CONJECTURES 
 
 AND 
 
 RESEARCHES 
 
 CONCERNING THE 
 
 LOVE, MADNESS, AND IMPRISONMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 TORQUATO TASSO, 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD HENRY WILDE. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 Di mia favola, lunga il filo incerto 
 Con nodi inestricabili e si involto, 
 Che per arte, di Febo esser disciolto, 
 Non puo, se Dei non manda il cielo aperto, 
 Or chi sciorallo ? 
 
 T. TASSO. Sopra gli accidenti, folia tua vita. 
 
 Onde Torquato 
 
 Ebbe la fama, che volontier mirro. 
 
 DANTE. Paradise, canto vi., v. 46-48. 
 Quel da Esti il fe far, che m' avea in ira 
 Assai piu la, che il dritto, non volea. 
 
 DANTE. Purgatorio, canto v., v, 77, 78. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ALEXANDER V. BLAKE, 54 GOLD STREET. 
 1842.
 
 Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by 
 
 ALEXANDER V. BLAKE, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 CRAIOHEAD, PRINTER,- 
 112 Fulton Street.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY in October of this year, (1578,) Tasso 
 wrote from Urbinoto Count DOMENICO ALBANO, 
 begging his good offices with the Cardinal. A 
 short extract from this letter will be sufficient : 
 
 " The great malignity of others, and my own 
 little prudence, as well in not knowing how to 
 dissemble injuries, as in resenting them with too 
 much freedom of language ; my overweening 
 confidence in friends, and the faithlessness I 
 have found in them, have plunged me into a 
 state so exceedingly miserable, that the least of 
 many evils which I now suffer, would formerly, 
 alone, have seemed insupportable. Yet could 
 I be assured that snares are not laid for my 
 life, and that the Duke of Ferrara, holding me 
 justified, or not caring about my justification, 
 would quiet me from all apprehensions of his an- 
 ger, my other griefs would give me little
 
 4 
 
 trouble, and I should hope to overcome them 
 without the aid of others. But what relates to 
 my safety, if it be not undertaken by some per- 
 son of great authority, who will exert himself 
 earnestly for me, cannot be sustained by my 
 own feeble strength."* 
 
 Whether the DUKE of URBINO was unwilling 
 to increase the causes of misunderstanding be- 
 tween himself and ALPHONSO, by the open pro- 
 tection of a fugitive laboring under his displea- 
 sure, or ingratitude, treachery, and injustice, 
 had now rendered TASSO habitually misanthro- 
 pical and suspicious, he left URBINO shortly 
 afterwards, and journeyed, sometimes on horse- 
 back and sometimes on foot, to the dominions 
 of the Duke of Savoy. He arrived at the 
 gates of TURIN in such wretched plight, that, 
 according to Ingegneri, he was at first refused 
 admission by the guards, from a belief of his 
 insanity, t Writing thence, on All-Souls' day, to 
 the Cardinal Albano, he entreats pardon for 
 having distrusted him, as with fluctuating sus- 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p/59, ed. di Pisa, 
 t Serassi, Vita, 275, n. 2.
 
 picions he had done many others most worthy 
 of his confidence, and begs the Cardinal's in- 
 terposition to restore him to the favor of those 
 princes whom his ill-fortune and melancholy 
 humor had alienated from him. He mentions 
 the offers made to him at Turin, and requests 
 the cardinal to establish him in the service of 
 the Duke of Savoy, promising more for him 
 than he could for himself, and exercising such 
 authority over him as to confirm his resolutions 
 whenever they vacillated from inconstancy or 
 folly, assuring his friend that, even though his 
 infirmity should hurry him into any levity, no 
 imagination, not even of the most cruel death, 
 shall ever transport him into an act less than 
 good and honorable."* 
 
 On the first of December, (1578,) he ad- 
 dressed the Cardinal again, imploring his as- 
 sistance " to relieve him from the miserable 
 condition into which his own want of caution, 
 and excess of fancy, had brought him."t 
 
 In the interval, he received a letter from 
 MAURIZIO CATANEO, the Cardinal's secretary, 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., 138, 139. 
 t Id., torn, v., p. 64. 
 1*
 
 giving him hopes of favor, as may be inferred 
 from his reply : 
 
 " To Maurizio Cataneo, Secretary of Cardinal 
 Albano. 
 
 " Your letter has been dear to me above all 
 things, from the hopes it gives me of an answer 
 from Cardinal ALBANO, which, if it comes, 
 will be one of the greatest favors I have re- 
 ceived in these years of affliction, and will seem 
 to restore me to the laws of other men, to 
 which I would rather be restored than gain a 
 million of gold. And although I am well aware, 
 that I myself, with my false imaginings, have 
 caused myself to be excluded from them, never- 
 theless I believe much was owing to the malig- 
 nity of fortune, not to say of men. However 
 that may be, I will yield myself so obediently 
 to the commands of the cardinal, (if he will 
 not decline my cure as desperate,) that he shall 
 never repent of having taken every thing upon 
 himself. And though I desire to be- relieved 
 by any means, his agency will be dearest to 
 me, and more especially if exercised with the 
 Duke of Ferrara rather than any other; so
 
 that his highness may be content not only to 
 restore my books, writings, and other trifles, 
 but to give me also some hundreds of crowns, 
 that I may finish the work begun under his 
 protection, and remain with the Marquess* in 
 tolerable poverty, because that which I endure 
 must in the end prove insufferable. And the 
 Duke should do so, not merely because it is 
 his habit not to be wanting to any of his ser- 
 vants, but because I have revered and loved 
 him sincerely, and many faults are forgiven to 
 those who have loved much. But the Cardinal 
 will do as he thinks best, and I commit myself 
 to his prudence. I am infinitely obliged by his 
 having obtained me the pardon of the Cardi- 
 nals of EsTEt and MEDICI,^ though I do not 
 know how I offended the Cardinal of ESTE, 
 except by quitting his house, and Rome, with- 
 out taking leave. But the first fault was from 
 too much humor, and in the last I was not to 
 
 * The Marquess of Este. 
 
 t Cardinal Luis d' Este, in whose service Tasso formerly 
 was. 
 
 t Cardinal Ferdinando de' Medici, afterwards Grand Duke 
 of Tuscany.
 
 
 blame, being in the power of others. The Car- 
 dinal de' MEDICI has greater causes of irritation 
 against me, and I am so much the more obliged 
 to Cardinal ALBANO for his having forgiven 
 them : and every sign he gives of holding me 
 in the same esteem as formerly will be most 
 dear to me. Of those two great cardinals I 
 am the most humble servant, and of the abbot, 
 and Signor SCIPIO GONZAGA, the servant I have 
 always been, and even more, inasmuch as my 
 fortune and my mind are less than what they 
 were. My intellect, nevertheless, in all that 
 respects composition, is in its wonted vigor, as 
 you will soon be able to judge, by a dialogue on 
 nobility which I am writing. 
 
 I had resolved to go to Ferrara, but the hopes 
 given me of an answer from the Cardinal, and 
 the fear of missing it, detained me. I will do 
 what he advises, and go there, or even to Rome, 
 if requisite. Know, however, that I have par- 
 ticular obligations to the Duke of SAVOY, and 
 would not spare to die in his service if an oc- 
 casion offered befitting a man of honor ; for 
 such, with the aid of heaven and the Cardinal, 
 I hope to prove myself so completely by my 
 actions, as to put down all the rumors of my
 
 past life, true or false. Turin, 1st December, 
 
 1578."* 
 
 Cardinal ALBANO'S much-desired answer 
 was as follows : 
 
 " To Signor Torquato Tasso. 
 
