to the superiors, 
 that they indulged me in sleeping till seven o'clock, 
 instead of forcing me to rise at a quarter before six, 
 when the students assembled to hear prayers, previous 
 to entering on their duties at half past seven. 
 
 V. 
 
 IN the winter of the year 1762, my uncle, the Gov- 
 ernor of Coni, returned for a few months to Turin ; 
 and, having observed the bad state of my health, ob- 
 tained for me some indulgences in the quantity and 
 quality of my diet. This, in conjunction with the rel- 
 axation I enjoyed from attending the university, from 
 the daily visits I made to my uncle during the holidays, 
 and from the sweet periodical slumber of three quarters 
 of an hour, which I enjoyed in the philosophical class, 
 all tended in some measure to increase my growth, 
 and restore me to my wonted health. 
 
 About this period my uncle, in quality of our guardian, 
 
92 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 removed my sister Julia from the convent of St. Anas- 
 tasia at Asti to that of S. Croce at Turin. She had 
 remained six years in the former, under the care of one 
 of our aunts, the widow of the Marquis of Trotti, who 
 had retired thither some time before. Julia had been 
 even worse educated than myself. This proceeded from 
 the absolute sway she had acquired over our worthy 
 aunt. This blind attachment, instead of being advan- 
 tageous, proved more injurious to her every succeeding 
 day. Julia, who was my senior by two years, now 
 approached her fifteenth year. In Italy this is not a 
 tranquil age: the dawning of passion then begins to 
 sway the tender and inexperienced heart of youth. 
 An attachment she had formed in the convent dis- 
 pleased my uncle, though the object of it was in every 
 respect her equal ; and it was this circumstance which 
 determined him to remove her to Turin, in order to 
 place her under the care of a maternal aunt, a sister of 
 the community of S. Croce. The sight of this sister, 
 whom I had once so tenderly loved, and who was now 
 much improved, afforded me the greatest pleasure, and 
 restored me to health and spirits. I was the more 
 delighted with the possibility of sometimes seeing her, 
 as I conceived that my presence in a great degree tended 
 to assuage the sorrows of her heart. Though separated 
 from her lover, she persisted in saying that she would 
 one day espouse him. 
 
 I had obtained permission from Andrea to visit the 
 convent almost every Saturday and Sunday, which were 
 our weekly holidays. Often did I spend the time of my 
 visit, which lasted for an hour or more, in weeping with 
 this dear girl at the grate. These tears were to me a 
 great relief; and I always left the convent more tran- 
 quil, though not more gay, than when I entered it. In 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 93 
 
 my quality of philosopher, I endeavored to inspire her 
 with fortitude, and encouraged her to persist in her res- 
 olution, assuring her that she would eventually over- 
 come my uncle's obstinacy. But time, whose influence 
 is so powerful on the firmest hearts, was not long in 
 exerting its sway over her mind. Absence, obstacles, 
 dissipation, and, above all, the superior opportunities of 
 improvement which she now enjoyed, consoled her, and 
 in a few months wholly obliterated her love. 
 
 During the holidays of the present year, I went for 
 the first time to the theatre of Carignan, to witness the 
 performance of the opera buffa. This indulgence was 
 procured for me by my uncle the architect, at whose 
 house I slept, on returning from the theatre, as at that 
 late hour it was impossible to gain admittance to the 
 academy without infringing the rules by which every 
 pupil was obliged to return at half an hour after sunset. 
 During the carnival we were permitted once a week to 
 go in a body to the king's theatre ; but my indulgent 
 uncle, on the present occasion, solicited our superior to 
 suffer me to accompany him to his country-house, where 
 he proposed to remain for a day and a night. By this 
 subterfuge I had the pleasure of hearing the opera 
 buffa of Mercato di Malmantile. It was composed by 
 a celebrated master, and performed by the first singers 
 in Italy, Carratoli Baglioni and her daughters. This 
 varied and enchanting music sunk deep into my soul, 
 and made the most astonishing impression on my im- 
 agination ; it agitated the inmost recesses of my heart 
 to such a degree that for several weeks I experienced 
 the most profound melancholy, which was not, how- 
 ever, wholly unattended with pleasure. I became tired 
 and disgusted with my studies, while at the same time 
 the most wild and whimsical ideas took such possession 
 
94 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of my mind, as would have led me to portray them in 
 the most impassioned verses, had I not heen wholly 
 unacquainted with the true nature of my own feelings. 
 It was the first time music had produced such a power- 
 ful effect on my mind. I had never experienced any- 
 thing similar, and it long reihained engraven on my 
 memory. When I recollect the feelings excited "by the 
 representation of the grand operas, at which I was 
 present during several carnivals, and compare them 
 with those which I now experience, on returning from 
 the performance of a piece I have not witnessed for some 
 time, I am fully convinced that nothing acts so power- 
 fully on my mind as all species of music, and particu- 
 larly the sound of female voices, and of contralto. 
 Nothing excites more various or terrific sensations in 
 my mind. Thus the plots of the greatest numher of 
 my tragedies were either formed while listening to 
 music, or a few hours afterwards. 
 
 The first year of my attendance at the university 
 having now elapsed, my uncle of Coni was informed 
 by the professors, it is evident with how much justice, 
 that I had studied with great assiduity ; on which ac- 
 count he invited me to pass twelve days with him in 
 that city. This short journey between Turin and 
 Coni, through the fertile and smiling plains of Pied- 
 mont, was the second I had ever made in my life. It 
 afforded me much amusement, and proved extremely 
 beneficial, to my health. Exercise and pure air were 
 always reviving and salutary to me. The pleasure of 
 this excursion was, however, in some measure destroyed, 
 by my performing it with hack horses, which travelled 
 at a snail's pace. It was more particularly irksome to 
 rne, who had, four or five years before, posted with the 
 rapidity of lightning, between Asti and Turin. It 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 95 
 
 seemed to me as if I had become feeble as I advanced 
 in age; and I almost conceived myself dishonored by 
 the slow rate at which we proceeded. On entering 
 Carignan, Kaconis, Savillan, and even the smallest 
 villages in our way, I shrunk back in my wretched 
 vehicle, closing my eyes in order to avoid seeing or 
 being seen by the inhabitants. It seemed to me as if 
 every one knew how I had formerly travelled, and 
 laughed at the present humiliating reverse. Did these 
 feelings originate in a noble and ardent soul, or proceed 
 from a weak and haughty mind ? I find myself incom- 
 petent to reply to this question : others will be able to 
 judge from the history of the succeeding years of my 
 life. Of one thing, however, I am certain, that, had 
 I fallen under the care of a man intimately acquainted 
 with the human heart, my character might have been 
 moulded into any form he pleased, by the judicious 
 application of the love of praise and of glory, which from 
 my earliest infancy had such a powerful influence over 
 my mind. 
 
 Duiing my short stay at Coni I composed my first son- 
 net, which I durst not, however, acknowledge, as it con- 
 sisted only of a few indifferent verses, the most of which 
 were borrowed from Metastasio and Ariosto, the only 
 poets I had then read. I believe they were also defective 
 in rhyme and measure ; for though I had composed hex- 
 ameter and pentameter Latin verses, I had never been 
 taught any rules for the composition of Italian poetry. 
 I have racked my brain to remember two or three of 
 these stanzas, but in vain. I only recollect that they 
 were in praise of a lady of whom my uncle was 
 enamored, and who was, besides, rather a favorite 
 with myself. This sonnet was undoubtedly execrable : 
 nevertheless it was much admired, not only by the 
 
96 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lady herself, but by others who were equally incompe- 
 tent to decide on its merits ; yet, in consequence of 
 such praises, I conceived myself already a poet. My 
 uncle, however, like a true soldier, was rigid in his 
 manners, and, though well versed in history and poli- 
 tics, was yet unacquainted with poetry, for which he 
 had no relish. Hence he took every opportunity to 
 repress the efforts of my infant muse, which so chilled 
 my poetic enthusiasm that I relinquished every idea of 
 writing verses till the age of twenty-five. How many 
 sonnets, good or bad, did not my uncle stifle along 
 with this first production of my pen ! 
 
 In the following year the study of physics and 
 ethics succeeded to that of our tiresome philosophy : 
 we attended the former in the morning, and the latter 
 in the afternoon. The study of physics was not 
 wholly destitute of attractions to me, but the constant 
 use of the Latin language, and my total ignorance of 
 geometry, a course of which I had gone through, 
 proved invincible obstacles to my advancement. A 
 love of truth obliges me to confess, though to my 
 eternal disgrace, that after attending a course of 
 lectures on physics by the celebrated Beccaria, I did 
 not remember a single definition, neither did I reap 
 greater benefit from his learned course of electricity, 
 which he has enriched with so many important dis- 
 coveries. It happened now as it did when I attended 
 the geometrical class, by a simple effort of memory 
 I always succeeded in answering the questions which 
 were put to me, and generally received more praise 
 than blame from the masters. 
 
 My uncle, to whom I had been represented as ex- 
 tremely industrious, proposed in the winter of 1763 to 
 recompense me by a small present, a thing which he 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 97 
 
 had never "before even hinted at. My domestic Andrea 
 announced this to me some months before with an air 
 of importance, and this undefined hope, which my 
 imagination embellished, gave a fresh stimulus to my 
 mind, and rendered me more eager, parrot-like, to ac- 
 quire my lesson by rote. 
 
 At length my uncle's valet one day showed me this 
 famous present, which consisted of a silver sword of 
 curious workmanship. Fond of this bawble, and con- 
 ceiving it only as the just reward of my industry, I 
 daily expected, but in vain, that it would be given to me. 
 The propriety of requesting it from my uncle was sug- 
 gested to me, but the same unbending disposition, which 
 a few years before prevented me from making known my 
 wishes to my maternal aunt, though urged by her to 
 do so, kept me silent in the present instance ; and as 
 there were no other means to obtain this sword, it 
 never came into my possession. 
 
 VI. 
 
 IN this manner passed the year of my attendance on 
 the class of physics. In the summer my uncle was 
 appointed Viceroy of Sardinia, and when about to set 
 out in the month of September, he recommended me to 
 the care of the few relatives I had still left at Turin. 
 He renounced the management of my pecuniary con- 
 cerns, and nominated one of his friends joint guardian 
 with himself. From this period I was less restricted 
 in my expenses. My new guardian allowed me a 
 monthly sum, an arrangement to which my uncle had 
 always objected, and which even now appears to me 
 to have been extremely unreasonable. Perhaps he was 
 influenced in this respect by Andrea, who must have 
 
98 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 been a great gainer by disbursing every shilling which 
 was expended; it, besides, kept me in a state of greater 
 dependence on him. 
 
 Towards the end of the year 1762 I commenced the 
 study of civil and canonical law; a course which, at 
 the termination of four years, conducts the student to 
 the highest academical honor, a doctor's degree. 
 
 After a few weeks' attendance on these classes, I ex- 
 perienced a return of the eruptive malady under which 
 I suffered so much two years before, and which was 
 now more virulent than ever. My poor head could not 
 retain the definitions, the digests, and all the apparatus 
 of these v two species of law. I cannot better describe 
 the state of my head than by comparing it to a soil, 
 which, burnt up by the scorching heat of the sun, cracks 
 in every direction, forming fissures that remain open 
 till returning showers again close them. 
 
 Of so inveterate a nature were these sores, that I 
 could not, as formerly, avoid yielding up my hair a 
 sacrifice to the scissors. Of all the misfortunes I ever 
 experienced, this to me proved the most vexatious, not 
 only from the necessity of having my head shaved, but 
 of wearing a peruke, on which account I became the 
 sport and derision of my comrades. I attempted at 
 first to save my peruke from their attacks, but finding 
 this was impossible, and that I even risked my own 
 safety, I suddenly changed my tactics, and seizing the 
 unlucky peruke before any one had affronted me, I flung 
 it up in the air, and made it the butt of my own sport. 
 
 In fact, a few days after, the public clamor having 
 subsided, I restored the peruke to its proper station, 
 and was less persecuted, I may almost say more 
 respected, than the two or three others who were in the 
 same chamber. Hence I learned that it is sometimes 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 99 
 
 necessary to relinquish voluntarily what we cannot 
 prevent others taking away from us. 
 
 In the course of this year I took lessons in geog- 
 raphy, and on the harpsichord. Frequently amusing 
 myself with globes and charts, I made some progress 
 in the former of these studies, to which I joined that of 
 history, and especially ancient history. My geographical 
 master being a native of the Valley of Aosta, occa- 
 sionally lent me some French works, which I began to 
 comprehend a little, and among others Gil Bias, with 
 which I was perfectly enchanted. This was the first 
 book I had ever read from beginning to end, except 
 the ./Eneid of Caro, and it afforded me much greater 
 entertainment. About this period I likewise perused 
 several romances, such as Cassandra, Almachilda, etc., 
 and the interest w r ith which they inspired me was in 
 proportion to the horrific and melancholy nature of the 
 story. Among other productions of this kind, I read 
 the Memoirs of a Man of Quality six times at least. 
 
 Though an enthusiastic admirer of music, and 
 though I even evinced some taste for this art, I made 
 no progress upon the harpsichord, except being able to 
 pass my fingers more lightly over the keys. I could 
 never acquire a knowledge of the written characters ; 
 ear and memory were everything with me. One rea- 
 son, I believe, why I made such slow progress in the 
 acquirement of this science, was taking these lessons 
 immediately after dinner. I have observed, through- 
 out the whole course of my life, that this is a most 
 unfavorable period for the exertion of intellect, and 
 even for the simple application of the eyes on paper, 
 or any other object whatever. The notes trembled 
 before my eyes, and after an hour's lesson I usually 
 quitted the instrument without being able to distin- 
 
100 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 guish objects: I continued ill and stupid during the 
 remainder of the day. 
 
 I made as little progress in the arts of fencing and 
 dancing. From the natural weakness of my frame, I 
 was never able to preserve my guard, or remain in the 
 other attitudes of this art. Besides my fencing-master 
 attended me after dinner, and I frequently left the 
 harpsichord to take up the sword. 
 
 To the natural hatred I had to dancing was joined 
 an invincible antipathy towards my master, a French- 
 man newly arrived from Paris. He possessed a certain 
 air of polite assurance, which, joined to his ridiculous 
 motions 'and absurd discourse, greatly increased the 
 innate aversion I felt towards this frivolous art. So 
 unconquerable was this aversion, that after leaving 
 school I could never be prevailed on to join in any 
 dance whatever. The very name of this amusement 
 makes me shudder and laugh at the same time, a 
 circumstance which is by no means unusual with me. 
 I attribute, in a great measure, to this dancing-master 
 the unfavorable and perhaps erroneous opinion I have 
 formed of the French people, who, nevertheless, it 
 must be confessed, possess many agreeable and esti- 
 mable qualities : but it is difficult to weaken or efface 
 impressions received in early youth. Reason lessens 
 their influence as we advance in life ; yet it is neces- 
 sary to watch over ourselves, in order to judge without 
 passion, and we are frequently so unfortunate as not to 
 succeed. Two other causes also contributed to render 
 me from my infancy disgusted with the French char- 
 acter. The first was the impression made on my mind 
 by the sight of those ladies who accompanied the 
 Duchess of Parma in her journey to Asti, and who 
 were all bedaubed with rouge, the use of which was 
 
VITTOEIO ALFIERI. 101 
 
 then exclusively confined to the French. I have fre- 
 quently mentioned this circumstance several years 
 afterwards, not being able to account for such an ab- 
 surd and ridiculous practice, which is wholly at vari- 
 ance with nature ; for when either sick, intoxicated, or 
 from any other cause, human beings besmear them- 
 selves with this detestable rouge, they carefully conceal 
 it, well knowing that when discovered it only excites 
 the laughter or pity of the beholders. These painted 
 French figures left a deep and lasting impression on 
 my mind, and inspired me with a certain feeling of dis- 
 gust towards the females of this nation. 
 
 From my geographical studies resulted another cause 
 of antipathy to that nation. Having seen on the chart 
 the great difference in extent and population between 
 England or Prussia and France, and hearing every 
 time news arrived from the armies that the French 
 had been beaten by sea and land j recalling to mind 
 the first ideas of my infancy, during which I was told 
 that the French had frequently been in possession of 
 Asti, and that during the last time they had suffered 
 themselves to be taken prisoners to the number of six 
 or seven thousand, without resistance, after conducting 
 themselves while they remained in possession of the 
 place with the greatest insolence and tyranny ; all 
 these different circumstances, being associated with the 
 idea of the ridiculous dancing-master, tended more and 
 more to rivet in my mind an aversion to the French 
 nation. If mankind were like me inclined to search in 
 themselves at an advanced period of life for the origin 
 of their hatred or affection, either towards individuals 
 or nations, they would perhaps find the first and in- 
 sensible germs of such sentiments neither less absurd 
 nor very different from those with which I was actuated. 
 0, how insignificant a being is man ! 
 
102 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 VII. 
 
 MY uncle only survived his appointment to the 
 Viceroyalty of Sardinia six months ; he had scarcely 
 attained the sixtieth year of his age, but his health 
 had long been in a declining state. Before his depar- 
 ture he frequently said to me that he would never 
 return. I had never felt much affection towards him, 
 which was not surprising, as 1 seldom saw him, and he 
 had besides always treated me with a certain degree of 
 severity, without, however, being tyrannical or unjust. 
 Estimable by his probity and his courage, he had 
 served his country with distinction : bold and energetic 
 in his character, he possessed all the qualities of an 
 excellent commander. He enjoyed the reputation of 
 great intelligence ; but this knowledge was buried under 
 a mass of ill-arranged erudition, and accompanied with 
 a perpetual anxiety concerning everything relating to 
 ancient and modern history. I experienced not, there- 
 fore, much affliction at his death, which I did not wit- 
 ness, and which all his friends had already predicted. 
 By this event I was permitted to enjoy the large prop- 
 erty of my father, augmented with the extensive fortune 
 left me by my uncle. 
 
 According to the Piedmontese laws, the period of the 
 guardianship of minors expires on their attaining the 
 age of fourteen ; another guardian is, however, ap- 
 pointed, who, without having any control over their 
 annual income, can legally prevent the alienation of 
 their property. Having thus become master of my for- 
 tune at the age of fourteen, 1 acquired additional im- 
 portance in my own eyes, and immediately began to 
 build castles in the air. 
 
VITTOFvIO ALFIEKI. 103 
 
 At this period my domestic-governor Andrea was 
 very properly dismissed by order of my new guardian, 
 as he had delivered himself up, without restraint, to 
 idleness, intoxication, and every species of libertinism ; 
 he behaved to me with the greatest insolence, mal- 
 treating me without ceasing : when intoxicated, which 
 frequently happened four or five times a week, he even 
 went so for as to beat me. 
 
 During my frequent illnesses it was no unusual 
 thing with him to leave me shut up in my chamber 
 from dinner till the hour of supper. This practice 
 tended, more than anything else, to retard the iv- 
 establishment of my health, and to increase that strong 
 constitutional melancholy to which I was subject from, 
 my birth. Yet who would believe that I mourned dur- 
 ing several weeks for the loss of this same tyrant 1 ? As 
 he was not permitted to enter the academy, I went for 
 several months to visit him every Monday and Wednes- 
 day. I caused my new valet, who was a little awk- 
 ward, but of a gay and gentle character, to conduct me 
 to his house. I gave to Andrea during these visits all 
 the money I possessed, which was indeed not much. 
 Ho at length found another master, and time, as much 
 as the change of situation, in a short time banished 
 him from, my memory. If I was inclined to exhibit 
 myself in a flattering point of view, I might represent 
 the unreasonable attachment which I felt towards this 
 unworthy domestic, as proceeding from a certain gen- 
 erosity of character ; but nothing could be forth er from 
 the truth. This, however, did not prevent the reading 
 of Plutarch from exciting in my mind a love of glory 
 and virtue, nor my feeling and appreciating the pleas- 
 ure and satisfaction of rendering good for evil, as often 
 as I practised it. My attachment to Andrea who had 
 
104 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 caused me so many uneasy hours proceeded partly from 
 the habit of associating with him for seven years, and 
 partly from a predilection which I felt for some of his 
 good qualities. He always readily comprehended what 
 was said to him , and executed any order with the great- 
 est accuracy and despatch. The tales with which he 
 amused me were full of wit and interest, and I generally 
 accommodated matters with him as soon as the anger 
 which his insolence and had conduct excited had passed 
 over. I cannot, at present, comprehend how I became 
 accustomed to the yoke of this man; I, who always 
 detested open force or any kind of ill-treatment. This 
 reflection has since frequently led me to pity those prin- 
 ces, who, without being perfectly imbecile, suffer them- 
 selves to be governed by people who have acquired 
 an ascendency over them during the period of adoles- 
 cence, fatal age ! during which the impressions we 
 receive are indelible. 
 
 The first advantage which I reaped from the death 
 of my uncle was being able to attend the riding- 
 school, which I had hitherto been prohibited doing. 
 The Prior of the academy, observing my great anxiety 
 to be instructed in the art of riding, endeavored to turn 
 it to my advantage, by making it the reward of my 
 studies ; he promised to indulge me in this respect if I 
 would take the degree of Master of Arts at the uni- 
 versity. To obtain this it was only necessary to undergo 
 a public examination in logic, physics, and geometry, 
 which was always conducted with great negligence. I 
 instantly acceded to this proposal, and, having engaged 
 a master who could at least assist me in recollecting 
 the definitions in these sciences, which I had studied so 
 superficially, I succeeded in fifteen or twenty days in 
 making myself master of a dozen Latin sentences, 
 

 VITTOPJO ALFIERI. 105 
 
 which were all that was necessary in order to reply to 
 the few questions which the examinators would put 
 to me. Thus then I became, I know not how, in less 
 than a month Master of Arts ; and was immediately 
 permitted to take my first lesson in riding, an art in 
 which I became extremely expert in a few years. I 
 was then below the middle size, and very meagre ; my 
 knees, which are the pivots of equitation, were ex- 
 tremely weak ; but my passion for this exercise, and 
 the determination of my will, supplied the place of 
 strength. In a short time my progress was extremely 
 rapid, particularly in the management of the horse. 
 To this agreeable and noble exercise I owed the re- 
 turn of my health, the increase of my growth, and a 
 certain vigor of constitution, which was soon visible to 
 every eye. 
 
 I thus entered on a new mode of life. Being master 
 of my fortune by the death of my uncle, dignified with 
 the title of Master of Arts, delivered from the tyranny 
 of Andrea, and mounted upon a noble courser, it is 
 scarcely possible to conceive how much more command- 
 ing my countenance daily became. I frankly informed 
 the prior and my new guardian that I was disgusted 
 with the study of the law, that my time was wholly 
 lost, and that, in short, I was determined to relinquish 
 it. After an interview with each other, these gentle- 
 men determined to remove me to the first apartment, 
 where the pupils were subject to no constraint, as I 
 have before mentioned. 
 
 On the 8th of May, 1763, I entered my new abode, 
 where I remained nearly alone during the whole of the 
 summer, . but in autumn a vast number of foreigners 
 arrived from every country ; the majority of them were, 
 however, British. An abundant table, continual amuse- 
 
106 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 merit, plenty of sleep, daily exercise on horseback, and 
 particularly the power of indulging all my whims, had, 
 with renovated health, rendered me daring and viva- 
 cious. My hair was grown, and, having thrown aside 
 my peruke, I dressed in the highest style of fashion. 
 My clothes were extremely expensive, in order to com- 
 pensate me for the black which the regulations of the 
 academy had compelled me to wear during the five 
 years I inhabited the third and second apartments. My 
 guardian censured my expensive profusion in dress ; but 
 my tailor, who knew that I was able to pay, gave me 
 credit, and I believe enriched himself at my expense. 
 No sooner had I become my own master, and the pos- 
 sessor of an ample fortune, than I was surrounded by 
 friends, companions, parasites, and, in short, by every- 
 thing that follows in the train of prosperity and departs 
 on the approach of adversity. In the midst of this 
 career, equally novel and impetuous, I neither became 
 so unreasonable nor insignificant as might have been 
 supposed. I often thought of returning to study : I 
 experienced remorse and a kind of shame for my igno- 
 rance, which I could neither conceal from myself nor 
 wished to conceal from others; tmt having no solid 
 basis of instruction, nor any one to direct my studies, 
 and being besides almost ignorant of any language, I 
 neither knew how to turn nor where to direct my 
 application. 
 
 The reading of French romances, the constant society 
 of foreigners, the want of opportunity of speaking or 
 hearing the Italian, had insensibly made me lose the 
 little Tuscan I had acquired during my attendance on 
 the Latin and rhetorical classes. The French was so 
 familiar to me that during a fit of study, which lasted 
 two or three months of the first year I inhabited this 
 
I 
 
 VITTOIIIO ALFIERI. 107 
 
 apartment, I commenced the perusal of the thirty- six 
 volumes of PHistoire Ecclesiastique de Fleuri, which I 
 read nearly through with the greatest avidity ; I even 
 made extracts from it in French, and proceeded so far 
 as the eighteenth book. However foolish, ridiculous, 
 and unprofitable this study may appear, I nevertheless 
 applied myself to it with the greatest perseverance, 
 and even some degree of pleasure. From the perusal 
 of this work I formed the most unfavorable opinion 
 of priests and their concerns ; but on throwing it aside 
 I thought no more ou the subject. I laughed very 
 heartily on reperusing these extracts twenty years 
 afterwards. On relinquishing the reading of ecclesias- 
 tical history, I once more returned to that of romances ; 
 many of which, and among others the Arabian Night's 
 Tales, I perused several times over. 
 
 Having contracted a friendship with many youths 
 nearly of my own age, who resided in the city with 
 their governors, we frequently hired wretched hacks, 
 and made excursions into the country, during which we 
 were oftener than once in danger of breaking our necks. 
 Not (infrequently did we gallop down from the Her- 
 mitage des Camaldules to Turin, the road between 
 which is paved and full of flint stones, an enterprise 
 which no consideration would afterwards have tempted 
 me to undertake, even w T ith the best horses. We have 
 frequently pursued, at full gallop, my valet on his 
 llosinante, instead of a stag, in the wood between the 
 Po and the Doria. Often, having taken the bridle from 
 his horse, did we follow him at full speed, hallooing, 
 and whipping up our horses, imitating the sounds of 
 the French horn, leaping over ditches, and fording the 
 Doria at its confluence with the Po ; in short, we com- 
 mitted so many foolish pranks that at length no one 
 
108 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 would lend us his horses at any price. By means of 
 such exercises, however, "both my corporeal and mental 
 powers were strengthened and invigorated, and my 
 mind prepared to merit and assert the physical and 
 moral liberty I had acquired. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 AT this period no one took any concern in my affairs 
 except my new valet, whom my guardian had placed 
 over me, and who had orders to accompany me wherever 
 I went. But to tell the truth, as he was ignorant and 
 somewhat avaricious, I found little Difficulty in bending 
 him to my purpose, and insuring his silence by means 
 of gold. Naturally of a discontented and restless dis- 
 position, I very soon became impatient at being always 
 followed by this domestic. This restraint appeared to 
 me much more painful as I was the only one in the 
 first apartment subject to anything of a similar kind ; 
 they all went out and returned as often and at whatever 
 hour they pleased. The reason alleged fur it was, my 
 being much younger than any of the others, for I had 
 not yet attained my fifteenth year. I obstiuately per- 
 sisted, however, in going out like the rest, without 
 informing my valet or any other person. At first I was 
 reprimanded by the governor ; but this did not prevent 
 me from continuing the same practice. The second 
 time I was locked in my chamber ; but no sooner were 
 the doors opened, than I sallied forth as before. This 
 led to a more strict confinement, which was again dis- 
 regarded : and this fluctuation between liberty and 
 restraint lasted for more than a month ; the punishment 
 was daily augmented, but always without producing 
 the desired effect. I at last declared that it might as 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 109 
 
 well be continued without interruption, for that I was 
 determined to use my liberty as formerly, and that I 
 insisted on being treated in every case like the rest of 
 my companions ; that this distinction was odious and 
 unjust, and rendered me the sport of my comrades ; that 
 if the governor thought I was neither sufficiently old 
 nor reasonable to associate with those of the first apart- 
 ment, he could remand me back to the second. This 
 arrogant discourse was punished by a confinement 
 which lasted above three months, and particularly dur- 
 ing the carnival of 1764. I obstinately refused to solicit 
 my liberty; and thus enraged, and persevering, I be- 
 lieve I would sooner have perished than made any 
 concessions. 
 
 I slept during the greatest part of the day, and in the 
 evening when I rose out of bed, I caused to be placed 
 by the fire a mattress, on which I threw myself. I 
 would not partake of the usual dinner of the academy, 
 which was sent to my chamber, but cooked on my own 
 fire polenta, and similar dishes. I totally neglected my 
 external appearance, and acquired the air of a complete 
 savage. 
 
 Although I was prohibited from leaving my chamber, 
 my friends were permitted to see me, and among others 
 I was visited by the trusty companions of my heroic 
 sports } I was, however, sullen and silent, like a body 
 without a soul, squatted on my mattress. I did not 
 even reply to any questions which were put to me, but 
 remained whole hours with my eyes fixed on the floor, 
 and filled with tears, not one of which, however, I 
 suffered to escape. 
 
110 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE nuptials of my sister with Count Hyacinth 
 Cumiana proved a new era in my existence. The mar- 
 riage was solemnized on the 1st of May, 1764, a day 
 which will forever remain engraven on my memory. I 
 accompanied the bridal party to the count's beautiful 
 country-seat, Cumiana, which was only about ten miles 
 distant from Turin. I spent a month with them, dur- 
 ing which the time glided rapidly away, as may be 
 readily conceived by any one who recalls to mind that 
 I had lately emerged from the prison in which I had 
 been confined during the winter. I had obtained my 
 liberty at the solicitation of my brother-in-law, and the 
 restoration to the rights of those who occupied the first 
 apartment in the academy. Thus, after several months' 
 rigorous confinement, I was raised to a level with my 
 fellow-students ; at the same time I was less controlled 
 in my expenditure, a right which could be no longer 
 legally withheld from me. Immediately on my eman- 
 cipation I purchased for myself a horse, which I took 
 to Cumiana. He was a very beautiful animal, and 
 extremely handsome in his whole form ; but especially 
 in his head, neck, and chest : I was extremely fond of 
 this animal ; even now I never think of him without 
 experiencing the most lively emotions. My attachment 
 was so excessive that when he labored under the slight- 
 est malady, which not unfrequently happened, because 
 though fiery he was yet of a delicate constitution, sleep 
 and appetite both forsook me. My fondness, however, 
 when mounted on him, did not prevent me from teasing 
 and tormenting him, according as the whim and caprice 
 of the moment exerted their influence on my mind. 
 
VITTOHIO ALFIERI. Ill 
 
 The delicacy of his frame furnished me with a pretext 
 for keeping another saddle-horse. Not contented with 
 these, I soon set up a carriage ; this required two other 
 horses, which, with one for a cabriolet and two for the 
 saddle, made up a stud of seven, all of which I had 
 procured in the short space of one year. 
 
 My parsimonious guardian exclaimed at my prodi- 
 gality, but it was to no purpose. I adopted other 
 means of expenditure, and particularly that of fine 
 clothes. There were some of my English comrades 
 who expended their money very profusely : not wish- 
 ing to be surpassed in this respect, I even exceeded 
 them in extravagance. But on the other hand, I 
 lived with many young men who belonged not to the 
 academy in terms of greater intimacy than with the 
 academists themselves. These, being dependent on 
 their parents, could not emulate my profusion ; for 
 though many of them were descended from the first 
 families in Turin, they were yet restricted in their 
 pocket expenses. Truth, however, requires me to 
 avow that, with regard to these young men, I then 
 practised a virtue which in the sequel I found, ex- 
 tremely useful, and from which I have never deviated. 
 It consisted in never wishing to surpass any of my ac- 
 quaintances who regarded themselves as my inferiors, 
 whether in point of physical strength, wit, generosity, 
 or dignity of character. In fact, as often as I was 
 obliged to assume any new and magnificent habit, 
 whether to appear at court, or to dine with my aca- 
 demical associates, who rivalled me in such follies, I 
 immediately threw it off after dinner when any of my 
 other friends came to visit me ', I uniformly put it 
 aside in order that they might not see it, for it seemed 
 in my eyes a crhne to have such a dress, and still even 
 
112 MEMOIRS OF ' 
 
 a greater to display things which my friends and equals 
 possessed not. Thus, though I had obtained, after 
 much strife with my guardian, a very elegant chariot, 
 a vehicle of no use whatever to a boy of sixteen 
 years of age in a city such as Turin, I yet never 
 entered it, because none of my acquaintances possessed 
 one, but were obliged to walk on foot. I ran no risk 
 of being envied for my saddle-horses, since they were 
 at liberty to use them in common with myself, though 
 each had his own maintained at the expense of their 
 parents. This luxury was to me the most agreeable 
 of any other, since it gave me no invidious superiority 
 over the rest of my associates. 
 
 . Whoever impartially examines this sketch will be 
 able, I conceive, notwithstanding the errors incident to 
 youth, and the faults originating from a love of indo- 
 lence and a bad system of education, to discover in it 
 traces of a love of justice, uninfluenced by prejudices 
 of birth or fortune, and a greatness of mind, features 
 which constitute the essential characteristics of a free 
 man, or of one deserving to be so. 
 
 X. 
 
 HAVING gone to spend a month in the country with 
 two brothers, who were my particular friends and asso- 
 ciates in my riding excursions, I for the first time felt, 
 in the most unequivocal manner, the influence of the 
 tender passion. I became smitten with their sister-in- 
 law, the wife of their elder brother, a young, vivacious, 
 and enchanting brunette. In consequence of this at- 
 tachment I fell into a profound melancholy, became 
 restless whether in her presence or when absent from 
 her, and so embarrassed as to prevent me uttering a 
 

 YITTORIO ALFIERI. 113 
 
 single syllabic, if I casually met her at a little dis- 
 tance from her brothers-in-law, who never quitted her. 
 After our return from the country, I spent whole days 
 in the public walks and in going from one street to 
 another, that I might have the pleasure of beholding 
 her. What superadded to my sufferings was the im- 
 possibility of speaking of her, or of ever hearing her 
 name even pronounced. In fine, I became a victim to 
 all the feelings which Petrarch has so inimitably de- 
 picted in some of his pieces } feelings which few can 
 comprehend, and which fewer still ever experience. 
 This first attachment, w r hich never produced any seri- 
 ous consequences, is not even now wholly extinguished 
 in my mind. During my unceasing travels for a suc- 
 cession of years it has uniformly continued, without 
 any act of volition or almost perception on my part, to 
 haunt my imagination and to pursue my steps. It 
 seemed like a voice crying from the inmost recesses of 
 my heart, "If thou pro vest thyself worthy thou may- 
 est render thyself acceptable in the sight of this female; 
 and should circumstances change, thou mayest yet em- 
 body what has hitherto been only a shadow." 
 
 During the autumn of 1765 I undertook, in com- 
 pany with my guardian, a journey to Genoa : it was 
 the first I had ever made. The view of the sea ex- 
 cited my wonder and admiration, and I was never tired 
 with contemplating it. The picturesque and magnifi- 
 cent situation of this superb city also served to enchant 
 my senses. Had I been capable of transfusing my 
 ideas into poetic language, I should most certainly 
 have written verses ; but during the two last years I 
 had scarcely ever opened a book, except a few French 
 romances and some of the prose works of Voltaire, 
 which last I never perused but with pleasure. 
 
114 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In my way to Genoa I experienced the inexpressible 
 satisfaction of visiting my mother and my natal city. 
 I had not seen these objects, so dear to me, for seven 
 years, which at my age seemed so many centuries. 
 On returning from Genoa I conceived that I had per- 
 formed a great exploit and been a great traveller ; but 
 though I regarded myself, in consequence of this jour- 
 ney, as far superior to many of my academical friends, 
 whom, however, I did not attempt to mortify by dis- 
 playing my pride on the occasion, I yet felt myself 
 humbled at the recollection of my inferiority in that 
 respect to the students from remote countries, such as 
 England, Germany, Poland, and Prussia, who con- 
 sidered my journey as a mere trifle. Hence I was 
 seized with a mania of seeing foreign parts, and in par- 
 ticular of visiting their countries. 
 
 The last eighteen months that I remained in the 
 first apartment flew rapidly away in idleness and con- 
 tinual dissipation. On my entrance into it I had in- 
 scribed my name in the list of those who wish to be 
 employed in the army ; and three years afterwards, in 
 the month of May, 1766, 1 was included in a promo- 
 tion of about one hundred and fifty youths. For sev- 
 eral months I had become disinclined to a military life, 
 but, not having withdrawn my name, I was forced to 
 accept an ensign's commission in the provincial regi- 
 ment of Asti. I had originally requested an appoint- 
 ment in the cavalry, on account of the passion I had 
 for horses ; but I afterwards changed the object of my 
 solicitation, and was permitted to enter one of these 
 provincial regiments, which, in time of peace, are only 
 called out twice a year for a few days. I remained 
 then at perfect liberty to do nothing, the only state 
 which was really irksome to me. My entrance into 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 115 
 
 the militia obliged me, however, to quit the acad- 
 emy, where I resided voluntarily arid with pleasure 
 to myself now that I was freed from every species 
 of restraint ; but leave it I must, and in the course of 
 May I took my departure, after having been a resident 
 in it for eight years. In the month of September I 
 repaired for the first time to a review of my regiment 
 at Asti, where I fulfilled with the greatest punctuality 
 all the duties of my station, which I nevertheless de- 
 tested. I could never accustom my mind to yield to 
 that gradual chain of dependence termed subordina- 
 tion, which is the soul of military discipline, but which 
 could never enter into the head of the future tragic 
 poet. 
 
 On leaving the academy I took possession of a small 
 but handsome apartment in the house of my sister. I 
 amused myself in squandering away my money among 
 my betters, in the purchase of horses, in superfluities 
 of every kind, and in giving entertainments to my 
 friends and my fellow- students of the academy. A 
 rage for travelling, which I had imbibed from my fre- 
 quent intercourse with foreigners, induced me, con- 
 trary to my character, to devise a little stratagem in 
 order to obtain permission to visit Rome and Naples 
 for at least a year. I prevailed on an English pre- 
 ceptor, a Catholic, who had accompanied in their trav- 
 els to Italy a Flemish and Dutch youth, with whom 
 I passed more than a year at the academy, to take 
 charge of me. I acted so as to render even these 
 young people themselves anxious to have me for their 
 travelling companion. I induced my brother-in-law 
 to obtain permission from the king for me to depart 
 under the direction of this English tutor, a man who 
 was pretty far advanced in life, and possessed an ex- 
 
116 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 cellent character. This was the first plot in which I 
 had ever engaged, and I had little to reproach myself 
 with. Some art was necessary to persuade the tutor, 
 my brother-in-law, and especially my avaricious guar- 
 dian, to accede to my views ; but though I succeeded, 
 I was ashamed and indignant at the flattery and dis- 
 simulation which I had been forced to employ in order 
 to accomplish my purpose. 
 
 His majesty, who interfered in the most trifling 
 affairs, was hostile to any of the nobles leaving the 
 kingdom, especially a youth who had given early in- 
 dications of possessing rather a singular character. It 
 was therefore necessary that I should bend myself very 
 low ; but happily this did not prevent me from after- 
 wards assuming my former height. 
 
 In thus concluding the second epoch of my life I am 
 fully aware that it is composed of still more insipid 
 minutiaB than even the first. I advise my readers not 
 to dwell on it too long, and to bear in mind that these 
 eight years of my adolescence comprise a period of 
 sickness, idleness, and ignorance. 
 
THIRD EPOCH. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 COMPREHENDING ABOUT TEN YEARS OF TRAVEL- 
 LING AND IRREGULARITIES. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 ]N the morning of the 4th of October, 1766, 
 after passing a sleepless night, occupied with 
 the most foolish ideas, I set out with inex- 
 pressible delight on this so-much T wished-for 
 journey. 
 
 I travelled in the same carriage with my three com- 
 panions, our domestics followed in a coach, and we 
 were preceded by my valet as courier. This was not 
 the old man who acted in quality of my governor for 
 nearly three years, but a domestic of my late uncle's, 
 and who at his death had entered into my service: 
 he was called Francis Elias. He had twice accom- 
 panied my uncle to Sardinia, and had attended him in 
 his travels through France, England, and Holland. 
 He possessed a mind of great acuteness, joined to un- 
 common activity, and was of more use than all the 
 other four domestics put together. He must henceforth 
 be considered as chief director of my travels, since I 
 found him on this occasion our only sure guide; the 
 
118 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 others, masters and servants, possessing all the inca- 
 pacity of infants, or of old men reduced to a state of 
 second childhood. 
 
 We remained fifteen days at Milan. I had lived at 
 Turin, the situation of which is so beautiful ; I had 
 seen Genoa two years before, it was therefore impossi- 
 ble I could be much pleased with Milan. The few 
 things worthy of observation I did not see, or at least 
 viewed them in a hasty and imperfect manner, being 
 utterly ignorant of every useful and agreeable art. 
 
 I recollect among other things that on visiting the 
 Ambrosian Library, the librarian presented me with 
 an autograph manuscript of Petrarch, which I, like a 
 true savage, returned to him with the greatest indiffer- 
 ence. I entertained a species of hatred against this 
 divine poet, because during the time 1 attended philos- 
 ophy, his works having fallen into my hands, I had 
 opened them here and there, and had read or rather 
 spelt a few verses without comprehending them. Im- 
 bibing the opinion of the French and of others equally 
 arrogant and presumptuous, I repeated after them that 
 Petrarch was nothing more than a frivolous witling. 
 
 Besides, the only books I had provided myself with 
 for this twelve months' journey were some travels in 
 Italy, which were mostly written in French, and I thus 
 proceeded to the summit of barbarism, towards which 
 I had already made so many hasty strides. I conversed 
 with my travelling companions wholly in French ; and 
 in all the Milanese houses to which we had introduc- 
 tions this was the only language spoken ; so that when 
 I wished to arrange any ideas in my poor little head 
 they were always clothed in French. The few letters 
 I wrote were written in French, the little ridiculous 
 journal of my travels was likewise written in this Ian- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 119 
 
 guage; yet all this was nothing. I only knew this 
 language by rote, and if I had ever been taught any 
 rules, I had perfectly forgotten them. I knew still less 
 of Italian ; such are the misfortunes which result from 
 being born in an amphibious country, and from the 
 erroneous education I had received. 
 
 We departed from Milan after a stay of nearly fifteen 
 days. I shall not here repeat what I had written in 
 the journal already mentioned ; I committed it to the 
 ilames. Neither shall I enter into the details of the 
 journey of an uninformed boy through countries so well 
 known ; nor attempt to describe all the cities which I 
 visited in the true style of a Vandal. I will speak 
 only of myself, since I am the unfortunate subject of 
 this work. 
 
 We arrived in a few days at Bologna, by the way of 
 Placenza, Parma, and Modena. We stopped only a 
 single day at Parma, and but a few hours at Modena, 
 taking as usual only a cursory and imperfect view of 
 the objects pointed out to us as worthy of notice. 
 
 The greatest pleasure I experienced in this journey, 
 and indeed the only one of which I was susceptible, 
 was the travelling post on the great roads. I neither 
 found the porticos nor the pictures of Bologna to my 
 taste ; I was no connoisseur. Restless and inquiet, I 
 teased without ceasing our preceptor to proceed. About 
 the end of October we reached Florence. This was 
 the first city since our departure from Turin, the situa- 
 tion of which pleased me, though I did not admire it 
 so much as Genoa, which I had visited two years be- 
 fore. We remained there a month. During our stay 
 I visited in my usual manner those places pointed out 
 by fame to the attention of travellers ; such as the pal- 
 ace of Pitti, the gallery, and different churches. All 
 
120 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 this inspired me with disgust. I possessed no taste for 
 the fine arts, and especially painting; my eyes wero 
 insensible to the beauty of this divine art. If I pos- 
 sessed a taste for anything it was sculpture, and still 
 more for architecture j perhaps from being associated 
 with the memory of my excellent uncle. The tomb of 
 Michael Angelo was among the small number of ob- 
 jects which attracted my attention. I made some 
 reflections on the memory of this celebrated man ; I 
 felt from this moment, that no one can be truly great 
 but those who leave behind them some durable mon- 
 ument of their talent and their genius. This idea was, 
 however, soon effaced amid the constant whirl of dis- 
 sipation in which I lived. 
 
 Among all the errors of my youth, I do not reckon 
 it the least, that, during my short stay at Florence, I 
 began to learn English under a very indifferent master, 
 in place of endeavoring, from the example of those 
 happy Tuscans, at least to make myself understood in 
 their own divine language, which I mangled in the 
 most barbarous manner every time I was obliged to 
 employ it. Shame made me avoid speaking it as much 
 as possible ; but this feeling was not sufficiently power- 
 ful to overcome my indolence. I, however, corrected 
 my pronunciation of our horrible w, Lombard or 
 French, which had always displeased me by its meagre 
 articulation, and by the little mouth made by the draw- 
 ing in of the lips of those who pronounced it ; and 
 which may justly be termed the ridiculous grimace of 
 monkeys. Even at present, after a five or six years' 
 residence in France, where my ears might have become 
 accustomed to its sound, I can never restrain my risible 
 faculty either in the theatre or the drawing-room, when 
 I behold little lips draAvn together in speaking, as if 
 they were blowing over boiling pottage. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 121 
 
 Losing my time at Florence, seeing little, learning 
 still less, I soon became disgusted, and again teasing 
 my old preceptor, we departed for Lucca on the first of 
 December. The single day which we remained at 
 Lucca appeared to me an age, and we accordingly set 
 out for Pisa. Another day passed at this place seemed 
 equally long, though I was much pleased with the 
 Campo-Santo. From this place we departed for Leg- 
 horn. This city enchanted me not only from the slight 
 resemblance it bears to Turin, but from a view of the 
 sea, of which I never became tired. During a stay of 
 eight or ten days which we made at this place, I con- 
 tinued to mangle the English language in the most 
 shocking manner, at the same time that I shut my ears 
 against the Tuscan. On afterwards endeavoring to in- 
 vestigate the cause of this foolish preference, I became 
 convinced that it resulted from a mistaken self-love, of 
 which I was not aware at the time. Having lived two 
 or three years almost wholly among the English, hav- 
 ing heard their power and riches everywhere celebrated ; 
 having contemplated their great political influence, and 
 on the other hand viewing Italy wholly degraded from 
 her rank as a nation, and the Italians divided, weak, 
 and enslaved, I was ashamed of being an Italian, and 
 wished not to possess anything in common with this 
 nation. 
 
 From Leghorn we proceeded to Siena, the site of 
 which I did not admire ; but here a ray of light darted 
 suddenly across my mind ; my feelings were subdued 
 by hearing the language of these people, which they 
 spoke with elegance, clearness, and perfect precision. 
 I remained, however, only twenty-four hours among 
 them. The period of my literary and political con- 
 version was yet far distant ; and it was necessary that 
 
122 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I should live for a long time at a distance from Italy , 
 in order to know and appreciate the Italians. 
 
 I at length commenced, with a beating heart, my 
 journey to Rome. I scarcely slept during the night, 
 while in the day my imagination dwelt constantly 
 on St. Peter's, the Pantheon, etc., which I had heard 
 so much extolled. I also reverted to some traits of 
 Roman history, which I perfectly recollected, though 
 without order, as it was the only history which I had 
 voluntarily read in my youth. 
 
 It was in December, 1766, I do not recollect the 
 day, that I at length beheld the gate Del Popolo. The 
 sight of this superb entrance attracted my eyes, and 
 consoled me for the painful feelings I had experienced 
 on witnessing the misery and wretchedness of the 
 people of Viterbo. Scarcely had we alighted at the 
 lodgings provided for us, than myself and my two 
 young companions, leaving our tutor to his repose, 
 began to run through the city, and among other places 
 visited the Pantheon. Those youths displayed even 
 greater surprise than myself at what we saw ; a cir- 
 cumstance which I could readily explain on, several 
 years afterwards, visiting the countries of which they 
 were natives. We remained only eight days at Rome, 
 every moment of which was occupied in gratifying 
 our eager curiosity. For myself, I experienced more 
 gratification in repairing twice a day to Saint Peter's 
 than to view any other of the numerous novelties 
 which presented themselves to our notice. I remarked 
 that this admirable union of sublime objects did not at 
 first make such a powerful impression on my mind as 
 I expected ; but my admiration continued to increase, 
 though I only became fully sensible of the true value 
 of so many wonders when, after being disgusted with 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 123 
 
 the miserable display of ultramontane magnificence, I 
 arrived some years afterwards in order to take up my 
 permanent abode in Home. 
 
 II. 
 
 WINTER approached, and I unceasingly importuned 
 our preceptor to depart for Naples, where we intended 
 to pass the carnival. We travelled in hired carriages. 
 The roads between Rome and Naples were almost im- 
 passable, and my valet, Elias, having broken his arm 
 by a fall from his horse near Radicofani, we took him 
 into our carriage, from the jolting of which he suffered 
 much. 
 
 He displayed on the occurrence of this accident great 
 fortitude and presence of mind. He rose without 
 assistance, and led his horse by the bridle for about a 
 mile to this village. While he waited for a surgeon, 
 he caused the sleeve of his coat to be opened, and, 
 having found on inspection that his arm was really 
 fractured, he placed the bones in a proper situation 
 with his other hand, the injured arm being held by an 
 assistant. 
 
 The surgeon, who entered the house nearly at the 
 time we did, found the operation so well performed that 
 he did nothing but apply proper bandages to the frac- 
 tured member, and in less than an hour we again set 
 out, accompanied in our carriage by the patient, who 
 notwithstanding his sufferings uttered not a single com- 
 plaint. 
 
 On arriving at Aquapendente we found the pole of 
 our carriage was broken, which produced among us 
 the greatest embarrassment. Elias alone, with his 
 
124 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 arm in a sling, and only three hours after the accident, 
 gave so much assistance, and displayed so much activ- 
 ity, that the pole was very soon repaired, and we 
 reached Naples without any other accident. 
 
 I take pleasure in recording this adventure, as it dis- 
 plays the character of a man possessing presence of 
 mind and courage far superior to his condition in life. 
 It gives me particular satisfaction to praise and admire 
 these simple and natural qualities. Woe to those 
 tyrarfnical and infamous governments who neglect, fear, 
 or stifle them. 
 
 We arrived at Naples on the second day of Christmas. 
 The entrance of Capo di China hy the street of Toledo 
 exhibited this city to me under such a gay and pleasing 
 aspect that it will never be effaced from my memory. 
 But we were obliged to take up our lodgings at a 
 very indifferent hotel, situated in one of the most 
 gloomy and worst streets in the city, as all the best 
 inns were already crowded with guests. This circum- 
 stance empoisoned the delight I felt in this charming 
 city. The cheerful or gloomy situation of a house had 
 always an irresistible influence on my weak head till I 
 arrived at a much more advanced age. 
 