 " You could not adopt a better mode to 
 obtain pardon, recover honor, and satisfy your 
 friends, than to confess the error you have 
 committed, in suspecting every one indiffe- 
 rently, which indeed has been no less worthy 
 of laughter than compassion. God grant that 
 as you now perceive your mistake, you will 
 always remember it for the future, and you 
 should do so the more readily, because I assure 
 you, upon my honor, that no one thinks, or at- 
 tempts, in any manner to hurt you, but all love 
 you, and wish you a long and happy life, on 
 account of your singular merit. You may have 
 seen, and may see, from their results, that your 
 fears and suspicions are nothing but false ima- 
 ginings, whence it is requisite you should banish 
 
 * Lcttere r lom. v., p. 61, ed. di Pisa.
 
 10 
 
 them entirely, and by doing so you will be 
 equally loved and honored. Otherwise you 
 will lose life and reputation together, and while 
 you think to shun death, wandering here and 
 there, it will encounter you without fail very 
 soon. Calm yourself then, and attend to your 
 studies, and rejoice at being with so good and 
 noble a lord as the Marquess of ESTE. And 
 because it is necessary that you should tear up 
 this peccant humor by the roots, and that can- 
 not be done without medicine, you must allow 
 yourself to be prescribed for by the physicians, 
 counselled by your friends, and governed by 
 your patrons, and believe, in fine, that I am, 
 and will ever be, one of the first to love and 
 favor you, and may God have you in his care. 
 Rome, 29th November, 1578."* 
 
 " Your lordship's letter," says TASSO, ad- 
 dressing the CARDINAL in reply, " was inex- 
 pressibly welcome, rather because I perceive 
 myself in your favor, than because I received 
 from it any alleviation of my wretchedness. I 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p. 64, ed. di Pisa.
 
 11 
 
 hope, nevertheless, to find some, and mean- 
 while supplicate your lordship to employ all 
 your influence with the serene LORD DUKE of 
 FERRARA, with whom I know how much you 
 can effect, and by whom I desire to be released 
 from this misery rather than any other. Turin, 
 14th December, 1578."* 
 
 The Cardinal, says SERASSI, exerted himself 
 effectually with the Duke, who was well dis- 
 posed to grant TASSO all he desired, and re- 
 ceive him anew into his service, provided he 
 would allow himself to be cured, and would 
 behave in a proper manner; because, the 
 last time he was in FERRARA, transported 
 by his fancies, he had probably used extrava- 
 gant and discourteous language towards some 
 of the courtiers. His lordship, therefore, caused 
 it to be signified to TASSO, that the nuptials of 
 the Duke ALPHONSO with MARGHERITA GON- 
 ZAGA, daughter of Duke WILLIAM of MANTTJA, 
 being about to be concluded, if he went to Fer- 
 rara on that happy occasion, he would obtain 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p. 65.
 
 12 
 
 from the Duke, besides the restoration of his 
 books and manuscripts, many favors, and the 
 means of remaining honorably at court. 
 
 Overjoyed at the proposal, the poet requested 
 the Marquess of ESTE'S leave to set out. This 
 prudent nobleman, though willing to oblige 
 him, either because he doubted the Duke's good 
 dispositions, or feared TORQUATO was not in a 
 condition to attend the festivities, without com- 
 mitting some extravagance, attempted to dis- 
 suade him from the journey, promising to take 
 him to Ferrara himself in the spring.* In spite of 
 his counsel, however, and that of FORNI, and of 
 CAVALLERINO, the Marquess's secretary, who 
 earnestly endeavored to divert him from his 
 purpose, he was obstinately bent on leaving 
 Turin, and hastening to the spot where he ex- 
 pected at least comfort and security, and found 
 obloquy and a prison. 
 
 This ardent longing after a place from 
 whence he had twice fled in apprehension or 
 disgust, where he believed his life to be in dan- 
 ger, and had suffered many persecutions, 
 though now manifested for the second time, has 
 
 * Serassi, Vita.
 
 13 
 
 never been adequately accounted for. SERASSI, 
 speaking of his first absence, says, the thoughts 
 of Ferrara, and the writings he left there, would 
 not let him rest. Thoughts of Ferrara, many, 
 and sad, and deep, must indeed have pursued 
 him every where. That they were all for his 
 manuscripts cannot be imagined. Nor can the 
 Abate be implicitly credited, when he attributes 
 the poet's return to- his extraordinary devotion 
 towards the person of ALPHONSO. One of his 
 sonnets, most probably written during his wan- 
 derings in 1577 or 1578, indicates another, per- 
 haps a deeper and a tenderer interest. 
 
 "SONNET 342. 
 
 HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO ULYSSES. 
 
 Wandering ULYSSES on the storm-vexed shore 
 
 Lay amid wrecks, upon the sand scarce dry, 
 Naked and sad : hunger and thirst he bore, 
 
 And hopeless gazed upon the sea and sky : 
 When there appeared (so willed the Fates on high.) 
 
 A royal dame to terminate his wo ; 
 ' Sweet fruits,' she said, ' sun-tinged with every dye 
 
 My father's garden boasts would'st taste them 1 Go !' 
 For me, alas ! though shivering in the blast 
 
 I perish a more cruel shipwreck mine 
 Who from the beach, where famishing I'm cast, 
 
 Will point to royal roofs, for which I pine 1 
 
 VOL. ir. 2
 
 If 'tis not THOU ! moved by my prayers at last, 
 
 What shall I call thee 1 ? GODDESS ! by each sign."* 
 
 It is apparent, from a letter of his to Car- 
 dinal ALBANO, that he returned to the court of 
 ALPHONSO with very moderate hopes : 
 
 " I thank your lordship," says he, " for the 
 favor shown me by his serene highness the 
 DUKE of FERRARA, whom I am ready to satisfy 
 
 * Rime, Parte Prima, vol. iii.. torn, i., p. 176. 
 "SONNETTO 342. 
 
 SI PAEAGONA AD ULISSE. 
 
 Giaceva esposto il peregrino Ulisse 
 
 Mesto, ed ignudo sovra i lidi asciutti, 
 Ch' agitato poco anzi era da' flutti 
 
 In cui lungo digiun sostenne, e visse, 
 Quando (com' alta sorte a lui prescrisse) 
 
 Donne real fin pose a' suoi gran lutti : 
 Vattene agli orti, ove perpetui frutti 
 
 Ha il mio buon padre, ivi godrai, gli disse. 
 Misero ! a me dopo naufragi indegni 
 
 Famelico gittato in fredda riva, 
 Chi fia che mostri i regj tetti, e gli orti 1 
 
 Se tu non sei, cui tanti preghi ho porti ; 
 Ma qual chiamar ti debbo, o donna, o Diva 1 
 
 Dea, Dea, sei certo, io ti conosco a "segni."
 
 15 
 
 by allowing myself to be cured, and behaving 
 to his people as he desires. I have so written 
 to the Count SCIPIO SACRATO, his favorite, and 
 he may send me to Ferrara. I supplicate your 
 lordship to favor my departure, and be assured 
 that I will renounce all hope of future greatness 
 for a little present comfort. I am nevertheless 
 resolved to accommodate myself to my fortune, 
 and most humbly kiss your hands. Turin, 
 10th February, 1579." 
 
 He arrived in Ferrara the twenty-first of 
 February, 1579, the day before the new Duchess 
 reached Belvedere, and the court being entirely 
 occupied with the ceremonies, he could not ob- 
 tain audience either of the Duke or his sisters. 
 
 From the ministers and courtiers he met with 
 nothing but rudeness and inhumanity. Two 
 of his letters, written shortly after his arrival, 
 sufficiently attest the coldness of his reception, 
 and the non-fulfilment of the promises made to 
 him. 
 
 " To Maurizio Cataneo. 
 " I wrote you the other day that I had ar-
 
 16 
 
 rived in Ferrara. Now I have to inform you 
 that I met with the difficulty I apprehended, 
 not at all overcome by the favor of my Lord 
 Cardinal, or by any sort of humility in my 
 power. I thought it best to advise you of it, 
 and to pray you would procure me so strong a 
 letter of recommendation to the Duke, that I 
 may get my books and manuscripts, and the 
 means of supporting myself here, or of going 
 to Rome. I know it would be easy for the 
 Cardinal to obtain me this favor, if he will ask 
 it. Ferrara, 24th February, 1579."* 
 
 " To Cardinal Albano. 
 
 "Signer Maurizio gave me to understand by 
 his letters, that coming to these nuptials, I should 
 receive from the Duke my books and manuscripts 
 and the means of subsistence. It appears very 
 doubtful whether the effect will conform to my 
 wishes, because it seems to me the rnind of the 
 Duke is hardened against me. I shall not 
 cease to do all I can to appease him, and sup- 
 plicate your lordship to favor me with a letter, 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p. 69, ed. di Pisa.
 
 17 
 
 at least in so far as relates to the restitution of 
 the things that belong to me ; for the rest I will 
 be content with his highness's pleasure. 24th 
 February, 1579."* 
 
 On the 12th of March he wrote again to Car- 
 dinal Albano, saying : 
 
 " I entreat your 
 
 lordship to write to the Duke of Ferrara so 
 efficiently in my behalf, that he may restore me 
 the place and provision I had in his service, or 
 one in his court equal to that which I at first 
 enjoyed." And, in a postscript, he adds, "I 
 implore you, above all things, to procure me 
 some place of permanent abode, where it will 
 be possible for me to study." 
 
 "From whence it is apparent," says Serassi, 
 " that all this time he was obliged to seek tem- 
 porary lodgings, first at one place and then at 
 another, having been unable to procure any 
 fixed habitation. And, in fact," he continues, 
 "on his arrival at Ferrara, he was not received 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p. 68, ed. di Pisa. 
 2*
 
 18 
 
 by any dependents of the DUKE, but by those of 
 the Cardinal d' ESTE, who did not, however, 
 perform any of the promises made to him by 
 Cardinal Albano. So that TASSO, after having 
 patiently suffered this harshness for some time, 
 and still finding himself constantly disfavored 
 by the Duke and the Princesses, abandoned by 
 his friends, and scoffed at by his adversaries, 
 could no longer restrain himself within the 
 bounds of moderation, but giving free vent to 
 his rage, broke out publicly into the most inju- 
 rious and abusive language possible, against 
 the Duke, the whole house of ESTE, and the 
 principal noblemen of the court ; retracting all 
 the praises he had bestowed on any of them, 
 cursing his past servitude, and denouncing 
 them all as a pack of ingrates, cowards, and 
 scoundrels."* 
 
 " The Duke," continues Serassi, " apprised 
 of this vile language and of TASSO'S ill-will to 
 his serene highness and whole house, was too 
 generous and magnanimous to exhibit any re- 
 
 * Serassi's account of the language is not borne out by Tas- 
 so's authority. See the extracts from the Discourse to Gonzagu, 
 post.
 
 19 
 
 sentraent against the unhappy poet, but, respect- 
 ing the excellence of his genius and the merit 
 of his incomparable poem, ordered him to be 
 taken to the hospital of Sant' Anna, and there 
 well guarded in close custody as a maniac." 
 
 The biographer then adduces various proofs 
 that these rash and foolish words were the only 
 cause of TASSO'S imprisonment, an hypothesis 
 hereafter to be tested. 
 
 The date of this occurrence was about the 
 middle of March, 1579. The .place of his con- 
 finement, an asylum for the indigent sick, and 
 insane : the period of his durance, seven mi- 
 serable years, and his treatment during its con- 
 tinuance, as we gather from his own descrip- 
 tions, such as might be expected from the place 
 and the age. It is impossible to say more. 
 
 Shortly after his confinement he must have 
 begun, and before the end of May had com- 
 pleted, his " Discourse to GONZAGA on the 
 events of his Life," a prolix and somewhat 
 florid production, which, did we possess it 
 entire, would probably leave little mystery. 
 Though it did not appear in print until thirty- 
 three years after the poet's death, it was mutilated
 
 20 
 
 by the first publisher, as we have already men- 
 tioned, and no inquiry after the original manu- 
 script has as yet been successful. 
 
 Significant blanks being all that remain of 
 some portions, once, no doubt, the most interest- 
 ing, it would be inexcusable to inflict the entire 
 residue on the reader. A selection, therefore, 
 has been made, ample enough, however, to as- 
 sist his curiosity, perhaps to weary it.* It 
 begins thus : 
 
 " I know not, most illustrious sir, whether for 
 the purpose of inducing you to undertake my 
 protection, I ought to employ the force of reason 
 or the eloquence of entreaty ; since, if upon 
 the one hand, my miseries cry aloud, resound- 
 ing so marvellously through the world, that he 
 must be deaf who will not hear, and he who 
 
 * Serassi makes only a few extracts from this Discourse, 
 and Black, in two quarto volumes, finds room but for a meagre 
 abstract of fts contents, calling it exceedingly prolix and full of 
 irrelevant matter. Rosini was, of course, precluded by his 
 limits from doing more than quoting such parts as were favora- 
 ble to his argument. In connecting these with other proofs, he 
 has not. perhaps, always avoided the error of assuming too 
 muchi
 
 21 
 
 will not pity, inhuman; on the other hand, your 
 intellect is so acute, that you can, without as- 
 sistance, not only discover all the arguments 
 in defence of the accused, but penetrating further 
 into the very nature of errors and of crimes, the 
 just proportion of rewards and punishments, 
 and the duties of justice and humanity; you 
 can perceive what is due to me after so many 
 afflictions, from those who, being in this world 
 the ministers of God and of his divine justice 
 and clemency, ought to be his imitators. If, 
 then, my miseries are of themselves worthy to 
 be heard, and you of yourself are capable of 
 perceiving whatever either justice or mercy can 
 urge in my favor, it is superfluous, perhaps, 
 that you should be wearied either with my 
 prayers or my arguments, especially, since by 
 one or the other I seek to persuade you of that 
 to which, if you have not been already per- 
 suaded by your own bounty and courtesy, nei- 
 ther can you be moved by my tears nor con- 
 vinced by my reasoning, since the first can tell 
 you nothing new of my griefs, nor the last reveal 
 any truth not already known to j r ou. And pos- 
 sibly, therefore, it would be better if I should 
 rely on a modest and melancholy silence, to
 
 22 
 
 effect the object which I do not believe mere 
 words can accomplish. But, having found by 
 experience that silence has not availed me 
 more than speech, I will not be deterred by fa- 
 tigue or peril, after the loss of comfort, quiet, 
 content, reputation, honor, liberty, and almost 
 of life, (for I hardly live,) from risking words in 
 attempting to recover some part of what I have 
 lost. I address myself to you then, and rather 
 with arguments than entreaties, knowing you 
 to be even more rational than affectionate, your 
 well-disciplined mind having retained so much 
 tenderness and no more, as may serve by kind- 
 ness and humanity to adorn without disturbing 
 the empire of reason. 
 