 A few days after I was introduced to several different 
 families by the Sardinian minister. The carnival ap- 
 peared to me more brilliant and agreeable than any- 
 thing of the same kind I ever witnessed at Turin, not 
 only on account of the public spectacles, but from the 
 number of private entertainments, and the vast variety 
 of exhibitions. In spite, however, of this constant 
 whirl of dissipation, my being master of my own 
 actions, notwithstanding I had plenty of money, was 
 in the heyday of youth, and possessed of a prepos- 
 sessing figure, I yet felt everywhere satiety, ennui, and 
 
VITTOBIO ALFIERI. 125 
 
 disgust. My greatest pleasure consisted in attending 
 the opera buft'u, tliough the gay and lively music left 
 a deep and melancholy impression on my mind. A 
 thousand gloomy and mournful ideas assailed my im- 
 agination, in which I delighted to indulge by wander- 
 ing alone on the shores near the Chiaja and Portici. 
 I had formed an acquaintance with several young 
 Neapolitans, but without entertaining a friendship for 
 any of them ; my natural and evident backwardness 
 prevented me from making the first advances, while it 
 repressed every attempt at intimacy on the part of 
 those with whom I associated. In my intercourse with 
 the fair sex, for whom I always entertained a great 
 predilection, the same backwardness kept me at a dis- 
 tance from those possessing gentleness and modesty of 
 disposition, while my society was courted by the bold 
 and forward ; and thus I experienced a perpetual void 
 in my heart ; besides, the ardent passion I always in- 
 tertained for visiting distant countries made me care- 
 fully shun the chains of love. At this period I avoided 
 all its snares ; I flew about the whole day in a light 
 cabriolet in search of amusement ; but from my ex- 
 treme ignorance I reaped neither profit nor pleasure 
 from any of the objects I visited. I merely ran from 
 place to place, because repose was insupportable to me. 
 I was introduced at court, and though Ferdinand IV. 
 was only between twelve and sixteen, I discovered a 
 great resemblance in his manners to those of the three 
 other sovereigns whom I had already seen, our old 
 worthy monarch Charles Emanuel, the Duke of Mo- 
 dena, Governor of Milan, and Leopold, Grand Duke 
 of Tuscany, who was still extremely young. I had 
 found the same resemblance in almost all the reigning 
 princes, as well as in the fashions, habits, and manners 
 
126 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of the different courts. During my abode at Naples 
 I began to intrigue anew, through the medium of the 
 Sardinian minister, to obtain permission from the court 
 of Turin to leave my tutor, and continue my travels 
 alone. Though I and my young companions lived 
 in the utmost harmony, and though our old mentor 
 never thwarted us, yet, as it was necessary to consult 
 him respecting the choice of inns, and as he was always 
 irresolute and changeable, we found this subjection in- 
 supportable. With this view I entreated our minister 
 to write in my favor to Turin, to give testimony to my 
 good conduct, and affirm that I was fully capable of 
 conducting myself and of travelling alone. The affair 
 succeeding to my wish, I felt a lively gratitude towards 
 the minister, who, taking a warm interest in all my 
 concerns, was the first who advised me to apply to the 
 study of politics in order to fit me for entering the dip- 
 lomatic line. This idea highly delighted me. I con- 
 ceived that of all situations this was the most desirable. 
 My ideas were for a long time directed towards it, 
 without, however, applying myself to those studies 
 necessary to qualify me for such an important station 
 in the community. 
 
 I was silent respecting my intentions, and, conceiv- 
 ing that a regular and orderly behavior was the only 
 thing requisite in order to succeed in my designs, I 
 assumed a sedateness of demeanor which was perhaps 
 inconsistent with my years, and for which I was more 
 indebted to instinct than to volition. I always pos- 
 sessed a certain gravity of manners, and something 
 like regularity in everything I undertook ; even when 
 I committed a fault, I was not unconscious of the 
 cause. 
 
 Hitherto I was entirely unacquainted with my own 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 127 
 
 powers ; I conceived myself incapable of everything ; 
 I had no decided partiality for any pursuit ; obstinately 
 cherishing the most gloomy and melancholy ideas, I 
 never enjoyed a moment of tranquillity or repose. I 
 was blindly led in everything by an instinct, which 
 I neither fully comprehended nor endeavored to under- 
 stand. 
 
 Several years after I became sensible that my un- 
 happiness originated solely from the want, or rather 
 the necessity, of having my heart occupied with a 
 serious passion, and my mind bent on some ennobling 
 and praiseworthy pursuit. When one of these resour- 
 ces failed me I became dissatisfied with everything, 
 and overwhelmed with the most insupportable chagrin 
 and disgust. 
 
 Anxious to avail myself of my newly acquired in- 
 dependence, I proposed, on the termination of the 
 carnival, to set out alone for Rome, as our old mentor, 
 who waited, as he said, for letters from Flanders, 
 declined fixing any precise period for our departure. 
 But, impatient to leave Naples and visit Rome, or, to 
 speak more truly, impatient to travel alone and as my 
 own master more than three hundred miles from my 
 natal prison, I refused any longer to defer my journey, 
 and accordinglyv took leave of my companions. In 
 this respect I had judged properly, for they remained 
 at Naples during the whole of April, and did not 
 reach Venice in time to witness the solemnity of the 
 ascension ; which I ardently longed to behold. 
 
 III. 
 
 MY faithful Elias, who had preceded my arrival at 
 Rome three days, had prepared for my reception a 
 
128 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 very handsome apartment at the foot of Mount Trin- 
 ity, which soon consoled me for the filth of Naples. 
 But I was still haunted with the same melancholy, 
 ennui, and restlessness ; I was shamefully deficient in 
 every useful or valuable acquisition, and my indiffer- 
 ence for the beautiful and magnificent objects with 
 which Rome abounds daily augmented. I visited 
 only three or four of them, and to these I habitually 
 returned. I went every day to the house of the Count 
 de Rivera, the Sardinian minister, a venerable old 
 man, who gave me the best advice, and of whose 
 society I v never became weary, though he was ex- 
 tremely deaf. On happening to call one day, a beau- 
 tiful Virgil in folio was lying on the table, open at the 
 sixth book of the ./Eneid. On seeing me enter, the 
 good old man made me a sign to approach, and began 
 to recite aloud with the greatest enthusiasm the 
 beautiful verses on Marcellus, with which almost 
 every one is acquainted. As for me, who no longer 
 understood them, though I had translated, explained, 
 and recited them six years before, I felt so ashamed, 
 and experienced such profound grief, that during sev- 
 eral days I did nothing but reflect on my ignorance, 
 and ne verm ore returned to the house of the count. 
 But the torpor and indolence of my ' mind were such 
 that it require^ something more than a transient regret 
 to overcome them. But this beneficial shame passed 
 away without leaving any trace, and during several 
 years I neither read Virgil, nor any other work of 
 merit whatever. 
 
 In this second visit to Eome I was presented to 
 that worthy old man, Pope Clement XIII. His ven- 
 erable and majestic appearance and the magnificence 
 of the palace of Monti Cavallo deprived me of all 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 129 
 
 repugnance to the usual ceremony of prostration, 
 though I had read the ecclesiastical history, and knew 
 how to estimate this ridiculous formality. 
 
 It was now that I began my third little plot, 
 through the medium of the Count de Rivera, to obtain 
 permission from the paternal court of Turin to travel 
 for another twelvemonth through France, England, 
 and Holland, the very names of which made my 
 youthful heart throb with delight. This little artifice 
 again proved successful, and I found myself at liberty 
 to roam through the world during the year 1768. A 
 little difficulty, however, occurred which greatly afflicted 
 me ; my guardian, with whom I had never reckoned, 
 and who had never allowed me the whole of my reve- 
 nues, when I had obtained this permission, wrote me, 
 that for the second year he would give me a letter of 
 credit for fifteen hundred sequins, having only allowed 
 me twelve hundred for the expenses of my first jour- 
 ney. This niggardly declaration gave me much un- 
 easiness, without, however, discouraging me. I had 
 heard that living was extremely expensive in these 
 countries, and I thought it hard to be deprived of the 
 moans of appearing with respectability. But, on the 
 other hand, I durst not remonstrate with my avari- 
 cious guardian, lest I had been prevented from prose- 
 cuting my design. He would most probably have 
 sounded in my ear the word king. He might have 
 represented me to his majesty, who interferes in all 
 the domestic concerns of the nobles, as a prodigal and 
 a libertine, on which account I was anxious to avoid 
 entering into a quarrel with him. But I determined 
 in my own mind to save as much as possible of the 
 twelve hundred sequins, in order to add to the fifteen 
 hundred that were promised me. 
 
130 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Being thus restricted for the first time in regard to 
 my expenditure, which had hitherto been sufficiently 
 ample, I was seized with a fit of the most sordid ava- 
 rice. It carried me so far, that I not only refrained 
 from visiting the curiosities of Rome, in order to avoid 
 the expense of drink-money; but I even refused my 
 faithful Elias what was requisite for his support. So 
 niggardly did I become in this respect, that he was at 
 length compelled to inform me that he would be 
 obliged to leave my service and seek a livelihood else- 
 where. Thus then I was forced, contrary to my 
 inclination, to augment his allowance. 
 
 With my mind contracted, and bent on my favorite 
 scheme of saving, I departed for Venice early in the 
 month of May. My avarice led me to hire mules, 
 though I detested the lagging pace of these miserable 
 animals; however, as the difference in the expense 
 between this mode of conveyance and travelling post 
 was very considerable, I reluctantly submitted to it. 
 Leaving therefore Elias and my other domestics to 
 follow, I mounted my meagre Rosinante, which, stum- 
 bling at every step, obliged me to pursue the greater 
 part of my journey on foot. I thus proceeded, reck- 
 oning in a low voice on my fingers how much it would 
 be possible to save during the ten or twelve days I 
 should be on the road; how much during a month's 
 abode at Venice, how much on my journey from Italy, 
 and on this and that other occasion. 
 
 I engaged the muleteer the whole way to Bologna ; 
 but on arriving at Loretto, my lassitude was so intol- 
 erable, and my spirits so depressed, that I relinquished 
 this detestable method of travelling. Thus my nascent 
 avarice was effectually overcome by the impatience 
 and ardor of my character. In spite of every consid- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 131 
 
 eration I paid the muleteer for the period I had agreed 
 on, and, relieved from an intolerable weight, with 
 buoyant spirits I posted the remainder of the journey. 
 From this period my economy has been always un- 
 tinctured with avarice. 
 
 I was now much less pleased with Bologna than on 
 my former visit ; my piety was no longer excited by 
 the shrine of Loretto, and longing to behold Venice, 
 respecting which I had heard so many wonders dur- 
 ing my infancy, I reached Ferrara. I entered this city 
 without recollecting that it was the birthplace and 
 contained the tomb of the divine Ariosto, whose 
 poems I had perused with so much delight, and which 
 were the first that were impressed on my memory. 
 To my shame be it spoken a benumbing torpor took 
 possession of my faculties, and my taste for literature 
 daily declined; I acquired, however, without perceiv- 
 ing it, some knowledge of men and manners from the 
 various scenes I daily witnessed. 
 
 I took my passage on board a packet termed the 
 Courier of Venice, in which I met with a company of 
 female dancers, one of whom was extremely beautiful. 
 This circumstance tended not, however, to render the 
 voyage less tedious, which lasted two days and two 
 nights before we reached Chiozzo; these nymphs 
 acted the part of Susannas, and I could never tolerate 
 assumed virtues. 
 
 On arriving at Venice its position filled me with 
 delight and astonishment. I was even pleased with 
 the jargon spoken in this city, because my ears had 
 been accustomed to it in the comedies of Goldorii, 
 which I had read in my infancy. This dialect is, in 
 fact, rather agreeable, but it is wanting in dignity. 
 
 The crowd of foreigners, the number of public ex- 
 
132 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 hibitions, and the various entertainments of every kind 
 which were this year given* in honor of the Prince of 
 Wiirtemberg, joined to those which usually take place 
 at the feast of the Ascension, detained me at Venice 
 till the middle of June, though I did not reap much 
 amusement in attending them. No sooner was their 
 novelty over, than my habitual melancholy and ennui 
 returned. I passed several days together in complete 
 solitude, never leaving the house, nor stirring from the 
 window, whence I made signs to- a young lady who 
 lodged opposite, and with whom I occasionally ex- 
 changed a few words. During the rest of the day, 
 which liung very heavy on my hands, I passed my 
 time either in sleeping or in dreaming, I knew not 
 which, and frequently in weeping without any appar- 
 ent motive. I had lost my tranquillity, arid I was 
 unable even to divine what had deprived me of it. 
 A few years afterwards, on investigating the cause of 
 this occurrence, I discovered that it proceeded from 
 a malady which attacked me every spring, sometimes 
 in April and sometimes in June; its duration was 
 longer or shorter, and its violence very different, ac- 
 cording as my mind was occupied. 
 
 I likewise experienced that my intellectual faculties 
 resembled a barometer, and that I possessed more or 
 less talent for composition in proportion to the weight 
 of the atmosphere. During the prevalence of the sol- 
 stitial and equinoctial winds I was always remarkably 
 stupid, and uniformly evinced less penetration in the 
 evening than in the morning. I likewise perceived that 
 the force of my imagination, the ardor of enthusiasm, 
 and capability of invention were possessed by me in 
 a higher degree in the middle of winter or in the mid- 
 dle of summer than during the intermediate periods. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 133 
 
 This materiality, which I believe to be common to all 
 men of a delicate nervous system, has greatly con- 
 tributed to lesson the pride with which the good I have 
 done might have inspired me, in like manner as it has 
 tended to diminish the shame I might have felt for the 
 errors I have committed, particularly in my own art. 
 In short, I am fully convinced that during the periods 
 of which I now speak, it was beyond my power to 
 produce anything great or excellent. 
 
 IV. 
 
 MY* stay at Venice was altogether productive of 
 little satisfaction. I did not visit a tenth part of the 
 masterpieces of painting, sculpture, arid architecture, 
 which everywhere abound in this city. I confess, too, 
 with shame, that I did not even take a view of the 
 arsenal. I paid not the least attention to the gov- 
 ernment, which differs from all others; if we cannot 
 praise it for being the most excellent, it may at least 
 be regarded as singular, having continued to exist 
 during so many centuries in the greatest prosperity 
 and tranquillity. A stranger to the fine arts, I vege- 
 tated in the most shameful indolence. At last I set 
 out from Venice, and as usual felt more pleasure in 
 leaving than in entering the city. I proceeded to 
 Padua, which on the whole I beheld with little inter- 
 est ; I d'd not introduce myself to any one of its cele- 
 brated professors, whose friendship I was so anxious to 
 cultivate in after-life ; but at that period the very 
 name of a professor, study, or an university filled me 
 with dismay. I knew not even that a few miles dis- 
 tant from Padua reposed the ashes of our immortal 
 Petrarch ; but what had I to do with Petrarch, I who 
 
134 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had never either read his works, or comprehended or 
 perceived their heauties ; I who had thoughtlessly 
 thrown them aside when they accidentally fell into my 
 hands f Constantly oppressed by tedium and indo- 
 lence, we rapidly passed through Vicenza, Verona, 
 Mantua, and Milan, in our way to Genoa, a city 
 which I had a few years before seen, and which had 
 left in my mind a strong desire to revisit it. 
 
 I carried with me many letters of introduction to per- 
 sons residing in the different countries through which 
 we travelled, but I seldom took the trouble to deliver 
 them. When I did present them at the houses of the 
 persons to whom they were addressed, I seldom called 
 again, though they themselves took infinite trouble to 
 find me out, in which, however, they never almost 
 succeeded. This conduct partly proceeded from a cer- 
 tain inherent pride and inflexibility of character, and 
 partly from an almost invincible antipathy to new 
 acquaintances ; a disposition wholly irreconcilable with 
 my mania for incessant travelling. Strange contra- 
 diction ! I longed to be with the same persons, and 
 to find them in different places ! I soon also became 
 weary of Genoa, in which at that time there was no 
 Sardinian ambassador, and where I knew m> one ex- 
 cept my banker. I had determined to take my depar- 
 ture toward the end of June, when one day this 
 banker, who was quite a man of the world, paid me 
 a visit. He found me alone, abstracted and melan- 
 choly ; he inquired how I occupied myself, and, having 
 discovered that I had no books and little knowledge, 
 and that I spent much of my time in gazing from my 
 windows and running through the streets of Genoa or 
 in aquatic excursions, he took pity on my youth, and 
 insisted on my accompanying him to the residence of 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 135 
 
 one of his friends. The name of this friend was the 
 Chevalier Charles Negroni. lie had spent a part of 
 his life at Paris, and, observing that I had an anxious 
 desire to visit that celebrated city, spoke much on the 
 subject. What he said relative to this city appeared 
 to me exaggerated, till I arrived there a few months 
 afterwards. This noble and worthy man introduced 
 me to the best society in Genoa, and at the splendid 
 festival given by the new Doge on his election he 
 attended me as a guide and companion. It was at 
 this time that I had nearly fallen in love with a beau- 
 tiful and amiable female who appeared disposed to re- 
 turn my passion. But my rage for travelling, and my 
 wish to leave Italy, rescued me from the fetters with 
 which love threatened to enchain me. 
 
 Having taken my passage in a small felucca for An- 
 tibes, it seemed in my eyes as if I were about to make 
 a voyage to the Indies. In my maritime excursions 
 hitherto I had never been above a few miles out at 
 sea. A fresh breeze sprung up, and soon carried us 
 to a considerable distance from the shore ; but as this 
 soon changed into a squall, we were obliged to steer 
 for Savona, where we remained for two days waiting 
 the return of favorable weather. My spirits were so 
 much affected by this delay, that I never left my cham- 
 ber, not even to visit the celebrated Virgin of Savona ; 
 I neither wished to see any more of Italy, nor to hear 
 it again spoken of. During my stay I was wholly 
 absorbed in the contemplation of the pleasures I ex- 
 pected to realize on my arrival in France. My hyper- 
 bolical imagination always magnifies distant good and 
 evil so much in my eyes, that when I experience either 
 the one or the other, but particularly the former, the 
 effect is destroyed. 
 
136 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 On landing at Antibes, everything I beheld, being 
 now, afforded me a subject of delight; for though many 
 of these objects wore inferior to others I had seen, yet 
 their variety excited in my mind the most pleasurable 
 sensations. I set out immediately for Toulon, the 
 appearance of which afforded me little gratification, and 
 where I saw nothing worthy of notice. From thence I 
 proceeded to Marseilles ; its fine port, regular and well- 
 laid- out streets, but especially the number of beautiful 
 and lively women it contained, rendered it particularly 
 attractive in my eyes. In order to avoid travelling 
 during the continuance of the great heats, I determined 
 to take up my abode in it for one month. The landlord 
 of the inn where I resided kept an excellent ordinary ; 
 and as this was frequented by a numerous company, I 
 "was under no necessity of speaking, which always cost 
 me a painful effort : my taciturnity, the effect of a 
 timidity I could never wholly vanquish, was redoubled 
 by the incessant babbling of the French officers and 
 merchants who resorted to this table in great numbers. 
 From my disposition of mind it was impossible I could 
 ever associate with any of them, either on a friendly or 
 intimate footing. I attended willingly to their conver- 
 sation, but without deriving any advantage from it ; 
 but I always listened without an effort to the discourse 
 of fools, because we learn from them what they tell 
 us not. 
 
 My journey to France was chiefly undertaken with a 
 view to become acquainted with the French theatre. 
 Two years previous to this period I had fallen in with 
 a pjvrty of French comedians, and assiduously attended 
 them during the whole summer. In this way I had 
 become acquainted with many of their principal trage- 
 dies, and with most of their celebrated comedies. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 137 
 
 Neither, however, while in Piedmont, nor during my 
 first or second journey to France, did it enter into my 
 head that I should ever entertain a desire or possess 
 any talent for dramatic composition. I listened indeed 
 attentively to the productions of others, but without any 
 attempt to imitate them, or any indication that I myself 
 should become a dramatic author. On the whole, though 
 naturally less inclined to laugh than to mourn, I felt a 
 greater predilection for comedy than tragedy. When 
 afterwards reflecting on this subject, I became convinced 
 that one of the principal causes of my indifference for 
 tragedy was that in most of the French pieces, whole 
 scenes, nay, even acts, are filled with subordinate char- 
 acters, which by unnecessarily interrupting the main 
 pl>>t, destroyed the effect of the whole on my mind. 
 Besides, my ears, though I wished not to be an Italian, 
 were disgusted with the monotonous and insipid uni- 
 formity of their stately rhymes, and their disagreeable 
 nasal terminations. Hence, without knowing why, 
 though the actors were superior to ours, though the 
 pieces were excellent, and depicted the emotions and 
 passions in an admirable manner, yet I felt occasionally 
 the most freezing indifference, and departed very little 
 satisfied 'with their performance. The tragedies from 
 which I derived the greatest gratification were Alzire, 
 Mahomet, and a few others. 
 
 After the performance, one of my amusements at 
 Marseilles was to bathe every evening in the sea. I 
 was induced to indulge myself in this luxury in conse- 
 quence of finding a very agreeable spot, on a tongue 
 of land lying to the right of the harbor, where, seated 
 on the sand, with my back leaning against a rock, I 
 could behold the sea and sky without interruption. In 
 the contemplation of these objects, embellished by the 
 
138 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 rays of the setting sun, I passed my time dreaming of 
 future delights. There I might unquestionably have 
 become a poet, could I have given language to my 
 thoughts and feelings. 
 
 The indolent man, or he who is not occupied in some 
 useful pursuit, soon becomes disgusted with everything. 
 So it was with me on the present occasion. I soon 
 became weary of Marseilles. Haunted by a desire of 
 seeing Paris, I left Marseilles on the 10th of August, 
 rather like one wishing to fly from himself than as a 
 traveller. I posted day and night without stopping till 
 I reached Lyons. With my mind intently fixed on 
 Paris, neither Aix, with its magnificent and delightful 
 public walks, nor Avignon, celebrated for containing 
 the tomb of Laura, nor Vaucluse, which had so long 
 been the abode of the immortal Petrarch, could turn me 
 aside from my purpose. Through fatigue, I was com- 
 pelled to stop forty-eight hours at Lyons ; but no sooner 
 was my strength recruited, than I again hurried on, and 
 arrived in less than three days at Paris, by the way of 
 Bourgogne. 
 
 V. 
 
 IT was on a cold, cloudy, and rainy morning, between 
 the 15th and 20th of August, that I entered Paris, by 
 the wretched suburb of St. Marceau. Accustomed 
 to the clear and serene sky of Italy and Provence, I felt 
 much surprised at the thick fog which enveloped the 
 city, especially at this season. Never in my life did I 
 experience more disagreeable feelings than on entering 
 the damp and dirty suburb of Saint Germain, where I 
 was to take up my lodging. What inconsiderate haste, 
 what mad folly, had led me into this sink of filth and 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 139 
 
 Hastiness ! On entering the inn I felt myself thoroughly 
 undeceived, and I should certainly have set off again 
 immediately had not shame and fatigue withheld me. 
 My illusions were still further dissipated when I began 
 to ramble through Paris. The mean and wretched 
 buildings, the contemptible ostentation displayed in a 
 few houses dignified with the pompous appellation of 
 hotels and palaces, the filthiness of the Gothic churches, 
 the truly Vandal-like construction of the public theatres 
 at that time, besides innumerable other disagreeable 
 objects, of which not the least disgusting to me was the 
 plastered countenances of many very ugly women, far 
 outweighed in my mind the beauty and elegance of the 
 public walks and gardens, the infinite variety of fine 
 carriages, the lofty facade of the Louvre, as well as the 
 number of spectacles and entertainments of every 
 kind. 
 
 The weather still continued gloomy and unfavorable, 
 and for nearly fifteen days, during which I remained at 
 Paris, I never once beheld the splendid orb of day. 
 The state of the atmosphere had always a considerable 
 influence on my mental faculties. Hence, perhaps, it 
 is that the impression made on my mind during my 
 abode in Paris remains so indelibly engraven on my 
 imagination, that even now, at the distance of twenty- 
 three years, I think I still experience it, notwithstanding 
 iny reason combats, and in part condemns it. 
 
 The court had removed to Compiegne, where it in- 
 tended to remain during the month' of September. The 
 Sardinian minister, for whom I had letters, not being 
 at Paris, I knew not a single soul excepting some for- 
 eigners whom I had become acquainted with in Italy, 
 and who like myself were unknown to any person of 
 distinction. Ever tormented by the demon of melan- 
 
140 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 choly, I spent most of my time in the public walks, 
 attending theatrical amusements. Our ambassador 
 did not return from Fontainebleau to Paris till towards 
 the close of November ; by him I was introduced to 
 various families, and particularly to those of the foreign 
 ministers. It was at the house of the Spanish ambas- 
 sador that I was first induced to play at faro. Though 
 I neither won nor lost, I soon grew weary of this as well 
 as every other amusement, and resolved to depart in 
 the month of January for London. 
 
 Satiated with Paris, though in truth I was scarcely 
 acquainted with the streets, my anxiety to visit new 
 scenes was greatly abated. I found those I had hitherto 
 beheld not only fall far beneath the picture I had drawn 
 of them in imagination, but also beneath those I had 
 seen in Italy. 
 
 It was in London then that I was at length taught 
 to know and appreciate Naples, Rome, Venice, and 
 Florence. 
 
 Before departing for England, our ambassador pro- 
 posed to present me at the court of Versailles. An 
 anxious wish to see a court generally esteemed superior 
 in splendor to any other induced me to accept his pro- 
 posal. The 1st of January, 1768, was the day fixed 
 on for this purpose. I had been informed that the king 
 never deigned to address any but the most celebrated 
 foreigners ; I could not, however, reconcile myself to 
 the haughty and unbending mien of Louis XV. He 
 received with a cold and supercilious air those who 
 were presented to him, surveying them from head to 
 foot. It seemed as if on presenting a dwarf to a giant 
 he should view him smiling, or perhaps say, ll Ah ! 
 the little animal ! " or if he remained silent, his air and 
 manner would express the same derision. Such con- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 141 
 
 tempt soon ceased, however, to afflict me, when a few 
 moments afterward I observed his majesty receive other 
 foreigners of much higher rank than myself in the same 
 manner. After a short prayer, the king took the road 
 to the chapel, near the door of which the mayor and 
 municipality of Paris, advancing, stammered out the 
 usual compliments of the season. The taciturn mon- 
 arch replied by a slight inclination of his head, and, 
 turning to one of his courtiers, inquired what had become 
 of the sheriffs who usually attended the mayor on such 
 occasions, when a voice exclaimed from among the 
 crowd, "They have stuck fast in the mud"; on which 
 all the court laughed, and the monarch himself even 
 smiled. 
 
 Such is the unsteadiness of fortune, that nearly twenty 
 years afterwards I beheld another Louis receive much 
 more graciously a very different compliment made to 
 him by another mayor on the 17th of July, 1789. It 
 was then the courtiers themselves who stuck fast in 
 the mud, on coming from Versailles to Paris. Perhaps 
 I might return thanks to Heaven for having been an 
 eyewitness of this spectacle, were I not fully convinced 
 that the reign of le peitple souverain will ultimately 
 prove more ruinous to France and to the world at large 
 than that of the Capets. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I LEFT Paris about the middle of January, with a 
 countryman of my own, a young man of genius, of a 
 prepossessing figure, and who was considerably older 
 than myself. In other respects he was equally igso- 
 rant as I, still less given to reflection, and fonder of 
 mixing in society than to study and observe mankind. 
 
142 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 He was the cousin to our ambassador at Paris, and 
 nephew of Prince Masserano, Spanish ambassador at 
 the Court of London. It was previously settled that 
 we should take up our residence at the house of this 
 nobleman. I was not over partial to travelling com- 
 panions, but as we were both going to one place, I 
 readily reconciled myself to his society. 
 
 My new comrade was extremely lively and loqua- 
 cious ; and we had the mutual satisfaction, I of listen- 
 ing and holding my tongue, he of declaiming and 
 extolling himself. He was extremely vain of his per- 
 son, having been a great favorite with the ladies ; and 
 he recounted with a grave air his good fortune, which 
 I heard without the smallest envy. During the even- 
 ing when we went to inns, while waiting supper we 
 usually played at chess, in which he always came off 
 conqueror, for I never entered into the spirit of the 
 game. On repairing to Calais, we took the road by 
 Lisle, Douai, and St. Omer. The cold was so intense, 
 that one night, though we travelled with the blinds 
 up, and took other precautions, both our bread and 
 wine were frozen. I rejoiced at this excessive cold, 
 for I always love extremes. 
 
 On leaving the French coast, the cold became much 
 less intense, and no snow fell during our journey from 
 Dover to London. England, and especially the me- 
 tropolis, highly delighted me at first sight. The roads, 
 the inns, the horses, the females, the absence of men- 
 dicity, the neatness and conveniency of the houses, the 
 incessant bustle in the suburbs as well as in the capi- 
 tal, all conspired to fill my mind with delight. In my 
 future journeys to England I never found any reason to 
 change this favorable opinion. 
 
 At London it is more easy to procure introductions 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 143 
 
 to the houses of private families than at Paris. Induced 
 by this circumstance, and the influence of my travelling 
 companion, I plunged into dissipation. In general I 
 am little solicitous to overcome obstacles, when I ex- 
 pect no benefit to result from it. The truly paternal 
 benevolence of Prince de Masserano tended greatly to 
 give a new turn to my character. 
 
 This worthy old man was much attached to the 
 Piedmontese, being a native of Piedmont, though his 
 father had afterwards settled in Spain. Perceiving,, 
 after a residence of three months, that I made no prog- 
 ress in knowledge, and becoming disgusted with as- 
 semblies, balls, and routs, I determined no longer to 
 play the lord in the drawing-room, but the coachman 
 at the gate. 
 
 Much to his delight, I frequently drove my com- 
 panion through the streets of London, leaving to him 
 all the glory of gallantry, while I acquitted myself in 
 my new character of coachman with so much skill and 
 address that even in the collision of coach-poles, so 
 common at Ranelagh and other places of public amuse- 
 ment, I generally came off with honor, and without my 
 horses suffering the least injury. My amusements 
 through the course of the winter consisted in being on 
 horseback during five or six hours every morning, and 
 in being seated on the coach-box for two or three hours 
 every evening, whatever might be the state of the 
 weather. During the month of April my companion 
 and I travelled through some of the richest counties of 
 England. In this excursion we visited Portsmouth, 
 Salisbury, Bath, Bristol, and returned by the way of 
 Oxford to London. The country then so much en- 
 chanted me that I determined to settle in it, not that 
 I was much attached to any individual, but because 
 
144 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I was delighted with the scenery, the simple manners 
 of the inhabitants, the modesty and heanty of the wo- 
 men, and above all with the enjoyment of political 
 liberty, all which made me overlook its mutable cli- 
 mate, the melancholy almost inseparable from it, and 
 the exorbitant price of all the necessaries of life. On 
 returning from this tour, which still farther augmented 
 my inclination to roam, I again felt myself urged by 
 the mania of travelling to visit new scenes ; it gave me 
 much pain, therefore, to be obliged to defer my voyage 
 to Holland till the month of June. I embarked at 
 Harwich for Helvoetsluys, which, favored by a fortu- 
 nate breeze, I reached in twelve hours. 
 
 Holland during the summer season exhibits a cheer- 
 ful and smiling aspect, but it would have pleased me 
 still more had I not previously visited England \ for, 
 however much we may admire its population and 
 riches, its wise laws, the industry and activity of its 
 inhabitants, yet in all of these it is exceeded by Eng- 
 land. In fact, after much travelling and observation, 
 the only two countries of Europe in which I have uni- 
 formly wished to fix my residence are England and 
 Italy; because in the former art has everywhere 
 changed and subjugated nature, and because in the 
 latter nature always appears predominant and in its 
 pristine force and vigor. 
 
 During my stay at the Hague, which was protracted 
 beyond what I had intended, I fell into the snares 
 which love had so often spread in vain to entrap me. 
 While thus assailed with the shafts of love, my heart 
 w r as not insensible to the soothing influence of friend- 
 ship. 
 
 The name of my new friend was Joseph d'Acunha, 
 the Portuguese envoy at the Hague. In him were united 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 145 
 
 to much originality of character a well-informed mind 
 and great elevation of sentiment. A mutual tacitur- 
 nity and sympathy of character insensibly operated to 
 unite us in the bonds of friendship. This union was 
 still farther cemented by reciprocal candor and frank- 
 ness. The excellent advice given me by my worthy 
 friend will never be erased from my memory. He it 
 was who first made me blush at my indolent and ab- 
 surd mode of life, at my dislike to reading, and at my 
 utter want of acquaintance with the works of our best 
 authors in prose and verse, as well as with the produc- 
 tions of our most celebrated philosophers. He men- 
 tioned in particular the immortal Machiavel, whom I 
 knew only by name. Biassed by the prejudices of edu- 
 cation, we too readily give credit to the calumnies propa- 
 gated by his detractors, who have frequently neither 
 read nor comprehended him. My friend D'Acunha 
 presented me with a copy of his works, which I still 
 preserve, and on which I have at different times writ- 
 ten marginal notes. What seemed to me then very 
 extraordinary was that a desire for study never took 
 possession of my mind, nor did my ideas begin to 
 unfold themselves, till I became occupied with the pas- 
 sion of love. This passion at once deprived rne of 
 the means of applying myself, and stimulated me to 
 proceed. Never did I find myself in a more suitable 
 state for the composition of any literary work than 
 when I was actuated by the desire of presenting my 
 productions to her who inspired me with this omnipo- 
 tent passion. 
 
 My happiness in Holland was not of long duration. 
 [The family of the lady w r hom Alfieri adored had re- 
 cently come into possession of a large estate in Swit- 
 zerland, and, apparently to separate her from him, she 
 
146 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was removed to this place for the approaching autumn, 
 which was then near.] As she could not assume the 
 resolution to inform me of the day of her departure, and 
 as I equally feared myself to make any inquiry respecting 
 it, the intelligence first reached me through my friend 
 D'Acunha, who, putting a small billet into my hands, ac- 
 quainted me that she had been forced to quit the Hague. 
 I should never obtain credit, were I to recount all 
 the follies I committed on this occasion. While, how- 
 ever, I absolutely implored death 1) come to my aid, I 
 said not a word to any one. I feigned sickness in 
 order to induce my friend to leave me to myself, and 
 called in a surgeon, who took away some blood from 
 my arm. No sooner had he quitted my chamber than 
 I pretended to fall asleep, and, closing my bed-curtains, 
 mused for a few minutes on what I should do. I then 
 loosened the bandage from my arm, that I might die 
 by loss of blood. But my faithful and intelligent Elias 
 had seen my frenzy, and been instructed before his 
 departure to watch my conduct narrowly. With this 
 view, pretending to believe that I had called him, he 
 approached my bedside, and suddenly opened the cur- 
 tains. Equally surprised and abashed, at the same 
 time perhaps even repenting of my folly, or at least not 
 fully determined in iny resolution, I told him that the 
 bandage round my arm had become loose. Feigning 
 to believe me, he immediately replaced it, but never 
 again left me to myself. As soon as my friend was 
 informed by him of my situation, he visited me without 
 delay, and forced me to quit iny bed. He had me im- 
 mediately conveyed to his house, where I continued 
 several days, during which he never left me alone. I 
 became dull and pensive, but whether from shame or 
 diffidence, I concealed iny inward grief. I neither 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 147 
 
 spoke nor wept. The influence of time, however, and 
 the sage counsels of my friend, together with the various 
 amusements in which he compelled me to participate, 
 and a ray of hope that I should once again behold the 
 mistress of my heart on her return to Holland, but 
 above all, perhaps, the volatility of temper natural to 
 nineteen, tended gradually to assuage my sorrow. My 
 mind remained long a prey to grief, but reason at 
 length became triumphant. As soon as the anguish of 
 my mind began to abate, though it still rankled in my 
 bosom, I formed the resolution of returning to Italy, 
 finding it altogether insupportable to remain in a coun- 
 try where everything tended to recall to my mind the 
 transient happiness I had enjoyed. I found it, how- 
 ever, extremely difficult to tear myself from my new 
 friend, though he himself urged me to persevere in my 
 resolution, being fully persuaded that travelling and 
 new objects, distance and time, would eventually oper- 
 ate my cure. 
 
 I left Utrecht about the middle of September, and 
 took the road to Brussels. I proceeded through Lor- 
 raine, Alsace, Switzerland, and Savoy, without stop- 
 ping, unless to sleep. On my arrival in Piedmont, I 
 directed my course to Cumiana, my sister's country 
 residence. From thence I went to Suza, without 
 passing through Turin, as I wished to avoid all in- 
 tercourse with mankind, for I perceived that to my 
 cure retirement was absolutely indispensable. During 
 this journey, of all the cities through which I passed, 
 as Nancy, Strasburg, Basle, and Geneva, I beheld 
 only the walls. I never once opened my mouth to 
 speak to my faithful Elias. I spoke to him only by 
 signs ; while he, to conform himself to my humor 
 obeyed me, and silently anticipated all my wants. 
 
148 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 VII. 
 
 I REMAINED six weeks in the country with my 
 sister, and afterwards accompanied her on her return to 
 Turin. From my great increase of growth during the 
 last two years none of my acquaintances recognized 
 me. The idle and roving life I led had produced the 
 most beneficial effects on my health. On passing 
 through Geneva I purchased a parcel of books, among 
 which were the works of Rousseau, Montesquieu, Hel- 
 vetius, and others. Scarcely had I returned home, 
 with my heart filled with melancholy and love, than I 
 perceived the necessity of occupying my mind with 
 some species of study. But to what could I apply it ? 
 A neglected education, followed by six years of dis- 
 sipation and total idleness, had wholly unfitted me for 
 serious application. Being undetermined whether to 
 remain at home or recommence my travels, I domesti- 
 cated myself in my sister's house during the winter, 
 wholly relinquishing society, and passing my days in 
 reading and walking. I perused only French works, 
 and among others began the Heloise of Rousseau 
 several times ; but, though possessing very warm and 
 ardent feelings, I found it so much labored, and 
 abounding with an affectation of sentiment foreign to 
 the heart, that I could never finish the first volume. 
 I did not understand the political works of this author, 
 and left them behind me. The prose works of Voltaire 
 gave me the greatest pleasure, but his poetry did not 
 suit my taste. I never read the whole of the Hen- 
 riade, and only a few detached passages of his Pucelle, 
 as everything that is obscene fills me with disgust. 
 Some of his tragedies I also perused about the same 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 149 
 
 time. Montesquieu I read twice from beginning to end 
 with a mingled sentiment of pleasure and surprise, and 
 perhaps also with some profit. L'Esprit d'Helvetius 
 left a profound but disagreeable impression on my 
 mind; but the book of all others which gave me the 
 most delight, and beguiled many of the tedious hours of 
 winter, was Plutarch. I perused five or six times the 
 lives of Timoleon, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, and 
 some others. I wept, raved, and fell into such a 
 transport of fury, that if any one had been in the 
 adjoining chamber they must have pronounced me out 
 of my senses. Every time that I came to any of the 
 great actions of these celebrated individuals, my agita- 
 tion was so extreme that I could not remain "seated. I 
 was like one beside himself, and shed tears of mingled 
 grief and rage at having been born at Piedmont, and 
 at a period and under a government where it was im- 
 possible to conceive or execute any great design. 
 
 During this winter I studied with the greatest ardor 
 the planetary system, and the laws which regulate the 
 celestial bodies. I pushed my studies as far as it was 
 possible without the aid of geometry, with which I 
 was wholly unacquainted, or in other words, I found 
 myself incompetent to master the historical part of 
 astronomy, which is purely mathematical. Notwith- 
 standing my gross ignorance in this respect, I compre- 
 hended enough of this divine science to elevate my 
 mind to the immensity of the universe. No study 
 could have been better calculated than this to occupy 
 and soothe my mind if I had possessed the necessary 
 knowledge to prosecute it. While engaged in this 
 praiseworthy pursuit, which, however, increased my 
 taciturnity, and augmented my melancholy and dis- 
 gust for every common amusement, I was unceasingly 
 
150 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 importuned by my brother-in-law to enter into the 
 married state. I was naturally attached to a domestic 
 life ; but after having visited England at nineteen, and 
 read Plutarch with the greatest interest at twenty years 
 of age, I experienced the most insufferable repugnance 
 at marrying and having rny children born at Turin. 
 With a fickleness, however,. natural to my years, I at 
 length consented that my brother-in-law should ne- 
 gotiate a marriage for me with the rich young heiress 
 of a respectable family. This lady was rather hand- 
 some, and her black eyes would doubtless have made 
 me forget Plutarch, in like manner as Plutarch had 
 diminished my attachment to the fair Hollander. I 
 must here avow to my shame that at this period I was 
 more influenced by a desire for riches than beauty. I 
 calculated that by this union my fortune would receive a 
 great augmentation, and that I should be thus enabled 
 to cut, as the world terms it, a brilliant figure ; but my 
 happy destiny overruled my weak judgment. 
 
 The lady, after evincing a marked predilection for 
 me, was deterred from her purpose by one of her aunts, 
 who favored the addresses of a young gentleman, whose 
 family was indeed less affluent than my own, but who 
 had a number of rich relatives, and, besides, stood in 
 high favor at court. He had been one of the pages to 
 the Duke of Savoy, the presumptive heir to the crown, 
 who afterwards conferred on him many benefits. He 
 displayed mild and agreeable manners, and possessed 
 an excellent character, while I, on the contrary, was 
 regarded as a singular being, who did not bend his 
 judgment to the slavish opinions of the age, and who, 
 instead of concealing his sentiments, openly ridiculed 
 the usages and customs of his country; an offence 
 never to be forgiven. Hence my rival obtained the 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 151 
 
 preference. This choice was extremely fortunate for 
 the young lady, as she led a happy life with the family 
 into which she entered. It was equally fortunate for 
 me, since, had I burdened myself with a wife and 
 family, I must have taken an everlasting farewell of 
 the Muses. This refusal was at once a subject of pain 
 and consolation to me. While the affair was in agita- 
 tion I frequently felt regret, and a kind of shame I 
 durst not avow. I blushed at the consciousness of 
 being influenced in this instance by the consideration 
 of riches, and of acting in opposition to my usual way 
 of thinking ; but one act of weakness produces a second, 
 which in like manner brings others in its train. One 
 of the motives for this absurd cupidity was the project 
 I had formed, during my stay at Naples, of devoting 
 myself to the diplomatic line, to succeed in which I 
 deemed the possession of wealth indispensable. In 
 this design I was still farther encouraged to proceed 
 by the advice of my brother-in-law, an old courtier. 
 Happily on my failure in this matrimonial union I re- 
 signed every idea of entering into the diplomatic corps. 
 I never solicited any official situation, and thank Heaven 
 my foolish project was never communicated to any one 
 but my brother-in-law. 
 
 Foiled in my two projects, I resolved to continue my 
 travels. I had settled all pecuniary concerns with my 
 guardian, from whose power I immediately emancipated 
 myself on attaining my twenty-first year. Being now 
 fully acquainted with the state of my own affairs, I 
 found myself much more at ease than my guardian 
 would have made me believe. In this respect he 
 rendered me an essential service, by accustoming me 
 to regulate and restrain my wants; it also imbued my 
 mind with a love of order and regularity from which 
 
152 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I have never deviated. Finding myself in possession 
 of a yearly income of 2,500 sequins, besides a large 
 sum of ready money accumulated during the period of 
 my minority, I deemed myself sufficiently rich for a 
 bachelor, especially in my country. Having therefore 
 abandoned every idea of augmenting my fortune, I 
 prepared for the recommencement of my travels on a 
 more liberal scale of expense than formerly. 
 
 vnr. 
 
 AFTER having obtained the necessary permission 
 from the king, I departed for Vienna in the montn of 
 May, 1769. I left to my faithful Elias the trouble of 
 regulating our expenses, and began seriously to reflect 
 on men and manners. To the chagrin, indolence, and 
 a physical desire for change, which actuated me during 
 my first travels, had now succeeded a certain pleasing 
 melancholy which led to reflection. This partly re- 
 sulted from the influence of love, and partly from the 
 works I had perused during the last six months. The 
 essays of Montaigne proved to me of the greatest utility; 
 and it is to them perhaps that I owe the little capa- 
 bility of thinking which I possessed at an after period 
 of my life. This work in ten small volumes became 
 my constant travelling companion ; and I derived from 
 it both instruction and pleasure. It flattered even my 
 ignorance and idleness, because I opened by chance any 
 volume, and after reading a page or two again closed 
 it, and passed whole hours in reflecting on what I had 
 read. I was also ashamed to meet Latin quotations 
 both in prose and verse in almost every page, which I 
 could not understand without having recourse to the 
 translations in the notes, which I was foolish enough 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 153 
 
 to do, without even an attempt to understand the 
 original ; hut what was still worse, I skipped over 
 the extracts from our most celebrated Italian poets 
 without an effort to comprehend them. Hence it may 
 be easily conceived how great was my ignorance, and 
 that it became every day more difficult for me to ex- 
 press myself in our divine language. 
 
 I arrived at Vienna by the way of Milan and Venice, 
 two cities which I had a strong desire to revisit, after 
 which I proceeded to Trent, Inuspruck, Augsburg, and 
 Munich, where I stopped only a short time. I found 
 Vienna nearly as small as Turin, without being so ad- 
 vantageously situated. Here I remained during all the 
 summer in a state of complete idleness. In July I set 
 out on. an excursion as far as Buda, in order to view 
 part of Hungary. Having again become extremely 
 idle, I fled to company as a relief, taking care, however, 
 to secure my heart against the approaches of love. I 
 might easily, during my stay at Vienna, have been 
 introduced to the celebrated poet Metastasio, at whose 
 house our minister, the old and respectable Count 
 Canale, passed his evenings in a select company of 
 men of letters, whose chief amusement consisted in 
 reading portions from the Greek, Latin, and Italian 
 classics. Having taken an affection for me, he wished, 
 out of pity to my idleness, to conduct me thither. But 
 I declined accompanying him, either from my usual 
 awkwardness, or from the contempt which the con- 
 stant habit of reading French works had given me for 
 Italian productions. Hence I conclud o d that this as- 
 semblage of men of letters with their classics could be 
 only a dismal company of pedants. Besides, I had 
 seen Metastasio, in the gardens of Schoenbrunn, per- 
 form the customary genuflection to Maria Theresa in 
 
154 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 such a servile and adulatory manner, that I, who had 
 my head stuffed with Plutarch, and who embellished 
 every theory, could not think of binding myself, either 
 by the ties of familiarity or friendship, with a poet who 
 had sold himself to a despotism which I so cordially 
 detested. My rude and eccentric notions uniting them- 
 selves to the passions of twenty, rendered my character 
 altogether original, and even ridiculous. 
 
 In the month of September I continued my journey 
 through Prague and Dresden, where I remained a 
 month. From thence I went to Berlin, and in this 
 city took up my abode for an equal length of time. 
 On entering the states of the great Frederick, which 
 appeared to me like a vast guard-house, my horror 
 against this man of blood redoubled. On being pre- 
 sented to his majesty, I experienced not the slightest 
 emotion either of surprise or respect ; but on the con- 
 trary, a rising feeling of indignation, which became 
 daily strengthened in my mind on beholding oppression 
 and despotism assuming the mask of virtue. Count 
 de Finch, who introduced me to the royal presence, 
 inquired why, as I was in the service of my sovereign, 
 I did not wear my uniform, to which I replied, I thought 
 the court was already sufficiently crowded with uniforms. 
 The king addressed to me the few words customary on 
 such occasions. I regarded him with the greatest atten- 
 tion, fixing my eyes respectfully on his, while I mentally 
 thanked Heaven I was not born his slave. Towards 
 the middle of November I departed from this Prussian 
 encampment, which I regarded with detestation and 
 horror. 
 
 After remaining three days at Hamburg I proceeded 
 to Denmark, and reached Copenhagen in the beginning 
 of December. This country was not only agreeable to 
 
VITTOJIIO ALFIERI. 155 
 
 me from its resemblance to Holland, but from a certain 
 air of activity, commerce, and industry, which is never 
 to be found under an absolute monarchy. In fact, the 
 general welfare and prosperity of any country affords 
 the best eulogium on its government. None of the 
 elements, however, of social happiness is to be found in 
 the states of Frederick the Great, though he commands 
 letters, arts, and industry to flourish under his protec- 
 tion. I preferred Copenhagen and Denmark, because 
 they differed from Berlin and Prussia ; a country which 
 of all others left the most painful and disagreeable im- 
 pression on my mind, though I beheld in it, especially 
 in the capital, many architectural and other objects 
 worthy of attention ; but even at present, after the 
 lapse of so many years, I cannot recall the idea of this 
 nation of soldiers without experiencing the same indig- 
 nation I felt on first entering it. 
 
 During the winter I began to stammer the Italian 
 with Count Catanti, the Neapolitan envoy at the 
 Danish court. The count was brother-in-law to the 
 celebrated prime minister of Naples, Marquis Tanucci, 
 formerly a professor in the University of Pisa. I be- 
 came better pleased with the Tuscan language and 
 pronunciation on comparing it with the hissing, nasal, 
 and guttural sound of the Danish, to which I was 
 daily compelled to listen, happily, however, without un- 
 derstanding it. Though greatly deficient in point of 
 elegance and precision, a merit which the natives of 
 Tuscany possess in an eminent degree, rny pronuncia- 
 tion of the Italian was nevertheless pure and perfectly 
 Tuscan. . As my ears were wounded by any deviation 
 in this respect, I had accustomed myself to pronounce 
 as well as possible the u, z, gi, ci, and other Tuscan- 
 isms. Count Catanti urged me no longer to neglect 
 
156 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 this beautiful language, and I was the more inclined to 
 profit hy his advice, as no consideration would have 
 induced me to pass for a native of France. I began 
 then to read Italian works, and among others the 
 Dialogues of Aretino, which disgusted me by their 
 obscenity, though I was charmed with the copiousness 
 and elegance of the diction. I perused for the third 
 and fourth time my favorite Plutarch, without, however, 
 relinquishing Montaigne, so that my head was at once 
 tilled with a medley of philosophy, politics, and liber- 
 tinism. When my health permitted me to go abroad, 
 my greatest amusement in this northern climate was 
 driving a v sledge with inconceivable velocity; an exer- 
 cise which soothed and gratified my ardent imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 Towards the end of March I set out for Sweden, 
 though the Sound was not frozen, and Scania not yet 
 covered with snow. As soon as I had passed the 
 village of Norkoping, I found the winter set in anew 
 with great rigor. From the heaps of snow, and from 
 the accumulation of ice in the lakes, I was obliged to 
 relinquish my carriage, and pursue the remainder of 
 my journey to Stockholm in sledges. The novelty of 
 this spectacle, the majestic and wild aspect of the im- 
 mense forests, lakes, and precipices, filled my mind 
 with wonder and delight. Though I had never read 
 Ossian, yet I perceived many of those rural images 
 rising in my mind which I afterwards discovered in the 
 beautiful verses of our celebrated Cesarotti. 
 
 I was much pleased not only with the aspect of Sweden, 
 but with the manners of all classes of the inhabitants, 
 either because I loved extremes, or for reasons which I 
 am unable to explain. The mixed form of the Swedish 
 government, through which appear some dawnings of 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 157 
 
 liberty, induced me to enter upon the study of it ; but 
 utterly incapable of serious and continued application, 
 I could not persevere sufficiently to render myself mas- 
 ter of the subject. I understood enough, however, to 
 perceive that the poverty of the four classes who possess 
 the right of voting, and the extreme corruption of the 
 nobles and citizens who were influenced by the gold of 
 France or Russia, rendered it impossible that any con- 
 cord could subsist among the different orders of the 
 state, and annihilated every idea of just and. rational 
 liberty. I continued to amuse myself with making ex- 
 cursions in their sledges into the gloomy forests, and 
 immense frozen lakes, till the 20th of April, at which 
 period the thaw was so instantaneous, from the influ- 
 ence of the sun and the wind from the sea, that in four 
 days scarce a vestige remained of the accumulated 
 snows of winter. These were succeeded by the most 
 beautiful verdure, which produced a surprising and 
 truly romantic effect. 
 
 IX. 
 