 And I will speak to you, not as it is custom- 
 ary to address the ignorant, nor yet judges and 
 senators, more habituated to action than con- 
 templation, but as one perfectly philosophical 
 should be spoken to by him, who, if he under- 
 stands not, at least admires and loves philoso- 
 phy- 
 All that I am accused of, most illustrious sir, 
 and on account of which I have fallen into this 
 wretched condition, may be reduced to two 
 heads. Whenever man sins he sins against
 
 23 
 
 GOD ; because GOD, being every where and in 
 all things, he can wrong nothing without injur- 
 ing one of GOD'S works. But there are two 
 ways in which GOD may be offended ; either 
 directly, that is by crimes against his divine 
 majesty, or indirectly, by such as are commit- 
 ted against his creatures. The latter, also, ad- 
 mit of a twofold division, into transgressions 
 that act on the persons of our neighbors, as 
 homicide, adultery, treason, and the like, and 
 those that stop with the person who commits 
 them, such as simple acts of incontinence or 
 intemperance, absolute or qualified ; vain and 
 idle thoughts, and, to use the words of the poet, 
 
 " Luxurious food, and sloth, and downy sleep." 
 
 But, among the offences committed against our 
 neighbors, most grave are those touching the 
 dignity of princes, which may be likened, in 
 some degree, to those rebelliously directed 
 against GOD by the pride and impiety of man ; 
 because princes on earth are God's images and 
 ministers. Such, then, being the variety of sins, 
 I, through my fault, and partly through my mis- 
 fortune, am accused or calumniated with some
 
 24 
 
 of them. Because it must be either as a rebel 
 against the Duke, my lord by election, or as 
 criminal towards my friends and acquaintances, 
 or unjust to myself, (if against one's self injustice 
 can be committed,) that I am thus treated ; 
 banished from the citizenship, not of Naples 
 only, or Ferrara, but of the whole earth ; so 
 that, for me, it is not lawful to say what is law- 
 ful for every one else, that I am a citizen of the 
 world excluded not only from the pale of 
 civil, but of national law, and the laws of na- 
 ture and of God deprived of all friendship, 
 and intercourse, and conversation, and know- 
 ledge of all amusements and comforts de- 
 nied all favors, and in all places and at all 
 times, equally scorned and abominated. A 
 punishment so great, that, unaccompanied with 
 hope, death itself could not be greater, and, 
 perhaps, by a man of courage and magnanimity, 
 qualities to which I pretend not, might be 
 esteemed far less. But if this hope be not the 
 promise of good to come, but deceitful conso- 
 lation, such as is given to the incurable, I can- 
 not decide whether it be a mitigation or an in- 
 crease of my sufferings, since I must witness
 
 from hour to hour the destruction of some illu- 
 sion that seemed about to be fulfilled." 
 
 TASSO, after a rhetorical digression descri- 
 bing the Greek punishment of parricides, and 
 comparing his own with it, proceeds : 
 
 " But comparisons, you will say, are not 
 readily equalized in the balance, and I confess 
 it. Nor from the goodness of the prince, in 
 whose power I am, can any cruel punishment 
 be anticipated ; nor from his kind and clement 
 disposition any tyrannous invention ; and that 
 which I now suffer, be it what it may, is per- 
 haps rather deserved by me, than worthy of 
 him, the work, so to speak, of my fortune, 
 brought about by many incidental causes, mar- 
 vellously concurring to my prejudice, and be- 
 ginning when he thought rather of favoring, 
 than punishing me. 
 
 " But neither have I committed parricide, 
 nor was there ever any one once manifestly 
 absolved by the judgment of God, and after- 
 wards, for the same cause, unjustly condemned 
 by the judgment of men. He who killed his 
 mother, when his absolution was pronounced 
 
 VOL. n. 3
 
 26 
 
 by Apollo, ceased to be pursued by his coun- 
 trymen; yet I, who by the judgment, not of 
 Apollo, but of the true and all-powerful God, 
 (may I dare to say so,) against the will and 
 opinion of all my fellows, have been miracu- 
 lously rescued from the jaws of death once, 
 twice, and three times ready to devour me 
 why am I anew persecuted of men ? Is it not 
 enough, if my crimes are so heavy as they 
 would have them, that like a new ORESTES I 
 should be tormented by remorse of conscience 
 and loss of reputation ? And if they be not 
 so heavy, but that they may be punished of 
 themselves, why is a penalty renewed, cer- 
 tainly not slight, nor customary, nor used, nor 
 heard of, nor imagined ever ? But the crime 
 of Orestes was one, and yours are many, it 
 will be said, and he killed his mother to re- 
 venge his father, but you, by what cause were 
 your offences instigated ? And here occurs the 
 necessity for me to speak of myself, and of my 
 faults, not indeed without humiliation, but 
 boldly and frankly ; and if I shrink not from 
 the exposure of my shame, neither should you 
 find its confession tiresome ; but if you will not 
 listen with clemency as a friend to his friend,
 
 or a lord to his servant, at least as man to man, 
 sinner to sinner, and the subject of fortune ; to 
 one most unfortunate, with some feeling of 
 humanity, you must deign to listen to me ! 
 
 " The bitterest accusers pass over the faults 
 of boyhood and of youth, especially such as 
 not being directed against God, and only 
 slightly injuiious to man, end, for the most part, 
 with him who commits them. But my enemies, 
 like swine, delighting to root and wallow in the 
 mire of my iniquity, if free of uncleanness 
 themselves, as I am willing to believe, have at 
 least been incontinent in hatred, if not in se- 
 verity. But if of such, or the like faults, they 
 have themselves been guilty, which I do not 
 affirm, let them not imagine I will pry into the 
 secrets of their youth, if that were possible. 
 They will allow me only to say, that most in- 
 considerately have they used such harshness, 
 if conscious of liability to reproof; but fortu- 
 nately for them they have used it against a per- 
 son who cannot, or will not, or ought not to re- 
 taliate, returning like for like, though the 
 Pythagoreans esteemed that the only sort of 
 justice. But as I, so God will bear me witness, 
 desire no other revenge of them than such as
 
 28 
 
 by living, and by writing well, I can inflict, if 
 indeed this will mortify them, so I confess that 
 not without many faults of mine have I fallen 
 into this wretchedness. Yet, if it was the weak- 
 ness of youth, and of human nature, to err, 
 certainly it was owing to the malignity of for- 
 tune, that when my life began to reform, and 
 my fair fame to spread abroad, which I, by 
 well-doing, might have hoped daily to increase, 
 all my honor was turned into disgrace, and my 
 manhood tarnished and degraded by faults not 
 its own. 
 
 " But whatever may be the present charges 
 against me, for I know not precisely what they 
 are unless my conscience is greatly deceit- 
 ful, they are such as rather merit pardon and 
 oblivion than remembrance and punishment. 
 My other errors also are rather numerous than 
 heavy, according to the opinions of men ; and 
 if any one in my favor would imitate Christ, 
 when he said let him that is without sin cast 
 the first stone, silence would be imposed on 
 the murmurers, or rather criers and proclaim- 
 ers of my dishonor ; and if nothing new could 
 be added, the rumors of my juvenile faults, re- 
 vived with such infinite pains and curious dili-
 
 29 
 
 gence by my enemies, would soon return to 
 rest. 
 
 "But the accusation of being faithless to my 
 prince, added to the original charges,* pro- 
 duced a torrent, nay, a deluge of misfortunes, 
 so great that neither any effort of human rea- 
 son, nor the favor of the most serene PRIN- 
 CESSES, who exerted themselves earnestly in 
 my behalf, v/ere capable of restraining it. And 
 what shall I answer to these grave accusations ? 
 What testimony can I produce in my favor ? 
 Your's, my lord, I fancy would relieve me in 
 part, if not entirely from the burthen of the 
 infamy, or at least greatly reduce it." 
 
 TASSO, with reference doubtless to the here- 
 tical opinions of which he was suspected, and 
 which probably are the " original charges" 
 alluded to above, enters into a long argument 
 upon free will, and maintains that it is no jus- 
 tification of incredulity to say our belief does 
 not depend upon ourselves. This may be 
 spared. But his eloquent apostrophe to the 
 
 Probably of heresy.
 
 30 
 
 Divine Being, and account of the final re-es- 
 tablishment of his faith, and restoration of his 
 tranquillity, notwithstanding their length, are 
 too important to be omitted. 
 
 " I do not, then, O LORD ! excuse, but ac- 
 cuse myself, that, utterly unclean within and 
 without, and infected with the sins of the flesh, 
 and filth of the world, I was accustomed to 
 think of thee,. as of the ideas of Plato, the 
 atoms of Democritus, the spirit of Anaxagoras, 
 the enmity and friendship of Empedocles, the 
 primeval matter of Aristotle, the forms of body 
 and unity of mind dreamed of by Averroes, and 
 such like theories of philosophers, which, for 
 the most part, are figments of their own ima- 
 ginations, rather than works of thine, or of na- 
 ture, thy minister. 
 
 " Nor is it marvellous, therefore, that I knew 
 thee only as the first cause of the universe, be- 
 loved and desired, and drawing all things to 
 thyself ; the eternal and immovable principle 
 of all motion ; the Lord of the world, ever 
 watchful over it, and all that it contains. But 
 I doubted overmuch whether thou hadst cre- 
 ated the world, or it had depended on thee from
 
 31 
 
 all eternity ; and I doubted whether thouhadst 
 endowed man with an immortal soul; and 
 whether thou hadst descended to invest thyself 
 with humanity ; and many other things which 
 flow from these like streams from their source. 
 For how could I firmly believe in the sacra- 
 ments, or in the authority of the pope, or in 
 hell, or purgatory, if I doubted the incarnation 
 of thy Son and the immortality of the soul ? 
 The second doubts, however, did not spring 
 from their own proper roots, but rather 
 branched off from the first. For I grieved 
 to doubt, and willingly would I have banished 
 such thoughts from my mind, curious and de- 
 lighting in lofty and abstract speculations ; and 
 willingly would I have reposed on the ' belief 
 of all that is held and taught of thee by the 
 holy Roman Catholic Church. But this, O 
 Lord ! I desired less for the love I bore thee 
 and thine infinite goodness, than a certain 
 slavish dread of hell ; and often did the angelic 
 trump of the last day sound horribly in my 
 ears ; and I fancied I saw thee seated on the 
 clouds, and heard the words of fear, " Begone, 
 ye cursed, into everlasting fire /" So strong were 
 these thoughts in me, that I was oftentimes
 
 32 
 
 obliged to reveal them to some friend or ac- 
 quaintance, and overcome by my apprehen- 
 sions I confessed and communicated, at the 
 seasons and in the manner commanded by the 
 church ; and if at any time I omitted any sin 
 in confession, from shame at having acted so 
 badly in trifles, or from negligence, I repeated 
 my confession, and often made it general of 
 all my sins. 
 
 " In revealing my doubts to my confessor, 
 however, I did not exhibit them with as much 
 force as I felt them in my soul, (because I was 
 sometimes on the brink of disbelief,) not so 
 much from shame or wickedness, as from fear 
 he would not absolve me. And among my 
 doubts, the principal one which I could not re- 
 solve was, whether mine was infidelity or not, 
 and whether or no I could be absolved. Never- 
 theless I consoled myself by believing, and 
 that more firmly than anything else, that thou 
 would st pardon even those who had not be- 
 lieved in thee, provided their incredulity had 
 not proceeded from obstinacy and wickedness, 
 of which sins I am acquitted by my conscience, 
 and thou knowest they are, and ever have 
 been, far from me. For thou knowest I ever
 
 33 
 
 desired most fervently the exaltation of thy 
 faith, although not believed, or not entirely be- 
 lieved by me ; and I desired, with a zeal more 
 worldly perhaps than spiritual, but still most 
 ardent, that the seat of thy faith, and of the 
 pontificate in Rome, should continue to the end 
 of ages ; and thou knowest that the names of 
 Lutheran and heretic were abhorred and 
 abominated by me ; although I did not always 
 refrain from the intimacy and conversation of 
 those, who, from reasons of state, as they said, 
 vacillated in thy faith, and were sometimes 
 near scepticism. And thou knowesl, if I spoke 
 to any one of my doubts, it was not to infect 
 them, but to relieve my own mind from a 
 weight that at times overwhelmed it ; and thou 
 knowest, that when thy chastisements fell upon 
 me in the most sensitive part of my nature, I 
 mean my honor and reputation, I did not fly 
 from, but drew nigh unto thee ; and the cold- 
 ness of my heart, if it heated not, at least 
 warmed in thy love. And although it is said 
 the lukewarm are worse than the frozen, that, 
 peradventure, is only true of those who content 
 themselves in their lukewarmness, not of such 
 as, seeking to increase their zeal, may reason-
 
 34 
 
 ably hope for an augmentation of thy grace. 
 For thou dost not always miraculously en- 
 lighten and inflame man with thy love, as thou 
 didst Paul, but sometimes workest by ordinary 
 means, as thou didst with Cyprian, who, to 
 enjoy his beloved maiden, turned Christian, 
 thus reaching from earthly to divine affections ; 
 and moreover, if I mistake not, it is impossible 
 to pass from coldness to heat without going 
 through lukewarmness. Nor did I therewith 
 content myself, though, mixed with the tepid 
 desire of thy grace, was a most ardent desire 
 of earthly honor and glory. But I rejoiced 
 that the fervor of concupiscence and sensuality 
 was almost extinguished in me ; nor, to confess 
 the truth, did I grieve to be ambitious, having 
 read in Cornelius Tacitus, that ambition is the 
 last garment a wise man leaves off. Such was 
 I in love towards thee ; and by means of fre- 
 quent attendance on holy ceremonies, and 
 daily prayers, in this state I continued, and 
 even advanced, becoming stronger in my faith 
 from day to day ; and thus thinking of thee, 
 not indeed as I ought, but in a better manner 
 than I had done, my mind began to presume 
 less upon itself than formerly, and clearly to
 
 35 
 
 perceive by experience, that it obeyed the will, 
 at least when exercising itself in obedience to 
 thee ; and that being habituated to profitable 
 reflections and holy thoughts, it would be ren- 
 dered worthy to receive faith as the gift of 
 God, of which it may be truly said, it is 
 an act of the understanding, commanded by 
 the will. 
 
 " And already, in great part, I laughed at my 
 former doubts, not because I could solve them, 
 or say what thou wert, or understand thy na- 
 ture and essence, but because I was aware 
 thou wert incomprehensible, and that it was 
 folly to attempt confining thee, who art infinite, 
 within the narrow limits of the human intellect, 
 or measuring, with human reason, thy immea- 
 surable goodness, justice, and omnipotence."
 
 36 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ENTERING still farther into details, he re- 
 counts the confirmation of his faith touching cer- 
 tain points of Christian and Catholic doctrine, 
 whereof he had doubted, more circumstantially, 
 perhaps, than would be acceptable to a majority 
 of our readers. The purpose here to be ef- 
 fected is not to ascertain by what theological 
 arguments TASSO'S skepticism was removed, 
 but whether his religious doubts had at all 
 impaired his reason. 
 
 "Such," says he, concluding this branch of 
 his subject, "were the trains of thought and ar- 
 gument I perceived in my own mind ; by means 
 of which I became continually more and more 
 aware of the uncertainty of earthly science, 
 and less and less inclined to listen to whatever 
 may be urged by philosophy against our reli-
 
 37 
 
 gion ; so that I was not at all, or very slightly 
 agitated by my former anxieties. 
 
 " But it is time, most illustrious sir, that I 
 return to you after this long digression into which 
 I have been led, not, indeed, against my will, 
 but without my purpose, and moved by no ar- 
 tifice of oratory but by a certain spirit of truth." 
 