 MY restless temper induced me to quit Stockholm, 
 though I was highly pleased with it, about the middle 
 of May, in order to pursue my route through Finland 
 to Petersburg. I made an excursion as far as the cel- 
 ebrated University of Upsala, and in my progress visited 
 different iron-mines ; but as I neither examined with 
 sufficient attention the curiosities they contained, nor 
 took notes of what I saw, I must be silent on this head. 
 When I reached Grisselham, a small port in Sweden, 
 situated on its eastern coast, opposite the Gulf of Both- 
 nia, winter, which I seemed as it were to pursue, had 
 already commenced. The sea was already in a great 
 
158 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 measure frozen, and the passage to the first of the five 
 small islands, lying at the entrance of the gulf, was 
 rendered impassable for small craft of every kind. No 
 alternative was therefore left us but to remain three 
 days in this dreary abode, till fresh breezes should spring 
 up, and dissolve the thick crust of ice, which separated 
 with great noise, forming large floating masses, be- 
 tween which a boat might have passed, had we not 
 dreaded the danger of being driven against them. On 
 the following day a fisherman arrived at Grisselham, 
 in a small boat, from the first island where we were to 
 land. He agreed to conduct us if we were inclined to 
 encounter the risk. I immediately consented to this 
 proposal. I had procured a larger boat than his for the 
 convenience of my carriage ; but this, while it aug- 
 mented the difficulty, diminished the danger, because 
 it was better able to withstand any shock it might 
 receive from the huge masses of floating ice. It hap- 
 pened as I had foreseen. These little ice islands, 
 floating on the surface of the sea, caused it to resemble 
 a piece of ground hollowed out and cleft on all sides. 
 As the wind was extremely feeble, the shocks which 
 my little bark received from the masses of ice did not 
 in the least injure it. However, as they floated round 
 us on every side, and accumulated before the prow of 
 the vessel, threatening every instant to drive us back 
 to the mainland, it became necessary to have recourse 
 to the hatchet. Oftener than once were the sailors 
 and I forced to get upon these floating islands to break 
 arid detach them from the sides of the vessel, in order 
 to give passage to the prow, and to enable us to act 
 with our oars. Though the passage between the con- 
 tinent and the first island did not exceed seven Swedish 
 miles, it took us ten hours to accomplish it. This sea- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 159 
 
 adventure amused me highly, though perhaps such 
 details may not prove equally gratifying to my read- 
 ers; but, let it be remembered, I address them to 
 Italians, who are not accustomed to such spectacles. 
 Our course to the other islands being shorter, and less 
 encumbered with ice, was much more readily effected. 
 The contemplation of this sterile and savage country, 
 together with the profound and unbroken stillness of 
 the atmosphere, served to excite in my mind ideas at 
 once sublime and melancholy. 
 
 I at length landed at Abo, the capital of Swedish 
 Finland, and pursued my journey through excellent 
 roads, and with good horses, to Petersburg, where I 
 arrived near the end of May. I cannot even tell 
 whether this was by day or night, for in such a north- 
 ern climate there is scarcely any night at that season 
 of the year. I felt so much exhausted by never leaving 
 my carriage for several nights successively, my head 
 was so confused, and I was moreover so wearied with 
 the perpetual light, that I knew neither the day of the 
 week nor the hour of the day on which I arrived; I 
 scarcely even knew what part of the globe I was in, 
 inasmuch as the manners, the dress, and long beards of 
 the Muscovites induced me rather to believe that I was 
 in Tartary than in Europe. 
 
 I had read the history of Peter the Great by Voltaire, 
 a work which I obtained at the Academy of Turin from 
 the Russian students, whose nation was much spoken 
 of at this time as having lately emerged from barbarism. 
 My imagination, which had never yet failed to magnify 
 everything, left me on the present occasion as usual 
 the regret of being deceived. Hence I approached 
 Petersburg with a mind wound up to an extraordinary 
 pitch of anxiety and expectation. But alas ! no sooner 
 
1GO MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had I reached this Asiatic assemblage of wooden huts, 
 than Rome, Genoa, Venice, and Florence rose to my 
 recollection, and I could not refrain from laughing. 
 What I afterwards saw of this country tended still 
 more strongly to confirm my first impression that it 
 merited not to he seen. Everything, except their 
 beards and their horses, disgusted me so much, that 
 during six weeks I remained among these savages I 
 wished not to become acquainted with any one, nor 
 even to see the two or three youths with whom I had 
 associated at Turin, and w T ho were descended from the 
 first families of the country. I took no measure to be 
 presented 'to the celebrated Autocratrix Catherine II., 
 nor did I even behold the countenance of a sovereign 
 who in our days has outstripped fame. On investi- 
 gating at a future period the reason of such extraor- 
 dinary conduct, I became convinced that it proceeded 
 from a certain intolerance of character and a hatred to 
 every species of tyranny, and which in this particular 
 instance attached itself to a person suspected of the 
 most horrible crime, the murder of a defenceless 
 husband. I have frequently heard it alleged by the 
 defenders of Catherine that she had no other object, in 
 assuming the reins of government, than to repair the 
 evils committed by her husband, to give a constitution 
 to the country, and to restore the Russians at least in 
 part to the rights of which they had been deprived by 
 slavery. I beheld them, however, groaning beneath 
 the despotic yoke of this philosophic Clytemnestra. 
 Indignant at what I saw, I declined going to Moscow, 
 as had been my original intention, and I ardently 
 longed to return to Europe. With this view I set out 
 towards the close of June, and passed through Riga 
 and Revel. The monotonous appearance of the barren 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEKL 161 
 
 and sandy plains I traversed more than overbalanced 
 the pleasure I had received from the view of the im- 
 mense and magnificent forests of Sweden. I pursued 
 iny journey by Konigsberg and Dantzic. This last 
 city, which had heretofore enjoyed opulence and free- 
 dom, began to experience, about this time, the despotic 
 sway of the King of Prussia, who had taken possession 
 of it with his troops. Thus, while filled with hatred 
 against the Russians and Prussians, I at length arrived 
 the second time at Berlin, after a month's journey, 
 which to me proved the most tedious, vexatious, and 
 harassing of any I had ever undertaken, being every- 
 where forced during my route to make known my 
 name, age, rank, and the object of my travels, all 
 which a sentinel demands of you on entering, travers- 
 ing, and leaving every little village ; in short, this of 
 all the journeys I ever performed was the most gloomy 
 and sorrowful. I visited Zorndorif, a spot rendered 
 famous by the sanguinary battle fought between the 
 Russians and Prussians, where thousands of men on 
 both sides were immolated on the altar of despotism, 
 and thus escaped from the galling yoke which op- 
 pressed them. The place of their interment was easily 
 recognized by its greater verdure, and by yielding more 
 abundant crops than the barren and unproductive soil 
 in its immediate vicinity. On this occasion I reflected 
 with sorrow that slaves seem everywhere only born to 
 fertilize the soil on which they vegetate. 
 
 My exhausted strength forced me to stop three days 
 at Berlin. Towards the end of July I again set out, 
 and in my progress passed through Magdeburg, Bruns- 
 wick, Grottingen, Cassel, and Frankfort. On entering 
 Gottingen, so justly renowned for its university, I met 
 with a beautiful little ass, which I treated with the 
 
1G2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 most sumptuous fare in my power, not having seen 
 one for the last twelve months, as these animals are 
 neither bred nor thrive in the North. This encounter 
 between an Italian and German ass in so celebrated a 
 university would have inspired me to write the most 
 ludicrous and laughable verses, had my abilities cor- 
 responded with my inclination. But my incapacity fr.r 
 writing progressively augmented : I contented myself 
 with musing on this subject, and spent a happy day 
 wholly absorbed in thinking on my ass. These hal- 
 cyon days seldom occurred with me, as I lived in the 
 greatest retirement, without any occupation, without 
 ever looking into a book or opening my mouth. 
 
 From Frankfort I proceeded to Mentz, where I em- 
 barked on the Rhine, and descended that beautiful river 
 as far as Cologne, experiencing during my passage the 
 greatest pleasure from the view of its verdant and lux- 
 uriant banks. From Cologne, I returned by the way 
 of Aix-la-Chapelle to Spa, at which place I had spent 
 several w r eeks two years before, and which I always 
 washed to revisit. The manners of the inhabitants 
 were exactly conformable to my taste, because I could 
 remain wholly unknown amidst incessant festivity and 
 bustle. I felt myself so much at my ease, that I pro- 
 longed my stay from the middle of August to the end 
 of September, along period for one of my restless 
 disposition. Here I purchased two Irish horses ; one 
 of them was a noble animal, and I became very fond 
 of it. I rode out every day, dined at an ordinary, and 
 went every evening to witness the performance of some 
 young and beautiful female dancers. It was thus that 
 I spent, or more properly, mis-spent my time. As the 
 bathing season was nearly over, and as most of the 
 company had already left Spa, I set out for Holland, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 163 
 
 where I expected to see my friend, D'Acunha. It was 
 but too true that the lady whom I had so passionately 
 loved was no longer at the Hague, having quitted that 
 city in order to reside with her family at Paris. Not 
 wishing to separate from my horses, I sent my domestic 
 Elias on before with the carriage, while I, walking and 
 riding alternately, took the road to Liege. In this city 
 I found an old acquaintance, a French envoy. I com- 
 plied with his wish to introduce me to the Prince 
 Bishop, not so much through complaisance as the ec- 
 centricity of my character. Having never seen the 
 court of the Empress Catherine, I was anxious to view 
 that of the Prince of Liege. During my stay at Spa 
 I had been introduced to a yet more petty ecclesiastical 
 prince, the Abbe of Stavelo, in the Ardennes. In pass- 
 ing through his bishopric, the same French envoy con- 
 ducted me to his residence, where we partook of an 
 excellent dinner. From Liege I proceeded with my 
 favorite horses by Brussels and Antwerp, and crossing 
 the Mordyke, pursued my journey through Rotterdam 
 to the Hague. My friend, with whom I had kept up 
 a regular correspondence, received me with open arms, 
 and, finding me less foolish than formerly, endeavored 
 by the most wise and benevolent counsels to impress on 
 my mind the propriety of persevering in the road to im- 
 provement. I remained with him nearly two months, 
 but as the season was already far advanced, and as I 
 anxiously wished to revisit England, we bade each 
 other adieu towards the termination of November. I 
 pursued the same route as in my former journey, and 
 arriving happily at Harwich I reached London in a few 
 days. I found all the friends with whom I had for- 
 merly associated at the time of my first visit, particu- 
 larly Prince Masserano, the Spanish ambassador, and 
 
164 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the Marquis Caraccioli, the Neapolitan minister, a man 
 possessing much sagacity and of a lively character. 
 They both treated me with parental kindness during 
 my stay in that capital, where I found myself in very 
 difficult and perplexing circumstances. 
 
 X. 
 
 ON my first visit to London, I became deeply enam- 
 ored of a lady of high rank. It was perhaps her 
 image, unconsciously engraven on my mind, that had 
 not a little contributed to render the country delightful 
 in my eyes, and to induce me to revisit it. Though 
 the lady in question appeared not unfavorable to my 
 suit, yet my repulsive and boorish character preserved 
 me from her chains. Having become somewhat more 
 civilized on my return, and being of an age more sus- 
 ceptible of a violent attachment, while forgetting what 
 I had suffered at the Hague from the dominion of this 
 passion, I fell desperately in love. My feelings were 
 so vehement and outrageous, that even now, when 
 entering on my ninth lustrum, I shudder at the recollec- 
 tion. I had frequent opportunities of seeing the mis- 
 tress of my heart at the house of Prince Masserano, 
 whose lady shared with her a box at the opera. I never 
 saw her at her own house, because the English ladies 
 were not then accustomed to receive visits, particularly 
 from foreigners. 
 
 Time flew rapidly on, and the spring fast approached, 
 when she was to depart for the country with the inten- 
 tion of remaining seven or eight months, and where it 
 would be utterly impossible for me to see her. I an- 
 ticipated with dismay the period of her leaving town, 
 which was fixed for the end of June, and viewed it as 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 165 
 
 the termination of my existence. Such was the morbid 
 state of both my mind and body, that I considered it 
 physically impossible for me to survive her loss. This 
 passion far exceeded that which I formerly experienced, 
 both in intensity and duration. The idea of my death, 
 which was indelibly connected with our separation, 
 rendered me so desperate that I acted like a man who 
 had nothing farther to lose. The character of this 
 woman, who delighted only in extremes, tended not a 
 little to nourish this species of frenzy. 
 
 Among my horses I still preserved the one I had 
 purchased at Spa. When I mounted him, I committed 
 a thousand extravagant tricks, which even struck with 
 astonishment the boldest horseman in England. I 
 leaped over the thickest and highest hedges, the widest 
 ditches, and every barrier that stood in my way and 
 opposed my progress. On one of these days, when it 
 was not permitted me to visit the retreat of my lady, 
 while taking an airing with the Marquis of Caraccioli, 
 I became suddenly seized with the whim of showing 
 him what extraordinary feats my horse was capable of 
 performing, and set off at full gallop with the intention 
 of clearing a high gate near the public road. But as 
 my head was distracted at the time, I did not manage 
 the reins with sufficient dexterity, and we both came to 
 the ground. On recovering my feet, it appeared to me 
 I had received no injury ; besides, my mad passion had 
 augmented my courage, and it seemed as if I purposely 
 sought every occasion of breaking my neck. The 
 Marquis Caraccioli had in vain cried out to me to re- 
 turn, but I remained deaf to his entreaties ; in short, I 
 knew not what I did. Observing my horse about to 
 escape, I ran up to him, and, laying hold of the reins, 
 I vaulted on his back, and, spurring him furiously to- 
 
166 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 wards the unlucky gate, he cleared it in a trice, thus 
 regaining his own honor and mine. 
 
 This triumph was, however, hut short-lived. I had 
 scarcely proceeded a few paces, when a shivering per- 
 vaded my whole frame, and I experienced an excruciat- 
 ing pain in my left shoulder. My arm had been 
 dislocated, and the collar-bone fractured. The pain 
 progressively augmented, and, being able only to pro- 
 ceed at a slow pace, the road on returning appeared 
 unusually tedious. A surgeon was immediately called 
 in, who, after putting me to great pain, bandaged up 
 my arm, and enjoined me to remain in bed. Those 
 alone who have felt the dominion of a passion so ardent 
 as mine can form an idea of my rage when I found 
 myself confined to bed on the evening of the happy day 
 which was fixed on for our second meeting. This acci- 
 dent occurred on a Saturday morning. Finding myself 
 a little better on the next Tuesday evening, I went to 
 the opera, where I found Prince Masserano and his 
 lady. As they supposed I was hurt and confined to 
 my chamber, they were not a little surprised to see me 
 in no other respect ill than with my arm in a sling. 
 
 While apparently with an unruffled countenance, 
 and an air of tranquillity, I listened to the music, and 
 while my heart was agitated with a thousand different 
 passions, I conceived I heard my name pronounced in 
 a high tone by some one in the lobby. By a kind of 
 mechanical impulse, I opened the box door, and im- 
 mediately went out, shutting it after me. The first 
 person I saw was the husband of my lady, who had 
 been demanding admittance. 
 
 For a long time I had anticipated this meeting, which 
 I rather wished than took means to avoid. On dart- 
 ing out of the box, I exclaimed : " Who inquires for 
 
VITTOPJO ALFIERI. 107 
 
 me ? " " It is I," replied he ; " I wish to speak with 
 you." lt Let us go; I am ready," said I, and without 
 uttering another word we left the house. 
 
 It was about half past seven in the evening. During 
 the long days of the summer the opera commences at 
 six o'clock. From the Haymarket we took the road to 
 St. James's Park ; thence we adjourned to a field 
 termed the Green Park, where, having sought a retired 
 corner, we drew our swords. My antagonist observing 
 my left arm in a sling, had the generosity to inquire 
 whether that would not incapacitate me from fighting. 
 I replied in the negative, and, thanking him for this 
 mark of attention, immediately put myself on my guard. 
 I was never a proficient in the use of the sword. I 
 rushed on him contrary to all the rules of art, like a 
 madman as I was, for in fact I wished to meet 'death 
 at his hands. I knew not what I did, but I must have 
 attacked him with all the energy of which I was ca- 
 pable, since after fighting for seven or eight minutes, 
 the sun was behind me, which at the commencement 
 shone directly in my eyes so as to prevent me seeing 
 him. He must consequently in retiring have described 
 a curve. I conceived that, as he only parried my blows, 
 his aim was not to kill me, and that, if he did not fall 
 under my arm, it was from my incapability and want 
 of skill. At last, making a thrust, he wounded me 
 between the elbow and the wrist, a circumstance of 
 which he was the first to apprise me, for I myself was 
 unconscious of it, and in fact the wound w T as but slight. 
 He then lowered the point of his sword, and said he 
 was satisfied, inquiring at the same time if I were so 
 likewise. I replied that, as I was the aggressor, that 
 rested solely with him. On this, sheathing his sword, an 
 example which I followed, he immediately left the field. 
 
168 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 When alone, I wished to ascertain the nature of my 
 wound ; and on examination discovered that the sleeve 
 of my coat had been torn, but, not finding much pain 
 and observing the effusion of blood only trifling, I con- 
 ceived it was but a mere scratch. Not having the use 
 of my left arm, 1 could not pull off my coat without 
 assistance, and was therefore obliged to rest contented 
 with binding up the wound in the best manner I was 
 able with a handkerchief by means of my teeth, so as 
 to diminish the loss of blood. Leaving the park, I 
 hastened along Pall Mall, and reached the door of the 
 opera-house an hour after I had quitted it. 
 
 Observing by the lights in the streets, that neither 
 my hands nor dress were stained with blood, I unbound 
 the handkerchief, and, feeling no pain, returned to 
 Prince Masserano's box. On entering it, the prince 
 inquired why I had retired so precipitately, and where 
 I had been. Discovering from this that he had not 
 overheard our discourse, I merely said I had recollected 
 an appointment, and added nothing further. Notwith- 
 standing my efforts to appear calm, my mind was 
 dreadfully harassed by reflecting on the consequences 
 of this affair, and particularly on the injury it might do 
 to the woman I adored. 
 
 XL 
 
 INVIGORATED by several hours of profound sleep, I 
 had my wound dressed, and flew to the house of my lady. 
 From the domestics whom we had employed to gain in- 
 telligence, we learned everything that passed in the house 
 of her husband, which was only at a short, distance, as 
 I have before mentioned, from the one of which she 
 was now an inmate. Though it appeared to me that 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 169 
 
 a divorce would terminate our misfortunes, though the 
 father of the lady whom I had known for two years 
 called to congratulate his daughter on having now 
 made a choice, he was pleased to say, worthy of her ; 
 notwithstanding all these favorable appearances, I con- 
 ceived I could discern on the beautiful face of my mis- 
 tress a cloud which presaged a new calamity. She 
 wept without ceasing, protesting every moment that 
 she loved me beyond expression. 
 
 It may be readily conjectured what anxiety I suf- 
 fered during the interval between Wednesday and Fri- 
 day. On the morning of the last-mentioned day, I 
 again implored my mistress to unfjld the cause of her 
 sorrow and sadness, and to explain what appeared to 
 me enigmatical in her discourse. After a long pream- 
 ble, occasionally interrupted by sobs and tears, she at 
 length said she was unworthy of me, and that circum- 
 stances rendered our union impossible The de- 
 tails filled my soul with abhorrence I lo?ded her 
 
 with execrations. Even now, after the lapse of twenty 
 years, when I reflect on what I then suffered, my blood 
 boils in my veins. 
 
 On my arrival in London, I learned that I was made 
 the principal party in the process of divorce still pend- 
 ing, the husband having chosen to bring me forward in 
 preference to my rival in this affair. I cannot suffi- 
 ciently extol the conduct of this worthy husband. He 
 neither wished to kill me when I was in his power, 
 nor yet sought to extort from me the damages usually 
 allowed by the law in such cases. If, instead of making 
 me draw my sword, it had been his object to subject me 
 to a pecuniary penalty, it would have greatly embar- 
 rassed my circumstances. This intrepid and generous 
 man acted throughout the wliule affair in a manner I 
 
170 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 very little merited. As the fact was -too evident to admit 
 of a doubt, a divorce was obtained without my being 
 under the necessity of appearing in court, and without 
 any measures being taken to impede my departure 
 from England. 
 
 XII. 
 
 AFTER the late events I could no more taste tran- 
 quillity when I every day beheld those objects which 
 called up the recollection of my sufferings. All those 
 who interested themselves in my concerns, and com- 
 miserated my fate, urged me to leave England. I 
 accordingly took my departure about the end of June, 
 and as in the distracted state of my mind I longed for 
 the consolations of friendship, I instinctively thought 
 of D'Acunha and Holland. Arriving at the Hague, I 
 remained with him several weeks, carefully avoiding 
 the society of every one else. He did everything in 
 his power to assuage my sorrow, but my wound was 
 too deep to admit of consolation. I felt my melan- 
 choly daily augmented, and imagining that the dissi- 
 pation inseparable from incessant change of place, and 
 the sight of new objects, could alone soothe my per- 
 turbed feelings, I resolved to proceed to Spain, the 
 only European country I had not yet visited. With 
 this view I took the road to Brussels, the sight of 
 which aggravated my sorrow by the comparison which 
 I drew between my first attachment in Holland and 
 my recent adventure in England. Either absorbed in 
 a reverie, delirious, or shedding tears in silence, I at 
 length arrived, all alone, at Paris. This great capital, 
 in the amusements of which I was not a partaker, was 
 equally disagreeable to me now as formerly. Here I 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 171 
 
 remained, however, for a month, till the great heats 
 began to abate, before entering Spain. I might, had 
 I been so inclined, have obtained an introduction to the 
 celebrated Jean Jacques Rousseau, through the medium 
 of an Italian acquaintance, who lived in habits of inti- 
 macy with him, and who predicted that we should be 
 mutually pleased with each other. I greatly esteemed 
 Rousseau, but it was more on account of his upright and 
 independent character than from his works, since the 
 little I had read of them rather disgusted me, owing to 
 the labor and affectation of sentiment evident throughout 
 all the productions of this author. Nevertheless, as I 
 possessed little curiosity, and still less accommodation 
 to the foibles of others, and was equally proud and 
 unbending as himself, without the same title to be so, 
 I inclined not to embrace the offered introduction, the 
 success of which was at least doubtful. Why seek the 
 acquaintance of an odd and morose man, to whom I 
 would have rendered ten coarse expressions for one ; 
 since by a kind of natural instinct, I always repaid with 
 usury both evil and good. 
 
 Instead therefore of cultivating an intimacy with 
 Rousseau, I formed what-wras much more interesting 
 to me, an acquaintance with the works of the most 
 celebrated characters in Italy, or perhaps in the world. 
 I purchased during my stay in Paris a collection of the 
 works of our most celebrated writers both in prose and 
 verse, in thirty-six small handsome volumes. These 
 became my constant companions, though I must con- 
 fess I did not derive all the advantage from them which 
 might naturally have been expected, during the two 
 or three first years they remained in my possession, as I 
 then had neither inclination nor opportunity for study, 
 respect to the Italian language, I had so totally 
 
172 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 forgotten it, as to be scarcely capable of comprehend- 
 ing the least abstruse of our authors ; but on occasion- 
 ally opening some of my thirty-six volumes, I was 
 much surprised to see such a list of poetasters and 
 rhymers, bound up with our principal poets. So con- 
 summate indeed was my ignorance, that I knew not 
 even the titles of the works of Torrachionne, Morgante, 
 Ricciardetto, etc., poems which I have since regretted 
 having spent so much time in perusing. The acquisi- 
 tion of this collection proved of most incalculable ben- 
 efit to me ; I never afterwards parted with these six 
 fathers of our divine language, Dante, Petrarch, Ari- 
 osto, Tasso, Boccaccio, and Machiavel, in whom every 
 excellence is concentrated. 
 
 To my eternal shame I had attained my twenty - 
 second year without having read any of these clas- 
 sics, excepting a few portions of Ariosto, during my 
 adolescence. 
 
 With such a powerful antidote against idleness and 
 ennui, I departed for Spain about the middle of Au- 
 gust. I passed through Orleans, Tours, Poitiers, 
 Bourdeaux, and Toulouse, the most delightful and 
 luxuriant part of France, without casting on it a single 
 glance, and entered Spain by the way of Perpignan. 
 Barcelona was the first city at which I stopped since 
 my departure from Paris. During this journey I did 
 nothing but weep in secret. I opened occasionally 
 some of the volumes of my favorite Montaigne, which 
 I had not looked into during the last twelve months ; 
 and this occupation gradually restored me to reason, 
 and imparted to my mind a certain degree of fortitude 
 and even consolation. 
 
 Before leaving Britain I had disposed of my whole 
 stud, except the most beautiful animals, which I left 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 173 
 
 in charge of the Marquis Caraccioli ; and as horses 
 were become with me a necessary of existence, I pur- 
 chased two a few days after my arrival at Barcelona. 
 They were both of the Andalusian race, the one a 
 noble animal, while the other, though somewhat 
 smaller, was full of spirit. I had always longed to 
 possess Spanish horses, but this desire had never till 
 now been gratified ; my heart therefore bounded with 
 joy on becoming master of two of the most beautiful 
 of their kind. My horses afforded me still more con- 
 solation than Montaigne. I reckoned on performing 
 with them my journey through Spain, as the roads in 
 this country are so extremely bad that it has hitherto 
 been found impracticable to establish regular post- 
 coaches : they can only travel short stages at a mule's 
 pace. 
 
 A slight indisposition having compelled me to re- 
 main at Barcelona till the month of November, I 
 endeavored with the aid of a Spanish grammar and 
 dictionary to acquire a knowledge of this beautiful lan- 
 guage, which is not a difficult task to an Italian. In 
 a few days I began to comprehend and relish Don 
 Quixote. It is true, indeed, my progress was much 
 facilitated by having formerly perused this work in 
 French. 
 
 I took the road to Saragossa and Madrid, and I 
 gradually became accustomed to travel through desert 
 tracts, from which it would have been difficult to extri- 
 cate myself, had I not possessed youth, patience, and 
 money. During the fifteen days which intervened 
 from the time of my setting out till I reached Madrid, 
 I was obliged to take up my abode in some of the half- 
 civilized villages which lay in my route. This proved 
 more irksome to me than even the want of post-roads ; 
 
174 MEMOIBS OF 
 
 besides, change of place always afforded me pleasure, 
 while on the contrary I regarded inaction as the great- 
 est curse. 
 
 I performed almost the whole of this journey on foot, 
 with my Andalusian courser, which accompanied me 
 like a faithful dog, and appeared to understand what- 
 ever was said to him. How great was my delight on 
 heing alone with him in the vast wilds of Arragon. I 
 sent forward my domestics with the carriage, and fol- 
 lowed them at a short distance. Elias, mounted on a 
 very handsome mule, occasionally shot some hares, 
 rahhits, and birds. He preceded me by several hours, 
 and halted at midday and in the evening to prepare the 
 game for my repast. 
 
 It was unfortunate for me, though perhaps fortunate 
 for others, that I had at this time no means of ex- 
 pressing either my ideas or emotions in verse. The 
 melancholy and moral reflections, the terrific and gay 
 images of every hue, which the sight of these profound 
 solitudes presented to my imagination, would certainly 
 have inspired me with the desire of composing verses, 
 had I known how to give expression to my ideas, and 
 not been prepossessed with the notion that I should 
 never succeed in writing either prose or verse. I 
 spent my time in a reverie, weeping and laughing by 
 turns, like an infant, without knowing why. This 
 state of mind is termed poetic enthusiasm when it 
 leads to the production of any work, but is justly 
 regarded as folly when unproductive of fruit. 
 
 In this manner I proceeded to Madrid. The taste I 
 had acquired for a wandering life tended not to over- 
 come the indolence of my disposition. I remained 
 only one month in the Spanish capital, and during 
 that period did not form a single acquaintance, except 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 175 
 
 with a watchmaker who was lately returned from Hol- 
 land, wheVe he had been to acquire a knowledge of his 
 art. This young Spaniard possessed much natural 
 intelligence ; he had seen something of the world, and 
 felt for the tyranny which weighed so heavy on his 
 native country. I must here relate a trait of brutality 
 to which Elias had nearly fallen a victim. One even- 
 ing when I had supped with the watchmaker, and just 
 as we were about to rise from table, Elias entered to 
 arrange my hair, as was customary with him, before 
 going to bed. During this operation he stretched one 
 of the hairs so as to give me pain, on which, without 
 saying a. word, I started up, seized a candlestick, and 
 threw it at his head. He received the stroke on his 
 right temple, and the blood spouted out with such vio- 
 lence as to cover the watchmaker, who sat at the 
 opposite side of the table, which was very large. This 
 young man, who had neither observed nor could con- 
 jecture that the stretching of a single hair beyond the 
 rest could produce this sudden frenzy, justly con- 
 cluded I had been seized with a fit of insanity, and he 
 sprang forward in order to secure me. Before, how- 
 ever, he could effect his purpose, the undaunted Elias 
 had fallen on me in order to avenge himself, which he 
 was perfectly able to do, had I not by my uncommon 
 agility freed myself from his grasp. This gave me 
 time to seize my sword, which I drew and directed the 
 point to his breast. Such was the fury of Elias that 
 he would have rushed forward had not the young 
 Spaniard interposed himself between us. In the mean 
 time the noise had brought up the domestics belonging 
 to the hotel, and we were separated. 
 
 Thus ended this tragi-comic affray, which was so 
 disgraceful to me. After acquiring some degree of 
 
176 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 calmness, I informed Elias that on his plucking my 
 hair I found it impossible to restrain my rage. He 
 assured me that it happened by accident, and unknown 
 to him 5 and the Spaniard was at length convinced 
 that I was not insane, but that I was far from being 
 wise. I was so ashamed and humbled at my intem- 
 perate conduct that I said to Elias he would have done 
 well had he killed me, and he was very capable to 
 have done so ; for though I myself am above the 
 common size, yet he was much my superior in this 
 respect, and was besides a man of extraordinary 
 courage. 
 
 The wdund in his temple was not deep, but it bled 
 profusely ; had I struck him a little higher, this man, 
 to whom I was much attached, would certainly have 
 fallen by my hand, and that for a hair. I was shocked 
 at the brutal excess of passion into which I had fallen. 
 Though Elias was somewhat calmed, he still appeared 
 to retain a certain degree of resentment ; yet I was 
 not disposed to display towards him the smallest 
 distrust. 
 
 Two hours after his wound was dressed I went to 
 bed, leaving the door open, as usual, between my 
 apartment and the chamber in which he slept; not- 
 withstanding the remonstrance of the Spaniard, who 
 pointed out to me the absurdity of putting ven- 
 geance in the power of a man whom I had so much 
 irritated. 
 
 I said even aloud to Elias, who was already in bed, 
 that he might kill me if he was so inclined during the 
 night ; and that I justly merited such a fate. But this 
 brave man, who possessed as much elevation of soul 
 as myself, took no other revenge for my outrageous 
 conduct, except preserving for several years two hand- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 177 
 
 kerchiefs stained with blood which had been bound 
 round his head, and which he occasionally displayed 
 to my view. It is necessary to be fully acquainted 
 with the character and manners of the Piedmontese in 
 order to comprehend the mixture of ferocity and gener- 
 osity displayed on both sides in this affair. 
 
 When at a more mature age, I endeavored to dis- 
 cover the cause of this violent transport of rage, I 
 became convinced that the trivial circumstance which 
 gave rise to it was, so to speak, like the last drop 
 poured into a vessel ready to run over. My irascible 
 temper, which must have been rendered still more irri- 
 table by solitude and perpetual idleness, required only 
 the slightest impulse to cause it to burst forth. Be- 
 sides, I never lifted a hand against a domestic, as that 
 would have been putting them on a level with myself. 
 Neither did I ever employ a cane, nor any kind of wea- 
 pon, in order to chastise them, though I frequently 
 threw at them any movable that fell in my way, as 
 many young people do, during the first ebullition of 
 anger j yet I dare affirm that I would have approved, 
 and even esteemed the domestic who should on such 
 occasions have rendered me back the treatment he 
 received, since I never punished them as a master, but 
 only contended with them as one man with another. 
 
 Having lived like a bear at Madrid, I left it without 
 having viewed any of those objects calculated to excite 
 the curiosity of strangers. I neither visited the Escu- 
 rial, Aranjuez, nor the palace, nor even saw the king 
 himself. The chief reason of this extraordinary apa- 
 thy was the coldness which prevailed between me and 
 the Sardinian envoy. I had met this minister in Lon- 
 don during his residence at the Court of St. James's, 
 and we were mutually displeased with each other. 
 
178 MEMOIES OF 
 
 On arriving at Madrid, I learned that the court had 
 removed to some one of the royal residences in the 
 country, and I embraced the opportunity of the envoy's 
 absence to leave a note at his house with a letter of 
 recommendation, which I brought as a matter of course 
 from the secretary of state. On his return from the 
 country he called at my lodgings, but found me from 
 home, and no means were afterwards taken on either 
 side to promote a meeting. This circumstance con- 
 tributed not a little to render my stay unpleasant. I 
 left Madrid early in December, and, passing through 
 Toledo and Badajoz, I took the road to Lisbon, where 
 I arrived bn the Christmas evening. 
 
 The appearance of this city, especially to those who, 
 like me, approach it by the Tagus, is strikingly mag- 
 nificent. It resembles that of Genoa, but is much 
 more varied and extensive. Viewed at a certain dis- 
 tance, it truly enchanted me. My delight and as- 
 tonishment, however, diminished as I approached the 
 shore, and were quickly converted into melancholy and 
 sorrow. As soon as I landed I observed in several 
 streets vestiges of the earthquake, particularly in the 
 lower part of the city, though fifteen years had elapsed 
 since the occurrence of that dreadful and ever memo- 
 rable catastrophe. 
 
 The short stay of five weeks which I made at Lis- 
 bon will be an epoch ever dear to my heart ; for it 
 was then I became acquainted with the Abbe Caluso, 
 youngest brother to Count Valperga di Masino, at 
 that time our minister at the Court of Portugal. This 
 man, distinguished by his virtues, his character, and 
 his knowledge, rendered the time I spent there' ex- 
 tremely delightful. I dined with him every day at 
 his brother's table, and again returned in order to pass 
 
VITTOPJO ALFIERI. 179 
 
 with him the long winter evenings, preferring his soci- 
 ety to all the amusements the great world could afford. 
 I never departed without having reaped some im- 
 provement. His attention and indulgence to me were 
 beyond expression, and tended to diminish the shame 
 I felt for my extreme ignorance, which must have been 
 the more disgusting to him as he possessed the most 
 'profound knowledge on every subject. I had never 
 before met with the same liberal treatment from men 
 of letters, whose company always appeared insupport- 
 able to me, which can excite no surprise, as my igno- 
 rance was equal to my pride. 
 
 It was during one of these happy evenings that I 
 experienced an enthusiastic love of poetry ; but this 
 spark was quickly extinguished, and disappeared fjr 
 several years. The worthy Abbe read to me the sub- 
 lime Ode to Fortune, by Guido, a poet of whose name 
 I was then ignorant. Some stanzas of this ode, and 
 especially those on Pornpey, enchanted me. The de- 
 lighted Abbe persuaded himself that I had been born a 
 poet, and assured me with a little attention and study 
 I should write very good verses ; but this burst of rap- 
 ture having passed away, I ceased to consider it possible, 
 and thought no more on the subject. The friendship 
 and society of this worthy man, of this living Montaigne, 
 proved, however, of the greatest utility in tranquillizing 
 my mind. I began to read and reflect more than I had 
 done for the last eighteen months. 
 
 At the commencement of February I set out for 
 Seville and Cadiz, impressed with the most lively 
 friendship and profound esteem for the Abbe Caluso, 
 whom I hoped again to meet at Turin. The climate 
 of Seville, and the original Spanish countenance, which 
 has been better preserved here than in any other part 
 
180 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of the kingdom, afforded me much pleasure. I have 
 always preferred an original, though bad, to the best 
 copy. The Spanish and Portuguese are, I believe, the 
 only European nations who have retained their original 
 manners; this is particularly observable among the 
 lower classes. Though their good qualities be engulfed 
 in an abyss of oppression and abuses of every kind, I 
 am fully persuaded these people under a wise govern- 
 ment might be led to perform the most brilliant actions, 
 as they possess courage, perseverance, honor, sobriety, 
 docility, patience, and elevation of mind. 
 
 I passed the carnival with some degree of happiness 
 at Cadiz. v On reaching Perpignan, I found my health 
 in a bad state, but, taking post from this place, I suffered 
 infinitely less during the remainder of iny journey. The 
 two places which pleased me best during this excursion 
 were Cordova and Valentia. The whole of the latter 
 kingdom, which I passed through about the end of 
 March, presented to my view such a paradise of delights 
 as brought to my mind the description of spring given 
 by the poets. The environs, the walks, the rivulets, 
 the site of the city of Valentia itself, the bright azure 
 of the heavens, the purity and elasticity of the atmos- 
 phere, the women, whose sparkling eyes far outvie 
 those of the ladies of Cadiz, all appeared to me truly 
 romantic. The whole of this country appeared to my 
 astonished view like fairyland, and left on my mind a 
 more ardent desire to revisit it than any other country 
 I had ever beheld. 
 
 On arriving the second time at Barcelona, I was so 
 fatigued with travelling so slowly, that I at last resolved, 
 though with the most lively regret, to part with my 
 beautiful Andalusian horse. He had been ill-used dur- 
 ing my last journey, and I could not resolve to fatigue 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 181 
 
 him any more by making him trot behind my carriage. 
 My other horse had become lame between Cordova and 
 Valentia, and as I did not wish to remain on the road 
 till he recovered, 1 gave him to two very pretty daugh- 
 ters of my host, recommending to them to see him well- 
 treated, and assuring them that he would sell for a 
 considerable sum as soon as he was cured. As to my 
 favorite Andalusian, I could not resolve to sell him, 
 being from my nature a great enemy to every species 
 of traffic; I therefore presented him to a French banker 
 residing at Barcelona, with whom I had become ac- 
 quainted during my first visit to this city. 
 
 I shall here recount a circumstance which serves to 
 display the character of these money agents. I had in 
 my possession three hundred Spanish doubloons, which 
 the regulations at the custom-house on the frontiers 
 would have rendered it difficult to carry along with me. 
 After making a present of my horse to this banker, I 
 inquired if he could favor me with a bill of exchange 
 on Montpellier, through which I must necessarily pass. 
 In order to evince his gratitude for my gift, he took my 
 doubloons and gave me a bill, the interest of which he 
 calculated to a day. 
 
 On arriving at Montpellier, I found that I was a loser 
 of seven per cent. This conduct of the banker was 
 certainly not necessary in order to fix my opinion 
 respecting this class of men, whom I have always con- 
 sidered in the worst possible light. They imitate the 
 manners of the nobles, and while from ostentation they 
 entertain you at their tables, they rob you on the prin- 
 ciples of trade in their counting-room ; besides, they are 
 always ready to take advantage of every public calamity. 
 
 Travelling as fast as gold and the whip could urge 
 on the mules, I proceeded from Barcelona to Perpignan 
 
182 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in two days. Always anxious to push forward, I flew 
 rather than travelled post from this place to Antibes, 
 without stopping either at Narbonne, Montpellier, or 
 Aix. From Antibes I instantly embarked for Genoa, 
 where I remained three days in order to recover from 
 my fatigue. I afterwards proceeded to Asti, where I 
 stayed some time with my mother, and at length, after 
 an absence of three years, arrived at Turin on the 5th 
 of May, 1772. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THOUGH in the eyes of others, as well as in my own, 
 I had derived no advantage from my various travels, 
 yet my ideas had certainly begun to expand, and my 
 reasoning faculty to become stronger. Hence I did not 
 receive very cordially my brother-in-law when he came 
 to advise me to solicit some diplomatic employment. 
 I told him I had seen enough of kings and their repre- 
 sentatives ; that it was impossible to esteem them ; 
 that I would not even represent the Great Mogul, and 
 still less the King of Sardinia, one of the most petty 
 European princes; that in my opinion, in a country 
 governed like ours, an individual could only live on his 
 fortune, if he possessed one, or otherwise embrace some 
 laudable occupation by which he could secure to himself 
 a happy independence. This discourse somewhat 
 lengthened the countenance of my brother-in-law, who 
 was a lord of the bedchamber. He never again spoke 
 to me of any employment, and my ideas on this subject 
 remained unchanged. 
 
 Behold me then, at twenty-three years of age, in 
 possession of an ample fortune for a native of Piedmont, 
 enjoying as much liberty as it was possible to do, having 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 183 
 
 acquired a knowledge, though imperfectly, of the moral 
 and political world, by seeing different men and different 
 countries ; as much of a philosopher as was compatible 
 with my years, and equally proud as ignorant. Hence 
 it is easy to foresee that I had not yet run through the 
 whole scale of errors, and that I had still many faults 
 to commit before my impetuous, proud, and intolerant 
 character would submit to the control of reason. 
 
 Toward the end of 1773 I took a splendid house in 
 the Piazza di S. Carlo, at Turin. I furnished it with 
 taste and luxury, but with some degree of singularity ; 
 and I began to lead a most agreeable and pleasant life, 
 amid those friends who flocked round me in crowds. I 
 again renewed my intimacy with my former young and 
 foolish academic companions, among whom were ten or 
 t welve whose characters more nearly assimilated with 
 iny own. 
 
 We established a permanent society, for which regu- 
 lations were, drawn up, tests prescribed, and various 
 other mummeries similar to the craft of masonry. 
 Those who offered themselves as candidates were either 
 rejected or admitted by a majority of voices. The only 
 object of our society, which met several times a week, 
 was to amuse ourselves by supping together, and rea- 
 soning, or rather talking nonsense, on every subject 
 which occurred. 
 
 These solemn sittings were most frequently held at 
 my house, because it was handsomer and more spacious 
 than those of my comrades, and because, as I was a 
 bachelor and lived alone, w r e could enjoy greater free- 
 dom. Among these youths, who were descended from 
 the first families in the city, some were rich, others 
 poor ; many of them had only moderate abilities, while 
 others evinced the most consummate talents; many 
 
184 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 possessed little humor, while others displayed the most 
 brilliant wit; even several of them had received the 
 very best education. Hence it is evident that I could 
 claim no superiority over these my youthful companions, 
 though I had seen more of the world than the whole of 
 them put together; nor do I believe I would have been 
 so inclined, had I even been entitled to do so. The 
 laws that we established were discussed, not dictated ; 
 they were just and impartial. We had a throne erected, 
 through an opening in which essays and papers of vari- 
 ous kinds were deposited ; the key was intrusted to the 
 president, who was chosen every week, and whose duty 
 it was to read all these productions. Some of them 
 were extremely amusing, and not wholly destitute of 
 humor. They were all anonymous, though we fre- 
 quently conjectured the name of the author. It was a 
 common misfortune, but particularly so to me, that all 
 these writings abounded in French idioms. For my 
 part I threw several into the throne, which occasioned 
 great mirth in the assembly. They were generally on 
 humorous subjects, interlarded with philosophy and 
 numerous absurdities, and Avritten in a style which, if 
 not barbarous, was at least far from being perfect, but 
 which passed with an auditory as little versed in the 
 beauties of composition as myself. I recollect a frag- 
 ment which I still preserve, descriptive of a scene in the 
 Last Judgment. In it God is represented as demand- 
 ing of the souls assembled before his judgment-seat an 
 account of all their different actions, and several per- 
 sonages are introduced, who depict their own character. 
 This trifle was received with great applause ; they dis- 
 covered in it much justness and strength of coloring, 
 and named on the spot several of those alluded to in 
 the different portraits. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 185 
 
 Tins little essay convinced me that I could commu- 
 nicate my ideas in writing so as to produce some effect 
 on others, and inspired me with the desire and a faint 
 hope of producing some work which might secure to 
 me literary immortality. Nothing, however, could be 
 more vague than these ideas, since my total ignorance 
 prevented me from putting such a design into execution. 
 I possessed a kind of natural instinct for satire, and 
 evinced great facility in holding up persons and things 
 to ridicule. Notwithstanding my disposition to this 
 species of writing, I contemned it at the bottom of my 
 heart, being convinced that the short-lived success of 
 such productions is rather imputable to malignity and 
 envy, which always rejoice when others are attacked, 
 than to the intrinsic merit of the satire itself. 
 
 I lived in a state of the most deplorable idleness, 
 without having a moment to myself, or ever opening a 
 book. It is not then wonderful that I again fell under 
 the dominion of love, whose yoke was now much 
 more disgraceful than formerly ; and from which I 
 only escaped by a violent fit of study with which I was 
 fortunately seized, and which, never afterwards leaving 
 me, preserved me from weariness, anxiety, and I may add 
 even despair. I am certain, had I not stored my mind 
 with useful knowledge before attaining my thirtieth 
 year, I should either have become insane or committed 
 suicide. 
 
 This third accession of love, though' short,*was truly 
 extravagant. The new object of my attachment was 
 a woman of distinguished birth, but older than I by 
 nine or ten years. I first became acquainted with her 
 on my entrance into life, during the period I remained 
 in the academy ; and I now lodged exactly opposite her 
 house. The advances she made to me, my idleness, 
 
186 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and the state of my feelings, which perhaps resembled 
 those of which Petrarch said with so much truth, 
 
 " So di che poco canape si allaccia 
 Un' anima gentil, quand' ella e sola, 
 E non e chi per lei difesa faccia " ; 
 
 in short, Apollo, who inclined to lead me into the road 
 of wisdom by this extraordinary route, all conspired, 
 though I at first neither esteemed nor loved her, not- 
 withstanding she was not destitute of beauty, to make 
 me believe like a fool in the sincerity of that ardent 
 attachment she professed for me, and I at length really 
 loved her even to madness. Friends, amusements, 
 even my favorite horses, were neglected. I remained 
 continually by her side, discontented with my conduct, 
 yet unable to leave her. In this wretched and vacil- 
 lating state did I live, or, more properly speaking, 
 vegetate, from the middle of 1773 till February, 1775, 
 without reflecting on the consequences of this adven- 
 ture, the termination of which proved at once so dis- 
 tressing and fortunate to me. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 TOWARDS the end of the year 1773 I was attacked 
 by a severe malady, of so extraordinary a nature, that 
 I jocularly observed to the wits, of whom there are 
 not a few at Turin, that it seemed expressly made for 
 me. It was ushered in by an almost incessant vomit- 
 ing for thirty-six hours, and when my stomach had 
 nothing more to reject, I was seized with so violent a 
 hiccough that I could not even swallow a single drop 
 of water. The physicians, dreading an inflammation, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEPJ. 187 
 
 ordered me to be bled in the foot ; thereupon the 
 efforts to vomit immediately ceased, but were suc- 
 ceeded by spasms so extremely violent, that I some- 
 times struck my head against the bolster of my bed, 
 and at other times my feet and elbows against every- 
 thing that came in my way. I could neither take 
 drink nor food of any kind ; whenever a cup or any- 
 thing else was offered to me, such was the violence of 
 the spasms, that it was dashed from the hand which 
 presented it. 
 
 These attacks became still more severe. If any 
 one attempted to hold me by mere force, though worn 
 down by sickness, and emaciated by nearly four days' 
 fasting, yet my muscles exerted energies of which 
 they would have been wholly incapable in a state of 
 health. I passed in this manner five whole days, 
 during which I swallowed only twenty or thirty drops 
 of water from the palm of the hand, and which I 
 immediately rejected. At length, on the sixth day of 
 my illness, I was put into a warm bath, composed of 
 equal parts of oil and water. Here I was kept for 
 six hours, after which my spasmodic paroxysms 
 became much less severe. I was enjoined to perse- 
 vere in the use of the same baths; and once degluti- 
 tion was so far restored that I took a large draught 
 of whey, and in a few days the complaint wholly dis- 
 appeared. My long- continued abstinence, and the 
 violence of the reaching, had been such as to produce 
 a hollow between the two small bones composing the 
 breast, of a dimension sufficient to admit a middle- 
 sized egg being placed therein, and which has never 
 since been obliterated. 
 
 This singular malady was the mere effect of the 
 anguish, shame, and rage which constantly preyed on 
 
188 MEMOIKS OF 
 
 my mind, when I reflected on my disgraceful mode of 
 life. As I saw no means of escaping these soul- 
 harrowing reflections, I often invoked death to come to 
 my aid. On the fifth day of my illness, when I was 
 in the greatest danger, one of my friends, -a very 
 worthy man, and somewhat older than myself, paid 
 me a visit, in order to induce me to confess, and make 
 my will. Before he uttered a word on the subject, I 
 readily divined from his manner and appearance the 
 reason of his visit. I immediately anticipated him, 
 and without being in the least ruffled, gave orders 
 that a priest and notary should l>e sent for. 
 
 During my youth, when twice or thrice threatened 
 with death, I never felt myself appalled ; I know not 
 whether I shall act with equal fortitude when the hour 
 of my dissolution approaches. In fact, no man's 
 character can be fairly appreciated till after death. 
 
 My health being re-established, I unfortunately 
 resumed the fetters of love, but I had at least the 
 courage to cast off those which my being in a military 
 capacity imposed on me. The trade of arms and the 
 life of a soldier were never conformable to my char- 
 acter ; but I relished them still less in a country where 
 liberty and freedom are altogether unknown. I waited 
 upon the colonel, and under the plea of bad health, 
 requested leave to quit the service, to the duty of 
 which I had in reality never been subjected. Of the 
 eight years during which I wore the uniform, I spent 
 five in foreign countries ; and during the three others, 
 I had been merely present at four reviews, two of 
 which were only performed yearly in the provincial 
 militia regiments in which I served. The colonel 
 advised me to reflect seriously on the step, before he 
 should notify my resignation to the court. 
 
V1TTORIO ALFIERI. 189 
 
 Though firmly fixed in my determination, I yet 
 out of mere politeness replied that I acquiesced in his 
 opinion, and would take a week or two longer to re- 
 consider the subject. At the expiration of this time I 
 again sent in my resignation, which was accepted. 
 
 Thus I dragged on a weary existence, ashamed of 
 myself, and shunning the society of all my acquaint- 
 ances and friends. To my vivid imagination it ap- 
 peared that my opprobrium was depicted in their coun- 
 tenances One day I began to scribble at random, 
 
 and without any determinate plan, the scene of a piece 
 which I know not whether to consider as belonging to 
 tragedy or comedy. It was written in the form of a 
 dialogue between a man whom I denominated Photin, 
 a woman, and a Cleopatra, who enters some time after 
 the other interlocutors. I bestowed on the other female 
 the appellation of Lachesis, without recollecting that it 
 was the name given by the ancients to one of the Fates. 
 
 When I now reflect on this attempt, it appears to 
 me so much the more extraordinary, as for five or six 
 years I had not only never written a single line of 
 Italian, but never even opened a book of any kind, 
 except very rarely, and that at long intervals. Thus, 
 I cannot say how or why, I was impelled to write 
 these scenes in Italian, and in verse. When I began 
 to sketch this piece I had no other reason to prefer the 
 name of Cleopatra to that of Berenice, Zenobia, or of 
 any other heroic queen, except it was from being in 
 the constant habit of viewing the superb tapestries in 
 the antechamber of my lady, upon which was repre- 
 sented the history of Mark Antony and Cleopatra. I 
 placed them under the cushion of her sofa, where they 
 remained a whole year without any one suspecting it. 
 
 Disgusted, and even irritated at myself for the in- 
 
190 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 glorious life which I led, I took, in the month of May, 
 1774, the sudden resolution of visiting Rome, in order 
 to try if travelling and absence might not cure 
 me of iny passion. I therefore availed myself of 
 one of those violent disputes which very frequently 
 occurred between me and my lady, and so without 
 saying a word respecting my intention, returned home 
 in the evening, and immediately began to make the 
 necessary preparation for my journey, and on the 
 morning of the second day set out for Milan. 
 
 I did not visit her during this interval, but, having 
 probably learned my design from some of my domes- 
 tics, she returned me my letters and portrait, as is 
 customary on similar occasions, on the evening pre- 
 vious to my departure. Though this occurrence pro- 
 duced some agitation in my mind, and made me waver 
 in my resolution, I nevertheless assumed sufficient cour- 
 age to set out on my journey. Incessantly haunted by 
 this truly pitiable passion, I had scarcely reached 
 Novara, when cowardice, sorrow, and regret, triumph- 
 ing over reason, again took possession of my mind, 
 and overturned my purpose. I sent forward my car- 
 riage and servants to Milan, requesting the French 
 Abbe, whom I had taken as a travelling companion, 
 to wait for me in that city, where I would rejoin him. 
 Taking a postilion for my guide, I set out about 
 midnight on my return, and reached Turin at day- 
 break. Not daring to enter the city, lest I should 
 render myself the laughing-stock of all my acquaint- 
 ances, I stopped at a w r retched inn in the suburbs, and 
 from thence wrote a very penitential letter to my 
 lady, very humbly craving that she would grant my 
 pardon, and vouchsafe me an audience. I \vaited not 
 long for her answer. My faithful Elias, who never 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERT. 191 
 
 failed on any occasion to palliate my faults, and who 
 had been left behind to superintend my concerns at 
 Turin during my absence, brought me this answer. 
 My lady having thus acquiesced in the prayer of my 
 petition, I entered the city by night, disguised like a 
 vagabond, and obtained my ignominious pardon. 
 ]>ofore again setting out for Milan, which I did at an 
 early hour in the morning, it was agreed between us 
 that I should return to Turin, in five or six weeks, 
 under pretence of ill-health. Alternately rational and 
 imbecile, I had scarcely set out, on peace being sealed, 
 than I felt ashamed of my unsteady and wavering 
 conduct. I thus reached Milan, tormented by the 
 most poignant regrets, and in a state of mind calcu- 
 lated equally to excite pity and contempt. I knew not 
 then what experience has since taught me, the truth 
 of the following sentiment of the divine Petrarch : 
 
 " Che chi discerne e vinto da chi vuole." 
 
 I remained only two days at Milan, during which I 
 was solely occupied in musing whether I ought to 
 shorten my inauspicious journey, or whether I might 
 not contrive to prolong it without failing in the promise 
 I had given to my lady. 
 
 Insupportable as were my chains, I had neither the 
 will nor power to break them asunder. Finding sol- 
 ace only in travelling and continual dissipation, I passed 
 rapidly through Modena and Bologna, and repaired 
 to Florence. I remained only two days in this 
 latter city, and again set out for Pisa and Leghorn, 
 where I received letters from my lady, and unable 
 any longer to suffer the torments of absence, I took 
 the road by Lerici. Leaving Genoa, the Abbe, and 
 my carriage, which stood in need of repairs, I travelled 
 
192 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 post, and reached Turin eighteen days after setting out 
 on a journey which was to occupy one year. I entered 
 the city as before by night, in order to -avoid the jests 
 of my companions, thus terminated this ridiculous 
 excursion, which cost me many a bitter tear. 
 
 Under the segis, not of my conscience, which stung 
 me to the quick, but of my solemn and inanimate 
 countenance, I escaped the sarcasms of my friends 
 and acquaintances, who ventured not to approach me 
 with congratulations on my return. In fact, this re- 
 turn was extremely unfortunate for me ; because, con- 
 temptible in my own eyes, I fell into such a state 
 of melancholy as would, if long continued, inevitably 
 have led to insanity or death. 
 
 I continued to wear my disgraceful fetters till toward 
 the end of January, 1775, when my rage, which had 
 hitherto so often been restrained within bounds, broke 
 forth with the greatest violence. 
 
 XV. 
 
 ON returning one evening from the opera, the most 
 insipid and tiresome amusement in Italy, where I had 
 passed several hours in the box of the woman who 
 was by turns the object of my antipathy and my love, 
 I took the firm determination of emancipating myself 
 forever from her yoke. Experience had taught me 
 that flight, so far from enabling me to persevere in my 
 resolutions, tended, on the contrary, to weaken, and 
 even to destroy them ; I was inclined, therefore, to 
 subject myself to a still more severe trial, imagining, 
 from the obstinacy and peculiarity of my character, 
 that I should succeed most certainly by the adoption of 
 such measures as would compel me to make the great- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 193 
 
 est efforts. I determined never to leave the house, 
 which, as I have already said, was exactly opposite 
 that of this lady ; to gaze at her windows, to see her 
 go in and out every day, to listen to the sound of her 
 voice, though firmly resolved that no advances on 
 her part either direct or indirect, no tender rernem- 
 hrances, nor, in short, any other means which might be 
 employed, should ever again tempt me to a renewal of 
 our friendship. I was determined to die or liberate 
 myself from my disgraceful thraldom. In order to give 
 stability to my purpose, and to render it impossible for 
 me to waver without the imputation of dishonor, I 
 communicated my determination to one of my friends, 
 who was greatly attached to me, and whom I highly 
 esteemed. He had lamented the state of mind into 
 which I had fallen, but, not wishing to give counte- 
 nance to my conduct, and seeing the impossibility of 
 inducing me to abandon it, he had for some time 
 ceased to visit at my house. In the few lines which I 
 addressed to him, I briefly stated the resolution I had 
 adopted, and as a pledge of my constancy I sent him 
 a long tress of my ugly red hair. 1 had purposely 
 caused it to be cut off in order to prevent my going 
 out, as no one but clowns and sailors appeared in pub- 
 lic with short hair. I concluded my billet by conjuring 
 him to strengthen and aid my fortitude by his presence 
 and example. Isolated, in this manner, in my own 
 house, I prohibited all species of intercourse, and 
 passed the first fifteen days in uttering the most fright- 
 ful lamentations and groans. Some of my friends came 
 to visit me, and appeared to commiserate my situation, 
 perhaps because I did not myself complain ; but my 
 figure and whole appearance bespoke my sufferings. 
 Wishing to read something, I had recourse to the Ga- 
 
194 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 zettes, whole pages of which I frequently ran over 
 without understanding a single word. I rode out on 
 horseback in the most solitary places, and it was the 
 only exercise which proved salutary either to my mind 
 or body. I passed more than two months, till the end 
 of March, 1775, in a state almost bordering on frenzy. 
 About this period a new idea darted into my mind, 
 which tended to assuage my melancholy. Reflecting 
 one day on the amusement I might derive from poetry, 
 I succeeded with the greatest difficulty, and at different 
 times, in composing fourteen verses, which I denomi- 
 nated a sonnet, and which I was anxious to send to the 
 amiable Father Paciaudi. He sometimes visited at 
 my house, and had always shown the greatest kindness 
 towards me, without, however, dissembling his sorrow 
 at seeing me wasting my time in a state of total inac- 
 tivity. This worthy man had incessantly exhorted me 
 to undertake a course of Italian reading. He had one 
 day picked up at an old book-stall the Cleopatra of Car- 
 dinal Delfino, which he called sublime, and, recollecting 
 to have heard me say that it was a tragic subject, and 
 one that I should like to attempt, though I had never 
 shown him my first essay, of which I have spoken 
 above, he presented it to me. In one of my lucid in- 
 tervals I had the patience to peruse the whole of this 
 piece, and write marginal notes on it. I returned it, 
 fully persuaded that in respect to the plot, and the 
 management of the passions, it was much inferior to 
 mine, if I had finished it according to my original plan. 
 Not to discourage me, Father Paciaudi imputed merit 
 to my sonnet it did not possess ; but some months 
 afterwards, on becoming acquainted with our best 
 poets, I learned to estimate this piece at its real value, 
 which amounted to nothing. I was greatly indebted, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 195 
 
 however, to the undeserved praises of the good father, 
 which were bestowed with so much benevolence, since 
 they encouraged me to persevere till I became more 
 worthy of them. 
 
 Several days before my late rupture with my lady, I 
 had drawn my piece from under the pillow of her sofa, 
 where it had lain for a whole year. It happened that 
 in one of these hours of solitude and constant irritation, 
 I cast my eyes upon it. Astonished at the resemblance 
 between the state of my heart and Antony's, I said to 
 myself: " This piece must be finished : it must be re- 
 touched ; it cannot remain as it is : the passion which 
 consumes me must be depicted ; and it may be per- 
 formed by the comedians who annually visit this place 
 during spring." 
 
 No sooner had this idea passed through my mind, 
 than, forgetting my passion, I began to scribble, to 
 alter, to read, and re-alter, and, in short, to become a 
 fool, in another manner, for this unfortunate Cleopatra, 
 born under such unhappy auspices. I was not ashamed 
 to consult some of my friends, who had not like myself 
 neglected to cultivate the Italian language and Italian 
 poetry. I wearied all those who could give me any ad- 
 vice, or throw any light upon an art to which I was so 
 great a stranger. In this manner, wishing for nothing 
 but to learn and make some progress in such a bold 
 and hazardous career, my house became gradually 
 changed into a species of academy. On acquiring a 
 wish for knowledge, circumstances had conspired to 
 render me docile ; but my natural obstinacy returning, 
 I became less attentive to the instructions which were 
 given me. I wearied myself and others without de- 
 riving the smallest advantage from them. The only 
 good that occurred to me from this new whim was, 
 
196 , MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that of gradually detaching me from love, and of 
 awakening my reason, which had so long lain dor- 
 mant. I no longer found it necessary to cause myself 
 to be tied with cords to a chair, in order to prevent me 
 from leaving my house and returning to that of my 
 lady. This had been one of the expedients I devised to 
 render myself wise by force. The cords were concealed 
 under a large mantle, in which I was enveloped, and 
 only one hand remained at liberty. 
 
 Of all those w^ho came to see me, not one suspected 
 I was bound down in this manner. I remained in this 
 situation for whole hours ; Elias, who was my jailer, 
 was alone intrusted with the secret. He always lib- 
 erated me, as he had been enjoined, whenever the 
 paroxysms of my rage subsided. Of all the whimsical 
 methods, however, which I employed, the most curious 
 was that of appearing in masquerade at the theatre 
 towards the end of the carnival. Habited as Apollo, 
 I ventured to present myself with a lyre, on which I 
 played as well as I was able, and sang some bad 
 verses of my own composing. Such effrontery was 
 diametrically opposite to my natural character. The 
 only excuse I can offer for similar scenes was my ina- 
 bility to resist an imperious passion. I felt that it was 
 necessary to place an insuperable barrier between its 
 object and me ; and I saw that the strongest of all 
 was the shame to which I should expose myself by 
 renewing an attachment which I had so publicly 
 turned into ridicule. Thus the dread of this shame 
 prevented ine from perceiving that I was already over- 
 whelmed with it in public. Nevertheless, I felt myself 
 gradually animated by a passion hitherto wholly un- 
 known to me, the love of glory. 
 
 In short, after several months 7 constant poetical con- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEHI. 197 
 
 sultations, after having ransacked grammars and dic- 
 tionaries, after having strung together a great deal of 
 nonsense, I collected live pieces, which I termed acts, 
 and entitled the whole a tragedy. As soon as the first 
 act was ready, instead of throwing it into the fire, I sent 
 it to the polite Father Paciaudi, requesting him to exam- 
 ine it, and give me his opinion in writing. The notes 
 which he made on these verses were really amusing; 
 and I laughed at them in good earnest, though at my 
 own expense; and among others, at the following 
 (verse 184), " The barking of the heart." " This met- 
 aphor/' he observes, " reminds one of a dog ; I entreat 
 you to expunge it." The notes which he made on the 
 first act, and the advice which he gave me in the letter 
 which he sent on returning it, induced me to digest it 
 anew with the most indefatigable patience. From this 
 labor sprang the tragedy of Cleopatra, which was 
 represented at Turin the l(Jth of June, 1775. 
 
 I also composed a small piece in prose, to be per- 
 formed after Cleopatra, and which I entitled a The 
 Poets." Nevertheless, neither the small piece nor the 
 tragedy, with all their defects, was the offspring of a 
 f >ol ; some marks of genius were discoverable in both. 
 
 In the Poets I depicted myself under the name of 
 Zeuzippe, and in this assumed character first satirized 
 my Cleopatra ; I invoked her shade, in order that she 
 might, in company with the other tragic heroines, decide 
 on the merits of my piece, which was equally bad as that 
 of my rival poets. The sole difference which existed 
 between their pieces and mine was that the former 
 were the productions of learned incapacity, whereas 
 mine was the premature offspring of ignorance, which 
 promised one day to become something. 
 
 These two pieces were represented two successive 
 
198 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 * 
 
 nights ; but, repenting that I had so rashly appeared 
 before the public, though it was very indulgent, I used 
 every effort with the managers to prevent them being 
 again represented. From that eventful night a de- 
 vouring tire took possession of my soul ; I thirsted one 
 day to become a deserving candidate for theatrical 
 fame ; the passion of love never inspired me with such 
 lively transports. Such was the manner in which I 
 first appeared before the public. If my numerous 
 dramatic works are not found to b'e superior to those 
 two first productions of my pen, this ascent to Par- 
 nassus in, the sock and buskin must doubtless be con- 
 sidered as a piece of folly highly extravagant and 
 ridiculous; but if, on the contrary, I am deemed 
 worthy to rank among our celebrated tragic or comic 
 authors, this first step must be regarded as the most 
 important of my whole life. 
 
 I shall here terminate the epoch of my youth. My 
 manhood could not commence under happier auspices. 
 
FOURTH EPOCH. 
 
 MANHOOD. 
 
 COMPREHENDING MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS OF MY 
 LITERARY LABORS. 
 
 I. 
 
 |HUS ; then, at twenty-seven years of age did I 
 enlist myself in the service of the Muses, and 
 appear before the public as a dramatic au- 
 thor. I shall now proceed to point out the 
 resources I possessed to enable me to support so daring 
 and presumptuous a flight. 
 
 A resolute, obstinate, and ungovernable character, 
 susceptible of the warmest affections, among which, by 
 an odd kind of combination, predominated the most 
 ardent love, and a hatred approaching to madness 
 against every species of tyranny; an imperfect and 
 vague recollection of several French tragedies which I 
 had seen represented several years before, but which 
 I had then neither read nor studied ; a total ignorance 
 of dramatic rules; and an incapability of expressing 
 myself with elegance and precision in my own lan- 
 guage. To these were superadded an insufferable pre- 
 sumption, or, more properly speaking, petulance, and a 
 
200 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 degree of violence which seldom allowed me to investi- 
 gate and perceive truth. 
 
 With similar elements it would have been easier to 
 have formed a tyrannical prince than a man of letters. 
 At length a powerful voice arose from the hottom of 
 my heart which cried more energetically than that 
 of my few friends: "It is necessary to retrace your 
 steps in order to study grammar and the art of com- 
 position." In conformity to this divine and powerful 
 admonition, I at length submitted to the hard necessity 
 of recommencing the studies of my infancy at an age 
 when I thought and felt like a man. But the flame of 
 glory shone in my eyes, and, resolving to wipe away 
 the shame of my deplorable ignorance, I assumed suffi- 
 cient courage to combat and overcome every obstacle 
 which opposed my progress. 
 
 The representation of Cleopatra had not only con- 
 vinced me that the subject was intrinsically bad, and 
 would never be selected by any one except an ignorant 
 author, but made me perceive the immense space I had 
 to traverse before I could regain the barrier, re-enter 
 the lists, and dart forward with more or less chance 
 of success towards the goal. As soon, however, as 
 the veil which obscured my sight was withdrawn, I 
 solemnly vowed, in my own mind, neither to spare 
 trouble nor fatigue, in order to render myself an equal 
 proficient in my native tongue with the most learned 
 philologist in Italy. I assumed this resolution, because 
 I conceived if I once acquired a felicity of expression, I 
 should never experience any difficulties from a poverty 
 of imagination or a paucity of ideas. Having thus 
 bound myself by an oath, I resolutely plunged, with 
 the courage of a Curtius, into the abyss of grammar. 
 In proportion as I became convinced that I had exe- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 201 
 
 cuted badly what I had hitherto done, the more firmly 
 did I believe it was iu my power to perform it better. 
 I had in my opinion a striking proof of this in my two 
 tragedies, Filippo and Polinice, which I had written 
 in French prose three mouths before the representation 
 of Cleopatra. These I had read to some of my friends, 
 who appeared to be much struck with them. I was 
 led to form this opinion not so much from the quantum 
 of praise which they bestowed on them as from the 
 profound attention with which they listened from the 
 beginning to the end of the performance. Their silent 
 agitation and the expression of their features spoke 
 even more highly in my favor than their words. Un- 
 fortunately, however, whatever might be the merit of 
 these two tragedies, they were written in French prose, 
 and much labor was requisite to transform them into 
 Italian poetry. I had sketched them in this meagre 
 and un pleasing language, riot that I knew it, or even 
 pretended to know it, but because during my five years' 
 travels it was the only language I heard spoken, and 
 because I explained myself in it better than in any 
 other. By my ignorance of language I bore a striking 
 resemblance to one of those noted couriers of Italy, 
 who, when sick in bed, dreams that he runs, and wants 
 only his limbs to surpass his rivals. 
 
 The difficulty of explaining or translating my senti- 
 ments either into Italian verse or prose was such, that 
 when I read in this language an act or scene which 
 appeared to delight my auditors in French, they no 
 longer knew it to be the same, and inquired the reason 
 of the change. Such was the influence of other dresses 
 and decorations, that the same figure was insupportable, 
 and incapable of being recognized. I raged, I wept, 
 but it was necessary to assume patience, and begin my 
 
202 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 task anew. I was obliged to ransack classical produc- 
 tions, however insipid and anti-tragical, in order to 
 become master of the native Tuscan. In short, it be- 
 hoved me wholly to forget what I had hitherto learned 
 in order to acquire it. 
 
 The fate of these two tragedies made me lend a more 
 patient ear to the judicious counsels which I received, 
 from every quarter, and induced me to be present, 
 however painful it might be to my feelings, at the 
 representation of Cleopatra. Every verse the actors 
 pronounced resounded in my ears, as the most severe 
 criticism on a work that from this moment lost all in- 
 terest in my eyes. Henceforward I considered it only 
 as affording a stimulus to future exertions. 
 
 I did not allow myself to be influenced by the severe 
 criticisms directed against my tragedies, when I pub- 
 lished the first edition of my Cleopatra at Siena in 
 1783. But neither did I any longer pride myself on 
 the unmerited praises which the pit at Tuiin, pleased 
 perhaps with my youthful temerity, seemed so well 
 inclined to bestow on me. Though from the com- 
 mencement of July, 1803, in order to avoid conversing 
 in the French language, I religiously shunned every 
 society in which it was spoken, yet I did not succeed 
 in Italianizing myself. I could never accommodate my 
 mind to progressive and regular study ; always acting- 
 in opposition to prudent advice. I inclined to soar anew 
 on my own pinions. On this account I forced myself 
 to versify every subject that occurred to my mind. 
 Various were the species of poetry I attempted. But 
 though my pride was uniformly humbled, yet obsti- 
 nacy and hope still stimulated me to persevere. Among 
 other rhapsodies, for they deserve not the name of 
 poetry, I wrote some couplets, which I sang at a meet- 
 
V1TT01UO ALFIERI. 203 
 
 ing of Freemasons. They were full of allusions to 
 the insignia, different orders, etc. of the .society. 
 Though I had already pilfered one verse-from Petrarch 
 in my first sonnet, yet such were my ignorance and in- 
 attention that I began this piece without recollecting 
 the rules prescribed in such compositions, which I had 
 perhaps never well understood. I continued in this 
 error till I reached the twelfth stanza, when, some 
 doubts suggesting themselves, I opened Dante and dis- 
 covered my fault, which I avoided in the sequel of the 
 piece, leaving, however, the others as they originally 
 stood. In this state they were sung at the lodge, but 
 these Masons, being as little proficient in poetry as in 
 the art of building, did not perceive their defects. 
 
 Finding during the month of August, 1775, that the 
 dissipated life to which I was exposed in the city pre- 
 vented me from devoting myself entirely to study, I 
 retired to the mountainous district situated between 
 Piedmont and Dauphine. I spent nearly two months 
 at Cezannes, a small village at the foot of Mont 
 Genevre, by which, according to some, Hannibal pur- 
 sued his way in scaling the Alps. Though naturally 
 much given to reflection, I was yet sometimes impru- 
 dent through an impetuosity of temper. Hence it did 
 not occur to me, on assuming this determination, that 
 I should again encounter in my retreat among these 
 mountains that same detestable French language which 
 I wished so much to avoid. The idea of thus secluding 
 myself was suggested by the same Abbe who had been 
 my travelling companion in my last ridiculous journey 
 to Florence. 
 
 This Abbe was a native of Cezannes, possessed much 
 wit, a benevolent disposition, and was well versed in 
 Latin and French literature. He had acted as a pre- 
 
204 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ceptor to two of my companions at college, where we 
 contracted a lasting friendship for each other. At that 
 period the Abbe sought to inspire me with a thirst for 
 knowledge, but his efforts were fruitless. 
 
 Such, when I inhabited the first apartment of the 
 academy, was the indifference I evinced to become a 
 dramatic author. It must be confessed, that ever after- 
 wards the monotonous and insipid cadence of French 
 verses always disgusted me. I never could consider 
 them in the light of poetry, either in the days of my 
 ignorance, or when I conceived myself better acquainted 
 w r ith the subject. 
 
 But to 'return to my summer retreat at Cezannes. 
 Besides my literary Abbe, a musical Abbe accompanied 
 me, who gave me lessons on the guitar. But though 
 I had a great predilection for this instrument, whose 
 sounds excited in my mind the most rapturous trans- 
 ports, and inspired me with a taste for poetry, yet I 
 never had the patience to cultivate it. Neither did 
 I excel on the harpsichord, which I was taught in my 
 youth, though I possessed an ardent imagination, and 
 an exquisite ear for music. 
 
 Thus did I pass the summer in the society of these two 
 Abbes. While one of them occasionally relieved my 
 mind by the concord of sweet sounds from the pain 
 occasioned by my application to study, I wished the 
 other at the devil with his French. Notwithstanding 
 this, I spent my time in a way at once profitable and 
 delightful. I learned to retire within myself, and to 
 labor with energy. in rubbing off the rust which my 
 mind had contracted during ten years of disgraceful 
 torpor and inactivity. I began to translate into Italian 
 prose Filippo and Polinice, which had originally been 
 written in a pseudo-tongue. Notwithstanding all my 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 205 
 
 efforts, however, these two tragedies always exhibited 
 a mongrel appearance of Italian and French, as is 
 affirmed by our poet of burning paper : 
 
 " Uii color bruno 
 Che non e nero ancora e il bianco muore." 
 
 Wholly occupied with this painful labor of convert- 
 ing French conceptions into Italian verse, I felt myself 
 excessively fatigued by remoulding my Cleopatra for 
 the third time. I had read some of the scenes of this 
 piece in French to Count Tana, my dramatic but 
 imgrammatical censor, who considered some of them 
 very beautiful and energetic, particularly that between 
 Augustus and Antony. When, however, they were 
 transformed into bad Italian verse, he viewed them 
 very differently, regarding them as even beneath medi- 
 ocrity. This he candidly told me, and I believed him, 
 nay, I even felt it myself ; so true is it that in poetic 
 composition style constitutes half its value, and some- 
 times, as in lyric poetry, even the whole. So that some 
 verses which, 
 
 " Col la lor vanita che par persona," 
 are above others, 
 
 " Fosser gemme legate in vile anello." 
 
 After translating my two tragedies into wretched 
 prose, I next began to read and study, in the order of 
 their antiquity, all our most celebrated poets. Instead 
 of writing marginal notes, I merely contented myself 
 with making small perpendicular strokes opposite 
 those passages with which I was most delighted. As 
 I found Dante at first too abstruse, I quitted him for 
 Tasso, which till then I had never opened. I read 
 this author with such attention, and so anxious was I 
 
206 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to unravel his meaning, that I often felt myself more 
 exhausted before getting through ten stanzas than if I 
 had composed them myself. 
 
 Gradually, however, I became habituated to this 
 laborious mode of study. In this manner did I toil 
 through the Jerusalem of Tasso, the Orlando Furioso 
 of Ariosto, afterwards Dante, and at length Petrarch, 
 in all of which I wrote marginal notes during my 
 progress. I spent more than one year in this labor. 
 When I met with any difficulty in Dante, I gave 
 myself little trouble to understand him, if it related to 
 a mere point of history ; when, however, it regarded an 
 expression^ a sentiment, or the turn of a sentence, I 
 essayed with all my strength to comprehend him. On 
 such occasions, when success attended my attempts, I 
 felt myself not a little gratified. As soon as I had 
 read these four great poets, I immediately prepared 
 myself, by subsequent readings, to comprehend them 
 thoroughly, and enter into their spirit, an undertak- 
 ing to which I was probably stimulated by the idea of 
 one day successfully imitating them. Petrarch seemed 
 more difficult to comprehend than Dante, and at first 
 afforded me less gratification, since we never receive 
 much pleasure in reading poetical pieces which we do 
 not readily understand. As I wished to write in blank 
 verse, I hunted after the best models. I was advised 
 to peruse the translation of Statins by Beiitivoglio; 
 but though I attentively studied this work, and wrote 
 marginal notes as I proceeded, yet the structure of the 
 verse seemed to me to be feeble and ill adapted for 
 tragic dialogue. The Ossian of Cesarotti was the 
 next work recommended to me by my censors and 
 friends. This work attracted my notice, and I con- 
 ceived that with a slight modification it would serve 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 207 
 
 as an excellent model for colloquial verse. I likewise 
 wished to read some Italian tragedies, either written 
 originally in this language, or translated from the 
 French. From these I hoped to derive some improve- 
 ment, at least with respect to style, but I soon became 
 disgusted with their length, with the prolixity of the 
 sentences, and the construction of the verse, not to 
 mention the poverty displayed in the conceptions 
 throughout. Among the least exceptionable, I read 
 the four tragedies which Paradisi translated from the 
 French, and to which he subjoined notes as well as to 
 the Merope of Maffei. The style of this last produc- 
 tion pleased me much, particularly in some places, 
 though, according to the standard I had erected in my 
 own mind, it was far from having attained perfection. 
 I inquired of myself: "How happens it that our 
 divine language, which appears so bold, and even 
 sometimes so energetical and sublime in Dante, should 
 become languid and effeminate in dramatic dialogue ? 
 Why happens it that the versification of Cesarotti, 
 which is so nervous in his Ossian, should become so 
 prosaic and diffuse in Semiramis and the Mahomet of 
 Voltaire ? Why, moreover, does it happen that the 
 pompous Frugoni, in his translation of the Rhadamiste 
 of Crebillon, falls so much beneath his author, and 
 even himself? Certainly the fault cannot be justly im- 
 puted to our language, which is so copious and ilexible. 
 When I suggested these doubts to my arbiters and 
 friends, they were unable to answer me. The worthy 
 Paciaudi recommended to me, however, in my labori- 
 ous studies, not to neglect prose, which he learnedly 
 termed the nurse of verse. I remember that one day 
 having brought me the Galatea of Casa, he advised 
 me to study it with care, and particularly to attend to 
 
208 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the turn of the style, which was the purest Tuscan. 
 Though I read it, like most others, during iny youth, 
 without comprehending or perceiving its beauties, yet 
 I felt my pride piqued by this scholastic injunction. I 
 opened it, however, though with the greatest repug- 
 nance ; but no sooner had I read the very first sentence, 
 which equally disgusted me by its pomposity and in- 
 significance, than I flung the book in a rage out of the 
 window, exclaiming like a fool: "What an insuffera- 
 ble hardship, if in order to write tragedies I must, at 
 the age of twenty-seven, be condemned to read such 
 stuff, and harass my brain with such trifling absurdi- 
 ties ! " Father Paciaudi only smiled at my absurd 
 warmth, and predicted, notwithstanding, that at some 
 future period I should give it more than one perusal. 
 Just so it fell out, several years afterwards, when my 
 mind had become more habituated to philological criti- 
 cism; not only did I read. the Galatea, and write notes 
 on it, but also on all our other prose writers of the 
 fourteenth century. The fact is, that he who carefully 
 reads these works, and attends to the style in which 
 they are written, separating the ore from the dross in 
 his progress, will be enabled to impart to the style cf 
 his own productions, of whatever nature they may be, a 
 richness, a conciseness, a simplicity, and a strength cf 
 coloring, not to be found in any of the works of the 
 present times. Probably few will be found to under- 
 take such a laborious task, who possess sufficient spirit 
 and capacity to derive advantage from it ; while those 
 who possess not these qualities would attempt it in 
 vain. 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 209 
 
 II. 
 
 HAVING devoted myself during six months to the 
 study of Italian literature, I began, about the com- 
 mencement of 1776, to experience an emotion of grief 
 and shame that I had entirely forgotten the little 
 Latin I had acquired in the early part of my life. So 
 great indeed was my ignorance of this language, that 
 when I met in the course of my reading even with the 
 shortest and most common quotations, I was compelled 
 to pass over them. Having besides prohibited myself 
 the use of French authors, and confined my studies to 
 Italian alone, I was thus deprived of all aid in reading 
 dramatic works. For these and other reasons I was 
 induced again to direct my attention to the study of 
 the Latin tongue, in order to enable me to read the 
 tragedies of Seneca, some detached portions of which 
 had enchanted me with their sublimity. I, moreover, 
 felt an inclination to read the Latin translations of the 
 Greek tragedies, which are superior in every respect 
 to the Italian version. After arming myself with for- 
 titude, I engaged an excellent instructor, who put 
 into my hands the fables of Phsedrus, which, to 
 his great astonishment and my shame, he soon per- 
 ceived I did not understand, though I had explained 
 them when only ten years of age. In fact, I wholly 
 mistook the sense, whenever I attempted to render 
 them into Italian. As soon as my instructor discov- 
 ered the quantum of my ignorance, and knew the 
 firmness of my resolution, he exchanged Phsedrus for 
 Horace, observing: u From the difficult we will de- 
 scend to that which is more easy, and this first task 
 will be more worthy of you 5 let us commit trespasses 
 
210 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 against the prince of lyric poets, in order that he may 
 render others more intelligible to us." 
 
 In this way we entered on Horace, and from the 
 "beginning of January till the month of March, by 
 dint of perseverance, after much guessing and blun- 
 dering, I succeeded in rendering myself capable of un- 
 derstanding all the odes of this poet. This study cost 
 me much labor, but it also proved of the greatest util- 
 ity, since it improved me in a knowledge of grammar 
 without compelling me to relinquish the study of 
 poetry. During this period I unceasingly pursued the 
 study of the Italian poets. Besides those of the first 
 rank, and especially Dante and Petrarch, which I read 
 five times over in the space of four years, constantly 
 writing notes on them during my progress, I likewise 
 perused others, such -as Politian and Casa. I occasion- 
 ally made some attempts in dramatic poetry, and had 
 already metamorphosed my tragedy of Filippo into 
 verse. Though this piece was much superior to that 
 of Cleopatra, the versification was yet languid, feeble, 
 and prolix. I had reduced it from two thousand to 
 fourteen hundred verses; still, however, the public 
 were disgusted with its prolixity, though it was cer- 
 tainly rendered, by being thus compressed, much more 
 energetic and comprehensive than as it stood in the 
 original manuscript. 
 
 The languor and feebleness of my style made me 
 readily perceive that I should never succeed in express- 
 ing myself happily in Italian, while I continued to 
 translate my own works from the French. I took in 
 consequence the resolution of travelling into Tuscany, 
 with a view to improve myself in the Tuscan style. I 
 set out with this intention in the month of April, 1776, 
 hoping that a stay of six months would serve to un- 
 
VITTOBIO ALFIE1U. 211 
 
 frenchify me. I soon, however, found that this period 
 would be insufficient to destroy a habit which had 
 been rooted in my mind for upwards of ten years. 
 Encumbered with very little baggage, and attended 
 only by a small retinue, I pursued my route by the 
 way of Parma and Placentia. Animated by the hope 
 of acquiring future fame, with an edition of my fa- 
 vorite poets in my pocket, I travelled only by short 
 stages, sometimes in my carriage, and at other times 
 on horseback. Father Paciaudi introduced me, while 
 at Parma, Modena, and in Tuscany, to almost every 
 individual who possessed any degree of reputation in 
 the republic of letters. I now courted their company 
 as much as I had shunned it formerly. At Parma I 
 became acquainted with the celebrated Bodoni, and it 
 was at this place 1 first saw a printing apparatus. 
 Though I had visited both Madrid and Birmingham, 
 which could boast of containing two of the most cele- 
 brated printing-presses in Europe, I had never seen 
 a single type, nor any of the other utensils which were 
 destined either to exalt or lower me in the estimation 
 of posterity. I could not certainly have viewed a 
 finer establishment than that which I here saw, nor 
 could I have met with a man more, amiable and intel- 
 ligent than. Bodoni. He gave me all the information 
 I could wish respecting an art which he has contrib- 
 uted so inucli to bring to perfection. 
 
 I thus every day continued to emerge from the long 
 and profound lethargy in which I had been plunged ; 
 I saw many things, and acquired much knowledge, 
 though it must be confessed somewhat too late. What 
 appeared to me most important was, to ascertain the 
 exact measure of my intellectual faculties, in order 
 that I might not deceive myself with respect to the 
 
212 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 species of literature which it behoved me to cultivate. 
 This study of myself was not, however, so new to me 
 as many others; for I had accustomed myself at an 
 early period not only to reflect much, but frequently 
 even to commit my reflections to writing. I still retain 
 in my possession a kind of diary, which I regularly 
 continued for several months : in which I noted down 
 not only my habitual follies, but even my thoughts, 
 and the motives of my actions. This, while it served 
 as a mirror to reflect my faults, enabled me at the 
 same time to discover how I might rectify them. 
 
 I had begun this journal in French, but I afterwards 
 continued it in Italian. It was ill -written in both lan- 
 guages, though it certainly displayed many striking 
 traits of originality. I soon, however, became weary 
 of it, and I did well, for besides wasting my time and 
 my ink, 1 found it became of less use to me every day. 
 I mention this fact as a proof of the power I possessed 
 of discovering my literary capacity or incapacity on any 
 subject. Being once able to distinguish what I wanted 
 from the little I inherited from nature, I proceeded still 
 a step farther, in order to discriminate among the qual- 
 ities in which I was deficient, those it would be possi- 
 ble fully or only partially to acquire, and those, in 
 short, which were unattainable by me. If I derived 
 not complete success from this kind of study, I at least 
 owe to it my never having attempted any species of 
 composition to which I felt not a natural and irresisti- 
 ble impulse, an impulse which, in the fine arts, even 
 when the work is not wholly successful, is readily dis- 
 tinguished from coercive efforts, though these may 
 sometimes produce a work regular in all its parts. 
 
 During the six or seven weeks I resided at Pisa, I 
 conceived the plan of my tragedy of Antigone, which 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 213 
 
 I wrote in very tolerable Tuscan prose. I transformed 
 Polinice into verse, which was much superior to that 
 of Filippo. I read the first of these pieces to some 
 of the professors of the university. They appeared to 
 be very well satisfied with it, only censuring occasion- 
 ally a few expressions, but without criticising it with 
 that severity it deserved. Though the conceptions 
 and versification were in a few detached portions far 
 from being unhappy, yet the piece as a whole, in my 
 opinion, was too languid and insipid to excite much 
 interest ; according to them, however, the style was 
 sometimes incorrect, though smooth and sonorous ; in 
 short, so completely were our opinions at variance, that 
 what I called languid and insipid they termed smooth, 
 and sonorous. With respect to the incorrectness of 
 the style, this was a mere matter of fact and not of 
 taste, and therefore could afford no cause for dispute. 
 
 During my stay at Pisa I executed a literal trans- 
 lation in prose of Horace's Art of Poetry, that I might 
 familiarize myself with his excellent and ingenious pre- 
 cepts. I likewise began to read Seneca's tragedies ; 
 but though I perceived they were written in opposition 
 to the rules of Horace, yet I was so struck with some 
 passages of the true sublime, that I endeavored to 
 render them into blank verse. This contributed not 
 only to improve my Italian and Latin, but also my 
 powers of versification and expression. By this em- 
 ployment I perceived the great difference which exists 
 between epic and iambic verse, the measure of which 
 alone is sufficient to enable us to distinguish colloquial 
 poetry from every other species of verse. I likewise 
 became sensible that for us, who have only employed 
 the verse of eleven syllables in epic composition, it was 
 necessary to form an arrangement of words, of sounds 
 
214 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 perpetually varied and broken, of phrases short and 
 energetic, which distinguish tragic from all other kinds 
 of "blank verse, as well as from every species of rhyme, 
 whether epic or lyric. The iambics of Seneca con- 
 vinced me of this truth, and perhaps furnished me with 
 the means of putting it into practice. I remarked that 
 the boldest and most masculine strokes of this author 
 derived the half of their sublimity from broken and 
 disjointed metre. In fact, what man is so wholly de- 
 void of sentiment and ear as not to perceive the extreme 
 difference between these two verses, the one taken from 
 Virgil, who wishes to charm his reader 
 
 " Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum " ; 
 
 the other from Seneca, who aims to astonish and strike 
 terror into the breasts of his auditors, by characterizing 
 in two words two very different personages : 
 " Concede mortem, 
 Si recusares, darem." 
 
 On this account never should an Italian tragic author, 
 in the most impassioned or dreadful moments, put into 
 the mouths of his dramatis persons lines which re- 
 semble in sound the sublime verses of our epic muse : 
 " Chiama gli abitator dell' ombre eterne, 
 II rauco suon della tartarea trornba." 
 
 Convinced of the necessity of preserving a complete 
 distinction between the two styles, a distinction so 
 much the more difficult for us other Italians, as it is 
 necessary to confine ourselves strictly within the limits 
 of the same metre, I gave very little attention to what 
 the literati of Pisa said with regard to the foundation 
 of the dramatic art, or as to the style that ought to be 
 employed ; but I listened with the greatest deference 
 and patience to everything which related to gnun- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 215 
 
 matical and Tuscan purity, though the Tuscans of the 
 present day do not excel in this last respect. 
 
 Thus then in less than one year I became the pos- 
 sessor of three other tragedies, viz. Filippo, Polinice, 
 and Antigone. The first of these was founded on the 
 story of Don Carlos, by the Abbe Saint Real, a ro- 
 mance which I had read several years before. The 
 Rival Brothers of Racine furnished me with the idea 
 of the second ; and Bentivoglio's translation of the 
 twelfth book of Statins suggested the groundwork of 
 the third. Some lines which I had found in Racine 
 and others, derived from a .piece of Eschylus, translated 
 by Father Brumoi, determined me never to read any 
 tragedies which treated of the same subjects as those 
 on which I undertook to write, that I might avoid the 
 reproach of having pilfered from them, and that I might 
 be certain that what I did, whether well or ill executed, 
 belonged to me alone. He who reads much before 
 entering on the task of composition often unconsciously 
 borrows from others, and thus destroys all originality. 
 This reason, therefore, induced me to give up, in the 
 preceding year, the perusal of Shakespeare, a circum- 
 stance which I regretted the less because I was obliged 
 to read him in French. In proportion as this author, 
 to whose faults I was not blind, pleased me, the more 
 necessary did I consider it to relinquish him. 
 
 After having written my Antigone, in prose, I felt 
 myself inspired by the reading of Seneca, and conceived 
 at the same time Agamemnon and Orestes. Though 
 Seneca furnished me with the idea of these two last 
 pieces, I am certain, however, that I borrowed noth- 
 ing from him. Towards the end of June I left Pisa 
 and went to Florence, where I resided during the whole 
 of September, assidupusly applying myself to acquire 
 
216 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the vernacular tongue, in which I made considerable 
 progress by frequently entering into conversation with 
 the Florentines. From that period I began to confine 
 myself almost exclusively to this copious and elegant 
 language, a study so essentially requisite to correct 
 composition. 
 
 During my stay at Florence I versified my tragedy 
 of Filippo for the second time : I began it anew in 
 prose, without attending to my former versification : 
 my progress, however, in this work was so extremely 
 slow, that it even seemed to me as if I did not advance, 
 but remained stationary. Having casually heard, one 
 day during the month of August, while in a circle of 
 literary men, an historical anecdote of Don Garcia, 
 who was murdered by his own father, Cosmo I., I was 
 struck by the relation, and as it had never been pub- 
 lished, it was transcribed at my request from the man- 
 uscript copy in the Archives of Florence. Thus was I 
 first led to conceive the tragedy which bears his name. 
 As I had no critical friend at Florence whom I could 
 consult occasionally, like Count Tana and Father Pa- 
 ciaudi, my verses were at first but indifferent : I pos- 
 sessed, however, sufficient judgment and reason neither 
 to give a copy of them, nor even to read them, except to 
 a very few friends. ' This want of success, however, in- 
 stead of discouraging, only served to convince me of the 
 necessity of perusing the productions of our first poets, 
 and to fix them in my memory, in order to render my- 
 self familiar with poetic forms. Thus, during the 
 summer, I stored my mind with the verses of Dante, 
 Petrarch, Tasso, and the three first cantos of Ariosto, 
 being fully persuaded that a day would arrive when all 
 these forms of phraseology would become incorporated 
 and identified with my own thoughts. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 217 
 
 III. 
 
 I RETURNED to Turin in the month of October, not 
 that I considered myself sufficiently Tuscanized, but 
 because I had not made the necessary arrangements to 
 enable me to remain longer from home. I was besides 
 partly influenced in this determination, however frivo- 
 lous it may appear, by having left my horses behind 
 me. My passion for riding had long struggled for the 
 mastery over my attachment to the Muses, and the 
 love of fame had not yet sufficiently established its 
 empire over my mind to cure me of a rage for amuse- 
 ment, which still occasionally detached me from my 
 studies. This I could most easily obtain at Turin, 
 where I possessed an excellent house, acquaintances 
 of every description, greater opportunities of dissipation, 
 and more numerous friends than elsewhere. Notwith- 
 standing such occasional aberrations, I did not relax in 
 my studies during the winter. In order to diversify 
 my pursuits after finishing Horace, I carefully read 
 several other authors, and among the number Sallust. 
 The precision and elegance of this historian delighted 
 me so much that I determined to translate his work 
 with great care, which I accomplished in the course of 
 the winter. I received much improvement from this 
 species of employment, as I carefully revised and cor- 
 rected the first rude version. I know not whether the 
 work gained anything under my hand, but I reaped 
 considerable advantage from it, not only by improving 
 my knowledge of the Latin, but by the facility I ac- 
 quired in Italian composition. During this period the 
 incomparable Abbe Caluso returned from Portugal, and 
 finding me, contrary to his expectations, buried in lit- 
 
218 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 erature and firmly resolved to become a dramatic author, 
 he aided me hy his advice and instruction with the 
 greatest condescension and benevolence. 
 
 At the termination of 1776 a circumstance occurred 
 which gave me the greatest satisfaction that I had 
 experienced for a long time. On going one morning 
 to the house of Count Tana, to whom I always carried 
 my verses with great trepidation as soon as they were 
 finished, I presented him a sonnet, to which he found 
 nothing to object ; on the contrary he praised it much, 
 saying to me : "This is the first of your productions 
 which is worthy of your name." After all the humili- 
 ations and vexation I had suffered during a whole year 
 that I had submitted to him my detestable poetry, which 
 in the true spirit of friendship he had censured without 
 mercy, the joy which I felt on listening to his sincere 
 though unexpected eulogium may easily be conceived. 
 This fortunate piece contained a description of the 
 carrying away of Ganymede, in imitation of the beau- 
 tiful sonnet of Cassiani upon the rape of Proserpine. 
 It was printed in the first edition of my works. Stim- 
 ulated by his praise to new exertion, I very soon com- 
 pleted the other two. I took the subject from that 
 fable, and, like the former, they were imitations. The 
 whole three may perhaps be considered as too servile a 
 copy of the originals, but they possess the merit of 
 being written with an elegance and perspicuity I had 
 not hitherto attained. They all follow each other in 
 my works, and though I had kept them some years, 
 they were printed as they originally stood, without any 
 material corrections. Tins dawn of success opened to 
 my view a new career, and I composed during the 
 winter several other sonnets on amatory subjects, 
 though they were certainly not dictated by love. I 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEPJ. 219 
 
 began a description of a beautiful and handsome woman 
 merely as an exercise in the language, and to accustom 
 myself to rhyme. I felt no affection for any individual, 
 as may be seen in the sonnets themselves, which are 
 more descriptive than impassioned. As, however, the 
 versification is good, I have preserved them in my 
 works. The intelligent critic will be there able to 
 remark the gradual progress I made in the difficult art 
 of composition, without which sonnets, however well 
 conceived and executed, can never be considered as 
 perfect. 
 
 My evident progress in poetry, and in the prose of 
 Sallust, whose precision I preserved without falling 
 into obscurity, inspired me with the most sanguine 
 hopes of success, though I had not yet been able to 
 imitate the harmony of style which so peculiarly dis- 
 tinguishes this author, and which is the true character- 
 istic of good prose. 
 
 As, however, these studies were only intended to 
 facilitate the acquirement of a correct dramatic style, I 
 occasionally discontinued them in order to attempt the 
 principal object I had in view. Thus, in the month 
 of April, 1777, I versified Antigone, a labor which 
 scarcely occupied me three weeks. From the rapidity 
 with which I had perfoimed this task, I flattered my- 
 self that I was greatly improved in this species of 
 composition ; but scarcely had I read my tragedy in a 
 literary society w T hich met every evening than I per- 
 ceived how much I had deceived myself, though my 
 auditors overwhelmed me with eulogiums. I perceived 
 with the most lively sorrow how greatly I had fallen 
 short of the model of perfection I had proposed to 
 myself. The praises of my learned friends convinced 
 me that my tragedy was not deficient in merit, so far as 
 
220 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 related to the plot and the conduct of the passions, but 
 my ears and my judgment informed me that it was ex- 
 tremely defective in point of style. Of this no person 
 could be such a competent judge, at the first reading, 
 as myself. The interest, the emotion, and the curios- 
 ity inspired by a tragedy, with the fable of which we 
 are unacquainted, prevent an auditor, however correct 
 may be his taste, from noticing the faults of style and 
 composition, when they are not extremely prominent. 
 But I, who was perfectly acquainted with the piece, 
 was able to remark all the weak or false thoughts, as 
 well as those expressions which failed in justness, 
 strength,' precision, and force of coloring. 
 
 Persuaded that I should never reach that degree of 
 perfection I had in view while I remained in Turin, 
 where I was frequently drawn aside from study, I in- 
 stantly determined to revisit Tuscany, where my lan- 
 guage would necessarily become daily improved ; for 
 though I never uttered a word in French at Turin, the 
 Piedmontese jargon in which I conversed was ill cal- 
 culated to improve my Italian style. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I SET out on my journey in the month of May, after 
 having obtained the royal permission to leave his happy 
 states. The minister to whom I preferred my request 
 replied to rne that I had only been in Tuscany the pre- 
 ceding year, to which I rejoined that this was precisely 
 the reason why I wished to return. Permission was 
 accordingly granted, but the observation of the minis- 
 ter suggested the idea of a project which I executed 
 a few months afterwards, and which rendered it hence- 
 forth unnecessary for me to request a similar permission. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 221 
 
 I proposed to prolong my stay in Tuscany, and, min- 
 gling some vanity with a praiseworthy love of glory, I 
 resolved to proceed, attended by a great train of horses 
 and servants. I inclined thus to exhibit the twofold 
 character of a poet and a great lord, which is by no 
 means a common conjunction. With eight horses, and 
 a correspondent number of domestics, I took the road 
 for Genoa, where I embarked with my baggage and my 
 coach, and sent forward by land my horses to Lerici 
 and Sarzanna, where they arrived in safety. We had 
 arrived in sight of Lerici, when a contrary breeze 
 springing up drove us back to Rappalo, which is only 
 two stages distant from Genoa. Here I debarked, but, 
 becoming weary of waiting for a favorable wind, I left 
 my baggage in the Mucca, and, taking with me a few 
 shirts, and my portefeuille, which I never trusted out 
 of my sight, I crossed all these precipices of the Apen- 
 nines on horseback, attended by a single servant, 
 and arrived at Sarzanna, where I found my horses, and 
 where I waited eight days for the arrival of the felucca. 
 Though I had the amusement of my horses, yet as I 
 had no books except Horace and Petrarch in my pocket, 
 time began to hang very heavy on my hands. I there- 
 fore borrowed from a priest, who was the postmaster's 
 brother, a Titus Livius, a work which since the time I 
 attended the classes, when I could neither comprehend 
 nor taste its beauties, had never fallen in my way. 
 Though an enthusiastic admirer of the precision of 
 Sallust, I was nevertheless struck with the sublimity 
 and majesty of Titus Livius. I read the character of 
 Virginia, and the animated discourse of Icilius, and so 
 powerful was the effect they produced on my mind that 
 I instantly conceived the idea of a tragedy, which I 
 woalJ certainly have finished on the spot, had not the 
 
222 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 arrival of the expected felucca diverted iny thoughts, 
 and put a stop to my design. 
 
 I ought here to explain to the reader what is meant 
 by the terms conceive, develop, and put into verse, which 
 so frequently occur in the course of this work. All my 
 tragedies, so to speak, have been composed three times. 
 By this method I at least avoided the error of too much 
 haste, which should always be carefully guarded against 
 in such productions, since if they are ill-conceived at first, 
 it is a fault not easily remedied. By the term conceive is 
 to be understood the distributing of the subject into acts 
 and scenes, fixing the number of the personages, and 
 tracing in two pages of prose a summary of the plot. 
 By developing I mean the writing dialogues in prose 
 for the different scenes indicated in this rude sketch, 
 without rejecting a single thought, and with as much 
 enthusiasm as possible, without embarrassing myself 
 with the style or composition. By versifying, in short, 
 must be understood, not only converting this prose into 
 verse, but also curtailing the exuberances of the style, 
 selecting the best thoughts, and clothing them in poetic 
 language. After these three operations, I proceed, 
 like other authors, to polish, correct, and amend. 
 But if the conception or development of the piece be 
 imperfect or erroneous, the superadded labor will never 
 produce a good tragedy. In this way did I execute the 
 whole of my dramatic works, beginning with Filippo, 
 and I am convinced that this constituted more than 
 two thirds of the labor. If on reperusing the manu- 
 script, after a sufficient period had been suffered to 
 elapse, in order that I might forget the original distri- 
 bution of the scenes, I felt myself assailed by such a 
 crowd of ideas and emotions as compelled me, so to 
 speak, to take up my pen, I concluded that my sketch 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 223 
 
 was worthy of being unfolded ; but if, on the contrary, 
 I felt not an enthusiasm equal at least to what I had 
 experienced on conceiving the design, I either changed 
 my plan or threw the papers into the fire. As soon as 
 I became satisfied that my first idea was perfect, I ex- 
 panded it with the greatest rapidity, frequently writing 
 two acts a day, and seldom less than one, so that in 
 six days my tragedy was, I will not say finished, but 
 created. 
 
 In this manner, without any other judge than my 
 own feelings, I have only finished those, the sketches 
 of which I had written with energy and enthusiasm ; 
 or if I have finished any other, I have at least never 
 taken the trouble to clothe them in verse. This was 
 the case with Charles I., which I began to write in 
 French prose immediately after finishing Filippo. 
 When I had reached to about the middle of the third 
 act, my heart and my hand became so benumbed that 
 I found it impossible to hold my pen. The same thing 
 happened in regard to Romeo and Juliet, the whole 
 of which I nearly expanded, though with much labor 
 to myself and at long intervals. On reperusing this 
 sketch, I found my enthusiasm so much repressed that, 
 transported with rage against myself, I could proceed 
 no further, but threw my work into the fire. 
 
 By the method above detailed my tragedies, notwith- 
 withstanding their numerous defects, have at least the 
 merit of uniformity ; so that the phrases, the thoughts, 
 and the action of the fifth act are identified with the 
 thoughts, the phrases, and the disposition of the fourth, 
 and so on even to the first verse of the first act, which 
 naturally keeps alive the attention of the reader, and 
 imparts interest to the action of the piece. By this 
 method, moreover, nothing remains for the author to 
 
224 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 do, after expanding the plot, except clothing his senti- 
 ments in verse, in separating the gold from the lead, so 
 that the attention which he bestows on polishing his 
 verses cannot weaken that enthusiastic inspiration 
 which every one should blindly follow who attempts 
 to delineate impassioned or horrific subjects. If it 
 should be found that I have derived any advantage 
 from this mode of composition, this little digression 
 may not prove wholly useless to future dramatic au- 
 thors. If, on the contrary, I should have deceived my- 
 self, a knowledge of my error may lead others to mark 
 out for themselves a better plan of procedure. 
 