 Here follows in the original edition a blank 
 of several lines.* From what succeeds it may 
 
 * These passages were suppressed, by the first publisher, as 
 appears from the Imprimatur at the end of the volume : 
 
 " Ho letto e copiata, io Martino Sandelli Doltore dell' una, e 
 1' altra legge, e Rettore in San Martino di Padoua, il sopra 
 scritto discorso del' Signor Torquato Tasso ; ne in esso h6 
 ritrovato cosa contraria alia Santa Fede Catholica, alii Prin. 
 dpi b buoni costumi (ecczttuale alcunecosecancellate d maggior 
 cautda) anzi per la molta picta et eccellente dottrina in detto 
 discorso contenuta lo stimo dignissimo delle stampe. 
 
 Di Casa il di 6 di Suglio, 1628. 
 
 II Medesimo. 
 
 Fr. Io. Paulus Sans, Vice Generalis, Sancti Officij Paduse. 
 
 Per Stamparsi. Gio. Rizzardo Segretario dell' Excel- 
 lentissimo Senato." 
 
 In all that concerns TASBO'S faith the Discourse appears to 
 be perfect. The passages cancelled for greater caution, there- 
 fore, must be offensive to good morals or to some prince. 
 
 The Discourse was first printed in 1629, by Martini, in 
 VOL. II. 4
 
 38 
 
 be deduced, that the commencement of the 
 paragraph referred to the person who had 
 denounced him to the inquisition. 
 
 " But since it would please 
 
 me to take everything in good part, let him 
 purge his conscience in the sight of God, and 
 justify his deeds in the judgment of men, and 
 I, for my part, will be satisfied. I say then, 
 that as it is possible for an action to be just in 
 itself, and yet unjustly done, and he wicked who 
 does it ; so, on the other hand, an evil deed 
 may be done by one who is not bad, since vice, 
 like virtue, consists in habit, which exhibits 
 itself principally in the manner or the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 "Thus, if one for the lucre of gain, or ambi- 
 tion, or envy, tell the truth or do any other 
 good thing, and another from shame, or well- 
 founded fear, or other necessity, deny it, or work 
 other iniquity." 
 
 4to. The original MS., from which Sandelli copied, has esca- 
 ped all research. Rosini saggio sugli Amori di T. Tasso, 
 p. 83.
 
 39 
 
 Here follows another blank.* It may be 
 supplied, perhaps, by supposing that TASSO, in 
 conformity with his argument, blames the first 
 act because done from a bad motive, and ex- 
 cuses the second, inasmuch as the purpose was 
 not evil, or the temptation almost irresistible. 
 
 .... "And this," continues the dis- 
 course, " is the doctrine to be so plainly and 
 clearly gathered from Aristotle and all who 
 have philosophized about it, that there remains 
 little doubt." 
 
 Another blank occurs.t 
 
 " Whence, if in the tribunals 
 
 of justice were seated, not the rigid executors 
 of written law, but the correctors of its se- 
 verity, the interpreters of the legislator's will, 
 and imitators of divine justice, the condemned 
 would sometimes be acquitted and the acquit- 
 ted condemned. But if such manner of judg- 
 
 * Marked in Martini's edition by a space indicating two 
 lines, 
 t One line.
 
 40 
 
 ment and interpretation belongs not to ordinary 
 judges, at least it belongs to princes, who are 
 themselves living and animated laws. Let the 
 ordinary tribunals, then, follow the common me- 
 thod, provided that princes be not denied, or, 
 rather, that they who can do everything do not 
 deny themselves, or think it unbecoming of 
 their greatness to follow the other. But, perad- 
 venture, this sound argument is as superfluous, 
 as it is false that my friend was led by any 
 evil intention to act against me. Yet, if it will 
 not avail me to inculpate him, (nor do I desire 
 it should so avail me,) at least it will not be 
 useless to exculpate some of my own actions 
 from disgrace, and to place in consideration 
 that it is not enough things should be just in 
 themselves, if they be not justly done. For, 
 when I was apprised that he accused me, I 
 thought I perceived (perhaps I was mistaken) 
 that to fortify his accusations I was proceeded 
 against in a manner neither just, legitimate, nor 
 usual ; and thence it appeared to me, if the 
 means taken for my inculpation were extraor- 
 dinary, it was not unreasonable I should use 
 extraordinary means to exculpate myself, even 
 denying what was true, because I imagined
 
 41 
 
 they sought to convict me of what was false ; 
 and I spoke of it to the most serene Duke of 
 Ferrara, my loving and beloved lord, and with 
 his leave presented myself. But in the exami- 
 nation, truly, I allowed myself to be greatly 
 transported, not only by feeling but fancy, be- 
 cause I affirmed some things which I firmly be- 
 lieved to be true, but did not know to be so, 
 and in particular, sought to render suspected of 
 evil an excellent person whom I had never 
 known to do anything unjust. 
 
 " But if the means used by me were not usual, 
 neither were the proceedings of the judge; and 
 if he excuses himself by the singularity of the 
 case, how can he be excused before God or a 
 wise prince for doing nothing towards my quiet? 
 And, if he wished to punish me, he ought to 
 have enabled me to depart without fear of rny 
 life, at least, not have hindered my departure, 
 when I was about taking horse for Bologna ; 
 but, as he is a man of just and exemplary cha- 
 racter, it must be supposed he was moved by 
 just and powerful reasons to withhold his favor 
 from me. 
 
 "But let me be allowed, if not to complain 
 of him, at all events, to lament my fortune, 
 4*
 
 which, if it cannot deprive the just of justice, 
 takes providence from the prudent, sincerity 
 from the sincere, and pity from the merciful; 
 and gives to falsehood on the lips of the true 
 full credence and authority, taking all belief from 
 truth on mine, and all weight from whatever 
 qualities I have worthy of esteem. From this 
 fount flowed a thousand streams, nay a thou- 
 sand most rapid torrents of misfortune, shame, 
 and wretchedness, greater, peradventure, than 
 were ever suffered. Whence everyone : '. 
 . . .* ought to regard my case with eyes of 
 mercy and of equity, and if they would aggravate 
 my fault by the others with which I am accused, 
 they ought to alleviate it as much or more by a 
 consideration of the circumstances. For the 
 accusers, the judge, the causes of the accusa- 
 tion, and the mode of judging, were of such 
 weight that being placed in the scale against 
 my errors, they might make the latter seem 
 rather light than otherwise ; and if to these 
 considerations were added the ills that have 
 befallen me and the grievous injuries I have 
 suffered, they could only be overbalanced by 
 
 * Blank of half a line in the original edition.
 
 43 
 
 such crimes as are exaggerated in tragedy to 
 strike terror in the multitude. 
 
 " Nor will I now so much consider the nature 
 of sin, (which being a turning away of the affec- 
 tions from infinite goodness to created objects, 
 might appear deserving of every punishment,) 
 as its effects and consequences ; since legisla- 
 tors, in adapting penalties to crimes, consider 
 them as more or less hurtful to the common- 
 wealth, and consequently not the greatest vir- 
 tues are rewarded, but the most useful to the 
 
 prince or state ; . . * 
 
 or the consequences which proceed from anger 
 or violent agitation of spirit, but those that arise 
 from perverseness of disposition, and are wont 
 to be deliberately cherished in the mind, and, 
 by evil counsels and premeditated frauds, stu- 
 diously matured and brought forth. Of which 
 like vices and faults, I know myself to be so 
 clear, that, though I were taxed with all others, 
 I might hope easily to excuse myself, being 
 guiltless of the greatest and most hateful to 
 mankind. And if among the Gentiles expiation 
 was in use, particularly in cases the most unfor- 
 
 * Blank in the original edition.
 