 But to 'return to my narrative. No sooner did the 
 anxiously-expected felucca arrive at Lerici than I took 
 my baggage from on board, and departed for Pisa. 
 Having my mind fixed on the subject of Virginia, I 
 resolved to remain only two days in this city, flattering 
 myself that I should reap greater improvement in 
 point of language at Siena, where they not only speak 
 better, but where there is a less influx of foreigners. I 
 dreaded, besides, meeting with a beautiful, rich, and 
 noble lady, whom I might have espoused, with the 
 consent of her parents, and with whom I had nearly 
 fallen in love during my former stay at this place. I 
 was, however, now infinitely wiser in this respect than 
 I had shown myself to be several years before at Turin, 
 when I permitted my brother-in-law to demand for me 
 the hand of another lady, who in the end rejected my 
 suit ; for this time, however, I was not inclined to pay 
 my court to one who I was almost certain would not 
 refuse me. This connection would have proved ex- 
 tremely convenient to me, not more on account of the 
 character of the lady than from other circumstances ; 
 and on the whole she certainly did not displease me. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 225 
 
 Eight years afterwards, my travels through Europe, 
 the love of glory, a passion for study, the necessity of 
 preserving my freedom, in order to speak and write 
 the truth without restraint, all these reasons power- 
 fully warned me that under a despotic government 
 it is sufficiently difficult, even to live single, and that 
 no one who reflects deeply will either become a hus- 
 band or a father: thus I crossed the Arno and ar- 
 rived at Siena. I have always blessed the day I 
 reached this city, since I found in it a circle of five or 
 six individuals possessing judgment, taste, and learn- 
 ing, an occurrence seldom to be met with in such a 
 small place. Among the most distinguished of these 
 was the respectable Francis Gori Gandellini, of whom 
 I have several times spoken in my different writings, 
 and a tender recollection of whose friendship will never 
 leave me but with life. A certain similarity in our 
 character and manner of thinking, which was more 
 estimable in him than in me, since we were placed in 
 very different circumstances, and the reciprocal want 
 of some one to whom we could unburden our hearts, 
 animated by the same feelings and passions, very soon 
 united us in the most sincere and lasting friendship. 
 I had through life ardently longed for the solace of a 
 true friend ; but my stiff and abstracted manners were 
 ill calculated to inspire this sentiment in others, while 
 it rendered me slow in opening my heart to its influ- 
 ence. On this account I had always very few friends, 
 but I am proud to say that those I did possess were 
 better and more estimable than myself. I sought in 
 friendship only the reciprocal communication of the 
 weaknesses incident to humanity, in order that the 
 reason and benevolence of friendship might correct or 
 meliorate whatever was reprehensible, while it strength- 
 
226 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 encd and ennobled what was laudable and praiseworthy 
 in my character; such, for example, as the weakness 
 of becoming an author. It was in this respect that the 
 manly and candid counsels of Gandellini proved uf in- 
 finite utility to me. The ardent desire I felt of merit- 
 ing the esteem of this worthy man imparted new energy 
 to my imagination, and suffered me to enjoy neither 
 tranquillity nor repose till I had rendered my produc- 
 tions worthy of his approbation. It was this invaluable 
 friend who suggested to me the idea of taking, as the 
 groundwork of a tragedy, the Conspiracy of the Pazzi. 
 
 I was unacquainted with this fact, and he ad vised me 
 to take it from Machiavel in preference to every other 
 historian. Thus, by a strange combination of circum- 
 stances, this author, who at a future period afforded me 
 so much delight, was given to me by another sincere 
 friend, who resembled in many respects my dear 
 D'Acunha, though possessed of greater learning and 
 more profound erudition. In fact, though I was not 
 sufficiently prepared to read the whole of Machiavel, I 
 eagerly devoured a great many other passages besides 
 the relation of the conspiracy above mentioned : thus 
 I not only instantly conceived my tragedy, but, de- 
 lighted with the copious, original, and nervous style 
 of the author, I felt myself unable to resume my other 
 studies, and proceeded to write the two books on Tyr- 
 anny, such as they were printed several years after- 
 wards. 
 
 If I had treated this subject anew at a more advanced 
 period of my life, I might have displayed more erudi- 
 tion, and fortified my opinions by the authority of his- 
 tory; but I was disinclined when I printed these pieces 
 to enfeeble, by the frost of years, and the pedantry of 
 my little learning, the fire of youth, and that noble and 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 227 
 
 just indignation which I believe is visible in every 
 page, without being deficient in just and forcible rea- 
 soning, which, if I deceive not myself, is the charac- 
 teristic feature in this little piece. 
 
 V. 
 
 HAVING thus unburdened my mind of the innate 
 hatred I felt against tyranny, I put my little piece 
 aside, after reading it to some of my friends, and 
 thought no more of it. I resumed the buskin, and 
 developed with great rapidity Agamemnon, Virginia, 
 and Orestes. With respect to the last, I had enter- 
 tained a contemptible scruple which my friend very 
 soon dissipated. I had conceived the idea of this 
 tragedy the year before while I was at Pisa, from 
 reading the detestable Agamemnon of Seneca. In the 
 winter, when turning over my books at Turin, I 
 opened by chance a volume of Voltaire's tragedies : 
 the first words which struck my eyes were, " Tragedy 
 of Orestes." I instantly shut the book, piqued at find- 
 ing a competitor among the moderns. Some men 
 of letters, to whom I mentioned the circumstance, 
 assured me that it was one of the best tragedies of this 
 author, which disgusted me with my own. After hav- 
 ing, while at Siena, sketched my Agamemnon with- 
 out even opening that of Seneca, lest I should become a 
 plagiarist, in depicting the character of Orestes, I con- 
 sulted my friend on this subject, and requested him to 
 give me Orestes, that I might peruse it before proceed- 
 ing with my own. But G-andellini refused my request, 
 saying to me: u Write your piece without reading that 
 of the French author ; if you possess genius for a 
 dramatic writer, it will either be worse, better, or 
 
228 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 equal to Voltaire's, but it will at least be your own." 
 I followed this sage and dignified advice; and since 
 that period it has been a rule from which I have never 
 deviated. Whenever I choose a subject that has been 
 previously adopted by a modern author, I never peruse 
 his work till after finishing my own. If I should have 
 accidentally witnessed their representation, I endeavor 
 as much as possible to forget them, or, if I find this 
 impossible, to pursue a route contrary to theirs. By 
 this method, if my productions be not perfect, they 
 have at least the garb and appearance of originality. 
 
 The five months which I passed at Siena proved 
 extremely salutary to my mind. Besides the works of 
 w T hich I have spoken, I continued the study of the 
 Latin classics ; and among others Juvenal, which I read 
 as frequently as I had done Horace. As the winter at 
 Siena is rather disagreeable, and as, moreover, I was not 
 wholly cured of a desire to roam from place to place, I 
 determined in the month of October to visit Florence, 
 without, however, being fully resolved whether I should 
 pass the winter there or return to Turin. Scarcely, how- 
 ever, had I arrived in that city, with the intention of re- 
 maining a month, or longer, as it should prove agree- 
 able, than an event occurred which induced me to take 
 up my residence in it for several years, an event which 
 fortunately determined me to abjure my native country, 
 and thus acquire literary liberty, without which I 
 should never have produced any valuable work, if in- 
 deed any of my works may be deemed worthy of such 
 an appellation. 
 
 During the preceding summer, which I passed at 
 Florence, I had frequently seen 'a beautiful, amiable, 
 and very distinguished foreigner. It was impossible 
 not to meet and remark this lady, and still more im- 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 229 
 
 possible not to seek to please when once in her com- 
 pany. Though a great number of the Florentine 
 nobility, as well as most foreigners of distinction visited 
 at her house, yet being always anxious, from my re- 
 served and backward character, to avoid the society of 
 beautiful and accomplished women, I declined an in- 
 troduction, and contented myself with -meeting her at 
 the theatres and public walks. The first impression 
 she made on me was infinitely agreeable. Large black 
 eyes, full of fire and gentleness, joined to a fair com- 
 plexion and flaxen hair, gave to her beauty a brilliancy 
 it was difficult to withstand. Twenty-five years of 
 age, possessing a taste for letters and the fine arts, an 
 amiable character, an immense fortune, and placed 
 in domestic circumstances of a very painful nature, 
 how was it possible to escape where so many reasons 
 existed for loving I 
 
 During the autumn 'one of my friends offered several 
 times to introduce me at her house. I believed myself 
 sufficiently fortified against her charms, but I was 
 soon unconsciously caught in the toils of love. Still 
 irresolute whether to resist or yield to this new passion, 
 I took post in the month of December, and proceeded 
 to Rome. This foolish and fatiguing journey gave 
 rise to my sonnet on Rome, which I composed in a 
 wretched inn at Baccana, where I could not shut my 
 eyes. This journey occupied me only twelve days. 
 Both in going and returning, I passed through Siena, 
 and visited my friend Gandellini, who disapproved not 
 of the new chains which he perceived I was forging for 
 myself, and which became strongly riveted on my re- 
 turn to Florence. This fourth and last passion mani- 
 fested itself by very different symptoms from the others. 
 In the three former the mind had no share, but in the 
 
230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 present instance a sentiment of esteem, mingling with 
 love, rendered this passion, if less impetuous, at least 
 more profound and durable. Such was the love which 
 henceforward animated and held dominion over my 
 mind, and which will only terminate with my existence. 
 I soon perceived that the object of my present attach- 
 ment, far from impending my progress in the pursuit 
 of useful knowledge, or deranging my studies, like the 
 frivolous women with whom I was formerly enamored, 
 urged me on by her example to everything dignified 
 and praiseworthy. Having once learned to know and 
 appreciate so rare and valuable a friend, I yielded my- 
 self up entirely to her influence. I deceived not my- 
 self; twelve years afterwards, at the moment I am 
 writing, and at an age when the illusions of the pas- 
 sions have ceased to operate, I feel that I become daily 
 more attached to her, in proportion as time destroys 
 the brilliancy of her fleeting beauty, the only charm 
 which she owes not to herself. Whenever I reflect on 
 her virtues, my soul is elevated, improved, and tran- 
 quillized, and I dare to affirm that the feelings of her 
 mind, which I have uniformly endeavored to fortify 
 and confirm, are not dissimilar to my own. 
 
 VI. 
 
 CALM and tranquil, I then began to labor like a man 
 who had at last attained the object of his wishes. I 
 resolved never again to quit Florence, while the object 
 of my affection remained in it. This determination 
 rendered it necessary that I should execute a project 
 which I had entertained for some time. 
 
 I had always felt the weight of those chains intol- 
 erable w r ith which I was bound to my country, and 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 231 
 
 especially those which ohliged the possessors of fiefs 
 to oh tain permission of the king before they could 
 leave the kingdom for however short a period. This 
 permission, which was sometimes obtained with diffi- 
 culty, and granted with a had grace, was always 
 limited. I had already requested this permission four 
 or five times, and although I had never been refused it, 
 yet I could not reconcile myself to the steps which were 
 requisite to obtain it. This law I considered unjust 
 in its principle, since neither younger sons, nor the 
 citizens of any class, when not in business, were sub- 
 jected to it. My repugnance to this species of tyranny 
 became greater as I advanced in years. The last time 
 I had obtained this permission, it was accompanied 
 with some expressions which gave me much vexation. 
 Besides, the number of my works had gradually in- 
 creased : Virginia, which I had written with all the 
 freedom that the subject required ; the work on Tyranny 
 dictated by an author who should have lived in a coun- 
 try really free ; the emotions of pleasure I had felt on 
 perusing Tacitus, Machiavel, and the few other authors 
 who like them think with energy and freedom ; the 
 knowledge of my pursuits, and the impossibility of 
 remaining at Turin, if I inclined to publish any 
 work inimical to the existing tyranny ; the danger 
 which I should experience by remaining subject to the 
 laws of Sardinia, wherever I might be, if I printed 
 anything of this kind, even in foreign countries, all 
 these reasons, conjoined to the passion I had happily 
 imbibed, determined me to expatriate myself, and re- 
 linquish forever a country which had given me birth, 
 but which despotism had rendered an unfit abode for 
 one resolved to think for himself. 
 
 Several means of executing this project presented 
 
232 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 themselves. I might have endeavored to get my per- 
 mission prolonged from year to year, which perhaps 
 would have been the wisest measure ; hut I could not 
 endure a state of uncertainty ; and how could I reckon 
 on that which depended on the will of others ? I might, 
 by means of finesse and chicanery, have disposed of my 
 property by clandestine sales, in order to escape from 
 my noble prison. But these means I regarded as dis- 
 honorable; and they displeased me, perhaps also be- 
 cause they were not in extremes. Accustomed, besides, 
 from my character to put all to the hazard, I firmly 
 resolved to terminate this affair at once, to which I 
 must again and again have recurred, unless I had re- 
 nounced the glory of becoming an independent author. 
 Once determined, I exerted all my strength to attain 
 the object I had in view, and I did well, though at the 
 time I acted more perhaps under the influence of my 
 ardent feelings than of reason. Certain it is, that had 
 I not adopted prompt measures, or if I had begun to 
 print even the most harmless writings in any other 
 state, the thing would have become impossible, &nd 
 my subsistence, my glory, and my liberty would have 
 remained subject to the will of an absolute prince, who, 
 necessarily wounded by my manner of thinking and 
 writing, and my free and uncourteous behavior, would 
 never have consented to allow me to escape from his 
 power. 
 
 A law existed at this time in Piedmont which ran 
 thus : "It is enacted that no one shall print books or 
 other writings out of our states, without permission of 
 our censors, under the pain of incurring a fine of sev- 
 enty crowns, or corporal punishment, if circumstances 
 render it necessary to exhibit a public example." To 
 this law is subjoined another still more iniquitous, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 233 
 
 worded in the following manner: "Those subjects 
 who inhabit our states shall never absent themselves 
 without our express authority in writing." Hence it is 
 evident, I could not be both a subject of his majesty of 
 Sardinia and an author. I chose the latter, and, being 
 an enemy to all chicane and subterfuge, I took the 
 most direct road to disfranchise myself, by resigning 
 the whole of my property to my sister Julia, who had 
 married Count Cumiana. This resignation was ex- 
 ecuted in the most solemn and irrevocable manner. I 
 only reserved to myself an annuity of fourteen thousand 
 livres of Piedmont, which amounted to little more than 
 one half of my original revenues. I would even have 
 been contented to resign the other half to have pur- 
 chased the freedom of thinking and writing, and the 
 liberty of choosing my place of residence. It is im- 
 possible to convey an adequate idea of the delays and 
 embarrassments I experienced before I could terminate 
 this affair ; the legal forms and the necessity of trans- 
 acting the business by letter, occupied much time. It 
 was necessary, besides, to obtain the usual permission 
 from the king, who interfered in all the domestic con- 
 cerns of his subjects. It was also requisite that my 
 brother-in-law should receive the royal permission to 
 accept this gift, and to remit my annuity to any country 
 where I might fix my abode. The least clear-sighted 
 perceived that I could have no other reasons for this 
 donation but a desire to expatriate myself. It was con- 
 sequently absolutely necessary that permission should 
 also be obtained from the government, which might 
 otherwise have opposed its payment in a foreign 
 country. Happily the king, who certainly knew my 
 peculiar mode of thinking, of which I had afforded the 
 most unequivocal proofs, was better pleased that I 
 
234 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 should leave his states than remain in them ; he there- 
 fore immediately consented to my request ; we were 
 both well pleased, he to lose such a subject, and I to 
 acquire my liberty. 
 
 I cannot help here mentioning a strange circumstance 
 in order to console my enemies, and make those laugh 
 at my expense, who on examining themselves more 
 nearly should discover that they are either less mad 
 or less childish than I was. To those who make the 
 human heart their study, it will prove, that in the same 
 character, at least in mine, the weakness of the dwarf 
 is sometimes found united with the strength of the 
 giant. The fact is, that even at the period when I 
 wrote Virginia and the work on Tyranny; when I 
 broke the inglorious chains which bound me to my 
 native country, I continued to wear the uniform of the 
 King of Sardinia, though I had left his service for more 
 than four years. What will philosophers say, when I 
 frankly acknowledge the reason of this? It seemed to 
 me that I looked better and handsomer in this than in 
 any other dress. Laugh, readers; you have reason, 
 and if you think proper, add that, like a child, I was 
 more anxious to appear to advantage in the eyes of 
 others than estimable in my own. 
 
 The settlement of my affairs had been protracted on 
 various pretences, from the month of January till No- 
 vember, 1778; and this desirable event was still farther 
 delayed by my wishing to obtain from my sister the 
 sum of one hundred thousand livres at once, in lieu of 
 the annual revenue of five thousand. This second con- 
 tract experienced more opposition than the first. The 
 consent of his majesty being, however, once obtained, 
 I placed the sum along witli some others in the French 
 funds; not that I had more confidence in his most 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 235 
 
 Christian majesty than I had in the King of Sardinia, 
 but it seemed to me that in thus disposing of my 
 property I would be more secure of an independence. 
 
 This was an epoch as important to me as that in 
 which I made the gift, and I have always thought the 
 idea and the consequences which resulted from it ex- 
 tremely fortunate. I did not communicate to my Mr 
 friend the design I had in view, till the contract was 
 solemnly ratified. I did not wish to put her delicacy 
 to the test, nor force her to disapprove my proceedings 
 as contrary to my interest, or to approve them as in 
 many respects necessary to the duration of our attach- 
 ment. This determination was in fact the only one 
 which could enable me to remain near her. On being 
 made acquainted with my proceedings, she blamed me 
 with that ingenuous candor for which she was so dis- 
 tinguished. But as the affair was settled beyond re- 
 call, it was necessary to reconcile herself to what had 
 happened, and she pardoned me for not having sooner 
 informed her of this transaction ; perhaps she loved me 
 better for my delicate silence : it was certainly impos- 
 sible she could esteem me less on this account. During 
 this period I was anxiously endeavoring to facilitate 
 the conclusion of my business in Turin, determined, 
 whatever might be the consequence, to overcome every 
 obstacle that was thrown in my way by the king, the 
 laws, and my relations. I gave orders to Elias, whom 
 I had left at Turin, to dispose of my furniture and 
 silver plate. By his unremitting assiduity he realized 
 in two months six thousand sequins, for which I desired 
 him to obtain bills of exchange payable on Leghorn. 
 By some accident three weeks elapsed between the 
 writing of my letter, and the execution of the orders 
 contained in it, during which I neither received any 
 
236 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 communication from Turin, nor a letter of advice from 
 my banker. Though of a character naturally devoid 
 of suspicion, I could not wholly divest my mind of it 
 in the present instance, especially as Elias had on 
 every other occasion displayed the greatest prompti- 
 tude and exactness. Distrust being thus excited, my 
 ardent imagination made me regard as certain an event 
 which was only possible. During fifteen days I was 
 firmly persuaded that the six thousand sequins had 
 disappeared along with the good opinion which my 
 faithful domestic had so justly inspired. Supposing 
 this to have been the case, I found myself in the most 
 perplexing situation imaginable ; the affair with my 
 sister was not fully arranged ; my brother-in-law con- 
 tinued to throw new difficulties in the way of a settle- 
 ment, and this was always done in the name of the 
 king. I at length became so indignant at this un- 
 worthy treatment, that I intimated to Count Cumiana 
 that if he did not choose to accept of the donation, he 
 had only to take possession of my property, as it was 
 my fixed determination never to return to my country, 
 and that I held their king and their money in equal 
 contempt. I was, in short, perfectly determined to ex- 
 patriate myself, even at the risk of becoming a beggar. 
 In this painful state of uncertainty pale Misery already 
 presented herself before my eyes. In the delirium of 
 my imagination, ever fertile in conjuring up gloomy 
 ideas, the mode of procuring a subsistence which most 
 frequently occurred to me was that of commencing 
 horse-breaker, in which I believed myself to be an 
 adept. It seemed to me that this would be less slav- 
 ish, and that I could join with it poetry, as it is more 
 easy to write tragedies in a stable than in a court. 
 Fortunately, however, the bills of exchange from Elias 
 at length arrive<}. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 237 
 
 Before experiencing all these chimerical afflictions, 
 I had, as soon as the deed of gift was executed, sent 
 hack all my domestics except one and a cook, and 
 these I parted with a short time afterwards. Though 
 I had always heen very moderate in the indulgences of 
 the table, I contracted from this period the salutary 
 habit of the strictest sobriety. I wholly left off the 
 use of wine, coffee, and similar luxuries. I confined 
 myself to the use of baked or boiled rice for several 
 years. 
 
 With respect to my horses, I had sent four of them 
 to Turin, to be sold along with those I had left in that 
 city. I made a present of four others to some Floren- 
 tine nobles, who in fact were only casual acquaintances, 
 but who, possessing less pride than myself, accepted rny 
 gift. I presented my clothes to my valet, for it was 
 at this period that I sacrificed my Sardinian uniform. 
 Henceforward I dressed in black in the evening, and 
 wore dark blue in the morning, colors which I have 
 never since relinquished, and which I will continue to 
 wear through life. Thus I gradually restricted myself 
 to the most simple necessaries, so that my avarice re- 
 turned with the relinquish ment of my property. 
 
 Thus prepared for every possible event, I placed 
 my six thousand sequins in the French funds; and 
 as I had always a tendency to run into extremes, I 
 carried my economy so far, that at length it degen- 
 erated into almost sordid avarice : I say almost, for 
 I still continued daily to change my linen, and to pay 
 the most minute attention to my person : but had my 
 stomach been consulted in writing this life, it would 
 have cancelled the word almost, and substituted very 
 sordid in its room. This I believe was the second 
 and last fit of this shameful vice, which contracts and 
 
238 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 degrades the mind. Although I was perpetually en- 
 deavoring to devise some new modes of retrenchment, 
 I yet laid out considerable sums of money in the pur- 
 chase of books. I procured all our best Italian works, 
 and a. great number of the most valuable editions of 
 the Latin classics. These I devoured at different in- 
 tervals one after the other, but did not reap the same 
 advantage I should have done by reading them more 
 slowly, and especially with a good commentary. I 
 had only been able lately to read these cursed com- 
 mentaries. In my youth it was more consonant to the 
 indolent state of my mind to conjecture the import of 
 difficult 'passages, or to skip over them, than to have 
 recourse to the notes for an elucidation. 
 
 In the course of this year, 1778, I finally arranged 
 my pecuniary concerns. I likewise continued to pur- 
 sue my literary occupations, though my present situa- 
 ation was extremely unfavorable for bringing them to 
 a state of perfection, especially as a new obstacle had 
 occurred to prevent my progress in the Tuscan lan- 
 guage. My inestimable friend was at that time wholly 
 unacquainted with Italian, which compelled me to con- 
 verse with her in French. I endeavored, however, to 
 counteract the Gallicisms I thus acquired by carefully 
 perusing, during the rest of the day, a portion of our 
 prolix though excellent prose writers of the fourteenth 
 century. 
 
 At length I prevailed upon my worthy friend to learn 
 the Italian, in the acquirement of which she succeeded 
 better than any other foreigner I ever knew. She 
 pronounced it in a tone equally mellifluent as the 
 native females of any of the Italian states, even Rome 
 itself, who all mangle it in such a manner as to be ex- 
 tremely disagreeable to an ear accustomed to the true 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 239 
 
 Tuscan accent. In a short time we conversed in no 
 other language ; but as her house was always crowded 
 with foreigners, my poor Tuscan experienced constant 
 martyrdom. Of all the vexatious I underwent during 
 the three years I remained in Florence, this was the 
 greatest, and it pursued me during the whole course of 
 my life, since chance always condemned me to listen 
 to this barbarous jargon. Hence, if it be found that I 
 have written the Tuscan with purity, correctness, and 
 ease, I must be allowed double merit, on account of the 
 obstacles I had to encounter, and if I have failed, these 
 must plead my excuse. 
 
 VII. 
 
 DURING the year 1778, after I had completed the 
 versification of Virginia, and the greatest part of 
 Agamemnon, I was seized by an acute disorder of 
 an inflammatory nature, which forced my physician 
 to prescribe blood-letting. My strength was hereby 
 much reduced, and my convalescence proved slow and 
 tedious. My malady originated from mental agita- 
 tion, the consequence of domestic embarrassments, 
 from effects of study, and the influence of love. Though 
 I had settled my affairs in the course of the last year, 
 and no longer felt any disquiet on that head, yet the 
 influence of love and study, which augmented every 
 day, soon deprived me of that corporeal vigor which 
 exercise and incessant travelling during ten years had 
 imparted to my constitution. 
 
 About the commencement of summer, however, my 
 health was re-established, and I devoted much of 
 my time to study. Of all the seasons, the summer is 
 
240 "MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my greatest favorite. In proportion as the heat is 
 excessive, I find my spirits revive, and hecome more 
 particularly fitted for composition. During the month 
 of May, in this year, I hegan a small poem on the 
 death of Duke Alexander, who was slain by Lorenzo 
 de Medici. Though I was highly pleased with the 
 subject, I did not yet find in it sufficient for the 
 groundwork of a tragedy. I composed it in detached 
 portions, without any previous sketch, solely for the 
 purpose of improving me in rhyme, from which my 
 attention had been diverted by writing so frequently in 
 blank verse. I wrote also some amatory pieces, equally 
 with the' view of celebrating the mistress of my affec- 
 tions, and of dissipating the chagrin I felt on account 
 of the domestic circumstances in which she was placed. 
 All the other amatory verses in my works, which 
 follow after the sonnet, 
 
 " Negri, vivaci, in dolce fuoco ardenti, 
 
 were inspired by her, for I certainly never chanted the 
 praises of any other woman. Without entering on 
 the question of their real merits, it seems to me that 
 the feelings which impelled me to write, and which 
 daily became augmented, may be clearly traced through- 
 out these little pieces. This I conceive is more par- 
 ticularly distinguishable in those which were written 
 during the period fate separated us from each other. 
 
 I return to the occupations which engaged my at- 
 tention during the year 1778. In the month of July, 
 finding myself inspired with sentiments of liberty, I 
 sketched the plan of my tragedy of the Pazzi, and sub- 
 sequently that of Don Garcia. Shortly afterwards, I 
 conceived, and distributed into chapters, my three 
 Essays on Government and Literature: but as I did 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 241 
 
 not find expressions at the time answerable to my 
 ideas, I suspended my labor, tbat I might not be again 
 under the necessity of remoulding it, when I should 
 resume the subject in order to its correction. In 
 August my fair friend having suggested the celebrated 
 Mary Stuart as a proper subject for my pen, I readily 
 undertook it for her gratification. During September 
 I employed myself in the versification of Orestes, 
 which terminated my labors for this year. 
 
 During the year 1779, having put the finishing hand 
 to my dramatic work on the Conspiracy of the Pazzi, 
 I sketched Rosamunda, Octavia, and Tiinoleon; and 
 after developing llosamunda and Mary Stuart, I com- 
 pleted the versification of Don Garcia. I likewise 
 finished the first canto of my poem, and entered on 
 the second. 
 
 Amid these laborious occupations, I felt my mind 
 tranquillized by the presence of my lady, and by the 
 regular correspondence which I kept up with my ab- 
 sent friends. One of these, Gandellini, had travelled 
 twice or thrice to Florence in order to see me, and the 
 other, the worthy Abbe Caluso, arrived in this city 
 about the middle of 1779. He continued nearly one 
 year at Florence, where we saw each other daily, 
 spending always the afternoon together. I learned 
 from his erudite and agreeable conversation what I 
 should never have acquired by the perusal of books. 
 From him I also learned to discern and appreciate the 
 genius of Virgil, whose works till then I had merely 
 read. 
 
 With such a model before my eyes, I endeavored to 
 infuse a portion of his varied and divine harmony into 
 my own dialogues. I endeavored likewise to imitate, 
 as much as was admissible with the genius of our 
 
242 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 language, the concise style and the transpositions 
 which render the versification of Virgil so . strikingly 
 different from that of Ovid and all other poets ; a dif- 
 ference which poets can alone discern. It was neces- 
 sary that I should endeavor to collect, from every 
 quarter, modes and tunis of expression, by which the 
 mechanism of my dramatic poetry might assume an 
 appearance and character peculiar to itself. In this 
 species of composition, we cannot aid the versification, 
 either by long and inflated periods, by a variety of 
 imagery, by numerous transpositions, by the use of 
 pompous or quaint terms, or by far-fetched epithets. The 
 mere arrangement of words, simple and full of dignity, 
 constitutes the essence of verse, without destroying 
 that ease necessary to dialogue. What I have here en- 
 deavored to express, I was not able to put into practice 
 in my own compositions till several years afterwards ; 
 perhaps not even till I reprinted my tragedies at Paris. 
 While I acknowledge many obligations to Dante and 
 Petrarch, in enabling me to write tolerable verses, it 
 is only to Virgil, Cesarotti, and my own assiduity that 
 I stand indebted for the art of tragic composition. 
 Before I succeeded in forming my own style, I often 
 fell into grievous blunders, and became bombastic 
 and obscure in order to avoid weakness and insipidity. 
 I have already, however, sufficiently spoken of this in 
 another place, when attempting to unfold the princi- 
 ples of style and manner of writing. 
 
 In 1780 I completed the versification of Mary 
 Stuart. I likewise developed Timoleon, the ground- 
 work of which was drawn from Plutarch, as well as 
 Octavia, which was the real offspring of Tacitus, an 
 author whom I uniformly perused with delight. I 
 curtailed and poetized Filippo for the third time, not- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERL 243 
 
 
 
 withstanding which it still displayed conspicuous traits 
 of its exotic origin. I also versified Rosamunda and 
 a great part of Octavia, a labor which was frequently 
 interrupted by the chagrin and sorrow which at this 
 time oppressed me. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MY fair friend, as I have already said, was weighed 
 down by sorrow. Her afflictions augmented every 
 day ; and the barbarous treatment which she suffered 
 from her unrelenting husband induced her at length, 
 in order to save her health and life, to consider by 
 what means she might emancipate herself from the 
 dominion of her cruel persecutor. Thus then was I 
 led anew, in opposition to my character, to employ all 
 my interest with those in power, in order to influence 
 them to succor this innocent victim of cruelty and 
 oppression. Fortified by the testimony of my own 
 conscience, and by the idea that I had not taken a 
 single step in this affair but for the behoof of others, and 
 that I had uniformly given her the most prudent 
 advice, a maxim which, though disregarded by me in 
 the management of my own concerns, I never deviated 
 from in counselling others ; convinced, in short, that 
 it was absolutely impossible to act otherwise, I took 
 no pains on this occasion, nor indeed on any other, 
 to wipe away the foolish and malignant calumnies so 
 industriously propagated to blacken my reputation. 
 Suffice it to say, that I rescued this worthy woman 
 from the tyranny of a man destitute of reason, and 
 incessantly given to intoxication, without compromis- 
 ing in any respect her honor, and without infringing 
 in the smallest degree the established regulations of 
 
244 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 society. All those who witnessed the deplorable cir- 
 cumstances in which she was placed, and the brutal 
 tyranny to which she was constantly subjected, must 
 agree that it was no easy matter to conduct this affair 
 with sufficient*prudence, and to bring it to a happy 
 issue. My unhappy friend testified a desire to visit 
 one of the convents of Florence. Her husband failed 
 not to accompany her ; but was very much astonished 
 when he was given to understand that his wife was to 
 remain there by order of the government. Here she 
 resided only for a short time, after which she went 
 to Rome, at the request of her brother-in-law, who 
 wished her to enter into a convent in that city. The 
 reasons which actuated her to determine on a separa- 
 tion were so just and reasonable that her conduct w r as 
 generally spoken of in terms of approbation. 
 
 This amiable woman set out for Rome towards the 
 end of December, while I, like a forsaken wretch, 
 remained behind at Florence. It was then I became 
 thoroughly sensible that without her society I should 
 be deprived of the half of my existence. I became in- 
 capable of every occupation, and could devote myself 
 to no serious study ; nothing gave me pleasure, every- 
 thing, even glory and myself, were forgotten. In the 
 management of this affair, it seemed as if I had only 
 exerted myself for her benefit and my own misfortune ; 
 since in my estimation, a greater could not befall me 
 than that of never again beholding her. Motives of 
 decorum, however, prevented me immediately follow- 
 ing her to Rome ; on the other hand, to live at Flor- 
 ence I found impossible. I remained, however, till 
 the end of January, 1781, and these four weeks ap- 
 peared to me as so many ages. Finding no solace 
 in reading, or any other amusement, I took at length 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 245 
 
 the resolution of proceeding to Naples. This route I 
 chose in preference to every other, because in my way 
 thither it was necessary to pass through Rome. 
 
 One year had now elapsed since my second fit of 
 avarice left me. I had laid out at tw6 different times 
 one hundred and sixty thousand francs, in the pur- 
 chase of annuities in France, which secured me a 
 certain means of livelihood independent of Piedmont. 
 Relinquishing my penurious habits-, and resuming a 
 moderate expenditure, I purchased four horses, which, 
 however, were certainly too many for a poet. 
 
 At length I reached Rome, I saw her : my heart 
 is yet lacerated when I reflect on it. I saw r her behind 
 a grate, less tormented it is true than she had been at 
 Florence, but in other respects much more unhappy. 
 We were separated, and who could say for how long a 
 time I I shed many bitter tears, but 1 had at least the 
 consolation of reflecting that her health would be re- 
 established, that she might sleep in tranquillity, and 
 was no longer subject to the caprice and sway of a 
 cruel and drunken tyrant; in short, that she would 
 exist ! These considerations contributed somewhat to 
 assuage the anguish and melancholy felt on I the 
 approaching separation, which circumstances rendered 
 inevitable. I remained at Rome only a very few 
 days, during which, such was the influence of my at- 
 tachment, that in order to serve the mistress of my 
 affections, I was led to employ expedients which I 
 would not have practised to obtain the empire of the 
 universe ; expedients to which I never even submitted 
 at the moment when I presented myself on the thresh- 
 old of the temple of fame. Though to obtain access 
 was extremely difficult; I never stooped to flatter and 
 lavish incense on those who were, or pretended to be ; its 
 
246 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 guardians : now, however, I visited and paid my court 
 to her brother-in-law, on whom alone depended her 
 restoration to liberty, with which he continued to flatter 
 us. I speak not here of these two brothers, because 
 they are already sufficiently known to the public : 
 though time may probably have buried them in ob- 
 livion, it is not my intention to draw them out of it. 
 If I cannot speak favorably, I wish not to speak 
 unfavorably of them. What greater proof therefore 
 could I give of my unbounded attachment to this ines- 
 timable woman than to have humbled myself before 
 them f 
 
 I departed for Naples agreeably to my promise, and 
 as delicacy required. I felt my mind much more 
 affected by the present than our former separation at 
 Florence. The first, which lasted only about forty 
 days, had afforded me a foretaste of the misery and 
 anguish I experienced during this last, which was 
 longer and more uncertain than the former. 
 
 The view of Naples and its delightful environs 
 afforded me not that gratification which I expected to 
 derive from them. They were no longer new to me, 
 and my mind was a prey to sorrow. Books I found 
 insupportable : my poetic and dramatic studies were 
 neglected ; in a word, I lived only to despatch and re- 
 ceive couriers. My thoughts were wholly occupied with 
 my fair and absent friend. I frequently took a solitary 
 ride along the charming shores of Posilippo and Baia3 ; 
 at other times I pursued the road to Capua and Caserta. 
 I almost incessantly wept, and so weighed down was I 
 by sorrow, that I could not even flee to my accustomed 
 occupations to assuage the oppression of my heart. It 
 was thus that I passed my time from the month of 
 February to the middle of May. When at any time 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 247 
 
 my heart was less oppressed, I endeavored to apply 
 myself to study. I improved the versification of part 
 of my Polinice. I had concluded the preceding year 
 the second canto of my little poem, and I now felt dis- 
 posed to commence the third; but I could not finish 
 the first stanza, the subject being too lively for the 
 gloomy state of my mind. During these four months 
 I did nothing but occupy myself in writing letters, and 
 in reading a hundred times over those which I received 
 from the object of my attachment. Her prospects, how- 
 ever, now began to brighten, for toward the end of 
 March she obtained permission from his Holiness the 
 Pope to leave the convent, and to live apart from her 
 husband in the town mansion of her brother-in-law, 
 who himself generally resided at a country-house not far 
 from the city. Though my inclinations would, on this 
 occasion, have led me to return to Rome, yet I felt that 
 such a step was inadmissible with propriety. Nothing 
 is more painful to an upright and feeling mind than the 
 struggles it has to encounter when placed between love 
 and duty. 
 
 Though I deferred my departure for Rome the whole 
 of April, and determined to exert the same fortitude 
 during May, yet I scarcely knew how I reached that 
 city on the 12th of this month. No sooner had I 
 arrived, than, influenced by my attachment, I began 
 to assign plausible motives for residing in this city, 
 and to practise all the arts and obliquity of a thorough- 
 bred courtier, in order sometimes to see the woman 
 whom I adored. Thus, then, after committing many 
 extravagant actions, and exerting every effort to render 
 myself independent, I became transformed into a man 
 who visits, cajoles, and flatters like a candidate for the 
 prelacy. All this I did, and submitted to a thousand 
 
248 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 servilities, with a view to conciliate the good-will of 
 prelates and priestlings, who officiously interfered in 
 the affairs of my lady. Happily she required nothing 
 but mere protection from her brother-in-law, as she 
 possessed an ample fortune wholly at her own disposal. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As soon as I could emancipate myself from this 
 servile mode of life, and was at liberty to enjoy the 
 society of my fair friend, I again recommenced my 
 dramatic studies. After finishing the versification of 
 Polinice, X I devoted every moment to the completion of 
 Antigone, Virginia, Agamemnon, Orestes, the Pazzi, 
 Don Garcia, and Timoleon : I likewise endeavored, by 
 a fourth revision, to improve my Filippo ; but in this I 
 did not succeed. In order to afford myself some respite 
 from my dramatic studies, I prosecuted the third canto 
 of my little poem. During the month of December of 
 this year, I wrote, at one stretch, the four first odes on 
 the Independence of America. I was attracted to this 
 subject from having read some beautiful odes by Fili- 
 caja, which greatly pleased me. I composed my four 
 odes in seven days, and the third was finished in one. 
 Except a few trifling alterations, I made no change in 
 these odes, but allowed them to remain as they were 
 originally written, so great at least did I find the dif- 
 ference between composing lyric odes in rhyme, and 
 colloquial blank verse. 
 
 At the commencement of 1782, finding my tragedies 
 considerably advanced, I flattered myself with being 
 able to finish them in the course of the year. I had 
 proposed in my own mind not to exceed twelve, all of 
 which I had already conceived, developed, and trans- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 249 
 
 formed into verse. I next proceeded to versify them a 
 second time, to correct and polish them. This labor 
 was performed according to the order in which I had 
 conceived and developed them. 
 
 While engaged in these occupations, about the mid- 
 dle of February, 1782, the Merope of Maffoi fell a 
 second time into my hands. Induced by the considera- 
 tion that I might learn something from it with respect 
 to style, I determined on reading it. On casting my 
 eyes over some detached portions of it, I felt myself 
 suddenly seized with a paroxysm of indignation and 
 rage, on beholding Italy so wretchedly degraded, that 
 this tragedy should be considered not only as the best 
 that had yet been written, but be regarded as a model 
 of perfection to all future tragic writers. At that in- 
 stant I conceived, as if by magic influence, another 
 tragedy, bearing the same name, and written on the 
 same subject ; but much more simple, impassioned, and 
 energetic. Impelled by a kind of inspiration, I pur- 
 sued the idea ; whether I have succeeded others must 
 determine. If, however, a scribbler in verse might ever 
 with any truth exclaim, " Est Deus in nobis," I might 
 certainly affirm it on conceiving, developing, and ver- 
 sifying Merope. These three operations, usually ex- 
 ecuted at very distant intervals, followed each other in 
 the present case so instantaneously that my mind en- 
 joyed not a moment's respite till the work was com- 
 pleted. I was affected in a similar manner when I 
 composed Saul. I had begun to read the Bible this 
 year, during the month of March, but without order or 
 regularity. This reading, however, so filled my brain 
 with poetic enthusiasm, that I felt myself irresistibly 
 impelled to write on some subject derived from it. The 
 subject chosen was Saul, which I conceived and exe- 
 
250 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 cuted with equal rapidity as the former. It was my 
 fourteenth tragedy, and ought to have been the last. In 
 the course of this year my imagination was so vio- 
 lently excited that I scarcely knew whither it would 
 have carried me, had I given reins to it. Already had 
 two other subjects, drawn from the Bible, occurred to 
 my imagination, but though naturally inclined to ex- 
 tremes, I resisted the impulse. While developing 
 Merope and Saul, I felt so much regret in exceeding 
 the number I had fixed on, that I mentally vowed not 
 to proceed in their versification, till the others should 
 be completed. In these resolutions, however, I did 
 not persevere, for so irresistibly was I urged forward, 
 that I felt it impossible to return to them till these 
 were finished. I may, however, venture to affirm that 
 none of my dramatic productions cost me so little labor, 
 and had been composed within so short a period, as 
 these two last. 
 
 Towards the end of September, 1782, I copied, re- 
 copied, and corrected all these pieces ; I wish I could 
 add polished, but this I found some months afterwards 
 they were very far from having attained. Neverthe- 
 less, I then considered myself one of the first characters 
 of the age. In ten months I had versified seven trage- 
 dies, besides conceiving, developing, and versifying two 
 others ; in a word, I had corrected fourteen. Finding 
 some relaxation absolutely necessary after such unre- 
 mitted exertion, I determined, during October, to take 
 some repose, an indulgence which proved equally pleas- 
 ing to my taste as salutary to my health. I spent a few 
 days at this time in visiting the celebrated cascade at 
 Terni. 
 
 Puffed up with pride, which I durst hardly acknowl- 
 edge to myself, I suffered it, however, to be penetrated 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 251 
 
 by her whom I regarded as my better half. Her attach- 
 ment to me rendered her also subject to illusion : she 
 almost considered me as a great man, and did every- 
 thing in her power to induce me really to become so. 
 After indulging for a few months in all the intoxication 
 of self-love, I at length began to re-examine my trage- 
 dies, and discovered that I had yet a considerable space 
 to run over before I could arrive at the goal I so ardently 
 desired to attain. As I was only, hoXvevcr, thirty-four 
 years of age, and still young in the career of literature, 
 which I had entered eight years before, I did not despair 
 of one day acquiring the palm. I suffered not, how- 
 ever, these hopes to evaporate in words, though a ray 
 of glory had already shed its influence over my labors. 
 
 I had successively read all these tragedies in different 
 societies composed of men of letters, literary women, 
 others, who, though not possessed of cultivated minds, 
 were yet susceptible of all the passions, and of others 
 again who were grossly ignorant, and wholly destitute 
 of education. In reading them, it is true, I had utility, 
 not praise, in view; I knew the world, and - especially 
 the great world, too well to be inflated with pride, or 
 stupidly to believe in any praises which flow not from 
 the heart, but which cannot w r ell be refused by a w r ell- 
 bred audience to an author who makes no pretensions, 
 and who fatigues himself by reading his productions 
 for their amusement. I estimated therefore the eulo- 
 giums I received at their true value, but I knew how 
 to appreciate, and was extremely attentive to the praise 
 and disapprobation of looks, if I may be permitted to 
 employ the expression. 
 
 Whenever twelve or fifteen individuals are assembled 
 together, such as I have described, the general feeling 
 which pervades this assembly will very much resemble 
 
252 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that of a pit in a theatre. Though not compelled to 
 be present, and though politeness requires that they 
 should appear to be satisfied, it is nevertheless impossi- 
 ble to conceal the coldness and ennui they may feel, 
 and still more so to assume a lively interest in what is 
 going forward, or to display an ardent curiosity to reach 
 the development of the plot. As an auditor can nei- 
 ther command his features, nor fix himself to his seat, 
 his countenance find motions must afford a sufficient 
 indication to an author respecting the sensations which 
 his work is calculated to produce. This was almost the 
 sole object I had in view by reading my pieces ; and I 
 thought I could remark that during two thirds of the 
 time my hearers gave to them an undivided attention, 
 and that their anxiety redoubled on approaching the 
 catastrophe. This proved that, even in the most famil- 
 iar tragic subjects, a degree of suspense and uncertainty 
 is kept up to the very conclusion. I must here also 
 acknowledge that those tedious and languid passages, 
 which fatigued and disgusted me on a reperusal, were 
 done ample justice to by the eternal yawnings, involun- 
 tary coughs, and restless motions of my hearers, who in 
 this manner aftbrded me, without intending it, the most 
 salutary counsel ; neither do I wish to deny that I have 
 received the most, just and excellent advice from men 
 of letters, men of the world, and even from the ladies. 
 The former criticised my elocution and my composition, 
 the second entered into the merits of the plot and the 
 adaptation of the characters, while the ladies spoke of 
 the conduct of the passions : all these remarks proved 
 of the greatest benefit to me ; even the groaning and 
 contortions of the ignorant part of my auditors were 
 not destitute of utility. I listened- to everything, and 
 treasured it up in my memory. I neglected no means 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 253 
 
 of improvement, and despised not advice, from what- 
 ever quarter it came, that had the smallest tendency to 
 improve my productions. I must add to these my con- 
 fessions, that I clearly perceived a stranger like myself, 
 who reads his works in different circles, which are not 
 always composed of friends, must not expect wholly to 
 escape ridicule. I repent not, however, my compliance 
 in this respect, if it has tended to render my productions 
 more perfect ; but if no such effect has resulted from it, 
 to the absurdity of these readings must be joined the 
 still greater folly of causing my tragedies to be repre- 
 sented and published. 
 
 X. 
 
 WHILE anxiously brooding over my future literary 
 fame, and irresolute whether I ought to commit any 
 of my works to the press, or whether it would not be 
 more prudent still to procrastinate their publication, a 
 middle path presented itself : this was to procure the 
 representation of some one of my pieces by a select 
 company of amateurs, who performed for their own 
 amusement in a private theatre, fitted up in the palace 
 of the Duke of Grimaldi, the Spanish ambassador. 
 Previous to this period, they had represented only some 
 very indifferent translations of French tragedies and 
 comedies. I had myself assisted at the performance 
 of the Earl of Essex, by Corneille, in which the Duch- 
 ess of Zagarolo acted the part of Queen Elizabeth very 
 indifferently. Notwithstanding, I clearly perceived that 
 this lady, who was extremely beautiful, and possessed 
 great dignity of mien, fully understood the character, 
 and that with some instruction she would become an 
 excellent actress. Actuated by this idea, I resolved to 
 
254 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 bring forward one of my pieces on this private theatre. 
 I wished by this means to ascertain how far the mode 
 of writing I had adopted, which consisted in simplicity 
 of action, the introduction of very few personages, and 
 that species of irregular verse which precluded the mo- 
 notonous cantilena , as it is termed, would be attended 
 with success. For this purpose 1 selected Antigone, 
 the least impassioned of all my tragedies, conceiving 
 that if it succeeded, the others, which were written in 
 a bolder and more nervous style, would still more cer- 
 tainly succeed. My proposal was eagerly embraced by 
 the noble group ; but as at that time none could be 
 found airiong them capable of taking a principal part, 
 excepting the Duke of Ceri, brother to the Duchess 
 of Zagarolo, I was compelled to assume the character 
 of Creonte, while the Duke of Ceri undertook that of 
 Emone; his lady played Argia, and Antigone, the 
 most prominent character of the piece, fell necessarily 
 to the share of the majestic Duchess of Zagarolo. As 
 soon as proper arrangements could be made, the piece 
 was immediately brought forward. I shall say nothing 
 here respecting the performance, since it is my intention 
 to speak more at large on this subject elsewhere. 
 
 Inflated with the success I had obtained at the com- 
 mencement of 1783, I resolved to subject myself to the 
 fiery ordeal of printing my work. Though this step 
 then appeared to me very hazardous, I knew not to 
 what I exposed myself, till I afterwards became ac- 
 quainted with the cabals of literary men, the hatred 
 of booksellers, the decisions of reviewers, the babbling 
 of newspapers, and, in short, with all the train of evils 
 to which an author subjects himself who appears before 
 the public for the first time. So utterly were all these 
 things then unknown to me, that I knew nothing even 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 255 
 
 of the nature of those periodical journals and reviews, 
 which assume the privilege of criticising and passing 
 judgment on new publications. 
 
 Finding it was difficult to obtain the sanction of the 
 censors of the press at Rome to the printing of my 
 works, I wrote to my friend at Siena to entreat him 
 to take charge of them. This he not only undertook 
 with the greatest readiness, but even promised to super- 
 intend the press, and to employ some one of my ac- 
 quaintances, on whose attention I could rely, in order 
 to accelerate the completion of the work. It was not 
 my intention, at this time, to risk the publication of 
 more than four of my tragedies. Of these 1 transmitted 
 to my friend the manuscript, which, though accurately 
 written and carefully corrected, was yet very deficient 
 in clearness, elegance, and purity of style. I then w r as 
 simpleton enough to suppose that the labor of an author 
 was at an end when he had sent his manuscript to the 
 press, but I afterwards learned to my cost that it is then 
 only it commences. 
 
 While these four tragedies were printing, I remained 
 at Rome in a state of the greatest anxiety and mental 
 perturbation. Had shame not prevented me, I would 
 have recalled my manuscript. They at length arrived 
 in succession; the printing was very ill-executed, but 
 my friend had attended with the greatest care to the 
 correction of the press ; and I had the mortification 
 to perceive, in the end, that the versification was 
 extremely barbarous. The childishness of running 
 through the different families in Rome, and presenting 
 them with handsomely bound copies of my tragedies, 
 with the view of securing their approbation, occu- 
 pied me several days, and rendered me not only ridic- 
 ulous in the eyes of others, but even in my own. I 
 
256 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 laid a copy at the feet of Pope Pius VI., to whom 
 I had been presented the year before on coming to 
 reside at Rome. It is here necessary to mention a 
 weakness of which I was guilty during the audience 
 which had been vouchsafed me by the Holy Father. 
 I entertained no very profound veneration for his Holi- 
 ness as Pope, and still less for Braschi as a man of let- 
 ters, or the patron of literature, since I considered him 
 as neither the one nor the other. I presented him my 
 elegantly bound little volume, which he received with 
 much affability. He opened the book, laid it on his 
 table, and, turning over and over the leaves, over- 
 whelmed' me with praises. He would not permit me 
 to kiss his foot, but, raising me from the humble pos- 
 ture into which I had thrown myself, he patted me on 
 the cheek with a grace truly paternal. Notwithstand- 
 ing the sonnet I had written on Rome, which stared 
 me in the face, I replied to these compliments like a 
 thoroughbred courtier j and taking advantage of the 
 praise which he bestowed on Antigone, and the success 
 which attended its representation, I seized the moment 
 when his Holiness was descanting on the dignity of 
 the tragic art, and when he inquired if I had composed 
 any other tragedies, to reply that I had finished sev- 
 eral, and among others Saul, the groundwork of 
 which was drawn from the Bible, and that I would 
 dedicate it to his Holiness if he would deign to grant 
 me his permission. The Holy Father excused himself 
 by saying that he could not agree to have any theat- 
 rical pieces dedicated to him, of whatever kind they 
 might be. To this refusal I made no reply. I must 
 here acknowledge, however, that I experienced two 
 distinct and separate mortifications, which were both 
 well merited, the one from the refusal I had volun- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 257 
 
 tarily sought; the other from being forced to esteem 
 myself less than the Pope, for my cowardice, weak- 
 ness, and duplicity ; for unquestionably my conduct 
 proceeded from one of these three motives, or perhaps 
 the whole of them combined, which had induced me to 
 offer, as a mark of respect and esteem, to dedicate my 
 work to one whom I considered as far beneath me in 
 the scale of real merit. It is also necessary, not to 
 justify myself, but in order to explain the real or appar- 
 ent contradiction which may be observed between my 
 manner of thinking, perceiving, and acting, that I 
 should here ingenuously explain the sole and true 
 reason which determined ine thus to prostitute the 
 buskin to the tiara. 
 
 For some time past the priesthood, instigated by 
 the Brother-in-law of my adored friend, had officiously 
 propagated many calumnies respecting the frequency 
 of my visits to this inestimable woman. This noise 
 daily augmented, and I endeavored, by flattering the 
 sovereign pontiff, to secure to myself a support against 
 the persecutions I already anticipated, and which actu- 
 ally burst over my head in less than a month. I even 
 believe that the representation of Antigone, by attach- 
 ing a degree of celebrity to my name, provoked and 
 multiplied my enemies. Love then taught me cow- 
 ardice and dissimulation. I wish that those who read 
 this trait may be able to laugh at me without recog- 
 nizing themselves in the picture. I inclined, both for 
 my own profit and the benefit of others, to unveil this 
 circumstance, which I might have buried in oblivion ; 
 withheld by shame, I never related it to a single in- 
 dividual, except my dearly cherished friend, a short 
 time after it occurred. I have recorded it here for the 
 consolation of present and future authors, who, by 
 
258 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 some melancholy circumstance, may be forced to dis- 
 honor themselves and their profession by fulsome dedi- 
 cations j in short, that my enemies may say with 
 justice and truth, if I have not debased myself by 
 such meannesses, I owe it to my fortune, which never 
 compelled me either to become or to appear con- 
 temptible. 
 