 44 
 
 lunate and miserable, like that recounted by 
 Herodotus, of him who, after his first misdeed, 
 being courteously received by Croesus, king of 
 Lydia, killed his son in hunting, by accident ; 
 among Christians, whose peculiar virtue should 
 be mercy, I know not why the same, or a like 
 sort of expiation, might not be used, although, 
 perhaps, sufficiently absolved remains he. . .. 
 . . . . * But I do not refuse to receive 
 this penalty, although I lament that unwonted 
 severity is used against me, and new modes of 
 
 punishment imagined, t 
 
 and I grieve that those who ought to alleviate 
 my misery, or at least console it, should minis- 
 ter to its rigor, and become aiders of its bitter- 
 ness, $ and hard does it 
 
 seem to me, and if they 
 
 contained anything lascivious, like tares among 
 the wheat, it is known I intended to remove 
 it." II 
 
 * Blank in the original edition, 
 t Id. 
 t Id. 
 Id. 
 U Id.
 
 45 
 
 " Nor should these new errors of mine, since 
 my last flight from Ferrara, be imputed to me, 
 because he who wishes another to be mad ought 
 not to complain if, from desperation at not be- 
 ing able to do what is impossible, and from con- 
 fusion of mind, and the agitation of a thousand 
 hopes and a thousand fears, he cannot put 
 bounds or method to his madness. And never 
 was there a criminal tormented, nor a besieged 
 city assailed, by as many instruments as have 
 assailed and tormented me. Nor can it be said 
 that I departed from my honest purpose, but 
 rather that I was forced and driven from it. 
 
 * 
 
 " It remains, then, that I reply to the impu- 
 tation of being a bad and faithless servant to 
 the Duke, my lord, who for the loftiness of his 
 rank, and the splendor of his court, but more 
 for endowments of body and of mind, and for 
 his liberal and courteous nature, is worthy to 
 be served with all faith and love, and more 
 especially by me. Because, from the obscu- 
 rity of my humble fortune, he raised me to 
 light and courtly reputation, relieved me from 
 
 * Blank in the original edition.
 
 46 
 
 sordid cares, and made my life comfortable. 
 He gave value to my productions by hearing 
 them often and kindly, and by honoring me 
 who read them, with every mark of favor, con- 
 descending to think me worthy of his table 
 and intimate conversation, denying me no re- 
 quest, and finally, in the beginning of my mis- 
 fortunes, showing me the affection, not of a 
 master, but a brother, an affection rarely found 
 in the bosoms of the great. How then could I 
 excuse myself for failing in the service of so 
 noble, puissant, courteous, and bountiful a 
 lord ? if not by throwing the blame on the 
 faults of others, the malignity of my own for- 
 tune, and, necessity, which is the tyrant of 
 man, leaving my will not only excused, but 
 purified from all wrong, or suspicion of wrong? 
 I will say more ; that if I had ever harbored a 
 design against his life, his state, or his honor, I 
 should deserve not merely the ordinary punish- 
 ments, or even those inflicted on me, but what- 
 ever else more cruel, Phalaris or Mezentius 
 could have invented. But in fine, I offended 
 him only by a few light words, the like of which 
 are often uttered by discontented courtiers, or 
 by treating for a change of service from the
 
 47 
 
 necessity of the case, which he may hear from 
 me if he will, and in the manner known to 
 you, most illustrious sir, wherein I do not be- 
 lieve he can think himself aggrieved ; and with 
 words that might have been of much impor- 
 tance, if not said conditionally, but which, 
 moreover, were uttered in a transport of just 
 anger, not against him, but against one who 
 had given me sufficient cause, and they were 
 spoken with an intention that they should not 
 have effect, as the sequel shows, and in terms 
 so restricted that it was easy to perceive I had 
 no purpose to remain in his service with a view 
 to his injury, but rather that I sought to go 
 elsewhere, so as not to be obliged to say or do 
 anything that might displease him. 
 
 " And here I should like to recount fully my 
 various misadventures, and how they happened, 
 by which means my good intentions and evil 
 fortune would be clearly perceived ; but as it 
 is not my purpose to increase the irritation 
 against me, I will suppress my reasons, not to 
 mix them with others' faults ; nor do I dread 
 defrauding myself of a just defence, hoping 
 that your acuteness, illustrious sir, and the 
 bounty of my serene lords, will supply the de-
 
 48 
 
 feet of my silence, and permit that, without 
 the aid of my pen, TRUTH shall cry aloud so 
 powerfully, as not only to be heard by the pre- 
 sent generation, but to pass down to all future 
 ages. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I will not deny that my lord, 
 who did not know the secrets of my heart, may 
 have been moved by some of my follies, and 
 the authority of most grave witnesses, very 
 justly to punish me. But the chastisement 
 which his clemency, governed by the mercy 
 of God, forbore to inflict, afterwards reached 
 me from others, in a way which makes all that 
 has since been practised against me pass the 
 bounds of punishment, and take the form and 
 nature of revenge. Yet, whether this can be 
 revenge, and whether revenge on so humble 
 an object can be the work of such high princes, 
 I suggest, with the utmost reverence for your 
 consideration, not to offend them, whom I most 
 earnestly desire to honor, nor to instruct you, 
 from whom I might rather learn, but that these 
 my arguments may be strengthened by you, 
 and passing, through means of your favor, may 
 humbly present themselves to their highnesses, 
 like winds that, wafted over flowers, become
 
 49 
 
 odoriferous, or waters that in aqueducts are 
 sweetened and purified." 
 
 TASSO here enters into a train of reasoning, 
 the purport of which is, that the same act may 
 be either correction, punishment, or vengeance, 
 according as it is intended to reform the evil- 
 doer, secure the public safety, or satisfy indi- 
 vidual revenge. He then continues : 
 
 " I ask of you now, illustrious sir, if these 
 princes intend to reform me, to punish me, or 
 to revenge themselves upon me ? If to amend 
 me, they are merciful ; if to punish me, just ; 
 if to revenge themselves, angry. I desire pur- 
 gation ; I do not refuse punishment ; but from 
 revenge I would escape as far as I have power, 
 shielding myself under the protection of their 
 friends and relations, and entreating and sup- 
 plicating heaven and earth to help me." 
 
 He proceeds to consider these three heads, 
 and with respect to the first, insists that the 
 correction inflicted by good judges for the re- 
 form of an offender, resembles the medicine 
 administered by good physicians to the sick, 
 
 VOL. IT. 5
 
 50 
 
 which causes short and salutary pain, not lin- 
 gering and unprofitable suffering. When the 
 moral part of our nature is to be corrected, the 
 intellectual must not be allowed to languish, 
 but shame and remorse of conscience must 
 be made incentives to future well-doing, and to 
 the recovery of lost honor ; and these, he adds, 
 were the means pursued by the ancient captains, 
 for the correction of soldiers who broke their 
 ranks or turned their back on the enemy. 
 