 At a rumor that his Holiness had ordered me to leave 
 Rome, which was in fact not the case, though it had 
 been credited with the greatest facility, thanks to the 
 liberty enjoyed in Italy, I now determined to depart 
 voluntarily. To this effect I addressed myself to the 
 Sardinian minister, and entreated him to inform the 
 secretary of state, that, having heard the calumnies 
 which had been spread abroad, I was too much in- 
 terested in the honor, the fame, and the tranquillity of 
 the worthy and respectable woman who was the object 
 of them, not to adopt every means in my power to put 
 an end to such unmerited clamor ; that I had therefore 
 resolved to leave Rome for some time, and would set 
 out on the commencement of the following month, 
 May, 1783. 
 
 This spontaneous, and to me painful, resolution was 
 highly gratifying to the minister, and approved by the 
 secretary of state, the Pope himself, as w r eli as all 
 those who were acquainted with the real state of the 
 case. I immediately prepared for my departure. What 
 still farther determined me to take this step was the 
 melancholy and terrible life which I foresaw I must 
 have led, had I remained at Rome, after being precluded 
 from visiting my friend at her own home. I should 
 have been exposed to continual vexation and cha- 
 grin, had I attempted to meet her elsewhere, either 
 openly, or employed secret means to accomplish this 
 
VITTOEIO ALFIEPJ. 259 
 
 end, which must have proved equally dangerous as 
 useless. To remain at Rome without seeing each 
 other was to me a punishment so severe, that I re- 
 garded it as more insupportable than removing to a 
 distance, and waiting a more auspicious period to renew 
 our intercourse. 
 
 On the 4th of May, 1783, a day which will always 
 be recollected by me with sentiments of the most bitter 
 sorrow, I bade adieu to that being who was dearer to 
 my heart than all the world besides. My despair at 
 our present separation was more terrible than on any 
 former occasion of the same kind, as the hope of seeing 
 her again was extremely uncertain. 
 
 For two years I remained incapable of any kind of 
 study whatever, so different was my present forlorn 
 state from the happiness I enjoyed during my late 
 residence in Rome: there, the Villa Strozzi, near to 
 the Baths of Diocletian, afforded me a delightful re- 
 treat, where I passed my mornings in study, only riding 
 for an hour or two through the vast solitudes which in 
 the neighborhood of Rome invite to melancholy, med- 
 itation, and poetry. In the evening I proceeded to the 
 city, and found a relaxation from study in the society 
 of her who constituted the charm of my existence, and 
 contented and happy I returned to my solitude, never 
 at a later hour than eleven o'clock. It was impossible 
 to find in the circuit of a great city an abode more 
 cheerful, more retired, or better suited to my taste, my 
 character, and my pursuits. Delightful spot ! the re- 
 membrance of which I shall ever cherish, and which 
 through life I shall long to revisit. 
 
 Leaving thus my only friend, my books, my retreat, 
 my happiness, and I may say myself, at Rome, I pro- 
 ceeded on my way like one deprived of reason. I took 
 
260 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the road to Siena, where I should be at liberty to 
 pour my sorrows into the bosom of my friend. I 
 neither knew nor cared where I went, nor what was to 
 become of me. The conversation of this incomparable 
 man afforded the only solace to rny grief. Notwith- 
 standing the strength and elevation of his own mind, 
 he was tender, compassionate, and humane towards 
 the weaknesses of others. It is only when weighed 
 down by adversity that we can estimate the value of a 
 sincere friend. .1 am persuaded that without the con- 
 soling cares of this worthy man I should have sunk 
 into a state of hopeless insanity. When he beheld my 
 truly pitiable condition, though he knew from ex- 
 perience the power of virtue, he did not cruelly employ 
 cold and severe reasoning in the delirious state of my 
 imagination. By sharing my sorrow, it gradually 
 became assuaged. What a precious gift from heaven 
 is a friend, who can at the same time reason and 
 feel! 
 
 My intellectual faculties being enfeebled or torpid, I 
 pursued no kind of study or occupation, except writing 
 letters, of which I may literally be said to have written 
 volumes during this third and longest separation from 
 my lady. I knew not what I wrote : I poured forth 
 my grief, friendship, love, rage, and all the affections 
 with which my lacerated heart overflowed. 
 
 So indifferent was I at this period to literary fame, 
 that the severe critiques on my different tragedies, 
 which had been transmitted to me from Tuscany, while 
 I was laboring under the most profound affliction at 
 Rome, produced no more impression on my mind than 
 if I had not been concerned in them. Some of them, 
 though piquant, were written with urbanity, while 
 others were extremely gross and insipid : several of 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 261 
 
 them bore the name of the author, but not a few were 
 anonymous. They all, however, exclusively agreed to 
 depict my style as harsh, obscure, and inflated, but 
 without assigning any reason for this opinion, or point- 
 ing out the faults, in this respect, of any particular 
 passages. 
 
 On arriving in Tuscany, my friend, in order to with- 
 draw my thoughts from sorrowful recollections, read to 
 me extracts, in the Florence and Pisa journals, of all 
 those critiques which had been sent to me at Rome. 
 These were the first literary journals, in any language, 
 which had fallen into my hands. It was then only 
 that I penetrated into the secret of this respectable art, 
 by which different works are praised or censured ac- 
 cording as the journalist has been bribed, flattered, for- 
 gotten, or contemned by the authors. In fact, these 
 mercenary critics produced not the smallest effect on 
 my mind, which was wholly absorbed in other sub- 
 jects. 
 
 After a stay of three weeks at Siena, during which 
 I confined myself solely to the society of my friend, the 
 fear of becoming troublesome to him, as I found it im- 
 possible to occupy my mind, and an impatience for 
 change of place, which incessantly haunted my imagi- 
 nation during my fits of melancholy and idleness, con- 
 curred in determining me to continue my travels. The 
 feast of the Ascensron, which I had formerly witnessed 
 at Venice, approached, and I resolved to be present at 
 it. In my way to this city, I passed through Florence 
 without stopping, as I could not support the sight of 
 a place, in my present melancholy state of mind, where 
 I had formerly spent so many happy hours. The 
 fatigue of travelling, and the sight of new objects, pro- 
 duced a salutary effect on at least my health, which 
 
262 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had been much injured by the grief and agitation I had 
 suffered in the course of the last three months. At 
 Bologna I. left the direct road, with the view of visiting 
 the tomb of our immortal poet at Ravenna, where I 
 passed a whole day in melancholy meditation. During 
 my journey from Siena to Venice, I daily composed one 
 or more sonnets, replete with the most tender passion. 
 These ideas presented themselves with such force to my 
 imagination, that I felt myself impelled to embody them 
 in verse. At Venice, when I first heard of the treaty of 
 peace being concluded, by which America had stipu- 
 lated for her independence, I instantly composed the 
 fifth ode^on American Independence, w r hich terminated 
 this little lyric poem. From Venice I proceeded to 
 Padua, where I failed not, as I had done formerly, 
 to visit the tomb of our master in love, the divine 
 Petrarch. I there, as at Ravenna, consecrated a day 
 to meditation and to verse. At Padua I became ac- 
 quainted with the celebrated Cesarotti, with whose 
 manners, vivacity, and politeness, I was as much de- 
 lighted as with the perusal of his elegant translation 
 of Ossian. 
 
 From Padua I returned to Bologna by Ferrara, in 
 order to finish my fourth poetic pilgrimage, by viewing 
 the tomb and the manuscripts of Ariosto. At Rome 
 I had several times visited the mausoleum of Tasso, 
 as well as the spot where he first drew his breath at 
 Sorrento, to which place I went express during my last 
 visit to Naples. These four poets have always been, 
 and will continue to be, prized by me above every 
 other in our divine language. It appears to me that 
 they afford a model of every species of poetry, except 
 colloquial blank verse, which is particularly adapted 
 to subjects on which they treat, only requiring to be 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 263 
 
 modified in a different manner. For sixteen years that 
 I have read these works, they have always appeared 
 new to me : on each perusal I have discovered fresh 
 "beauties in those parts of them which are truly ex- 
 cellent ; and even the faults of such authors are not 
 destitute of utility. I dare not here affirm, with hlind 
 fanaticism, that they have never written indifferent, 
 and even detestable verses, I only contend that valua- 
 ble lessons may be learned even from their defects. In 
 forming a judgment of their merits, it is necessary, 
 however, to enter into their intentions, and be well 
 acquainted with their motives : it is necessary also not 
 only to comprehend and taste their beauties, but to feel 
 them. From Bologna, still suffering the most pro- 
 found melancholy, I proceeded to Milan, on a visit to 
 my dear friend the Abbe Caluso, who was in the 
 country with his nephews at his beautiful chateau of 
 Masino, a short distance from Vercelli. Here I re- 
 mained five or six days. Being so near Turin, I was 
 ashamed not to visit my sister. Thither, therefore, 
 I went, in company with my friend. We remained 
 only a single night, and next morning returned to his 
 house. 
 
 From Masino I returned to Milan, where I passed 
 the month of July. Here I frequently saw the original 
 author of II Giorno, the real precursor of Italian satire. 
 From this celebrated author I endeavored to learn in 
 what the principal defect of my tragic style consisted. 
 I inquired with an anxious desire to be instructed, and 
 listened to him with the utmost attention. With the 
 greatest readiness Parini bestowed on me much ex- 
 cellent advice respecting different points, which, how- 
 ever, taken together, could not constitute what is 
 termed style, but only some of its parts. Neither Pa- 
 
264 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 rim, Cesarotti, nor any other of the learned men whom 
 I interrogated on this subject, during my journey 
 through Lombardy, with all the ardor and humility 
 of a novice, were, however, able to point out to me 
 what constituted the real defects of my style, defects 
 which I was not myself, at the time, sensible of, and 
 which I only saw and corrected after several years of 
 labor and uncertainty. On the whole, however, my 
 tragedies had more success beyond the Apennines 
 than in Tuscany : my style was even censured with 
 less animosity and more judgment. The same circum- 
 stance occurred at Rome and Naples, among the few r 
 readers which I found in these cities. It seems then 
 an ancient privilege of Tuscany alone to encourage, 
 in this manner, Italian writers who compose only 
 academic discourses, destitute of sense and humor. 
 
 XI. 
 
 AT the commencement of August I left Milan, and 
 set out for Tuscany. I took a new route, which led 
 from Modena to Pistoja. It was when travelling along 
 this magnificent and picturesque road that I first at- 
 tempted the composition of some epigrams. I was 
 fully persuaded that if we had no pointed, severe, or 
 well-turned epigrams, it could not be attributable to 
 the genius of the Italian language, which is the most 
 vigorous and concise of any with which I am ac- 
 quainted. The Florentine pedants, by whom I was 
 surrounded as I approached Pistoja, furnished an ample 
 subject on which to exercise my new art. I remained 
 a few days at Florence, and, assuming the harmlessness 
 of a lamb, I visited several of them, in order either to 
 gain instruction or learn to laugh. I profited very little 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 265 
 
 in the first respect, but in the second I found ample field 
 for merriment. These gentlemen modestly gave me to 
 understand, or, to speak more properly, made me clearly 
 perceive, that if I had put my manuscripts into their 
 hands to correct before sending them to the press, it 
 would have greatly enhanced their value. They enter- 
 tained me with a thousand impertinences of a similar 
 kind. I inquired with the greatest patience, if I had 
 committed any offence against the purity and analogy 
 of words, or against grammar, which ought always to 
 be held sacred } or, in short, if I had introduced any 
 solecisms or barbarisms into my composition, or had 
 deviated from the rules to be observed in the structure 
 of the verse. But so ignorant were they of the art 
 they professed to criticise, that they could not point 
 out to me the precise places where those faults were to 
 be found ; yet they persevered in affirming that many 
 grammatical errors might doubtless be detected. They 
 contented themselves, however, with censuring my em- 
 ployment of what they denominated obsolete terms, 
 and with the harshness, obscurity, and too great con- 
 ciseness of my style. Enriched in this manner with 
 such rare knowledge, instructed and enlightened by 
 these consummate masters of the tragic art, I returned 
 to Siena. There I resolved, in order to assuage the 
 grief which constantly haunted my steps, to continue 
 the printing of my tragedies under my own inspection. 
 In giving an account to my friend of the instruction I 
 had derived from our different Italian oracles, and 
 especially those of Florence and Pisa, we amused our- 
 selves at their expense, while furnishing them with the 
 means of retaliating by the publication of my other 
 tragedies. In the mean time I urged forward the print- 
 ing with so much ardor, though rather too precipi- 
 
266 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tately, that before the end of September, that is, in 
 less than two months, six new tragedies were ready for 
 publication, which, joined to the first four, formed the 
 whole of this first edition. 
 
 These six tragedies, even in the eyes of my de- 
 tractors, appeared superior to the four former. At 
 that period I did not wish to add to them the four 
 others which still remained in manuscript, particularly 
 the Conspiracy of the Pazzi and Mary Stuart, as it 
 would then only have augmented my embarrassment 
 and that of the individual who interested me more 
 than even myself. The labor of correcting the proofs, 
 which were sent to me very rapidly, and to which 
 I dedicated my attention immediately after dinner, 
 brought on a fit of the gout, which confined me for fif- 
 teen days, during which I suffered the greatest torment, 
 though I obstinately resisted taking to my bed. I had 
 the year before experienced a slight attack of this dis- 
 ease during my stay at Rome, and this second fit con- 
 vinced me that I should never be long free from it 
 during the latter part of my life. The immoderate 
 sorrow I had experienced, joined to incessant and 
 severe mental exertion, were doubtless the two causes 
 which had produced this malady, which was always 
 however successfully combated by my extreme sobri- 
 ety ; so that at this period, 1783, the paroxysms of my 
 gout, to which I have carefully attended, have never 
 been either very severe or frequent. 
 
 As, however, the object of all my wishes, the re- 
 union with the mistress of my affections, could not be 
 realized this summer, I resolved to take a journey to 
 France and England, in order if possible to assuage 
 the sorrow and agitation I experienced at this disap- 
 pointment. I had neither the wish nor curiosity again 
 
VITTOKIO ALFIERI. 267 
 
 to revisit these countries, with which I was so much 
 disgusted during my second travels ; but travelling 
 was become necessary in order to alleviate my suffer- 
 ings. I determined to purchase as many English 
 horses as possible. This rage for horses, which re- 
 vived occasionally, was so strong that my noble cour- 
 sers frequently even overcame my taste for books and 
 poetry. At this moment, when my heart was lacer- 
 ated with sorrow, the Muses maintained but little sway 
 over my mind. The poet was transformed into a horse- 
 dealer. I set out for London with my imagination 
 filled with noble heads, fine necks, and well-turned 
 haunches, wholly indifferent whether my tragedies ap- 
 peared or not. I wasted more than eight mouths in 
 these trifles, without pursuing any literary occupation 
 whatever, scarcely ever opening a book. The only 
 ones on which I sometimes cast my eyes were my four 
 favorite poets, which I alternately put in my pocket, 
 and which were become my inseparable companions 
 during my long journeys. All my thoughts dwelt on 
 the mistress of my heart, and my grief at our separa- 
 tion was from time to time depicted in melancholy 
 verses. 
 
 XII. 
 
 IN the month of December I prepared to pass over 
 to England. The men of letters in France are for the 
 most part strangers to Italian literature : it was im- 
 possible for me to take any part in their conversation ; 
 I nevertheless was irritated at my own folly, in having 
 again subjected myself to the necessity of speaking 
 and listening to their nasal and anti-Tuscan jargon ; I 
 therefore hastened my departure. Balloons were at, 
 this period the rage of the day. I witnessed two of 
 
268 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the first and most successful aerostatic experiments. 
 In the former of these the balloon was tilled with rar- 
 efied air, and in the latter with inflammable gas ; in 
 each of them were seated two individuals. What a 
 majestic and noble spectacle, more fitted for poetry 
 than history ! a discovery that may be termed sublime, 
 when the means have been found of rendering it useful. 
 No sooner had I reached London, than I purchased 
 first a race-horse, then two, and shortly after one for 
 the saddle, and at last six carriage-horses. I had the 
 misfortune to lose several colts successively j but as 
 one died I purchased two. This inordinate desire, 
 which ha'd lain dormant for six years, stimulated by 
 privations, was again rekindled. In the pursuit of 
 this favorite amusement I disregarded every obstacle, 
 and when only five horses remained out of the ten I 
 had purchased, I made up the number to fourteen, in 
 relation to my having written fourteen tragedies, though 
 I had resolved only to finish twelve. The latter ex- 
 hausted my mind, the former drained my purse. But 
 the pleasure which my horses afforded me restored my 
 health, and inspired me with courage to labor at other 
 tragedies and other works. I did riot therefore regret 
 the vast sums which I had expended, since I thus 
 procured to myself the restoration of my health and 
 vivacity. I was much better at expending than adapt- 
 ing my expenditure to my income. During the first 
 three years after the donation of my property, I had 
 lived in the most sordid manner, and during the three 
 latter with decent moderation and frugality. By this 
 means I found myself in possession of a large sum of 
 money from the accumulation of my yearly income in 
 France, which had remained untouched during this 
 period. I consumed a great part of these savings in 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 269 
 
 purchasing and in transporting my fourteen friends to 
 Italy, and their maintenance for five years absorbed the 
 remainder. I sustained no farther losses among these, 
 my favorites, after removing them from their native 
 isle ; and so much had I become attached to these 
 animals, that I could not resolve to part with a single 
 one. Surrounded by my horses, my mind dejected by 
 the absence of her whose presence alone stimulated me 
 to every great and noble action, I avoided society, and 
 sought acquaintance with no one. I either remained 
 with my horses, or in scribbling letter upon letter. In 
 this manner I spent four months in London, and thought 
 no more of my tragedies than if they had never been 
 written. Sometimes, indeed, the whimsical relation 
 which existed between their number and that of my 
 horses presented itself to my imagination, and I said 
 to myself with a smile, " Thou hast gained a horse 
 by each tragedy," in allusion to the flagellation in- 
 flicted by our Italian pedagogues on boys who had 
 neglected their exercises in composition.* 
 
 I thus vegetated for several months in a state of the 
 most complete idleness, neglecting even my favorite 
 poets. My inventive faculties became so benumbed 
 that during my abode in London I only composed one 
 sonnet, and two on setting out from that capital. Ac- 
 companied by my numerous caravan, I arrived at Calais, 
 whence I went to Paris ; and afterwards, proceeding by 
 the way of Lyons and Turin, repaired to Siena. This 
 journey, which I have described in three lines, was ex- 
 tremely difficult from the great number of my horses. I 
 
 * In Italy, when any of the boys belonging to a class commits a fault, 
 the schoolmaster orders him to be hoisted on the back of one of his com- 
 rades ; and in this posture inflicts on him a certain number of strokes with 
 a cane, which is termed giving him a horse. 
 
270 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 every day, and indeed at every step, experienced a de- 
 gree of vexation and embarrassment which imbittered 
 the pleasure I should otherwise have derived from my 
 cavalry. One coughed, another would not eat, a third 
 fell lame, a fourth became affected with the farcy. It 
 was a continued series of disasters, in which I was the 
 greatest sufferer. In the passage from Dover they 
 were obliged to be placed like a flock of sheep, by way 
 of ballast in the hold of the vessel. Here they were 
 so much exhausted, and became so dirty, that their 
 bright bay color could not be distinguished. 
 
 Of all the enterprises which I ever undertook, the 
 most difficult and heroic was my passage over the 
 Alps, between Lansleberg and Novalaise. I found the 
 greatest difficulty in securing these unwieldy and bulky 
 animals from the danger they ran of being hurled 
 headlong from the frightful precipices we had to scale 
 during this perilous journey. The reader will, I hope, 
 pardon me these details, and the pleasure which I 
 derive from describing my efforts and success. Those 
 to whom they may prove displeasing may pass them 
 over, while those who read them may judge whether I 
 was not better able to conduct the march of my four- 
 teen horses, in these straits of Thermopylae, than the 
 five acts of a tragedy. 
 
 My horses, thanks to their youth, my paternal cares, 
 and the little fatigue they underwent, were so full of 
 health and spirits, that it was extremely difficult to 
 conduct them over this mountainous district : I there- 
 fore took w T ith me to Lansleberg as many men as I had 
 horses ; so that each horse had its conductor, who held 
 him close by the bridle. They were fastened together 
 by the tail, and between every three I had placed one 
 of the guides, who on a mule guarded the three which 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 271 
 
 preceded him. In the midst of this cavalcade was the 
 farrier of Lansleberg, provided with nails and shoes, in 
 order to lend prompt assistance to those which might 
 be unshod, and which was the more to be dreaded from 
 the huge stones over which they had to tread, whilst 
 I myself, in quality of commander in chief of the expe- 
 dition, rode in the rear mounted on Frontin, the smallest 
 and nimblest of my horses. By my side rode two agile 
 and nimble-footed aides-de-camp, whom I despatched 
 to the centre, to the front, and to the rear with my 
 orders. In this manner we arrived without accident at 
 the summit of Mont Cenis ; when we had to descend 
 on the Italian side, I dreaded the mettle of my horses, 
 from the rapidity of their descent. I changed my situ- 
 ation, and, alighting from my horse, walked in the front 
 with the view of retarding the velocity of their march. 
 I placed at the head of this phalanx the heaviest and 
 least spirited of my animals ; my aides-de-camp ran 
 before and behind, in order to keep them always at a 
 proper distance from each other : yet, notwithstanding 
 all these attentions, several had their feet unshod ; but 
 the dispositions that had been made were so skilful, 
 that the farrier quickly lent the necessary assistance, 
 and they arrived at Novalaise in very good condition, 
 and with only one lamed among the whole troop. 
 These trifling details will prove of importance to those 
 who may have to transport horses over the Alps, or 
 other mountainous regions. As for me, after having 
 so ably directed this passage, I regarded myself as 
 scarcely inferior to Hannibal, who only passed a little 
 more to the south with his slaves and his elephants. 
 If his enterprise was performed at the expense of much 
 vinegar, mine likewise cost me much wine ; for my 
 whole suite, consisting of guides, farriers, horse-dealers, 
 and aides-de-camp, drank at pleasure. 
 
272 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 With my head filled with follies of every kind, 
 among which my horses alone kept me alive, and void 
 of every useful idea, I arrived, seven years after my 
 expatriation, at Turin, where I remained nearly three 
 weeks. I found myself rejuvenated in body, but un- 
 fortunately my intellects also partook too much of the 
 child. My coursers had reconducted me with rapid 
 strides to my primitive ignorance : my mind was so 
 rusted for want of exertion, that I believed it incapable 
 either of invention or composition. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 DURING my stay at Turin I enjoyed some pleasure, 
 but I also experienced much sorrow. It is unques- 
 tionably delightful, after a long separation, to behold 
 the friends of our early years, the places where we 
 have gambolled during childhood, the trees, even the 
 stones, in short, all these objects from which sprang 
 our first ideas and our first attachments. But how 
 mortifying to me, on meeting with the companions of 
 my youth, to perceive that they avoided me, or w r hen 
 that was impossible, only saluted me with the most 
 frigid air, or turned aside from me with disdain ! Far 
 from having done them any injury, I had always 
 treated them with distinguished friendship and cordial- 
 ity. This conduct hurt me greatly, and would have 
 done still more so, had I not been informed by those 
 who still felt some kindness towards me, that I was 
 thus treated by some because I had written tragedies, 
 by others because I had travelled much, and by a 
 third class because I had returned to my country with 
 such a number of horses; and a thousand similar 
 trilling reasons. These trifles will doubtless be ex- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 273 
 
 cused by any one acquainted with human nature, 
 since he must have impartially examined his own 
 heart; nevertheless, they ought as much as possible 
 to be avoided, by exiling ourselves forever from the 
 country where we were born, if we do not intend to 
 conform to the manners of others, or cannot make 
 them acquiesce in the propriety of ours, especially if 
 that country be small, and the inhabitants indolent, or 
 if we have had the misfortune involuntarily to wound 
 their self-love, by endeavoring to soar above them in 
 any respect whatever. 
 
 While at Turin I was compelled to undergo a still 
 more severe mortification, from the indispensable neces- 
 sity of being presented to his majesty. He could not 
 regard me with a favorable eye, since I had tacitly 
 contemned him in quitting his states : nevertheless, 
 the customs of the country, and the rank which I held, 
 obliged me to appear at court, if I wished to avoid the 
 imputation of insolence and folly. My brother-in- 
 law, who was first lord in waiting, inquired with great 
 anxiety whether or not I meant to be presented. I 
 immediately tranquillized him on this subject, assuring 
 him that such was my intention. He named an early 
 day for this ceremony, to which I made no objection ; 
 and the following morning I waited on the minister. 
 My brother-in-law had informed me that the govern- 
 ment was very amicably disposed towards me ; that I 
 should be graciously received ; and that some idea had 
 even been entertained of offering me an employment. 
 This favor, which was wholly unexpected, and which 
 I certainly did not merit, made me tremble: but the 
 information was of use to me in this respect, as it pre- 
 pared me in what manner to act : I therefore informed 
 the minister, that in passing through Turin, I con- 
 
274 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ceived it my duty to wait on him, and entreat that, he 
 would present me, with the sole intention of. offering 
 my respectful homage to his majesty. The minister 
 received me in the most flattering manner : at first he- 
 only spoke vaguely on the subject, but at length 
 openly declared that the king would derive much 
 satisfaction from seeing me settled in my native 
 country ; that his majesty was willing to accept of my 
 services ; and many other speeches of a similar import. 
 I immediately cut him short, by replying that I in- 
 tended returning to Tuscany, to pursue my studies, 
 and to superintend the printing of my works; that I 
 was in x my thirty-fifth year, an age when our habits 
 are fixed ; that I had hitherto devoted my time to lit- 
 erary occupations, and that it was my intention to 
 spend the remainder of my days in similar pursuits. 
 He replied that the profession of an author was highly 
 respectable, but that there were certainly situations 
 much more important and honorable which I was 
 worthy to till. I politely thanked him, but persisted 
 in declining them. I had even the moderation and 
 generosity not to mortify this worthy man, as he cer- 
 tainly deserved, by making him understand what I 
 thought of diplomatic employments, which were cer- 
 tainly much less important to ine than my dramatic 
 works, or even those of others : but it is impossible to 
 enlighten such people j they neither can nor will be 
 convinced. As for me, who am naturally disinclined to 
 disputation, especially with those whose ideas are in 
 every respect dissimilar to my own, I contented myself 
 in the present case with positively declining every 
 situation. The minister had most probably informed 
 his majesty of my refusal, for on the following day, 
 when I was presented, he said not a word on the 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 275 
 
 subject, "but received me with that courteous affability 
 so natural to him. It was Victor Amadeus III., son 
 of Charles Emannel, in whose reign I was born. 
 Though very far from being partial to kings in gen- 
 eral, and particularly to despots, I must here confess 
 that this family, taken on the whole, deserve some 
 praise, especially when compared with those who 
 at present occupy the thrones of Europe. Hence I 
 experienced no aversion in particular towards this 
 dynasty. The reigning monarch, as well as his pre- 
 decessor, were well-meaning men : the conduct of 
 Amadeus was praiseworthy and exemplary; in one 
 word, he did more good than evil to his country. 
 Nevertheless, when it is recollected that the good and 
 evil which kings perform depend on their own will 
 alone, we must naturally shudder, and if possible fly 
 from their power. It was in this manner I acted on 
 this occasion. After having remained at Turin a 
 sufficient length of time to see my relations and 
 acquaintances, after having passed a short time as use- 
 fully as agreeably with my inestimable friend the 
 Abbe Caluso, who partly restored me to myself, and 
 drew me from the stables, I left that city. 
 
 During my abode at Turin I happened, contrary to 
 my inclinations, to be present at the representation of 
 my Virginia. It was brought out at the same the- 
 atre where, nine years before, my Cleopatra had been 
 acted, and by nearly as able performers. One of my 
 academic friends had prepared everything for this rep- 
 resentation before my arrival, which was wholly unex- 
 pected. He, however, requested me to assign to the 
 actors their different parts, as I fonnerly had done for 
 Cleopatra ; but my powers, and above all my pride, 
 being augmented, I refused to lend my aid. 1 was 
 
276 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 well acquainted with the audience, and especially with 
 the actors, and I wished not to be in any way impli- 
 cated in their incapacity, which was evident to me 
 even before having heard them. I knew that it was 
 necessary to commence with an impossibility, that of 
 making them speak and pronounce the Italian instead 
 of the Venetian; to make it appear as if the parts 
 were uttered by them and not by the prompter; in 
 short, that it would be necessary to make them under- 
 stand (to feel would be requiring too much) the sensa- 
 tions they ought to excite in the minds of their audi- 
 tors. Such being my conviction, it will be obvious 
 that my refusal was not unreasonable, and my pride 
 not misplaced. I insisted that my friend should act as 
 he thought proper, only promising to attend the per- 
 formance, from which I became convinced that the 
 praise or censure of an Italian audience should be re- 
 garded with equal indifference. Virginia obtained the 
 same reception as Cleopatra, and like it was given 
 out for the following evening ; but, as it may readily 
 be supposed, I was not present at this second repre- 
 sentation. 
 
 From that moment the illusions of fame, which I 
 had fondly cherished, began gradually to dissipate ; 
 nevertheless, I did not relinquish my design of prose- 
 cuting two or three different kinds of new works. I 
 
 o 
 
 resolved to bestow on them all the care and attention 
 of which I was capable, that in my dying hour I might 
 enjoy the consolation of having done everything in my 
 power to secure my own reputation, as well as to im- 
 prove the dramatic art. With respect to the judgment 
 of my contemporaries, in the present state of Italian 
 criticism, I am equally indifferent to their praise or 
 censure. That praise which is founded on no just 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 277 
 
 principles does not indeed deserve the name, and 
 can never be coveted by any author of discernment. 
 Neither can I term censure that indiscriminate desire 
 to discover faults, without pointing out the means of 
 remedying them in future. 
 
 During the representation of Virginia I suffered 
 far more intense anxiety than when I had formerly 
 witnessed the first performance of my Cleopatra ; and 
 my feelings on these two occasions proceeded from 
 very different causes. By those who are enthusias- 
 tically attached to the dramatic art, these feelings will 
 readily be understood, without any further attempt mi 
 my part to explain them, whereas on the contrary no 
 elucidation could render them comprehensible to those 
 who have never felt similar emotions. 
 
 On leaving Turin, I spent three days at Asti with 
 -my worthy and respectable mother ; on separating we 
 shed a torrent of tears, both felt a melancholy fore- 
 boding that this would be our last meeting. I will 
 not affirm that I felt for her all the filial affection she 
 merited. I had quitted her at nine years of age, and 
 from that early period had never again seen her except 
 for a few hours on a transient visit : but my esteem, 
 my gratitude, and veneration for this excellent parent 
 have ever been, and will always continue unbounded. 
 May Heaven grant her a long series of years, since she 
 so worthily employs them in assuaging the sorrows of 
 those around her ! She loved me beyond expression, 
 and much more than I deserved. Thus, as the moment 
 of separation drew nigh, I could not behold her violent 
 grief without participating in it ; and the remembrance 
 of these afflicting moments will ever remain indelibly 
 engraven on my mind. 
 
 No sooner was I beyond the states of the Sardinian 
 
278 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 monarch than it appeared to me as if T respired more 
 freely, the remembrance of my natal yoke weighed so 
 heavily on me, though I had already broken it. While 
 I remained there, every time I was obliged to meet 
 with those who had any influence in the government 
 of the country, I regarded myself more as a slave than 
 as a freeman. I oft recalled to mind the beautiful 
 speech of Pompey, when he sought refuge in Egypt : 
 " He who enters the house of a tyrant becomes a slave 
 if he be not so already." Hence the man, who either 
 through indolence or a love of pleasure returns to the 
 prison he had left, well deserves to meet with jailers, 
 and be retained against his inclination. 
 
 On approaching Modena, the intelligence which I 
 received respecting my fair friend by turns filled me 
 with grief and hope, and kept my mind in a state of the 
 utmost uncertainty. The last news from Piacenza in- 
 formed me that she was at length freed from the control of 
 her husband, and had quitted Rome. This transported 
 me with rapture, since Rome was the only city where 
 I durst not visit her. On the other hand, Decency, 
 with her leaden fetters, prevented me from following 
 her. After innumerable difficulties and sacrifices, she 
 had at last obtained permission from her brother-in-law 
 and the Pope to visit the waters of Baden in Switzer- 
 land. Her health had been greatly injured by the 
 grief to whicri her mind had been long a prey. In the 
 month of June, 1784, she accordingly left Rome, and, 
 coasting along the shores of the Adriatic, by Bologna, 
 Mantua, and Trent, had taken the way of Tyrol, while 
 I, quitting Turin by Piacenza, Modeiia, and Pistoja, 
 returned to Siena. The idea of being so near her, 
 and yet that in a short time we should be again far 
 distant from each other, enchanted and agonized me at 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 279 
 
 the same time. I might have sent my carriage arid 
 domestics forward, taken post, and crossed the country 
 to join her, I should at least have beheld her ! I 
 desired, I feared, I hoped, I wished I knew not 
 what anxieties which can only be known to those 
 who love as I lo'ved. Duty at last obtained the vic- 
 tory : my anxiety for her reputation overbalanced every 
 other consideration, and, by turns irritated or dissolved 
 in teai*s, I left the great road, and, groaning under the 
 weight of my dear-bought victory, I arrived at Siena, 
 after ten months 7 absence. Here I received from my 
 friend Gandellini those consolations which were neces- 
 sary to make me endure life, and again awaken hope 
 in my woe -worn bosom. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I SEDULOUSLY kept up a correspondence with my 
 inestimable friend. The tenor of her letters gradually 
 augmented my hopes of being again permitted to re- 
 visit her. This desire at length so fully occupied my 
 mind, and became so violent, that I could no longer 
 resist it. I imparted my intentions to no one but Gan- 
 dellini, and, pretending to take a journey to Venice, I 
 set out on the 4th of August for Germany; a day, 
 alas ! the bitter recollection of which will never be 
 blotted from my memory. While proceeding, intoxi- 
 cated with joy, to meet the dear object of my affections, 
 I knew not this was the last time I should ever embrace 
 my highly valued friend; I little thought when I bade 
 him adieu only for six weeks that it was to be an eternal 
 one. I never recollect this heart-rending event without 
 shedding many a bitter tear. 
 
 Having once again commenced traveller, I proceeded 
 
280 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 by the delightful and classical route of Pistoja to Mo- 
 dena. After passing rapidly through Mantua, Trent, 
 and Innspruck, I pursued my way through Suabia, to 
 Colmar in Upper Alsace, on the left bank of the Rhine. 
 Near this city I at length met her whom I so anxiously 
 sought, and from whom I had been separated sixteen 
 months. Though I had performed this journey in 
 twelve days, and rode post, my progress did not keep 
 pace with my wishes. During this journey a poetic 
 mania seized me, which involuntarily impelled me to 
 compose three or four sonnets daily. I pursued with 
 transport the route which my fair friend had taken two 
 months before. With a heart overflowing with joy, I 
 indulged myself in writing burlesque poetry. Of this 
 kind was an epistle to Gandellini, in which I detailed 
 the method it behooved him to pursue in the care of 
 my dearly beloved horses. The rage for horses con- 
 stituted, as I have already said, my third passion ; I 
 should blusli if I had termed it the second: it is fit 
 that the Muses should precede Pegasus. 
 
 This somewhat tedious epistle, which I afterwards 
 printed among other poetical effusions, constituted my 
 first and almost only attempt at burlesque poetry. 
 Though very far from excelling in this species of com- 
 position, I yet flattered myself that I was no stranger 
 to its distinguishing characteristics. This, however, 
 was not sufficient to produce excellence ; I did the best 
 in my power. 
 
 It was on the 16th of August that I arrived at the 
 house of my fair friend, with whom I spetit two 
 months, which flew swiftly away. When blessed 
 with her society I found myself again restored to life, 
 and become a new man. Fifteen days had scarcely 
 elapsed, when I began again to compose tragedies, to 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEKI. 281 
 
 which I had not devoted myself for the two last years. 
 On finishing Saul, I had determined to qnit the buskin, 
 and nevermore to resume it. I felt myself now, how- 
 ever, involuntarily constrained to write, all at once, 
 three other tragedies ; Agis, Sophonisba, and Myrrha. 
 The idea of the two former had often presented itself 
 to my mind, but I had hitherto always repelled it. At 
 length it took such possession of my imagination, that I 
 proceeded to sketch these tragedies, yet I trusted that 
 I should assume sufficient resolution not to develop 
 them. I had never thought of Myrrha; a subject, 
 which, as being founded on incestuous passion, I con- 
 ceived ill adapted for tragedy. I had read in Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses the animated and sublime address of 
 Myrrha to her nurse. It had melted me into tears, 
 and suddenly inspired me with the idea of a tragedy. 
 I conceived the subject might be rendered extremely 
 original and interesting, if the author handled it in 
 such a manner as gradually to unfold to his auditors 
 the dreadful and conflicting tumults which overwhelmed 
 the pure but impassioned soul of Myrrha, who was 
 much more unfortunate than culpable ; without daring 
 to avow her execrable passion to herself, much less to 
 others. In short, I perceived that it was necessary to 
 display, by action alone, what is related in Ovid, and 
 that the heroine must execute her purpose without 
 divulging it. I soon also became convinced that I 
 should have much difficulty to encounter in preserving, 
 through five acts, the terrible fluctuation of Myrrha's 
 soul, so as to give interest to the piece, without the 
 introduction of subordinate incidents. This difficulty, 
 which I felt not only during the progress, but even 
 after the termination of the work, served, however, 
 rather to stimulate than repress my ardor in its execu- 
 
282 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tion. I must leave to others to decide how far I have 
 succeeded in overcoming it. 
 
 These three new productions served to rekindle in 
 my mind the love of glory, which I no longer thirsted 
 after, but with the view of sharing it with her who was 
 dearer to me than life. Thus occupied, did I enjoy in 
 the society of my friend, during one month, a happiness 
 only alloyed by the sorrowful anticipation of our ap- 
 proaching separation. As if, however, this inevitable 
 misfortune was not of itself sufficient to overwhelm me, 
 cruel fate decreed that I should pay dearly for the fleet- 
 ing happiness I had enjoyed. By letters received from 
 Siena, iji the course of a single week I learned the 
 afflicting intelligence first of the death of Gandellini's 
 younger brother, and afterwards of his own. Had I 
 not been at the house of my fair friend, on receiving 
 this sudden and unexpected shock, I know not what 
 effects might have resulted from the excess of my 
 sorrow. Nothing tends so powerfully to mitigate our 
 grief, on such melancholy occasions, as the society of 
 a beloved friend, who participates in our afflictions. 
 My fair friend herself knew Gandellini, and was much 
 attached to him. In the preceding year, after having 
 accompanied me to Genoa, he had returned to Tuscany, 
 and afterwards visited Rome, for the express purpose 
 of being introduced to her acquaintance. He remained 
 there several months, during which he seldom quitted 
 her even for a single day, often going in company with 
 her to view the prodigies of the fine arts, which she 
 was never tired of contemplating, and the merits of 
 which she knew so well how to appreciate. She did 
 not therefore mourn his loss on my account alone, but 
 also on her own, knowing by experience the value of 
 ,tho friend whom we had lost. This misfortune inter- 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 283 
 
 ruptcd our happiness during the short period we re- 
 mained together, and rendered our separation still more 
 afflicting. The dreadful day at length arrived, and it 
 behooved us to submit to fate. Gloomy despondency 
 took possession of my mind, on finding myself not only 
 separated from the woman I adored, and without know- 
 ing for how long a time, but also deprived, alas, forever ! 
 of an inestimable friend. Every step I advanced, during 
 this same route, which lately charmed my sorrow, now 
 only served to redouble it. Oppressed and weighed 
 down by grief, except composing a few verses, I did 
 nothing but weep during my way to Siena, which I 
 reached in the beginning of November. The relatives 
 of my friend, between whom and me a reciprocal at- 
 tachment subsisted on his account, contribufed also 
 greatly to augment my sorrow, by their too great readi- 
 ness to satisfy my anxiety to be informed of every par- 
 ticular respecting that mournful event. I trembled, 
 and though eager to know all the circumstances, I yet 
 avoided to hear them. I returned no more, as may be 
 readily imagined, to this abode of mourning, and never 
 since have I had the resolution to re-enter it. 
 
 XV. 
 
 IN the mean time my fair friend, having crossed the 
 Alps, had also entered Italy by the way of Turin. She 
 proceeded to Genoa, and from thence to Bologna, 
 which she reached in December, and where, under 
 the pretext of the advanced state of the season, she 
 proposed to pass the winter. In this way, without 
 quitting the Papal territories, she, excused herself from 
 returning to her former prison at Rome. Thus, then, 
 while I continued at Pisa, and she at Bologna, did we 
 
284 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 remain separated, though so near to each other, with 
 the Apennines only intervening betwixt us. From 
 this I experienced much consolation and suffering at 
 the same time. Though I kept up a regular corre- 
 spondence with this amiable woman, I never attempted 
 in any way to visit her. I dreaded the tittle-tattle of the 
 small Italian cities, where those who are at all removed 
 above the vulgar are particularly exposed to the obser- 
 vations of the idle and malicious. I spent then the 
 whole winter at Pisa, without experiencing any other 
 consolation than that which I derived from frequently 
 receiving the letters of my inestimable friend. My 
 time was v wholly occupied in attending to my horses, 
 for I never opened a book of any kind, not even those 
 which had been the inseparable companions of my 
 travels. Oppressed by lassitude at those hours when I 
 could neither mount my horse nor play the coachman, I 
 endeavored to take up a book, and especially in bed on 
 awakening in the morning. In this way I read through 
 the letters of the younger Pliny, in which I was equally 
 delighted with the elegance of the style, as with the 
 knowledge they displayed of the manners of the Romans. 
 I discovered also throughout the work indications of an 
 upright mind, and of a character at once amiable and 
 exalted. I next entered on the perusal of the Pan- 
 egyric of Trajan, a work which I knew only by name. 
 After reading a few pages, finding no internal evidence 
 of its having been written by the author of the letters, 
 and still less by the supposed friend of Tacitus, I ex- 
 perienced an emotion of indignation, and immediately 
 threw the book aside, and, seating myself, I seized my 
 pen in a rage, exclaiming in an audible voice, a My 
 dear Pliny, hadst thou been in reality the friend, the 
 rival and admirer of Tacitus, thus wouldst thou have 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 285 
 
 spoken of Trajan " ; and without thought or reflection, 
 1 immediately wrote down, like a fool, whatever flowed 
 from my pen, till I had filled four large pages of paper 
 in my usual small hand. At length, wearied, and re- 
 covering from my paroxysm of enthusiasm, I laid down 
 my pen, and during the remainder of the day thought 
 no more on the subject. On the following morning I 
 again took up my Pliny, with the view of continuing 
 the perusal of his panegyric, but after reading a few 
 pages, I threw it aside as before, and again taking up 
 what I had written, felt myself highly pleased with it, 
 and more inspired than on the preceding day. I ar- 
 ranged and distributed my subject as well as I could, 
 and continued without intermission to write every 
 morning successively as much as was admissible with 
 the weakness of my sight, which usually became cloudy 
 after two hours' incessant labor. I reflected, however, 
 on it during the rest of the day, as I generally do 
 when I find myself seized with the mania of writing on 
 any particular subject. It occupied me five mornings, 
 from the 13th to the 17th of March, and I made very 
 few alterations in the original manuscript while it 
 was at press. 
 
 This work so completely riveted my attention as 
 greatly to mitigate my mental sufferings. I then be- 
 came convinced by experience, that in order to enable 
 me to bear up against, and finally to overcome the 
 grief with which my heart was oppressed, it was neces- 
 sary to rouse and occupy myself by some literary pursuit : 
 but as my mind never proved subservient to the control of 
 my will, I could not have combined two ideas together, 
 however much I might have been disposed to write a 
 panegyric on Trajan, till I felt the necessary impulse. 
 Thus, in order to occupy my mind, and beguile my 
 
286 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sorrow, I sought the means of doing violence; to my 
 inclinations, by entering on some work which required 
 patience. Again taking up Sallust, which I had trans- 
 lated ten years before, with a view to exercise my mind, 
 I recopied it with the Latin text before me and seri- 
 ously set about correcting it, in the hope of rendering 
 it more perfect. As my mind, however, was incapable 
 of regular and steady application, I made little progress 
 in this undertaking. I perceived, on the contrary, that 
 during the delirium of a preoccupied and wounded 
 mind, it is much easier to conceive and imagine a short 
 and impassioned work, than to sit down calmly to 
 polish what we have already composed. While the 
 mind is engaged in the work of correction, it readily 
 wanders to other subjects ; but invention is like a 
 fever, during the access of which the mind is so com- 
 pletely abstracted as to be insensible to everything 
 else. Quitting Sallust, therefore, and putting him 
 aside, to be resumed at a more auspicious period, I 
 continued my Essays on Government and Literature, 
 the plan of which I had sketched some years before at 
 Florence. I wrote the whole of the first book, and 
 two or three chapters of the second. 
 
 When I published the preceding summer, on my 
 return from England, the third volume of my tragedies, 
 I transmitted copies of it to several of the learned men 
 of Italy, and among others to Cesarotti, whom I en- 
 treated at the same time to give me his opinion respect- 
 ing the style, composition, and conduct of the work. 
 In consequence of this request, I received from him in 
 April a letter, interspersed with critical remarks on the 
 tragedies in question. I wrote him a short answer in 
 return, subjoining a fow notes to his observations, 
 which might easily have been confuted, and entreating 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 287 
 
 him to point out, or to furnish me himself, with some 
 model for dramatic composition. I must here observe, 
 that Cesarotti, who has conceived and executed with 
 so much ability his sublime version of Ossian, when I 
 requested him, two years before, to point out to me 
 some model for colloquial blank verse, mentioned his 
 own translations from the French, such as the Semira- 
 mis and Mahomet of Voltaire, which had been pub- 
 lished long before, and virtually proposed them as 
 suited to answer my purpose. As these translations 
 are in the hands of every one, it would be superfluous 
 here to add any reflections on this subject. Every one 
 may compare his tragic works with mine, and form 
 their own judgment : they may also compare the epic 
 poetry of this author in his Ossian, and judge whether 
 it bears characteristic marks of a similar origin. This 
 fact will serve, however, to demonstrate what a mis- 
 erable being is man, and especially an author, we 
 have hands, a palette, and pencil, to delineate others, 
 but possess not a mirror to recognize ourselves. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 MY fair friend set out from Bologna in April, and took 
 the road to Paris. She could not have made a more ap- 
 propriate choice for a permanent residence than France, 
 where she had numerous relatives and friends. She re- 
 mained at Paris till the latter end of August, when she 
 returned to Alsace, and occupied the same country-house 
 where I visited her the preceding year. As for myself, 
 I set out early in September, arid, transported with the 
 most lively joy, crossed the Tyrolese Alps. The loss 
 of my friend Gandelliui, and the resolution my fair friend 
 had taken to abandon Italy, determined me to quit it 
 
288 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 likewise. Though it was neither consonant to my 
 wishes, nor consistent with propriety, that we should 
 inhabit the same dwelling, I was yet solicitous to fix 
 my residence as near to her as possible, or at least that 
 the Alps should not intervene between us. I then put 
 all my cavalry in motion, which safely arrived a month 
 after me in Alsace, where I found everything I pos- 
 sessed, excepting my books, of which I had left the 
 greatest part behind me at Rome. The happiness 
 which resulted from this second meeting continued only 
 two months, as my friend found herself under the neces- 
 sity of spending the winter at Paris. I attended her as 
 far as Strasburg, where for the third time I was com- 
 pelled to tear myself from her society. While she pur- 
 sued her route, I returned to my former residence. 
 Though deeply afflicted at our separation, yet my sor- 
 row was not so extreme as that I had formerly experi- 
 enced on similar occasions, because I was now nearer, 
 and could visit her without obstacle or dread of injuring 
 her. Besides, my mind anticipated the pleasure of her 
 rejoining me during the following summer. These 
 hopes infused a balm into my wounded mind, and light- 
 ened it so effectually, that I once more resigned myself 
 to the influence of the Muses. During this winter I 
 performed more literary labor than I had ever done 
 before within so short a period. The abstraction of my 
 mind, uninterrupted by dissipation and chagrin, appeared 
 at once to shorten and multiply the hours. Immediately 
 on fixing myself in my retirement, I commenced the de- 
 velopment of Agis, which I had previously sketched 
 during the last December at Pisa ; but having become 
 disgusted with it, which never occurs to me when I 
 originate an idea myself, I had thrown it aside. I now, 
 ho we ver,Jiappily finished it, as well as Sophonisba and 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 289 
 
 Myrrha. In January I likewise completed the second 
 and third part of the Essays on Government and Liter- 
 ature. At this time I also devised and composed a dia- 
 logue to the ever-cherished memory of my inestimable 
 friend Gandellini, an homage which I severely re- 
 proached myself for having so long neglected. I more- 
 over conceived and versified the lyric part of the melo- 
 drama of Abel, a species of composition respecting which 
 I shall speak hereafter, if health and opportunity be 
 allowed me to execute what I propose. Having re- 
 turned to the composition of verse, I finished my little 
 poem without farther interruption. I besides revised 
 and corrected the three other cantos, which, as before 
 mentioned, I had written in detached portions during 
 the last ten years, as may be inferred by a want of uni- 
 formity in the poem itself; a fault seldom discoverable 
 among those with which my other productions abound. 
 I had scarcely finished this poem, when I received a 
 letter from my fair friend, whose correspondence always 
 gave me ineffable delight, in which she casually informed 
 me that she had been lately present at the representa- 
 tion of the Brutus of Voltaire, which afforded her the 
 highest gratification. I had myself seen it nearly ten 
 years before, but I remembered little or nothing of the 
 piece. I instantly felt myself inspired with a principle 
 of emulation, and mentally ejaculated : u The Brutus ! 
 the Brutus of Voltaire ! I will also compose a Brutus, 
 but instead of one I shall introduce two ; and it will be 
 seen whether I be not equally qualified to write on such 
 a subject as a French plebeian, who during seventy 
 years subscribed himself l Voltaire, Gentleman in ordi- 
 nary to the king/ " I said riot a word of my intention 
 to any one, not even to my friend when replying to her 
 letter, but instantly conceived my two Brutuses, such 
 
290 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 as they afterwards appeared. In this way was I led 
 to break through the resolution I had taken not to 
 write another tragedy, and from twelve they at length 
 amounted to nineteen. Upon this Brutus, I renewed 
 to Apollo the solemn oath which I had formerly taken, 
 and which assuredly I shall never break, having for my 
 guaranties the years which have rolled over my head, 
 and so many things still left to execute, if health and 
 opportunity are allowed me to perform them. 
 
 I passed five or six months in the country in a state 
 of almost uninterrupted abstraction. It was my regular 
 custom, as soon as I rose in the morning, to write long 
 letters of five or six pages to my female Mend ; and 
 afterwards to pursue my literary avocations, which wero 
 for the most part protracted till two or three in the 
 afternoon. Lastly, I went out and took an airing for 
 two hours, either on horseback or in my carriage. As 
 my mind was continually engaged, either in poetizing, 
 thinking on the mistress of my affections, or on some- 
 thing else, I derived little advantage from these excur- 
 sions, which, instead of amusing and relieving my mind, 
 served still farther to fatigue and exhaust it. This 
 mode of life brought on a violent attack of the gout, 
 which, for the first time, confined me to my bed, and 
 subjected me, during fifteen days, to the most excruci- 
 ating sufferings. Thus were my literary pursuits, w T hich 
 I had resumed with so much ardor, disagreeably inter- 
 rupted. Unquestionably, I should never have been able 
 to support the recluse and studious life I led, had it not 
 been for my horses, which induced me to take both air 
 and exercise. Such occasional excursions, however, 
 would have been insufficient to counteract the bad ef- 
 fects of such unremitting mental exertions ; and if the 
 gout had not afforded me a seasonable respite, by forcing 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 291 
 
 me to suspend my labors, I might probably have either 
 become insane, or sunk through mere weakness, as both 
 appetite and sleep had in a great measure forsaken me. 
 Through the influence of repose and a proper regimen, 
 my health, however, became again restored about the 
 month of May. Some circumstances having occurred 
 to prevent my fair friend returning to the country, whose 
 presence was my only worldly consolation, I fell into a 
 profound melancholy, which so clouded my understand- 
 ing as to render me nearly incapable of engaging in any 
 literary pursuit till towards the end of August, when, 
 on the arrival of my friend, all my evils suddenly took 
 to flight and disappeared. As soon as my health was 
 re-established, I forgot the sorrows produced by her 
 absence, which fortunately was the last. Resuming 
 again my dramatic occupations, I pursued them with 
 such ardor that, about the middle of December, when 
 we departed for Paris, I had finished the versification 
 of Agis, Sophonisba, and Myrrha. I had also devel- 
 oped the two Brutuses, and written my first satire, a 
 species of composition in which I had not succeeded 
 nine years before at Florence. At that period, being 
 equally ignorant of language, and the construction of 
 rhyme, I had abandoned the idea. The presence of my 
 fair friend inspired me, however, with sufficient courage 
 again to make the attempt, and it seemed to me, if I 
 could not attain the goal, I ought at least to enter the 
 lists. Before departing for Paris, I also reviewed my 
 other poetical works, the greatest part of which I had 
 before polished ; these I found had swelled to a consid- 
 erable, perhaps too considerable a number. 
 
292 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 XVII. 
 
 AFTER an uninterrupted stay of fourteen months in 
 Alsace, I set out, in company with my fair friend, for 
 Paris. This country, which had always proved ex- 
 tremely disagreeable to me, as much on account of my 
 own character, as the manners of the people, now ap- 
 peared a perfect elysium, since I inhabited it with the 
 mistress of my affections. Uncertain, however, whether 
 my stay would he long, I left my favorite horses in 
 Alsace, only carrying along with me my manuscripts 
 and a few books. After having breathed, for so long 
 a period, the free air of the country, I found the noise 
 and stench of this immense capital almost insupportable. 
 The distance of my dwelling from that of my cherished 
 friend, though agreed on between us, as well as various 
 other circumstances, proved so extremely irksome to 
 me, that I would instantly have quitted this modern 
 Babylon, had I lived, for myself alone. In a short 
 time, however, I endeavored to reconcile myself to sad 
 necessity, and to derive all the advantage from my 
 situation that was possible. None of the literati in 
 Paris were, however, sufficiently acquainted with the 
 Italian language to afford me any assistance with re- 
 spect to style or versification. As to what related to 
 the dramatic art in general, in which the French ex- 
 clusively arrogate to themselves the first rank, as the 
 principles on which their tragedies are composed were 
 dissimilar from mine, I must have possessed a great 
 deal of apathy to listen to their magisterial dogmas, 
 which are in a great measure just, but which are never 
 executed by those who promulgate them. As I was not 
 of a disputatious or wrangling turn of mind, I listened 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEKI. 293 
 
 to every one, without, however, acquiescing in what 
 was said, by which means I acquired the sublime art 
 of being silent. This six months' stay at Paris was of 
 great use to me, at least in point of health. 
 
 About the middle of June we returned to our coun- 
 try residence in Alsace. I had already versified the 
 elder Brutus, and by a laughable accident had been 
 forced to resketch Sophonisba. When at Paris, I 
 wished to read this tragedy to a French gentleman 
 with whom I had been acquainted at Turin, and whom 
 I regarded as an enlightened dramatic critic. It was 
 to him I had submitted my Filippo in French prose, 
 when he induced me to transpose the scene of the 
 council from the fourth act, where it did not aid the 
 progress of the action, to the third, where it now stands. 
 In reading my Sophonisba to such a competent judge, 
 I endeavored to ascertain by his countenance, rather 
 than by his words, the opinion he had formed of this 
 piece. He listened to it without knitting his brows ; 
 but I, who had read it before, was seized as I reached 
 the middle of the second act with a depression of spirits, 
 which augmented so much that I could not finish the 
 third. Impelled by an irresistible impulse, I took hold 
 of the manuscript, and threw it into the fire before which 
 we were seated. It seemed to me as if this fire had been 
 purposely lighted to induce me to execute so severe and 
 prompt an act of justice. My companion, astonished 
 at such a strange and unexpected occurrence, for I had 
 not uttered a syllable which could lead him to suspect 
 my design, endeavored to save my tragedy from the 
 flames, but grasping the tongs in my blind rage I 
 pushed poor Sophonisba between the two or three 
 fagots of wood which burnt in the grate, so that it 
 was impossible to rescue it. I quitted not my instru- 
 
294 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 inent till I was satisfied the whole was consumed. 
 This paroxysm of frenzy was similar to that I ex- 
 perienced when I assaulted iny poor Elias at. Madrid. 
 I blushed not, however, so much on the present oc- 
 casion, and on the whole it was followed with rather 
 beneficial consequences. It confirmed the opinion I 
 had before entertained respecting the subject of this 
 tragedy : it is truly shocking, exhibiting at once a false 
 tragic character, which it is impossible to preserve 
 throughout. I resolved to think of it no more ; but the 
 resolutions of a poet are like maternal anger. A few 
 months afterwards, the original sketch of the unfortu- 
 nate Sophonisba, thus sacrificed, fell into my hands. 
 I read it over, and found something to commend : 
 hence I was induced once more to attempt its versifica- 
 tion, to abridge it, and endeavor by the excellence of 
 the style to supply, or at least conceal, the inherent 
 faults of the subject. Though I was then as now fully 
 persuaded that it could never be rendered a tragedy of 
 the first order, I had not the courage to relinquish it, 
 because it was the only subject which could enable me 
 to portray the grand and heroic sentiments of the Ro- 
 mans and Carthaginians. I am even proud of some 
 scenes in this feeble tragedy. 
 
 At this period it appeared to me that a complete 
 edition of my tragedies was much wanted, and I de- 
 termined to avail myself of my present residence in 
 Paris to commence this undertaking, resolved to spare 
 neither expense nor fatigue to render it perfect, arid 
 worthy of public patronage. 
 
 In May, 1787, the first volume of my tragedies was put 
 to press : this was only intended to serve as a kind of 
 mutual pledge, since I was to return to Alsace in June, 
 where it was my intention to remain till the following 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 295 
 
 winter ; consequently the impression could not be got 
 forward, though arrangements had been made for 
 transmitting the proofs weekly to me for correction, 
 Thus I pledged myself to revisit in the winter this 
 country, to which I had always the greatest repug- 
 nance. I took care that love and glory should impel 
 me forward. I left with Didot the manuscripts of the 
 preliminary dissertations, and of the three first trage- 
 dies, which I absurdly conceived could receive no 
 farther polish or improvement; but no sooner had 
 some of the sheets been printed, than I perceived how 
 grossly I had deceived myself. 
 
 My love of tranquillity, the delightful situation of 
 my country-house, the society of my cherished friend, 
 with whom I now constantly resided, my books, my 
 favorite horses, all these objects made me eagerly 
 hasten back to Alsace. The pleasure I hoped to derive 
 from this excursion was also greatly heightened by my 
 friend Caluso having promised to spend the summer 
 with us. He was the best and most worthy man I 
 ever knew, and the only friend who remained to me 
 since the death of Gandellini. Some weeks after our 
 arrival in Alsace, my fair friend and I set out express 
 for Geneva to meet the good Abbe, intending to return 
 with him by the way of Switzerland to our country- 
 house near Colmar, where I found united everything 
 which could render existence desirable. 
 
 The want of an enlightened friend, for the last two 
 years, who could converse in Italian and on Italian 
 literature, had proved extremely injurious to me, 
 especially in regard to the art of versification. It is 
 certain that if Voltaire and Rousseau, who have ac- 
 quired so much renown in France, had wandered during 
 the greatest part of their lives in countries where dif- 
 
296 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ferent languages were spoken, and where they could 
 find no one to converse with in their own, they would 
 not have had the perseverance and steadiness to write 
 from the mere love of literature, or for their own satis- 
 faction, as I have done, and still continue to do, though 
 compelled to associate with barbarians. 
 
 We can justly apply to the rest of Europe, and even 
 to a great part of Italy itself, this denomination respect- 
 ing everything which relates to Italian literature. If 
 we write pure Italian, and attempt to compose verses 
 in imitation of the style of Petrarch and Dante, we 
 may well inquire if there is one man in Italy who could 
 understand and relish these divine authors. To say 
 one in a thousand would be too many. Being, how- 
 ever, an enthusiastic admirer of the sublime and beau- 
 tiful, which I take every opportunity to proclaim, I 
 would rather compose in a language which may be 
 almost termed dead, and for a people nearly extinct. 
 I would rather, I affirm, be unknown to my contempo- 
 raries than write in the harsh and unharmonious French 
 and English, though their cannons and their armies 
 have rendered these languages fashionable. I would 
 rather be the author of ten good Italian verses, even 
 with the certainty of seeing them despised and neglected 
 for the moment, than write in either English, French, 
 or any similar jargon, the merit of which consists solely 
 in the powers of the speaker, though assured that my 
 productions would be everywhere read, admired, and 
 applauded. There is a great difference to our own 
 ears in sounding* a fine-toned lyre, even when no one 
 is present to listen, and blowing a detestable French 
 horn, however much an ignorant audience might ap- 
 plaud the performance. 
 
 I frequently vented my indignation in a similar 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 297 
 
 strain to the worthy Abbe, which never failed to tran- 
 quillize my mind. The happiness, which was to me 
 equally new as delightful, of passing my days with two 
 worthy and dearly cherished beings, did not long con- 
 tinue. An accident happened to my friend, which 
 soon disturbed our repose. One day, when riding to- 
 gether, he fell from his horse, and dislocated his wrist. 
 At first I believed he had fractured his arm, or even 
 sustained a greater injury, which agitated me very 
 much ; but very soon I had not to lament for my friend 
 alone. In two days I was myself attacked with a vio- 
 lent and obstinate dysentery, the progress of which was 
 so rapid that in fifteen days I was reduced to the last 
 extremity. It was not accompanied with fever, but I 
 was so much exhausted, and my natural heat so greatly 
 diminished, that the fomentations of aromatized wine, 
 which were applied to my stomach and bowels, in 
 order to impart some degree of activity to those weak- 
 ened organs, though so extremely hot as to take off 
 my skin, as well as that from the hands of the domes- 
 tics, nevertheless conveyed to me such a sensation of 
 cold as proved extremely disagreeable. My vitality 
 seemed completely extinguished, except in my head, 
 which, though weak, was perfectly clear. At the end 
 of fifteen days my malady began to abate, and gradu- 
 ally diminished till the thirtieth. In six weeks I was 
 convalescent, but reduced to a perfect skeleton, and so 
 extremely feeble, that during fourteen weeks I was 
 obliged to be lifted into another bed while my own was 
 adjusted. I truly despaired of my recovery : I shud- 
 dered at the idea of death : I could not think with 
 calmness on leaving my two worthy friends, and re- 
 linquishing that fame, which for ten years I had toiled 
 to obtain, and the dawn of which I had just begun to 
 
298 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 perceive. I was fully conscious that none of my works 
 were so perfect as I could have rendered them had 
 more time heen allowed me. On the other hand, I con- 
 soled myself with the reflection that since I must leave 
 this world I should die without having become a slave, 
 and that two persons who were the most dear to me, 
 and whose esteem and friendship I flattered myself I 
 had merited, would watch over my last moments, and, 
 in short, that I should quit life without having expe- 
 rienced any of those moral and physical evils which 
 accompany old age. 
 
 Fate, however, spared my life, and my tragedies re- 
 ceived the last polish from my own hands. I shall be 
 sufficiently compensated for all my labor if they pre- 
 serve my name from being consigned to oblivion. 
 
 My health, as I have already said, became re-estab- 
 lished, but my head continued so weak that I was 
 unable to bestow on the proofs of the three first trage- 
 dies, which passed successively through my hands in 
 the space of four months, the tenth part of those cor- 
 rections which I might otherwise have made in them. 
 This was the reason why two years afterwards, when 
 the edition was completed, I reprinted them. My 
 only object in taking such a step was a desire to do 
 justice to the dramatic art, and perhaps to secure my 
 own reputation. There are certainly very few individ- 
 uals who could understand or attend to the various 
 alterations I made in them with respect to style ; 
 changes which, taken singly, appear extremely trifling, 
 but which, in the aggregate, are more important than 
 is generally conceived. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 299 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 MY health was somewhat re-established, when the 
 worthy Abbe, who was perfectly recovered from his 
 accident, and who had some literary occupations at 
 Turin, where he was secretary to the Academy of Sci- 
 ences, proposed to take a journey to Strasburg, before 
 departing for Italy. Though still feeble, I was anx- 
 ious to accompany him, in order to prolong the satisfac- 
 tion I felt in his society ; and we accordingly set out, 
 accompanied by my fair friend, on this excursion, in 
 the month of October. We proceeded to view the 
 magnificent printing-press belonging to M. de Beau- 
 marchais at Kehl, and Baskerville's types, which were 
 to be employed in printing a complete edition of Vol- 
 taire's works. The beauty of these characters, the 
 accuracy of the workmen, the intimacy which had 
 subsisted between me and M. de Beaumarchais at 
 Paris, all rendered me anxious to engage him to print 
 the whole of my works, except my dramatic produc- 
 tions, and which would have experienced many 
 obstacles from the censors then existing in France, 
 whose cavilling and delays were extremely vexatious. 
 I always felt the greatest reluctance in submitting to 
 the revision which preceded the .printing. I neither 
 desire nor expect to be suffered to print everything, but 
 I have in this respect adopted the laws of England, 
 which I will hold by. I never composed any work 
 which I could not have published with the greatest 
 freedom in that country, without any blame being at- 
 tached either to the author or printer. Complete free- 
 dom of opinion, a profound respect for the laws, and an 
 anxious wish not to injure any individual: such have 
 always been the rules I prescribed to myself. 
 
300 * MEMOIRS OF 
 
 After having obtained from Beaumarchais permission 
 to employ his printing-press, I took advantage of my 
 present excursion to leave the manuscript of my five 
 Odes on American Independence, which, being a small 
 work, I intended should serve as a specimen. The 
 impression was so beautiful and so accurate that dur- 
 ing the two succeeding years I printed at this press all 
 my other works which I have published or intend to 
 publish. 
 
 From Strasburg we returned to Colmar, and a few 
 days afterwards, towards the end of October, my wor- 
 thy friend departed for Turin, leaving me full of regret 
 for his absence, and anxious again to enjoy his society. 
 We remained the whole of November, and part of 
 December, in the country. During this period my 
 strength became gradually recruited, and I employed 
 myself in versifying the second Brutus, which I could 
 correct and polish at leisure, as it was intended to be 
 the last piece in the collection. 
 
 I arrived in Paris, where I had agreed to take up 
 my residence. Here I was so fortunate as to find a 
 very pleasant and quiet residence in the Faubourg 
 Saint Germain, at the termination of Mont Parnasse. 
 The situation was beautiful, the view picturesque, 
 and the air excellent. We here enjoyed all the soli- 
 tude of the country. It seemed to me as if I were 
 once more in Rome, at the Baths of Diocletian. I had 
 presented my fair friend with the half of my horses, not 
 only because she was in want of them, but in order to 
 free myself from the expense and trouble they oc- 
 casioned me j the other half I transported, not without 
 considerable difficulty, to Paris. Once settled, I busied 
 myself in tlie fatiguing and disagreeable business of 
 correcting the press, which occupied me during three 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 301 
 
 whole years. In February, 1783, iny friend received 
 information from Rome of the death of her husband, 
 where he had resided for two years. Although an ill- 
 ness under which he had labored for several months 
 might have prepared her for this event ; though she 
 was left a widow, and absolute mistress of herself; 
 though she had lost in him only a tyrant, and not a 
 friend, I was an eyewitness to the surprise and grief 
 which she testified on this occasion, and which was 
 neither feigned nor exaggerated ; never could dissimu- 
 lation find entrance into a heart so noble and pure as 
 hers. Unquestionably, her husband, notwithstanding 
 the great disparity of their years, might have found in 
 her a valuable companion, and if not a woman who 
 loved him, at least a true friend, had he not disgusted 
 and persecuted her by his harsh and brutal manners. 
 I must here bear testimony to the truth. 
 
 It was at this period that the panegyric I had written 
 in 1787 fell in my Avay. I found in it much to correct, 
 which I immediately set about, being anxious that it 
 should proceed from the press of Didot, as I wished all 
 my works to be well printed. I added to it an ode on 
 the destruction of the Bastile, which I had composed, 
 having been an eyewitness of the commencement of 
 the troubles in Paris ; and I terminated this volume 
 by a little apologue applicable to existing circum- 
 stances. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 DURING the month of April, 1789, I lived in per- 
 petual disquiet ; I dreaded every moment lest the 
 public tumults, which occurred at Paiis since the 
 convocation of the states-general, might prevent me 
 from completing the impression of my works, and that, 
 
302 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 after all my labor, toil, and expense, I should suffer 
 shipwreck when almost in sight of a haven to shelter 
 my weather-beaten bark. I hurried on the execution 
 of the work as much as possible, but Didot's. workmen 
 did not co-operate with my exertions : they were so 
 completely absorbed in politics, that they spent whole 
 days in reading newspapers, instead of proceeding with 
 the printing of my book. I thought they were all 
 mad : my joy, therefore, may be readily conceived, 
 when the day at length arrived on whicli my tragedies 
 were packed up, and forwarded to Italy and other 
 countries. My satisfaction, however, was not of long 
 duration; things proceeded from bad to worse: the 
 public safety and tranquillity diminished every day, 
 while in a proportionate degree uncertainty, and the 
 most ominous presages of the future, became aug- 
 mented. When individuals, like my fair friend and 
 I, are surrounded by monkeys, and have to do with 
 them, it is impossible to remain at ease, since it cannot 
 be affirmed that the desire of doing mischief may not 
 seize them. 
 
 During one year I saw and witnessed in silence the 
 progress of the deplorable effects resulting from the 
 learned ignorance of this nation, which can copiously 
 prattle on every subject, but which will never ultimately 
 succeed in anything, because it understands not the 
 practical mode of managing mankind, as our political 
 prophet Machiavel long ago remarked. My heart was 
 torn asunder on beholding the holy and sublime cause 
 of liberty betrayed by self-called philosophers, so 
 much did I revolt at witnessing their ignorance, their 
 folly, and their crimes ; at beholding the military power, 
 and the insolence and licentiousness of the civilians stu- 
 pidly made the basis of what they termed political lib- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 303 
 
 erty, that I henceforth desired nothing more ardently 
 than to leave a country which, like a lunatic hospital, 
 contained only fools or incurahles. I should have then 
 left it without delay, if my better half had not been 
 detained by unfortunate circumstances. 
 
 Rendered almost stupid by the continual doubts and 
 fears which I had experienced since the impression of 
 my tragedies, I led a life of gloomy despondency, and 
 might rather be said to vegetate than to live. My 
 mind had become so torpid and inactive by having so 
 long been occupied with correcting and other concerns 
 of the printing-press, that I was rendered almost 
 incapable of any dignified or laudable pursuit. I 
 daily, however, received information from all quarters, 
 to which my dramatic works had been forwarded, that 
 they sold well, and gave general satisfaction : but as 
 I only received this intelligence from individuals 
 who were my friends, or were benevolently disposed 
 towards me, I did not place such implicit reliance on 
 it as to abandon myself to that joy which I otherwise 
 should have felt on the occasion. In short, I resolved 
 equally to disregard praise and censure, unless sup- 
 ported by correct and impartial reasoning. But 
 though I anxiously, and on every occasion, invited 
 philosophic criticism, which would have proved not 
 less beneficial to my productions than to the dramatic 
 art in general, I never could obtain it. I regarded 
 anything else as unworthy of notice : I knew before- 
 hand what would be said; nevertheless, I spared 
 neither attention nor time to render my pieces as 
 perfect as possible. My memory may, perhaps, be 
 more honored, since, though undeceived in regard to 
 all my expectations, I yet persevered in endeavoring 
 to write well, rather than to write quickly, and 
 
304 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 because I have never yielded up my opinions but to 
 the omnipotence of truth alone. 
 
 With regard to my different works printed at Kehl, 
 I wished only at the time to publish that on American 
 Independence, and on Departed Virtue, reserving the 
 others for a less disastrous period. I was anxious that 
 no one should accuse me, of what I certainly did not 
 deserve, leaguing myself with villains, by promulgat- 
 ing similar doctrines, which, however, they neither 
 understood, nor were capable of putting in practice. 
 Notwithstanding this resolution, I was inclined to 
 print them, because, as I have already stated, a favor- 
 able opportunity offered for this purpose, and because 
 I was convinced that the posthumous works of any 
 author are extremely different from those printed dur- 
 ing his lifetime. No work can be pronounced finished 
 till it has received the last corrections of the author 
 in going through the press. This, indeed, will not 
 render a production perfect, as may too frequently be 
 observed, but at least it cannot be so without it. 
 
 I here terminate this biographical sketch at Paris, 
 on the 27th of May, 1790, at the age of forty-one 
 years and a few months. The sorrowful presenti- 
 ments with which I was overwhelmed, the state of 
 torpid inactivity into which I had fallen, as well as the 
 consciousness, which I do not hesitate to avow, of not 
 having altogether lived in vain, during the last four- 
 teen years of my life, were among the principal causes 
 which induced me to undertake it. I am determined 
 not to read over again this trifling production till my 
 sixtieth year, if I shall ever reach it, at which period 
 I must certainly have terminated my literary career. 
 Then I shall revise it with all the apathy natural to 
 senescence, and superadd to it the details of my pur- 
 
V1TTORIO ALFIERL 305 
 
 suits during the ten or fifteen years following. If I 
 succeed in two or three different kinds of literary com- 
 position, in which I propose to try my last strength, I 
 shall subjoin an account of these labors to the epoch 
 of my riper years ; while, on the contrary, should the 
 subsequent years of my life prove altogether sterile, I 
 shall commence, on resuming my general narrative, 
 with the fifth period, my old age and second child- 
 hood. If I still then retain sufficient reason and judg- 
 ment, it must be necessarily very brief, as being in 
 every respect void of utility. 
 
 If, however, as is most probable, I should die in the 
 interval, I entreat all those who may take an interest 
 in my concerns, and into whose hands this production 
 may fall, to make what use of it they think proper. 
 Should they publish it in its present state, I flatter 
 myself they will discover throughout at the same time 
 indications of candor and of precipitation, which I 
 trust may lead them to palliate any faults in the style. 
 Nothing farther will be necessary to complete my biog- 
 raphy, than for my friends to subjoin an account of 
 the time, place, and manner of my death. With re- 
 gard to the state of my mind at this juncture, they 
 may boldly assure the reader, in my name, that I 
 have but too feelingly experienced the vanity and 
 deceit of this world, and that I feel no other pang in 
 quitting it, except that which is inseparably associated 
 with the idea of separating from my fair and inestima- 
 ble friend : and as, during the remainder of my days, 
 I value existence for her sake alone, I am neither agi- 
 tated nor appalled by any other reflection than that of 
 losing her. I ask from Heaven only one boon, that 
 I may be the first to quit this vale of tears. If, how- 
 ever, the friends into whose hands these manuscripts 
 
306 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 may fall should think it necessary to commit them to 
 the flames, they are at liberty to do so. I merely 
 supplicate, should they be disposed to publish these 
 memoirs, that however they may think proper to 
 abridge, or alter them, with respect to style, they will 
 neither amplify nor retrench, nor suppress any of the 
 facts I have detailed. If, in composing this biograph- 
 ical sketch, my first object had not been to depict 
 myself such as I really am, and to exhibit myself 
 without disguise to those few who may wish to be 
 made acquainted with my character, I should doubt- 
 less have compressed the account of these forty-one 
 years of my life, and with a studied brevity arid dis- 
 sembled pride, not unworthy of Tacitus, reduced them 
 to three or four pages at most. But I chose rather 
 to portray the features of my character than to dis- 
 play my wit and genius as a writer. Whatever little 
 ability I may possess, I have bestowed on my other 
 productions, while in these memoirs I wished merely 
 to lay open my heart, and, like an egotistical old man, 
 to descant on myself, and consequently on man, such 
 as he, really is when undisguised, and without a 
 mask. 
 
 XX. 
 
 NOTE. My first occupation, on finally settling at Florence, 
 was the perusal of the biographical sketch I had written at 
 Paris thirteen years before, the style of which I now endeavored 
 to improve and render more easy and harmonious. Being thus 
 recalled to the contemplation of myself, I was induced to give 
 an account of my literary productions during this intervening 
 period, as some of them appeared to me not wholly devoid of 
 interest. As my physical and moral faculties proportionally 
 decline as I descend into the vale of years ; as, moreover, it is 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 307 
 
 highly probable that my literary career is forever closed, this 
 second part, which will be much shorter than the first, will also, 
 I flatter myself, be the last. Having now nearly completed my 
 eleventh lustrum, and no longer possessing either the mental 
 or corporeal vigor necessary to literary composition, I could 
 have indeed little to add to the account already given. 
 
 WHILE I led, as I have already said, an uneasy and 
 indolent life at Paris, though I contemplated many pro- 
 jects, yet I found myself incapable of executing any 
 of them. In the month of June, 1790, I undertook, 
 for the sake of amusement, to translate some detached 
 portions of the ^Erieid. The pieces I selected on this 
 occasion were those from the perusal of which I had 
 derived the highest gratification. On finding that this 
 occupation proved to me no less useful than agreeable, 
 I entered on the first book. What, moreover, stim- 
 ulated me to this undertaking was the dread of losing 
 the habit I had acquired of composing blank verse. 
 As, however, I became weary of this monotonous em- 
 ployment, in order to diversify my pursuits, I undertook 
 also the translation of Terence. The study of so ex- 
 cellent a model would, I trusted, enable rne at a sub- 
 sequent period to write comedies, and facilitate my 
 acquisition of a style in this species of dramatic writing, 
 not less original than that which I had formerly em- 
 ployed in the composition of tragedies. Thus I trans- 
 lated every other day alternately Virgil and Terence, 
 till I quitted Paris, towards the end of April, when I 
 had accomplished the translation of the four first books 
 of the ^Eneid, and three of Terence's comedies, the 
 Andriari, the Eunuch, and the Self- Tormentor. With 
 a view to dissipate the gloomy reflections associated in 
 my mind with passing occurrences, I directed my atten- 
 tion to the improvement of my memory, which attention 
 
308 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to the composition and printing of my works had made 
 me wholly overlook. I read over again with enthu- 
 siasm various choice pieces of Horace, Virgil, and 
 Juvenal, as well as Dante, Petrarch, Tasso, and Ariosto, 
 thus storing my mind with verse. While these occu- 
 pations rendered my imagination torpid, they deprived 
 me of the faculty of executing anything which solely 
 depended on myself. Of six melo-tragedies, which I 
 had it in contemplation to compose, I succeeded only 
 in perfecting Abel. Distracted by such various pur- 
 suits, my time, my youth, and the enthusiasm necessary 
 for such undertakings, were irretrievably lost. During 
 the last year I remained at Paris, and the two following, 
 passed in different places, I composed nothing except a 
 few epigrams and some sonnets, to which I was excited 
 by my just indignation against the slave-trade, and the 
 melancholy state of my mind. I also attempted to 
 write a mixed drama, entitled Count Ugolino, which I 
 wished to add to my melo-tragedies. But after having 
 conceived it, I did not succeed in its development. 
 Daring the month of October, 1790, I undertook, in 
 company with my fair friend, a short excursion into 
 Normandy by the way of Rouen, Caen, and Havre ; 
 this province, which I had never before seen, highly 
 gratified and soothed my mind. These three last years, 
 which were devoted to the printing of my works and 
 passed in affliction, had altogether exhausted my mental 
 and corporeal powers. Observing, during the month 
 of April, that affairs in France became every day more 
 embroiled, I determined, if possible, to seek a more 
 secure asylum elsewhere. Besides, as my fair friend 
 wished much to visit England, a country differing in so 
 many respects from every other, I determined to em- 
 brace the opportunity of accompanying her thither, and 
 we accordingly set out on this journey without delay. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 309 
 
 XXI. 
 
 WE set out on this journey towards the latter end of 
 April, 1791, and as we intended to remain for a con- 
 siderable time in England, we took with us our horses, 
 and gave up our house in Paris. We reached London 
 in a very few days. While my fair friend was highly 
 delighted w r ith this country in a variety of respects, she 
 was but little pleased with it in regard to some others. 
 As for me, to whom the country was not new, though 
 I still admired it on account of its government, this 
 admiration was not so excessive as on my two former 
 visits. The climate and mode of living w r ere also less 
 agreeable to me than on my third visit. The protracted 
 pleasures of the table, and the sitting up till two or 
 three o'clock in the morning, constituted a mode of life 
 not less unfavorable to literary pursuits than to the 
 enjoyment of mental and bodily vigor. 
 
 I soon became attacked with an irregular gout, 
 which, in this cursed island, is absolutely indigenous ; 
 and as soon as the charm of novelty was over with my 
 friend, we longed to quit England. It w T as in the month 
 of June, this year, that Louis XVI., on attempting to 
 leave his kingdom, was forced back from Varennes, and 
 more closely guarded than ever. In consequence of 
 this event, the political horizon became daily more 
 gloomy, and we felt ourselves extremely embarrassed 
 with regard to our pecuniary concerns. Each of us 
 had three fourths of our property in France, w T herc 
 specie had wholly disappeared, and paper money had 
 been issued to a vast amount to supply its place. This 
 daily fell in value, and we soon found our property in 
 consequence of this rapid depreciation reduced to almost 
 
310 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 nothing. Gloomy, and forced by imperious necessity, 
 we determined to submit to it, and, dismal as was the 
 prospect before our eyes, it behooved us to return to 
 France as the only country in which we could subsist 
 on our depreciated paper. During the month of August, 
 before quitting England, we visited Bath, Bristol, and 
 Oxford. We then returned to London, whence we set 
 out for Dover, and embarked a few days afterwards for 
 France. 
 
 While I remained at this place a romantic adventure 
 occurred to me, which I shall here briefly relate. Dur- 
 ing my third journey to England, in J783 and 1784, 1 
 neither learned nor sought to obtain any tidings re- 
 specting the lady on whose account 1 had exposed my- 
 self to so many risks. I only knew from public report 
 that she had quitted London, that her husband died 
 shortly after obtaining the divorce, and that she had 
 espoused an unknown and obscure individual. During 
 the four months which I spent in England, I never 
 heard so much as her name pronounced, and knew not 
 even if she still existed. When ready to embark, I 
 wished to go on board the packet-boat about a quarter 
 of an hour before my fair friend, in order to see if every- 
 thing was in readiness. When on the point of entering 
 it, casting my eyes towards the beach, where a great con- 
 course of people had assembled, the first object I be- 
 held was the woman of whom I had once been so deeply 
 enamored. She appeared scarcely less lovely than 
 what she had been twenty years before. At first sight 
 I thought I recognized her, but on looking more stead- 
 fastly, she cast on me a gracious smile, which convinced 
 me I was not mistaken. The emotions which were 
 excited in my mind on again beholding her, I find my- 
 self utterly incompetent to describe. I had sufficient 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 311 
 
 resolution, however, to avoid speaking to her,and, jump- 
 ing immediately into the packet-boat, did not again go 
 ashore. Within a quarter of an hour my fair friend 
 came on board, and the anchor was immediately weighed. 
 She informed me that some persons, in accompanying 
 her aboard the packet, had not only pointed out the 
 lady, but given her name, and some anecdotes of her 
 past and present modes of life. I related to my friend, 
 between whom and myself no dissimulation was ever 
 practised, the manner in which I had recognized her. 
 On landing at Calais, finding myself still affected by 
 the unexpected sight of a woman on whose account I 
 had been led to commit so many acts of extravagance, 
 I thought it incumbent on me to address her by letter, 
 which I sent under cover to a banker at Dover, re- 
 questing him to deliver it into her own hands, and to 
 forward her answer to me at Brussels, where I should 
 arrive in a few days. I am now truly grieved that I 
 did not keep a copy of this letter, which must doubtless 
 have been filled with the most impassioned sentiments. 
 These were not dictated by any latent love on my part, 
 but merely inspired by a feeling of sorrow and regret, 
 on account of her unsettled and wandering life, so little 
 suitable to her former rank and condition in society. 
 
 On our landing at Calais, we resolved, previous to 
 returning to our prison in France, to make a tour 
 through the United Provinces, as my friend wished to 
 avail herself of an opportunity which might never 
 again return, of viewing a country which exhibits so 
 conspicuous an example of the efforts of human in- 
 dustry. 
 
 We travelled along the coast as far as Bruges and 
 Ostend, and from thence proceeded by the way of Ant- 
 werp and Rotterdam to Amsterdam, the Hague, and 
 
312 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 North Holland. About the end of September we again 
 returned to Brussels, in which resided the mother and 
 sisters of my amiable friend. After spending several 
 weeks in this city, we again set out for France, in 
 which cruel circumstances compelled us to take up our 
 abode. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Two months were nearly spent before we could find 
 out a commodious house, and furnish it suitably to our 
 inclinations. Though we flattered ourselves that every 
 succeeding day would bring tranquillity and peace, yet 
 we more frequently despaired of such a desirable change. 
 During this alternate fluctuation between hope and 
 fear, my friend and I, like every one who resided in 
 Paris, led a very solitary life. The books left behind 
 at Rome in J 733 had been forwarded, according to my 
 instructions, nearly two years ago : these, with others 
 I had purchased during my residence at Paris, London, 
 and Holland, amounted to a very considerable collec- 
 tion. Thus, I possessed all that was essential to me in 
 my contracted literary sphere. In the enjoyment of my 
 books, and the society of my inestimable friend, I ex- 
 perienced every domestic consolation. My happiness 
 suffered no alloy, excepting from a dread that this state 
 of peace and tranquillity would not be permanent. This 
 idea finally took such possession of my mind as to ren- 
 der me incapable of any serious study. By way of 
 occupying myself, however, with something, I prose- 
 cuted my translation of Virgil and Terence. Neither 
 during my last nor former stay at Paris, did I ever wish 
 to associate with, or to be personally introduced to any 
 of the demagogues of the day, for whom I felt the most 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 313 
 
 invincible antipathy and the most profound con- 
 tempt. At the moment I am writing, I can boast 
 that during the fourteen years the tragic farce lasted, 
 I was uncontaminated in thought, word, or deed, 
 never having seen or held any correspondence with 
 the despots who governed, or with the slaves who 
 trammelled themselves to their cars. In the month of 
 March, this year, I received letters from my mother: 
 they were the last she ever wrote me, and expressed 
 her maternal fears for my safety, in a country, where, 
 she said, anarchy prevailed, where the exercise of the 
 Catholic religion was no longer permitted by law, and 
 in which new troubles and disorders might be expected 
 to arise. Her predictions were, alas ! too soon verified ; 
 but when I pursued my journey to Italy, this worthy 
 and excellent woman was no more. She quitted this 
 life on the 23d of April, 1792, at the age of seventy 
 years. The war between France and the Emperor of 
 Germany, which proved so disastrous in the sequel, 
 had now been declared. In the month of June at- 
 tempts were made not only to annihilate royalty itself, 
 but even the very name of king. The conspiracy hav- 
 ing failed to accomplish its object on the 20th of 
 June, things continued nearly on the same footing till 
 the ever-memorable 10th of August, when it again 
 burst forth. It will not be here improper to transcribe 
 the details which I transmitted of this affair in a letter 
 to the Abbe Caluso, written on the 14th of the same 
 month. 
 
 "PAKis, August 14, 1792. 
 
 "Mr DEAR FRIEND, The conspiracy, which had been hatch- 
 in g for so long a period, at length burst forth. During the night 
 of the 9th or 10th instant, the populace of the Faubourg Saint- 
 Antoine and the Faubourg Saint-Marceau began to assemble, 
 and take up arms ; not only all the inhabitants of the city, but 
 
314 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 even the national guards quickly followed their example, and 
 appeared drawn up in order of battle, with colors flying;, and 
 supported by artillery. This vast assemblage arrived between 
 four and five o'clock in the morning at the Palace of the Tuile- 
 ries, which was defended only by six or seven hundred Swiss, 
 and an equal number of national guards ; on the majority of 
 the latter, however, little reliance could be placed. In the cas- 
 tle were about three hundred gentlemen devoted to the king. 
 Small as this force was, the palace might have been easily de- 
 fended, had the individuals composing it made proper disposi- 
 tions, and instead of waiting for the approach of the assailants, 
 immediately advanced to attack them. I ought to add that the 
 cannoneers themselves, who were intermixed with the Swiss 
 and national guards, were suspected of disloyalty, the truth of 
 which ulterior events but too fully confirmed. Under a diifer- 
 ent monarch individuals might surely have been found who 
 would have generously sacrificed themselves to the support of 
 his cause, and thus afforded a memorable example to posterity ; 
 but under another monarch anarchy and popular tumult would 
 have been quickly stifled in the birth. Louis XVI. was cer- 
 tainly not deficient in personal courage, but it much more 
 resembled the calm fortitude of a martyr than the intrepidity 
 of a prince resolved to perish rather than subject himself to 
 degradation. While momentarily expecting an attack, a mes- 
 sage was sent him by the treacherous Assembly, and another by 
 the still more treacherous municipality. They each observed, 
 that as it was impossible to guarantee the safety of his royal 
 person in the present agitated state of the public mind, they 
 therefore invited him, and the rest of the royal family, to take 
 shelter in the bosom of the Assembly, while the communication 
 remained free by the gardens of the Tuileries. His majesty, 
 who at first appeared to acquiesce in the determination of his 
 attendants to defend him, on receiving this message suddenly 
 changed his mind, and took refuge with his family and a few 
 courtiers in the Assembly. In the mean time the faithful Swiss, 
 the cowardly and treacherous guards, with his majesty's brave 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 315 
 
 attendants, who had resolved to die in his defence, were shut 
 up as in a cage. As soon as the king departed, under a strong 
 escort of national guards, every passage leading from the palace 
 to the gardens was secured and barricaded. It is not easy to 
 ascertain whether the populace or the Swiss fired first : it 
 seems, however, highly probable that the latter would not be 
 the first to commit this act of aggression, as, besides being very 
 disadvantageously situated, their number was comparatively 
 small with that of their enemies : but on whichsoever side the 
 firing commenced, it is certain that the discharges from the 
 cannon, which the Swiss had pointed towards the invested 
 gate, made terrible havoc among the assailants, and obliged 
 them to seek their safety in flight. It appears that if the 
 Swiss and the three hundred gentlemen had immediately sallied 
 out in pursuit of them, they must either have finally overcome 
 their enemies, or fallen gloriously in the attempt ; but the 
 want of a leader and proper dispositions ruined everything. 
 The fugitives met, as they were flying in disorder and dismay, 
 a body of gendarmerie, which on the present occasion was 
 composed of old French guards, domestics, liverymen out of 
 employment, and other rabble. As all these were avowedly 
 hostile to the royal cause, they encouraged the people, and led 
 them back to the attack. In the mean time the national guards, 
 who were shut up with the Swiss, seeing the attack about to be 
 renewed with an additional force, turned against them. Thus 
 were the unfortunate Swiss, in consequence of being placed 
 between two fires, quickly put to the rout, and, flying in all 
 directions, were most of them inhumanly butchered. The car- 
 nage was dreadful, and continued during that and the following 
 day. As soon as any of them were discovered, whether in the 
 streets, or wherever concealed, they were immediately dragged 
 forth, and immolated by the infuriated rabble. Some of the 
 gentlemen, who remained in the palace, fought and died with the 
 Swiss in the courts below, while others, having opened for them- 
 selves a passage into the gardens, either succeeded in saving 
 themselves or met death in their flight. The palace, however, was 
 
316 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 not pillaged, though everything it contained was broken or de- 
 stroyed. The people slew with their own hands all whom they 
 caught in the act of pilfering, thus wishing by a show of jus- 
 tice to cover their own enormities. Throughout the whole 
 aftair, robbery appeared to be regarded as oue of the seven sins 
 not sanctioned by public opinion, while all the others merely 
 changed their appellations, and served as a basis for the ex- 
 isting system. The reason of this tumult is self-evident. The 
 seditious part of the Assembly, finding they could not secure a 
 majority to vote for the dethronement of the king, stirred up 
 the multitude to compass at once the downfall of Louis, and 
 the destruction of the monarchy. During the remainder of 
 this eventful day his majesty remained in the Assembly, and at 
 night three cells in the adjoining convent of the Feuiliaus were 
 appropriated for the accommodation of himself and his family. 
 They were suffered to remain without change of apparel : a 
 single domestic was only allowed to every two of the royal 
 family, and their table was supplied from a common tavern. 
 The few gentlemen who had attended their monarch during the 
 first and second day were dismissed from his presence by order 
 of the Assembly ; in short, such was the treatment they re- 
 ceived, that death must have appeared to them a less evil than 
 those they were doomed to suffer. The new constitution is 
 annihilated : all power, at present, virtually resides in the As- 
 sembly : these are said to be only provisional measures, which 
 I believe really to be the case, though I arn of opinion that its 
 sway will terminate in a very different manner from what is 
 generally supposed. A convention is to be convoked on the 
 20th of September." 
 
 After the occurrence of this event, my mind "became 
 wholly occupied with the idea of rescuing my fair friend 
 from the imminent dangers that threatened us on every 
 side. I lost not a moment in taking the proper meas- 
 ures to secure our flight, and on the 12th every prepara- 
 tion had been made for our departure. One difficulty, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 317 
 
 however, still remained to be overcome, that of obtain- 
 ing our passports. During two or three days I exerted 
 every effort, and at length, on the 15th, we obtained 
 them as foreigners, I from the Venetian envoy, and my 
 friend from the Danish ambassador, the only ministers 
 who had not yet quitted the court of Louis XVI., now 
 stripped of almost every vestige of royalty. But we still 
 found it more difficult to procure passports from our 
 section of Mont Blanc. It was necessary, however, 
 that individuals of every rank, whether in the situation 
 of masters or servants, should possess one, accurately 
 describing their age, stature, sex, the color of their hair, 
 eyes, etc. Furnished with these badges of slavery, we 
 fixed on Monday, the 20th of August, for our depart- 
 ure. A dread, however, lest some obstacles should 
 occur to prevent us putting our design into execution, 
 caused us to set off on the 18th, two days sooner than 
 we had originally intended. We had scarcely reached 
 the Barriere Blanche, that lay directly in our road to 
 Calais, to which place we intended to proceed, in order 
 to escape as quickly as possible from this wretched 
 country, than w r e discovered three or four national 
 guards, with an officer. After examining our pass- 
 ports they seemed disposed to open the gates of our 
 immense prison, when about thirty individuals of the 
 lowest description sallied out of a wretched inn near 
 the barrier. They were half naked, furious, and in a 
 state of intoxication. As soon as they beheld our two 
 carriages, loaded with portmanteaus and baggage of 
 every kind, with two female attendants, besides three 
 male domestics, they began to vociferate that if all 
 the rich were thus allowed to leave Paris and carry 
 oft' their wealth, they would be reduced to utter beg- 
 gary and wretchedness. On this, an altercation took 
 
318 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 place between the national guards and these miserable 
 wretches. While the former attempted to open for us 
 a passage, the latter endeavored forcibly to detain us. 
 Upon this, I immediately sprang out of iny carriage 
 into the midst of this rabble, and, fortified by my 
 seven passports, began to altercate, vociferate, and make 
 a noise like themselves, knowing by experience that 
 this was the only means to succeed with Frenchmen. 
 They were perused one after another by those among 
 them who could read. Furious, and foaming with rage, 
 I heeded not the danger which menaced us at this in- 
 stant. I tore my passport three times from their 
 hands, exclaiming aloud, u Observe ! listen ! my name 
 is Alfieri : I am an Italian by birth, and not a French- 
 man. View me attentively, and consider whether I 
 am not the identical individual whom the passports 
 describe as tall, meagre, pale, and red-haired. My 
 passport is genuine : I have obtained it from those 
 who have power to grant it. I wish to pass, and by 
 heavens I will pass." During the continuance of this 
 tumult, which lasted for about half an hour, I kept a 
 good countenance, to which circumstance, I am in- 
 clined to think, we in a great measure owed our safety. 
 In the mean time a mob had collected around us, while 
 some of the rabble vociferated, " Let us set fire to their 
 carriages"; others cried out, "Let us stone them"; 
 but the majority insisted that as we were rich, noble, 
 and meant to emigrate, we should instantly be con- 
 ducted to the Hotel de Ville, in order to be tried. In 
 short, the occasional interposition of the four national 
 guards in our favor, the incessant noise I made with 
 my stentorian voice, the open display of our passports, 
 and, above all, the continuance of the altercation for 
 at least half an hour, at length so exhausted these 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERL 319 
 
 tiger-monkeys that their opposition to our departure 
 began to abate. At this moment, on a signal being 
 given by the guards, I sprang into the carriage, where 
 I had left my fair friend, whose situation may readily 
 be conceived : the postilions mounted their horses, 
 and on the barrier being thrown open, drove off at full 
 gallop, amidst the groans, hisses, insults, and curses 
 of this infuriated rabble. It was extremely fortunate 
 that the advice of those who wished to carry us back 
 to the Hotel de Ville did not prevail ; for as our car- 
 riages were loaded with baggage, and as we travelled 
 with a considerable retinue, we certainly ran the great- 
 est risk of being taken for emigrants. Had we been 
 once carried before the municipality, instead of being 
 allowed to depart, we should most probably have been 
 sent to prison, and closed our existence, like many 
 others who were massacred, on the 2d of September, 
 fifteen days after this occurrence. 
 
 Having effected our escape from this earthly hell, 
 we travelled with all possible speed, and reached Calais 
 in two days and a half, during which we were forced 
 to produce our passports not less than forty times. I 
 afterwards discovered that we were the only foreigners 
 who had effected their escape out of the kingdom after 
 the catastrophe of the 10th of August. In every mu- 
 nicipality where it was necessary to present our pass- 
 ports, all those who cast their eyes over them evinced 
 terror and dismay. They bore the name of the king, 
 which had been afterwards erased. They were igno- 
 rant of the events which had taken place, and felt 
 appalled. 
 
 Such were the auspices under which we escaped 
 out of France, firmly resolved nevermore to enter it. 
 After arriving at Calais, we experienced no further 
 
320 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 obstruction in pursuing our journey by Gravclines to 
 the frontiers of Flanders. We had taken the road to 
 Calais, for as peace still continued with England, it 
 was less difficult to proceed in this direction than through 
 Flanders, where war had already commenced. As soon 
 as we reached Brussels, my fair friend determined, in 
 order that she might recruit her exhausted spirits, to 
 remain a month in the country with her sister and 
 worthy brother-in-law. While there, we received let- 
 ters from the domestics whom we had left behind at 
 Paris. They informed us that on Monday, the 20th 
 of August, the day fixed on for our departure, which 
 fortunately I had anticipated, the section, from which 
 we had obtained our passports, had sent to arrest my 
 amiable friend and carry her to prison. It is scarcely 
 possible to conceive an instance of more gross stupidity 
 and folly ; but her crimes were well known : she was 
 rich, noble, and of an irreproachable character. As 
 for me, who have uniformly considered myself of in- 
 ferior estimation, I was not deemed worthy of such an 
 honor. Finding they could not discover us, they im- 
 mediately confiscated our horses, furniture, books, and 
 all that we possessed, and sequestrated our revenues, 
 declaring us emigrants. We afterwards learned the 
 dreadful catastrophe and horrors of the 2d of Septem- 
 ber, and returned thanks to Heaven for having rescued 
 us from them. 
 
 When we understood that the political horizon in 
 France became every day more dark and gloomy, that 
 the soi-disant republic was solely maintained through 
 the influence of terror and the shedding of blood, we 
 were thankful that the whole of our property had not 
 been involved in the general wreck. 
 
 On the 1st of October we set out for Italy, and in 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 321 
 
 our progress passed through Aix-la-Chapelle, Frank- 
 fort, Augsburg, and Innspruck. We crossed the Alps 
 in high spirits, animated with the idea of once more- 
 finding ourselves in our own happy country. The 
 pleasure of having escaped from a horde of barba- 
 rians, of treading in company with my amiable friend 
 the same road which I had so frequently travelled to 
 see her, the gratification of enjoying her society with- 
 out restraint, and the contemplation of resuming my 
 cherished studies, so tranquillized my spirits that, feel- 
 ing myself again inspired with poetic fervor, I com- 
 posed a great number of verses. At length, on the 
 3d of November, we arrived at Florence, where we de- 
 termined to take up our residence. There the charms 
 of the country and of the language compensated me for 
 all the losses I had sustained in France. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 WE spent nearly a whole year at Florence, before 
 we could find a house perfectly suited to our taste. In 
 the mean time the exquisite pleasure I derived from 
 hearing my vernacular tongue daily spoken, from 
 meeting with individuals who sometimes entered into 
 conversation respecting my tragedies, the satisfaction 
 of seeing them frequently, though badly represented, 
 all conspired to revive in me that love of literature 
 which had almost become extinct. 
 
 My first production, after three years of inaction, 
 was an Apology for Louis XVL, which I wrote in the 
 month of December. As soon as this was completed, 
 I resumed my translations of Terence and the JEneid ; 
 and during the subsequent year, 1793, concluded the 
 
322 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 rough copy of them. I next began to recopy my 
 Sallust, the only work to which I had devoted any 
 .part of my time in my journeys to England, during 
 which, moreover, I read oftener than once the whole 
 works of Cicero. I not only corrected this translation, 
 but gave to it, as I conceived, a higher polish. I com- 
 posed also a short historical and satirical view of the 
 French Revolution, which I prefixed by way of intro- 
 duction to a collection of sonnets, epigrams, and other 
 poetical pieces, written on these mournful as well as 
 ridiculous events. This work I entitled the Anti-Gal- 
 lican. 
 
 Though both my amiable friend and I had lost a 
 great part of our property, we still had sufficient left" 
 to live comfortably. My attachment for her augmented 
 with our misfortunes, and in proportion as she was per- 
 secuted by fortune, the more dear did she become to 
 me. Thus my melancholy was dissipated, my spirits 
 became tranquillized, and the love of letters again 
 took possession of my mind. I devoted myself again 
 to study, but soon found that I was in want of books. 
 I only possessed a hundred and fifty volumes of the 
 small editions of the classics : the others had been lost, 
 and I never made any serious effort to recover them, ex- 
 cept once through the medium of a friend, the Italian 
 envoy at Paris. This request was expressed in an epi- 
 gram, which I transmitted to him in 1795. Both this 
 epigram and the answer may be found in a long note 
 subjoined to the second prose piece in the Anti-Gal- 
 lican. After finishing Abel, I had conceived the plan 
 of five other melodramas, but soon found it necessary 
 to abandon them. My past and present disappoint- 
 ments, the dissipation of the best part of my youth in 
 superintending for five years the impression of my vari- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 323 
 
 ous works, together with the misfortunes to which I had 
 been subjected during that period, all tended to extinguish 
 in my mind that vigor and energy so necessary to insure 
 success in productions of this kind. As soon as I per- 
 ceived that it behooved me to abandon this long-cher- 
 ished idea, I directed my attention to the composition 
 of satires, of which I had already written one that 
 might serve as an introduction to others. Having, 
 moreover, acquired some experience in this species of 
 composition, while employed in finishing the different 
 pieces contained in the Anti-Gallican, I flattered my- 
 self that success was not beyond my reach. Thus 
 stimulated by hope, I completed the second, and part 
 of the third. As my spirits were, however, far from 
 being tranquil, and as besides I was very uncomfort- 
 ably situated, and in want of books, resolution to 
 prosecute the undertaking soon abandoned me. 
 
 From the combined influence of these and other 
 causes, I became seized with the whim of playing 
 a part in one of my own tragedies. Among my juve- 
 nile acquaintances at Florence, I had discovered a few, 
 besides a lady, who appeared not only to possess taste, 
 but even some talents for this art. After rehearsing 
 Saul, we acted it during the spring of 1793, in a pri- 
 vate house, before a select audience, and with much 
 success. Towards the end of this year we found out 
 near the end of the bridge of Santa Trinita a house, 
 which, though small, was admirably adapted for our 
 accommodation, situated on the Arno, and facing the 
 south. We took possession of it in November, since 
 which I have uniformly occupied it. I shall here prob- 
 ably close my earthly career, should fate cease to per- 
 secute me. The salubrity of the air, and the charming 
 prospect I enjoy, besides other conveniences attached 
 
324 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 to this house, have in a great measure restored my in- 
 tellectual faculties, and powers of conception, except- 
 ing for melo-tragedies, in which I find it still impossi- 
 ble to succeed. By devoting so much of my time to 
 the pleasure of acting a part in my own tragedies, I 
 spent nearly three months in the spring of 1794. Saul 
 was first represented at my house, and afterwards 
 Brutus the Elder, in each of which I acted the princi- 
 pal character. It was affirmed by those who were 
 competent judges, and I had some reason to believe 
 their opinion correct, that I had made considerable prog- 
 ress in this difficult art. Had I been younger, and 
 less harassed with care, I have reason to think I should 
 have succeeded completely. Every time I performed 
 my powers augmented; I conceived my part better, 
 acquired a greater command of voice, and a more per- 
 fect cadence; besides which, I became progressively 
 more capable of assuming those attitudes necessary to 
 impart animation to the expressions, and to give effect 
 to the character. The company also became more per- 
 fect in performing their respective parts under my 
 guidance. I then clearly perceived, that had I pos- 
 sessed riches, opportunity, and health, I might, in the 
 course of two or three years, have succeeded in form- 
 ing a company of tragic actors, if not excellent, at 
 least superior to those who then arrogated to them- 
 selves that character in Italy. 
 
 My entering so much into this amusement contrib- 
 uted not only to retard my literary pursuits this year, 
 but also during the following, 1795, in which I ap- 
 peared in the capacity of a player for the last time. I 
 successively performed the parts of Carlos and of Filippo, 
 in the two tragedies so named, and on another occasion 
 that of Saul, which was my favorite character. This 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 325 
 
 last piece was also acted l>y a private company at 
 Pisa, during the Festival of the Illumination, to which 
 I was invited. I had the childish vanity to accept of 
 this invitation, and to appear ourr more in the charac- 
 ter of Saul, afcer which I took a final leave of the 
 stage. 
 
 During the two years I resided in Tuscany I pur- 
 chased various hooks, and among others the Italian 
 authors I had formerly possessed. To these I added 
 not only the Latin classics, but also the best Grseco- 
 Latin editions of all the Greek classics, as much from a 
 desire of having them in my possession, as of, at least, 
 rendering myself acquainted with their names. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 BETTER late than never. 
 
 When I reflected at forty-six years of age, after hav- 
 ing cultivated for nearly half that period, whether suc- 
 cessfully or not, an acquaintance with dramatic and 
 lyric poetry, that I had neither read the Greek trage- 
 dies, nor Homer, nor Pindar, I felt truly ashamed, and 
 was stimulated by a laudable desire to learn something 
 from these fathers of the art. I the more readily yielded 
 to this impulse, as for several years, my peregrinations, 
 my horses, my disappointments, and an unremitted at- 
 tention to the correction of my works, had so deadened 
 my mind, that I could not aspire to be a man of erudi- 
 tion, a character, to obtain which nothing is more 
 necessary than a retentive memory and much reading. 
 Unfortunately, my memory, which had been good, was 
 greatly impaired. In order, however, to escape from a 
 life of indolence, and to conquer my predilection for the 
 life of a buffoon, as well as to acquire information, I 
 
326 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was induced to enter on this undertaking. With this 
 view I read successively Homer, Hesiod, Aristophanes, 
 Anacreon, and the Greek tragedies, all of which I 
 studied attentively in the Latin translations. As for 
 Pindar, I soon found it was lahor lost. His lyric 
 flights, literally translated, appeared in my eyes truly 
 pitiful ; and, not finding myself competent to understand 
 them in the original, 1 threw them aside. I spent 
 nearly one year and a half in this species of study, 
 which proved equally repugnant to my disposition as 
 unproductive of benefit. I wrote, however, in the in- 
 terval, some poetical scraps; and during 1796 extended 
 my satires to seven. This year proved extremely disas- 
 trous to Italy, by the invasions of the French, an event 
 which completely overpowered my spirits. I contem- 
 plated in imagination misery and slavery hovering over 
 my head. The melancholy posture of affairs in Pied- 
 mont made me tremble, lest I should be deprived of 
 the last means of subsistence. Determined never to 
 flatter, nor become a slave, I prepared my mind to sup- 
 port every other reverse of fortune with the fortitude of 
 a philosopher. I plunged deeper than ever into study, 
 which I considered as the only means calculated to 
 abstract my mind from the evils which surrounded me 
 on every side. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 IN 1778, while my highly valued friend Caluso was 
 at Florence, I entreated him, as much through a love 
 of indolence, as from curiosity, that he would write on 
 a loose sheet of paper the Greek alphabet, both in 
 great and small characters ; and in this way I learned, 
 though imperfectly, to know the letters, and even to 
 name them. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERL 327 
 
 This circumstance had escaped my memory, till I 
 began to peruse the Latin translations, when, discover- 
 ing this alphabet among my papers, I endeavored to 
 recognize? and pronounce the letters. My intention was 
 merely to acquire the sound of the compound or ex- 
 traordinary terms which in the translation resembled 
 not those in the text, and which on that account in- 
 duced me to cast my eyes on it. In this way I was 
 led to view the characters occasionally, as the fox in 
 the fable is said to have viewed the grapes which were 
 beyond his reach. What also greatly contributed to 
 retard my progress in this study was, that I could not 
 look for any length of time on either the great or small 
 characters, without my sight being dazzled by it. I 
 could never make out more than one word at a time, 
 and even that, however short, I was obliged to spell, 
 but could neither read nor pronounce, much less retain 
 in my mind the sound of a single verse. 
 
 My aversion to grammar, my repugnance and inca- 
 pacity for servile application of any kiud, my inaptitude 
 to acquire languages,* my age, my ignorance of all 
 grammatical rules, even in Italian, of which I knew 
 only sufficient to avoid gross blunders, without, how- 
 ever, understanding its principles, such were the 
 physical and moral obstacles which 1 had to encounter, 
 and which I essayed to overcome by my own powers. 
 I did not communicate my intention to any one, not 
 even to my fair friend, and that is saying everything. 
 After having spent two years, as it were, on the con- 
 fines of Greece, without being able to penetrate further 
 than with my eyes, I became at length determined to 
 surmount every difficulty by my own exertions. 
 
 * I had twice attempted, though without success, to acquire a knowl- 
 edge of the English. 
 
328 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I purchased a great number of Greece-Latin, and 
 afterwards Greek grain mars. I incessantly repeated 
 the verb TUTTTO), the circumflex verbs, and the verbs in 
 fu. Observing mo always muttering something be- 
 tween my teeth, this inestimable friend was anxious to 
 know what I was about, and by her frequent inquiries 
 at length drew from me the secret. Persevering with 
 indefatigable patience, I succeeded towards the end of 
 1797 in rendering myself capable of reading a page of 
 Greek either in prose or verse, whether in large or 
 small characters, without my eyes suffering by it. I 
 at last even comprehended the text, by comparing it 
 with the Latin column on the opposite side ; that is to 
 say, wlien I had either forgotten, or was unacquainted 
 with any of the Greek words, I hastily glanced my eye 
 over the corresponding Latin. After much difficulty, I 
 acquired the capability of reading with facility, and of 
 accentuating the vowels, and even the diphthongs, as 
 they are written, and not as they are absurdly pro- 
 nounced by the modern Greeks. These degenerate 
 descendants of a learned nation have insensibly intro- 
 duced an alphabet with five io>ra ; so that the most 
 harmonious language in the world becomes in their 
 mouths a continual iotacism, like the neighing of a 
 horse. I surmounted this difficulty by reciting in an 
 audible voice not only the lessons which I daily studied, 
 but even, for several hours, select portions from He- 
 rodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and the other orators 
 of the second rank, all of whom I read twice through. 
 I also read twice Procles, in the Timaeus of Plato. I 
 was impelled to peruse this last work for no other 
 reason than because it was printed in characters diffi- 
 cult to be deciphered, and full of contractions. 
 
 This labor, instead of depressing my mind, as I 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 329 
 
 feared, contributed to rouse me from the lethargy into 
 which I had fallen. In the course of this year, 1797, 
 I augmented the number of my satires to seventeen: 
 I also revised and corrected many of my poetical pieces. 
 Becoming more enthusiastically attached to the Greek, 
 as I more fully comprehended it, I translated the Al- 
 cestis of Euripides, the Philoctetes of Sophocles, and 
 the Persians of Eschylus; and, in short, in order to 
 try my powers, the Frogs of Aristophanes. While 
 engaged in these occupations, I did not neglect the 
 cultivation of the Latin tongue. I studied Lucretius, 
 Plautus, and Terence, whose^ix comedies, by a strange 
 combination of circumstances, I had translated piece- 
 meal, without having read any of them to an end. 
 Should my version of these comedies be considered 
 above mediocrity, I may jocularly, and with truth, 
 affirm that I executed my translation before reading 
 the original. 
 
 I wished also to render myself acquainted with the 
 different kinds of verse employed by Horace. I blushed 
 at my ignorance of his writings, and at not having 
 read and committed them to memory. I wished like- 
 wise to become acquainted with those which the Greeks 
 employed in their choruses, and especially with those 
 of Pindar and Anacreon. In short, throughout this 
 year, I endeavored to accumulate as much information 
 as possible. The only motive for engaging in these 
 studies was to gratify my curiosity, and to abstract my 
 mind from the anxiety and sorrow with which it was 
 overwhelmed on account of the invasion of Italy by the 
 French. 
 
330 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 I NEITHER expected nor wished to derive any other 
 advantage from my studies than that already mentioned ; 
 but Apollo had still one in reserve, which I could not 
 view with indifference. While I studied the literal 
 translations in 1796, after reading Homer, Eschylus, 
 Sophocles, and five tragedies of Euripides, I accidentally 
 fell upon the Alcestis of this last author, a piece I had 
 never heard mentioned. I was so much struck and 
 affected by the sublimity f>f the subject, that, on finish- 
 ing the perusal, I immediately scribbled down on a 
 scrap of paper, which I still carefully preserve, the 
 following note : il Florence, 18th of January, 1796. 
 Had I not mentally vowed to write no more tragedies, 
 the reading of the Alcestis of Euripides would have 
 determined me to change this resolution, and to com- 
 pose an Alcestis. I should have availed myself of all 
 the excellences in the Greek original, while I lopped 
 off the absurdities with which it abounds. Thus I 
 would have had fewer dramatis personse than are found 
 in the original." I even superadded to this note the 
 names of those whom I would have introduced, and 
 afterwards thought no more of it. None of the other 
 tragedies of this author ever affected me in a similar 
 manner. Whi'e reperusing this poet some time after- 
 wards, for it was my constant custom to read every 
 work at least twice over, I felt, when I came to Alces- 
 tis, the same transports as before, and in the month of 
 September, 1796, I sketched the scenes of this piece 
 without any intention of finishing it. I had also trans- 
 lated from the Latin, in 1797, while unacquainted with 
 the Greek, the first Alcestis ; in short, this second Al- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 331 
 
 cost is, which had so often fallen in my way, heated my 
 imagination to such a degree that in March, 1798, I 
 could no longer set reins to it. I immediately there- 
 fore on returning home, after my usual morning excur- 
 sion, sat down and composed, without a pause, the 
 whole of the first act, inscribing on the margin, " Writ- 
 ten under a paroxysm of enthusiasm, and while shedding 
 a flood of tears." 
 
 During the following days I composed, under the 
 influence of the same impassioned feelings, not only 
 the four other acts, but even sketched the choruses, and 
 wrote a preface in prose. ^The whole was finished by 
 the 26th of May, when I felt myself relieved from an 
 intolerable burden. I had, however, neither any in- 
 tention of versifying nor of completing it. 
 
 In September, 1798, while persisting in the study of 
 the Greek, I resolved to compare my translation of the 
 Latin of the first Alcestis with the original, as much 
 with a view of rectifying it as of improving myself in 
 the language. Nothing tends so much to this purpose 
 as translations, when we endeavor to comprehend not 
 only the terms, but also the images and metaphors 
 contained in the original. Having thrown aside the 
 first Alcestis, I felt myself inspired for the fourth time 
 with an enthusiastic fervor to complete my own. I 
 again took it up, and while reading it shed a torrent of 
 tears. I began to versify it on the 30th of September, 
 1798, and completed it with the choruses on the 21st 
 of October, the same year. Thus I infringed iny 
 solemn vow, after preserving an uninterrupted silence 
 for ten years. As, however, I neither wished to expose 
 myself to the charge of plagiarism, nor of the sin of 
 ingratitude, and as I conceived this tragedy belonged 
 by right to Euripides, I placed it among my transla- 
 
332 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tions, where it remains under the title of Alcestis II., 
 by the side of Alcestis I., which led me to conceive and 
 execute the former. I mentioned not the infraction of 
 my vow to any one, not even to my better half, hoping 
 to derive some amusement from this silence. In the 
 month of December I read this production, as a trans- 
 lation from Euripides, to a party of friends, whom I 
 had purposely invited to my house. Those who did 
 not thoroughly remember the original fell into the 
 snare ; but an individual, happening to be present who 
 perfectly recollected it, discovered the joke towards the 
 end of the third act ; and the reading, which began in 
 the name of Euripides, concluded in mine. This drama 
 was well received, and even I myself, though I saw in 
 it much to correcf and retrench, was on the whole not 
 displeased with it. I have related this fact at full 
 length, because if Alcestis should ever be considered as 
 a tragedy of any merit, it may serve to show the effects 
 produced by enthusiasm on the imagination of a poet. 
 Thus we see verified what often happens, that the most 
 labored productions of a poet are generally inferior to 
 those which are written from the mere impulse of the 
 moment ; hence the inspiration of the Muses ought 
 never to be disregarded. If, after all, my Alcestis be 
 regarded as a contemptible performance, the reader may 
 justly smile both at it and my details, and regard them 
 as the precursors of the fifth epoch, old age. 
 
 As soon as these two productions became known at 
 Florence, my having studied the Greek no longer re- 
 mained a secret. I carefully concealed it from every 
 one, even from my friend Caluso, who discovered it in 
 the following manner. I had transmitted to my sister, 
 in May, this year, my portrait, excellently painted by 
 Xavier Fabre of Montpellier. On the back of this 
 
VITTOEIO ALFIERI. 333 
 
 picture were two short verses from Pindar. My sister 
 was delighted with my present, and, having turned it 
 on every side, beheld the little scrawl above mentioned. 
 She immediately sent for my friend Caluso, with whom 
 she was intimate, in order to explain it. By this the 
 Abbe saw that I had at least learned to form the char- 
 acters, and felt fully assured that I would never have 
 been guilty of such a ridiculous piece of pedantry as to 
 write an epigraph which I did not comprehend. He 
 directly wrote me a letter filled with reproaches for 
 my dissimulation in concealing from him my study of 
 the Greek tongue; to this I returned a short answer 
 in that language, arranged as well as I was able, 
 and better perhaps than might be expected from a 
 scholar at fifty years of age. I transmitted with my 
 epistle several specimens of my translations, in order 
 that he might form a judgment of the progress I had 
 made. 
 
 His praises on this occasion stimulated me to pros- 
 ecute my studies with greater ardor. I resumed the 
 same salutary exercise from which I had derived so 
 much benefit in regard to the Latin and Italian, namely 
 that of committing to memory many thousand verses 
 from different authors. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The dangers w T ith which Tuscany was threatened 
 augmented every day. Already had the French, in 
 November, 1798, taken possession of Lucca, and there 
 was every reason to fear that on the commencement 
 of the following year they would advance to Florence. 
 On this account, therefore, I was solicitous to settle 
 my affairs, and prepare myself for whatever might hap- 
 
334 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pen. Since the preceding year I had thrown aside the 
 Anti-Galilean. With a view to save this production, 
 in the fate of which my mind felt considerable interest, 
 I caused ten copies of it to be transcribed, and depos- 
 ited in different places, till circumstances should permit 
 me to draw them forth. Having never dissembled my 
 hatred against these founders of republics, I expected 
 from them every species of outrage, and armed myself 
 with fortitude to support it. While unmolested, I de- 
 termined to remain silent, but if insulted and persecuted 
 I resolved to conduct myself as a friend of rational 
 liberty. I took in consequence such measures as that, 
 if I could not live free and respected, I might at least 
 not die unrevenged. One of the motives which induced 
 me to become my own biographer was a dread lest 
 some one might undertake the task who either had not 
 sufficient opportunity to ascertain the facts, or who 
 might pervert and distort them. A similar reason im- 
 pelled me to compose my own epitaph, as well as that 
 of my amiable friend. These two epitaphs proclaim 
 nothing but the simple truth, devoid of all unmeaning 
 amplification. Having thus, as far as possible, insured 
 my own fame, and secured my memory against re- 
 proach, I immediately returned to my usual pursuits. 
 I corrected and copied ; I separated what was finished 
 from that which remained imperfect, and abandoned 
 everything which was neither suitable to my years 
 nor consonant to the resolutions I had taken. Tn short, 
 on attaining my fiftieth year, I resolved to take my 
 final leave of the Muses. I collected into one volume 
 seventy sonnets, thirty-nine epigrams, etc., which may 
 be regarded as a continuation of those formerly printed 
 at Kehl. I next composed a Pindaric ode, and in order 
 to give it a somewhat Grecian appearance, I entitled it 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 335 
 
 ia, after which I hung up my lyre. If I have 
 since composed a few sonnets and epigrams, I have not 
 preserved them, and should now find it impossible to 
 recognize them as my own. Aware that if I did not 
 voluntarily relinquish my studies, the, time must at 
 length arrive when I should be compelled to do so, I 
 embraced the opportunity which my age, and the pe- 
 culiar situation of my affairs afforded, to terminate my 
 literary career. 
 
 With respect to my translations, I preserved that of 
 the jEneid, which, though transcribed and corrected, 
 during the two preceding years, was still far from being 
 perfect. While I suppressed my translation of Ter- 
 ence, which I had never either revised or corrected, I 
 preserved my version of Sallust, which, I conceived, 
 was tolerably executed. Neither did I commit to the 
 flames my four Greek translations; but as I was fully 
 sensible they were very imperfect, I resolved, if time 
 should be allowed me, to revise them carefully. I be- 
 gan by retranslating Alcestis from the original, in order 
 to obviate any errors or mistakes into which I might 
 have fallen, in rendering it from the Latin. I caused 
 Abel to be transcribed, but without any alterations ; as 
 also a small piece in prose entitled "Advice to the 
 Italian Powers," which I had written some years 
 before. This work was not dictated by any wish or 
 pride to appear on the theatre of politics, but merely 
 by the indignation I felt at the narrow and unenlight- 
 ened policy of the Emperor, and at the still more ab- 
 surd conduct of the Italian states. Lastly, I finished 
 my seventeen satires, the number of which I firmly 
 resolved not to augment. 
 
 Having thus arranged my literary productions, I 
 environed myself with a triple shield, and calmly 
 
336 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 awaited every event that might occur. With the view 
 of habituating myself to a kind of life, should my days 
 be prolonged, more conformable to my years and future 
 intentions, I adopted the following system, in which I 
 shall certainly persevere, while health continues. Every 
 Monday and Tuesday I devoted to the perusal of the 
 Bible, the study of which I blushed to have delayed to 
 such an advanced period of life. The Wednesday and 
 Thursday I dedicated to Homer, whose works afford an 
 inexhaustible source of information to any one who 
 wishes to become an author ; and the Friday, Satur- 
 day, and Sunday, to the study of Pindar, the most dif- 
 ficult to comprehend of aH the Greek and Lyric poets, 
 not even excepting either Job or the Prophets. After 
 the first year, it was my intention to appropriate these 
 three last days to the study of the Greek authors, 
 whether in prose or verse. In pursuing this study, rny 
 views were not directed to acquire a fundamental 
 knowledge of this language, which I regarded as un- 
 attainable, but merely to render myself equally familiar 
 with it as with the Latin. As I found the method 
 which I pursued to attain this end extremely useful, I 
 shall give it in detail, in order that others may derive 
 advantage from it. After perusing the Septuagint 
 version of the Bible, according to the text of the Vati- 
 can, I compared it with the Alexandrine text, and 
 lastly with the Italian translation of Diodati, which I 
 found strictly conformable to the Hebrew. I also read 
 the Latin Vulgate, and afterwards an interlineary 
 Latin and Hebrew Bible. By dint of much study, for 
 several years, I had rendered myself capable of under- 
 standing and reading the Hebrew language ; the pro- 
 nunciation of which is, in general, extremely disagree- 
 able, as well as the phrases and modes of expression, 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 337 
 
 which exhibit a strange mixture of the sublime and 
 barbarous. 
 
 I read Homer in the original Greek, pronouncing 
 every word in an audible tone of voice, and rendered 
 literally into Latin those verses which I wished to 
 study in the morning. These frequently amounted to 
 sixty, eighty, or even a hundred, and the blunders I 
 committed in this exercise never interrupted my prog- 
 ress. Afcer mangling these verses, I endeavored to 
 accent them properly. I next read the Greek Scholiast, 
 with the Latin notes by Barnes, Clarke, and others. 
 Then again taking up the literal Latin translation, I 
 compared it with the original Greek, particularly at- 
 tending to those passages, the import of which 1 had 
 mistaken in my first perusal, and inscribing on the 
 margin of my text such elucidations as had not been 
 given by the Scholiast. I wrote them in Greek, and 
 to assist me in this, I had recourse to Hesychius, and 
 various other authors. I noted down every uncommon 
 word, expression, and phrase, and explained them like- 
 wise in Greek. Lastly, I perused the commentary of 
 Eustathius, on these same verses, which had already 
 cost me such immense labor. This method of study 
 was doubtless extremely tedious and dull; but my 
 comprehension was also somewhat dull, and therefore, 
 more laborious study became necessary, in order to 
 impress on my mind, at fifty, what it might have 
 easily acquired at twenty. 
 
 During the preceding year I had performed a more 
 laborious task than the present. I possess a small 
 copy of Pindar, which contains not a single word over 
 which I have not placed numerical figures from one to 
 forty, with a view to point out the order in which the 
 words should stand according to their concordance with 
 
338 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 each other. Not satisfied with this, I took another 
 Pindar, the old and faulty edition of Calliergi of Rome, 
 which I treated in the same manner, and bestowed on 
 it equal care as I had on Homer. 1 wrote also margi- 
 nal notes in Greek, in which I endeavored to explain 
 the intentions of the author, and to display his concep- 
 tions stripped of all metaphor. After Pindar I went 
 through Sophocles and Eschylus in a similar manner. 
 These labors, in which I persisted with the most con- 
 summate folly, contributed greatly to debilitate my me- 
 morial powers, and I am compelled to acknowledge 
 that the progress I made was not correspondent to my 
 efforts, and that I also committed innumerable mistakes 
 during my first readings. Nevertheless, such studies 
 had become so essential to my happiness, that since 
 1796 I uniformly continued to appropriate three hours 
 every morning to similar pursuits. My Alcestis, my 
 safires, and various poetical pieces, etc. were all written 
 during the subsequent hours, so that I only devoted 
 the remaining part of the day to my own gratification, 
 and when forced to relinquish my works or my studies, 
 I never hesitated to abandon the former. After having 
 thus arranged my mode of life, I retained only such of 
 my books as I was in immediate want of, packing up 
 all the rest. I sent them to the country, in order to 
 prevent my being deprived of them a second time by 
 an invasion of the French. This took place on the 
 25th of March, 1799, on which day, previous to their 
 entering Florence, my friend and 1 left the city, having 
 first taken care to remove all our property, abandoning 
 our house to the occupation of the military. 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 339 
 
 XXYIII. 
 
 WHILE my friend and I with a few domestics resided 
 in the country, our time was wholly devoted to letters. 
 Besides understanding the English and German lan- 
 guages, she possessed a complete knowledge of the 
 Italian and French, and was intimately acquainted 
 with their national literature. Neither was she igno- 
 rant of everything essential relative to the state of 
 lean ling among the ancients, having read the best 
 translations extant in these four languages. Hence I 
 could converse with her on every topic, and never felt 
 myself more happy than when living with her alone, 
 secluded from all other society. Very few of our friends 
 dared to visit us, and that extremely seldom, lest it 
 might awaken the suspicions of our politico-military 
 despotism, which of all monsters is the most truly 
 ridiculous, cruel, and insupportable. It is a tiger con- 
 ducted by a hare. 
 
 As soon as I arrived in the country, I occupied my- 
 self with my first and second Alcestis. I was so much 
 absorbed in this labor that I forgot the dangers that 
 threatened us. These were not trifling ; it was impossi- 
 ble to flatter ourselves that we should escape from them, 
 as they became each day more apparent. Perturbed as 
 my mind was, I yet assumed courage, and prosecuted 
 my usual studies. Arrests the most arbitrary were 
 extremely frequent, and always took place during the 
 night. Some youths of the first families of the city had 
 been taken as hostages. These had been dragged in 
 the middle of the night from their homes, and from the 
 arms of their relatives, and transported like slaves, to 
 the Isles of St. Marguerite. Though a foreigner, I had 
 
340 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 reasoD to fear I should be subjected to harsher and still 
 more cruel treatment. As I expected that every night 
 would be the last I should spend at my own house, I 
 took every precaution to avoid being taken unawares, 
 and to prevent myself being maltreated. Already had 
 French liberty been proclaimed at Florence, and an- 
 archy triumphed over worth and virtue. As for me I 
 employed myself in versification, in studying and writ- 
 ing Greek, and in consoling my female friend. In this 
 unfortunate state did things continue from the 25th of 
 March to the 5th of July, when the French left Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 Accustomed to the tranquillity of the country, we 
 resolved spend another month in our retreat, before 
 removing with our books and furniture to Florence. 
 My return to the city, however, produced no change in 
 the plan of my studies, which I pursued with greater 
 ardor and enthusiasm than before. 
 
 After the battle of Nuovi I received a letter from the 
 
 Marquis of C , of Alexandria, who had espoused 
 
 the daughter of my sister. I was not acquainted with 
 him personally, but merely through report. He was a 
 most meritorious officer, and had greatly distinguished 
 himself in the service of his sovereign, the King of 
 Sardinia, during the continuance of hostilities. He 
 informed me that, having been dangerously wounded, 
 and taken prisoner, he had entered into the French 
 service after the expulsion of his Sardinian majesty in 
 January, 1799. 
 
 I shall here incidentally recount what I had before 
 forgotten to relate. Previous to the invasion of the 
 French, I had been presented to the King of Sardinia 
 at Florence. He had a double claim to my respect, 
 because he had been my sovereign, and was unfortu- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 341 
 
 nate. He received me very graciously, and I was 
 much agitated on beholding him : I felt keenly on this 
 occasion, what I had never before experienced, the 
 desire of serving him. I saw him abandoned, and per- 
 ceived the foolish conduct of those who surrounded him. 
 I would have offered him my services, had I been able 
 to persuade myself that he could have derived any ad- 
 vantage from them j but it was now too late. He retired 
 to Sardinia, but returned on affairs assuming a more 
 favorable appearance, and remained for several months 
 at Florence, while the Austrians protected Tuscany in 
 the name of the Grand Duke. But uniformly ill- 
 advised, lie took no measures that could prove either 
 beneficial to himself or Piedmont. Thus he was quickly 
 overwhelmed. I had the honor of being again pre- 
 sented to him on his return from Sardinia, and as at 
 this time he entertained some hopes that fortune would 
 yet smile upon him, 1 suffered less regret from reflect- 
 ing that I could be of no use to him. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 WHILE I was closely occupied in correcting my four 
 Greek translations, and buried in studies, undertaken 
 perhaps at too late a period, the French again took 
 possession of Tuscany, on the 15th of October. On this 
 occasion time was not allowed me to retire to the 
 country : besides, I had succeeded in obtaining, as a 
 foreigner, from the municipality of Florence, an ex- 
 emption from what I conceived the greatest of all mis- 
 fortunes, having soldiers billeted in my house. As 
 soon as my mind ceased to contemplate such an event, 
 I resigned myself to circumstances. I shut myself up in 
 my own house, and never went abroad, unless to take an 
 
342 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 airing for two hours in the morning. This exorcise, 
 which my health rendered indispensable, I took in the 
 most solitary places, and always without any attend- 
 ants. But though I religiously shunned on all occa- 
 sions the society of the French, they evinced not such 
 a disposition towards me. Unfortunately the French 
 general at Florence was attached to literature. Wish- 
 ing to become acquainted with me, he called several 
 times at my house. I determined, however, to be 
 visible to no one ; and instead of returning his polite- 
 ness, I took not the least notice whatever of his calls. 
 After an interval of a few days I received from him a 
 verbal message, requesting to know when he might be 
 permitted to wait on me. Finding that he persisted in 
 his intentions, and unwilling to intrust a servant with 
 a verbal message, which might not be faithfully com- 
 municated, I despatched the following note : u If the 
 General in his official capacity commands his presence, 
 Vittorio Alfieri, who never resists constituted authority 
 of any kind, will immediately hasten to obey the or- 
 der; but if, on the contrary, he requests an interview 
 only as a private individual, Alfieri begs leave to ob- 
 serve, that, being of a very retired turn of mind, he 
 wishes not to form any new acquaintance, and there- 
 fore entreats the French general to hold him excused." 
 
 To this the general immediately returned the follow- 
 ing laconic reply : that, having read my works, he had 
 been desirous of becoming acquainted with their author; 
 but as that appeared not to be consonant to my wishes, 
 he would no farther importune me on the subject. In 
 fact, he left me to myself, and I was thus freed from an 
 interview which must necessarily have proved no less 
 embarrassing than painful to my feelings. 
 
 In the mean time Piedmont, having been revolution- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEPJ. 343 
 
 ized, and wishing to ape their masters in everything, 
 transformed their Royal Academy of Sciences into a 
 National Institute, modelled on the plan of that of 
 Paris, in which the belles lettres were united to the 
 fine arts. It pleased these gentlemen, whose designa- 
 tions I am unacquainted with, since my friend Caluso 
 had been dismissed from his office of secretary to the 
 academy, to nominate me one of its members. This 
 circumstance was immediately notified in a letter ad- 
 dressed to me on the occasion. Having been previously 
 informed by the Abbe of the honor they meant to con- 
 fer on me, I returned the letter unopened, and caused 
 them to be informed that I was little solicitous of ma- 
 triculation, either in their society or any other; and, 
 in short, that I would never enroll myself among any 
 body of men who had excluded such characters as 
 Cardinal Gerdil, Count Balbo, and Chevalier Morozzo, 
 merely because they were sincere royalists. 
 
 Because I have never been a royalist, it by no means 
 follows that I must belong to the class who style them- 
 selves democrats. Their republic is not conformable 
 to my fancy; and I declare that I am, and shall ever 
 be, hostile to all their opinions. The irritation I expe- 
 rienced on this occasion once more caused me to in- 
 fringe my vow, and I composed fourteen verses, which 
 I transmitted to iny friend Caluso. I did not keep a 
 copy of them, nor ever shall preserve those which re- 
 sentment or any other passion may impel me to write. 
 
 I did not display equal resolution in the month of 
 September, 1799, in resisting a newly awakened im- 
 pulse, or, more properly speaking, an old one revived, 
 which I experienced during several days, and to which 
 I at length found myself forced to yield. Having al- 
 ways entertained the idea of trying my powers in the 
 
344 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 composition of comedy, I sketched the plan of six all 
 at once. These I determined to augment to twelve ; 
 but repeated disappointments, chagrin, and particularly 
 my unremitted study of a language so extremely copious 
 as the Greek, had so exhausted my powers of concep- 
 tion, that I believed it would thenceforward be utterly 
 impossible to compose any work requiring much men- 
 tal exertion : thus I abandoned the idea. I know not 
 how my mind was led to enter on this species of com- 
 position, during the most sorrowful period of my life, 
 when we had fallen into a state of the most abject 
 slavery, from which it was impossible to escape ; at a 
 period too when both time and opportunity were denied 
 me to execute what it was my wish to undertake. 
 Suddenly a poetizing spirit animated my mind, and in 
 one of my excursions I almost simultaneously con- 
 ceived my four first comedies, which, in the ground- 
 work, form only one, since they all tend to the same 
 object by different means. On returning home, I 
 sketched them, and on the following day I essayed my 
 strength in others of a different kind. I conceived the 
 plan of two others, the first of which had no relation 
 to Italian manners, while the second was truly an 
 Italian comedy of the present day. I wished to 
 demonstrate by this piece that I was competent to 
 delineate the manners of the present age. But since 
 these- change, it is necessary that he who wishes his 
 comedies to be handed down to posterity, should con- 
 fine himself to depict the follies of man in the aggre- 
 gate, and not those of men of any particular country, 
 or existing at any particular period ; otherwise, the 
 spirit of comedy and the fame of an author must evap- 
 orate with the characters and manners he has described. 
 Hence, these six comedies may be divided into three 
 
YITTORIO ALFIERI. 345 
 
 different kinds. The four first are adapted to every 
 a^e and country ; the second is a production altogether 
 fanciful and poetical ; while the sixth may be consid- 
 ered as a true Italian comedy of the present day. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE year 1800, which had appeared to my mind 
 unusually tedious, at length passed away; and early 
 in 1801, through the multiplied faults of the allied 
 powers, a peace was concluded, which still continues. 
 
 Before closing my long literary career, I wished to 
 try my remaining powers in the development of my 
 six comedies. I wrote them in the same order in 
 which I had conceived them, in the same space of 
 time, and without interruption : on each I spent six 
 days at most. The consequence of such incessant 
 mental exertion was a severe indisposition, which pre- 
 vented me finishing the fifth. I was seized with an 
 inflammatory affection of the head, to which was 
 superadded the gout, which fixed itself in my lungs 
 and caused me to spit blood. On this I found myself 
 compelled to suspend my labor, and to attempt the re- 
 moval of my malady. Though extremely violent, it 
 was but of short duration. My convalescence was, 
 however, tedious, and I remained long in a valetudi- 
 nary state. It was only towards the end of Septem- 
 ber that I felt myself enabled to resume my fifth and 
 sixth comedies. They were all, however, developed 
 early in October. As soon as this was accomplished, 
 I found my mind relieved from an insufferable burden. 
 
 As on the return of peace, which restored in some 
 degree tranquillity to Italy, the French had abolished 
 the use of paper money, as well at Rome as in Pied- 
 
346 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 mont, we no longer suffered those pecuniary embar- 
 rassments to which we had been subjected during the 
 last five years. 
 
 In consequence of this happy change in our circum- 
 stances, w r e purchased four horses, one of which was 
 intended for my use. Since my abode in Paris, I had 
 neither kept horses nor carriages of my own, but hired 
 them occasionally. In the mean time experience and 
 public misfortunes, as well as so many examples 
 before my eyes of others subjected to a harder fate 
 than mine, taught me moderation. Who would sup- 
 pose that I, who was formerly scarcely contented with 
 ten or fifteen horses, should now think even four too 
 many ? 
 
 Not only satiated and disgusted with everything, 
 but extremely temperate in my mode of life, always 
 dressing in black, and expending little money except 
 in the purchasing of books, I considered myself ex- 
 tremely rich, and took a pride in contemplating that I 
 should be one half poorer at the time of my death 
 than I was on entering the world. These were the 
 reasons which induced me to disregard the offers made 
 to me by my nephew C - through the medium of 
 my sister. He wished to exert his interest at Paris, 
 where he had fixed his residence, in order to obtain for 
 me a restitution of my confiscated property. 
 
 Like the grasshopper, which chirps only in warm 
 w r eather, I began the versification of my comedies in 
 the summer of 1802, with an ardor and enthusiasm 
 equal to what I felt when sketching and developing 
 them. During this year I experienced the injurious 
 effects of too intense application to study. 1 have 
 already mentioned that I never encroached on the 
 three hours in the morning, which I each day dedi- 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 347 
 
 rated to reading and study, but I employed the rest of 
 the day, and even those periods which were assigned 
 to exercise, on my literary compositions. After com- 
 pleting the versification of two of my comedies, I was 
 again attacked with an inflammation of the head, and 
 my whole body became covered with boils. These 
 would not have excited much attention, if the largest 
 of them, which was situated on the outer ankle of the 
 left leg, had not been complicated with an rrysipela- 
 tous affection, and accompanied with such violent pain 
 as to confine me to my bed during fifteen days. On 
 this account I was forced to suspend my comedies, 
 and submit patiently to confinement. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 IT is now time to terminate my garrulity, and to 
 bring this autobiographical sketch to a conclusion. 
 The maladies under which I suffered, during the two 
 last summers, have admonished me to bring my liter- 
 ary labors to a close. I here, therefore, conclude my 
 fourth epoch, fully convinced that, did I even possess 
 the inclination to enter on any new works, I should 
 find myself deficient in energy to execute them. If it 
 please God to spare my life during my twelfth lustrum, 
 I shall employ it in the correction of my works and 
 translations. Should I survive that period, I shall rest 
 from my labors, and only prosecute my studies ; and if 
 at any time I may cast a casual glance on any of my 
 productions, however I may attempt to improve the 
 style, I shall add nothing. The only labor in which I 
 mean to engage, after passing my sixtieth year, is the 
 translation of Cicero on old age. I shall dedicate this 
 
348 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 work, which is so conformable to my years, to my fe- 
 male friend, with whom I have participated in all the 
 pleasures and sorrows of life. 
 
 As the printing of my unedited works during my life- 
 time would be attended with much fatigue, and subject 
 me to the trouble of revision, I shall only leave behind 
 me a correct manuscript of those which in my opinion 
 merit to be published. All the others I intend to de- 
 stroy. In like manner, should I be unable to give the 
 last polish to my memoirs, I shall commit them to the 
 flames. Being now about to enter upon my fifth epoch, 
 and second childhood, I shall, in order to amuse the 
 reader, recount my last act of imbecility. Since the 
 period when I terminated my comedies, I have regarded 
 myself as an individual whose actions could not fail to 
 prove interesting to posterity. Having uniformly per- 
 severed, notwithstanding every obstacle, in the study 
 of the Greek tongue, as soon as I became capable of 
 comprehending, and of reading with facility Pindar, the 
 Grecian dramatists, and especially the divine Homer, 
 and of translating them, either literally into Latin or 
 into tolerable Italian, I piqued myself not a little on 
 the difficulties I had surmounted in the interval be- 
 tween my forty- seventh and fifty-fourth year. As every 
 kind of labor merits some recompense, I conceived it 
 was meet I should obtain one, and that it ought to be 
 appropriate, honorable, and even splendid. With this 
 view I invented a collar, on which were engraven the 
 names of twenty-three poets, as well ancient as modern. 
 To the collar is appended a cameo of Homer, and on 
 the exergue two Greek verses of my own composition, 
 and which I afterwards rendered into Italian. I sub- 
 mitted both the original arid the translation to the in- 
 spection of the Abbe Caluso ; the Greek, in order that 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEKI. 349 
 
 he might inform me whether I had committed any sole- 
 cism, or any error in prosody ; the Italian, with a view 
 to learn whether I. had not sufficiently softened down 
 what might he reckoned too hold and intrusive in the 
 Greek. An author, it is well known, may speak of 
 himself with greater latitude in the dead than in the 
 living languages. As my friend approved these verses, 
 I have transcribed them in order to their preservation.* 
 
 As it was my wish to render the collar of the order 
 as superb as possible, I caused it to be formed of gold, 
 and enriched with jewels and precious stones. I de- 
 clared myself a member of this new order, of which I 
 have at least the merit of being the inventor. Should 
 impartial posterity decree that I am not worthy of being 
 a member of this institution, it will not, however, with- 
 hold that honorary distinction from others who may be 
 deemed better entitled to it. Farewell then, reader, till 
 we meet again; if ever that should happen, I may then 
 probably, like a garrulous old man, be even more given 
 to babble than I have been towards the close of the 
 fourth epoch, manhood. * 
 
 VITTORIO ALFIERI. 
 
 FLORENCE, May 14, 1803. 
 
 * A.VTOV TroiTjtras 'AA0Tjpio5 'nrne' 'O/iiTjpov 
 KoipaftKT)*; TI/ATJI/ rjA^aye fleiorepai/. 
 
 'Torse inventava Alfieri uii Ordin vero 
 Is T el farsi ci stesso Cavalier di Omero. 
 
LETTER 
 
 FROM THE ABBE CALTJSO TO THE COUNTESS OF 
 ALBANY, 
 
 CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS RESPECTING THE AUTHOR'S 
 DEATH. 
 
 | ApAM, Since you have intrusted to my care 
 the autobiographical sketch of our highly 
 esteemed friend, I shall take the liberty of 
 communicating to you with as much brevity 
 as possible my thoughts on the subject, and of evincing 
 the high sense I entertain of the honor you have con- 
 ferred on me. Few were better acquainted than my- 
 self with the mind and character of this singular man ; 
 and I never for a moment doubted that he would im- 
 partially execute the task he had undertaken, without 
 becoming either tiresome or ridiculous : but he has 
 even surpassed my expectations by his amiable candor 
 and dignified simplicity. His style is easy and unaf- 
 fected, and the portrait he has drawn of himself exhib- 
 its a striking likeness, and bears evident marks of 
 being traced by the hand of a master. In it we behold 
 this exalted man, such as he really was, equally ardent 
 and singular in respect to his natural dispositions, as by 
 those efforts which he made in order to attain what- 
 ever appeared to him dignified and praiseworthy. It 
 
VITTORIO ALFIERI. 351 
 
 is easy to observe that whenever he suffered himself to 
 be led into extremes, his errors originated from the 
 most laudable feelings. I cannot give a better proof 
 of this than the opinion he had formed of me; I owe 
 it only to the most lively friendship ; it could be dic- 
 tated by nothing else. 
 
 To the other causes of sorrow for the sudden and 
 premature death of our esteemed friend, must be joined 
 the regret that, among all the works which he has left 
 more or less imperfect, these memoirs have not re- 
 ceived the last corrections which he would unques- 
 tionably have bestowed on them, had he reached that 
 age at which he proposed either to polish or commit 
 them to the flames. To this fate doubtless he would not 
 have condemned them. What right then have we to 
 treat them with such severity ; how could we think of 
 depriving ourselves of a picture exhibiting so correct a 
 view of all his actions and eccentricities? I cannot, 
 however, madam, but extol that anxious solicitude 
 with which you watch over these memoirs, and your 
 determination of withholding them from every one, 
 excepting a few select friends, for the purpose of ena- 
 bling them to favor the public with a more ample 
 account of this illustrious man. This is a task I my- 
 self dare not undertake, and I feel the most lively re- 
 gret on that account, but unfortunately the will and 
 the power to execute are not always in accordance with 
 each other. 
 
 To complete the biographical sketch which our wor- 
 thy friend has left behind him, I think it only necessary 
 to subjoin what I have extracted from the letter with 
 which you honored me. No one, madam, could be 
 better acquainted with every circumstance relative to 
 the last moments of his life than yourself, who never 
 
352 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 for a moment quitted him, and devoted so much of your 
 attention towards him. 
 
 Count Alfieri, some time previous to his death, had 
 relinquished all his literary pursuits, excepting his 
 comedies, the completion of which solely engaged his 
 attention ; while at the same time his chief amusement 
 consisted in musing on the design and motto for the 
 collar of the order of Homer, in which he was anxious 
 to enroll himself a member. In the month of April, 
 however, he was attacked by a fit of the gout, which 
 always tormented him on every change of season. 
 This paroxysm was unusually severe, probably be- 
 cause it attacked him when worn out with incessant 
 labor, and when he no longer possessed that salutary 
 vigor of constitution which could alone repel it from 
 the vital organs. From having found, during a course 
 of several years, that the state of his digestive func- 
 tions was not so good as formerly, he had been led to 
 suppose that in order to calm, or at least moderate, the 
 violence of the gout, it behooved him to diminish the 
 quantum of his food, moderate as it was. What, more- 
 over, served to confirm him in this opinion was, that he 
 uniformly found his spirits on fasting more vivacious 
 and better adapted for study. 
 
 In vain, madam, did your tender solicitude for his 
 welfare suggest the danger of such a course, and ad- 
 monish him to desist from so abstemious a regimen, 
 on observing him become more emaciated every day. 
 Notwithstanding these urgent solicitations, he still re- 
 mained inflexible in his purpose 5 and, dreading lest 
 death should occur to prevent the completion of his 
 comedies, devoted his whole time to their correction. 
 
 Not contented with this toil, arid stimulated by the 
 desire of amassing knowledge, he persevered in pursu- 
 
VITTOEIO ALFIERI. 353 
 
 ing his usual morning studies. The efforts which he 
 made were greater in proportion as his health declined 
 and he became more feeble ; disgusted with every- 
 thing but study, which constituted his chief amuse- 
 ment in his exhausted state, he pursued his accus- 
 tomed labors till the 3d of October with unremitting 
 assiduity. On that day, having arisen with an appear- 
 ance of better health and spirits than usual, he went 
 out after his morning studies to take an airing in his 
 phaeton. Scarcely, however, had he entered it, than 
 he was seized with a cold shivering. Imagining he 
 would shake it off by walking, he alighted, but was 
 immediately attacked by an acute pain in his bowels, 
 which prevented him from proceeding. The fever 
 under which he labored, on returning home, was ex- 
 tremely violent during the day, and abated not till 
 the evening. Though tormented by incessant reach- 
 ing, he passed the night without much suffering, and 
 on the following day left his apartment and went 
 down to dinner, but had no appetite. He dozed much 
 during the remainder of the day, but was extremely 
 restless throughout the night. On the morning of the 
 5th he indicated a wish to take the air, but was pre- 
 vented by the day proving rainy. In the course of the 
 evening he took his chocolate according to custom, and 
 apparently with much pleasure. On the night of the 
 6th the pains in his bowels returned, and sinapisms 
 wore applied by the orders of his physician to the soles 
 of his feet. As soon, however, as they began to pro- 
 duce some effect, he tore them off, dreading lest the 
 vesications resulting from their application might ren- 
 der him incapable of walking. During the follow- 
 ing day Alfieri appeared to be somewhat better, and 
 was unwilling to remain in bed. On the morning of 
 
354 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the 7th his physician in ordinary requested that an- 
 other member of the faculty might be called in to his 
 aid. This was accordingly complied with, and it was 
 agreed, on consultation, that fomentations and vesica- 
 tories should be applied to the lower extremities. The 
 patient, however, would not comply with this advice, 
 being continually haunted by the fear of not being able 
 to walk. He swallowed some opium, which mitigated 
 his pains and gave him a tranquil night. The repose, 
 however, thus obtained, was accompanied by some 
 raving and alienation of mind. The recollection of 
 past events, which had formerly made a lively impres- 
 sion on his mind, recurred to his imagination. He 
 spoke of his studies and of his labors for thirty years ; 
 and what is very remarkable, he repeated in succession 
 a great number of verses from Hesiod, whom he had 
 never read but once. You were by his side, madam, 
 and it was from himself that you learned this last cir- 
 cumstance. It does not, however, appear that the idea 
 of death, with which he had long familiarized himself, 
 occurred to his mind at this moment, or that he sus- 
 pected his end was so near at hand. This we are in- 
 duced to believe, because he said not a word to you on 
 the subject, though you never quitted him, excepting 
 at six o'clock in the morning, when contrary to the 
 advice of his physicians he obstinately persisted in tak- 
 ing oil and magnesia. This remedy appears to have 
 been productive of much mischief, since two hours had 
 scarcely elapsed from his taking it till his life was in 
 imminent danger, and on your returning to his apart- 
 ment his respiration was become so laborious as to 
 threaten instant suffocation. He arose, however, from 
 his chair, and, approaching the bed, leaned on it ; and 
 a few moments afterwards his vision became obscure, 
 
VITTOPJO ALFIERI. 355 
 
 and he expired. During his illness he neglected neither 
 the duties nor the consolations of religion, but as no 
 one suspected that his malady would make such rapid 
 strides, he was not much importuned on this topic ; so 
 that his confessor arrived not in time to give him abso- 
 lution. We are fully assured, however, that the count 
 was not unprepared for this awful event, since his 
 mind was often occupied with the thoughts of death, 
 and he frequently discoursed on the subject. Thus 
 terminated the life of this illustrious man, on the morn- 
 ing of Saturday, the 8th of October, 1803, when he 
 had completed the fifty-fifth year of his age. 
 
 He was interred near the altar of the Holy Spirit, 
 in the Church of S. Croce, where repose the ashes of 
 so many illustrious men. A simple tombstone has 
 only been raised over his grave, till the mausoleum, 
 which you, madam, intend to erect to his memory be 
 finished, and placed near that of Michael Angelo. Ca- 
 nova is already employed on it ; and the work of 
 such an artist must necessarily exhibit a model of 
 perfection. 
 
 I could here wish to scatter a few flowers over the 
 grave of my departed friend ; I could wish to point out 
 the irreparable loss which we, in common with all 
 Italy, have sustained by his death ; but it is necessary 
 to restrain my tears, and this would only make them 
 flow more abundantly. Let us then rather endeavor 
 to find consolation in the reflection that his memory 
 will not perish, but be immortalized in the works he 
 has left behind him. We must also seek consolation 
 in the idea that, though he did not live to bestow the 
 last polish on these memoirs, he has throughout drawn 
 a just picture of himself. 
 
 No one who reads this life of Alfieri with impartial- 
 
356 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ity can err respecting the judgment they ought to form 
 of his character. If his sarcastic severity, which gave 
 offence to many, had only heen manifest in the work 
 in question, you would, I think, madam, have ,con- 
 sulted his fame in withholding its perusal from every 
 one but a few select friends : but as the sentiments 
 which have created him so many enemies are published 
 in several other of his works ; as the lustre of his repu- 
 tation was alone sufficient to excite envy against him j 
 as, moreover, it is probable that these papers, however 
 preserved, may fall into the hands of ill-designing men, 
 I conceive it necessary to counteract the impression 
 which they might otherwise produce. 
 
 Aliieri is entitled to transcendent praise, not only as 
 a writer, 'but as a man. Simple and irreproachable 
 manners, which few even possess in the middle ranks 
 of life, are seldom looked for in the higher circles of 
 society. Not satisfied, however, with possessing such 
 virtues himself, he uniformly inculcated them in his 
 writings ; and among the sublime affections which 
 animated his soul, he beheld nothing but country and 
 civil liberty. A philosopher, who exercises no profes- 
 sion nor employment in a regal government, is infinitely 
 more independent than even the monarch himself. For 
 my part, I have never desired any other liberty than 
 that enjoyed under a monarchial government, nor have 
 I ever disdained to conduct myself like a faithful sub- 
 ject. Many have, however, with too much facility, 
 adopted the opinion that the enjoyment of civil liberty 
 is incompatible with a government in which everything 
 is regulated by the will of one who styles himself the 
 master of his subjects. Thus did Alfieri deceive him- 
 self j thus it was that his mind became imbued with 
 those enthusiastic arid patriotic sentiments which he 
 
VITTORIO ALFIEKI. 357 
 
 endeavored to diffuse throughout Italy. But though 
 ardently desirous of beholding the revival of Italian 
 liberty, he yet wished to separate himself from those 
 abandoned men who, like him, had evinced themselves 
 the warm partisans of liberty, and who by their crimes 
 had even rendered its name odious. Philosophers will 
 tell us that we ought not to confound the bad with the 
 virtuous, and that nothing can justify his hatred to- 
 wards a whole nation. But we must consider Alfieri 
 like an impassioned lover, who finds it impossible to 
 be just to the enemies of his mistress. We must, more- 
 over, consider him as the Demosthenes of Italy, oppos- 
 ing his Philippics to the Macedonian phalanx. So far 
 from wishing to be considered as his apologist on that 
 account, I am of opinion that the reputation of this 
 illustrious man requires not my feeble support. I 
 merely request indulgence for a fault which had its 
 origin in the best feelings of the heart, the love of his 
 country. You are at perfect liberty, madam, to make 
 what use of my letter you may think proper, and I 
 entreat you to accept of my profound respect and 
 
 veneration. 
 
 THOMAS VALPERGA-CALUSO. 
 
 FLORENCE, July 21, 1804. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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