 " But, perhaps," he continues, "it is not the 
 business of the patient to prescribe the mode 
 of cure to the physician, and I who am sick 
 enough in body and in mind, should do nothing 
 more than tell him my complaints. Yet I com- 
 plain not that my heart is troubled with almost 
 continual pain, nor that my head is always 
 heavy, and often aching, and my sight and 
 hearing weakened, and all my limbs meager 
 and attenuated, but passing over all these with 
 a brief sigh, I will enumerate the infirmities of 
 the mind. And especially I must say, that he 
 who delights in honor can never get well unless 
 honor be restored to him ; nor can he ever be- 
 lieve it re-acquired, unless he perceive some 

 
 51 
 
 sign of its restitution ; for honor is the sign of 
 esteem, if we believe Aristotle, or the reward 
 of virtue, as is elsewhere said by the same 
 author, and this reward consists in some exter- 
 nal mark ; for a mute opinion, manifested by no 
 act, cannot be called honor. But if no other 
 sign can be given me, at least I ought to per- 
 ceive that of being admitted to the society of 
 princes, and the conversation of nobles, in the 
 same manner as formerly. For if my treatment 
 continues as it has begun, and I am obliged to 
 go on in the same way as at present, how can 
 I ever believe that I am restored to honor ? 
 And if honor is among the greatest delights, 
 what pleasure can I take in those demonstra- 
 tions which never reach me, and cannot console 
 me, unless it be the pleasure of a sick man's 
 
 dream . p 
 
 " But pass we from purgation to punishment. 
 The penalty should, without doubt, be propor- 
 tioned to the offence ; but whether I have been 
 already sufficiently punished or not, I remit to 
 the merciful consideration of those princes who 
 have the power to judge me ; and if I have not 
 been fully punished, restraint, banishment, ex- 
 clusion from the halls of princes, are perhaps
 
 adequate punishments, especially after the first, 
 which struck me so cruelly in life, honor, and 
 repose ; and if these, being ordinary penalties, 
 do not content them, because they are eager for 
 novelty to be compelled to understand by 
 signs, like a mute or a beast, separated from all 
 knowledge of the things of the world, forbidden 
 all action, interdicted all private conversation 
 and intercourse, denied the mutual faith of 
 friendship, and deprived of every object agree- 
 able to the sight, the smell, or the taste these 
 surely are punishments enough, without adding 
 to so many miseries sickness, and beggary, and 
 insult, and the prohibition of writing. 
 
 " I will say, moreover, that the principal ac- 
 tion with which I am charged, and which, per- 
 adventure, is the only occasion of my chas- 
 tisement, ought not to be punished as absolutely 
 bad, but rather mixed, because I did it not from 
 choice, but necessity, (not indeed absolute, but 
 conditional,) and from fear now of death, now 
 of flagrant shame, and now of miserable and 
 perpetual disquiet.* 
 
 * A passage respecting Aristotle's division of mixed actions 
 is omitted. 

 
 53 
 
 Nor do I judge less deserving of pardon the 
 words that I uttered, seeing that they were 
 spoken by a man not only angry, but exces- 
 sively enraged." 
 
 He then goes on to argue that they ought to 
 be pardoned, because anger is less culpable 
 than premeditated malice, and often where 
 there is most anger there is most love. And he 
 affirms, that in loving his prince, and desiring 
 his grandeur and felicity, and in affection to his 
 friends, and in promoting their good, as far as 
 lay in his power, he found few equals, and no 
 return. " If God," he says, " pardons a thou- 
 sand blasphemies of sinners, princes may for- 
 give a few words against them ; and Caisar not 
 only pardoned offensive language, but forgave 
 the stigma of perpetual infamy he received from 
 Catullus, and Suetonius affirms, if I remember 
 rightly, that he invited him that evening, or the 
 evening afterwards to supper." 
 
 He then admits, that as crimes committed 
 in anger are offences, nevertheless, it is not 
 unreasonable that they should be punished, but 
 5*
 
 54 
 
 contends that the punishment should be mode- 
 rate, and adapted to the nature of the crime. 
 
 " But," he continues, " to impose as a 
 penalty upon an artisan, that he shall not prac- 
 tise his art, is certainly unexampled ; because, 
 by so doing, neither is the majesty of the law 
 maintained, nor does any honor to the prince 
 nor any benefit to the state accrue from it ; 
 nay, on the contrary, the punishment is alike 
 injurious to the world, and to him that suffers it. 
 And so far are the laws from imposing such a 
 penalty, that they incline rather to spare the 
 life of one who excels in his art, although guilty 
 of grave offences, and willingly permit their 
 own rigor to be mitigated sooner than lose an 
 extraordinary man, or any admirable work. 
 Thus Augustus declares, in the verses with 
 which he saved the ^Eneid of Virgil from the 
 flames : 
 
 ' Frangatur potius legum veneranda potestas 
 CXuacn tot congestos nocteque dieque labores.' " 
 
 TASSO then enumerates a number of instances 
 in which authors were forbidden to write, or their 
 works prohibited ; as those of Livy and Virgil, 

 
 55 
 
 by Caligula ; those of Gregory Nazianzen and 
 Basil, by Julian, etc. " But, perhaps," he 
 continues, " this long argument is out of place, 
 as neither do I desire to be classed with such 
 excellent writers, nor was the design of my 
 lord, like that of those wicked emperors, he 
 being, if ever prince was, a skilful judge, and 
 liberal rewarder of noble arts and artists, and 
 desirous as well of performing deeds worthy of 
 honorable fame, as of promoting those studies 
 by which the memory of noble acts is adorned 
 and perpetuated. But he wished, perhaps, to 
 exercise my patience, or to make proof of my 
 faith, and to see me humbled in those points 
 from which he knew something of my pride 
 proceeded, intending to remove this hard pro- 
 hibition as soon as he thought my humility 
 deserved it." .......... * 
 
 "But I, little obedient in disregarding the 
 signs of his will, and still more incontinent in 
 complaining that so hard a law was imposed 
 upon me, departed, not driven away, but vo- 
 luntarily, from Ferrara, a city not my birth- 
 
 * Some comparisons of no importance to the sense are 
 omitted.
 
 56 
 
 place, indeed, but my place of second birth, 
 whither I have returned, not forced by want 
 alone, but induced by my intense desire to kiss 
 the hands of his highness, and to recover, on 
 the occasion of these nuptials, some part of 
 his grace." 
 
 TASSO then proceeds to say that although 
 he perceives no sign that ALPHONSO will either 
 receive him again into his service or allow him 
 to serve the Prince of MANTUA,* he thinks the 
 
 * Vincenzo Gonzaga, to whom Tasso appears to have been 
 attached on account of the kindness shown him in his passage 
 through Mantua after his second flight. See Letter to the Duke 
 of Urbino. Vincenzo visited him in prison, and TASSO seems 
 always to have relied on his exertions to liberate him, appa- 
 rently not without reason, since it was to the Prince of MAN- 
 TUA that the Duke of FERRARA ultimately consented to deliver 
 the poet on condition that he should be well guarded, (see 
 Serassi, 382,) and not allowed to leave his dominions. See Let- 
 tere, torn, ii., 26, 54, 57, 59, 228, 229, also Serassi, 380. In a 
 letter, torn, ii., p. 66, he says, he is allowed to go through Man- 
 tua with a servant but not to leave the country. 
 
 BLACK gives this among the proofs of his madness, but a 
 more careful examination of all the letters referring to this 
 subject will show, that TASSO was in fact given in ward to the 
 Prince of MANTUA, and upon a pledge that he was not to go 
 out of his power. See also Lettere, torn, ii., 350, 351, 216 ; torn, 
 iii., 235; torn, iv., 69, 185, and torn, i., p. 124, and especially 
 torn, ii-, 26, 54, 66. Vide also Serassi, Vita, 369.
 
 57 
 
 DUKE might extend to him courtesy enough, 
 notwithstanding his licentious words, to let him 
 kiss his hand ; and "I hope," he continues, " if 
 of this favor he was not sparing, of others, also, 
 he ought not to be avaricious, among which, 
 what I most desire, is to be allowed to write 
 without impediment. And what forbids your 
 writing ? you will ask me. Nothing now for- 
 bids me, nor did anything forbid me when I de- 
 parted ; but many things prevented me then, 
 and now no hinderance is removed." 
 
 His explanation of the nature of these impe- 
 diments is somewhat prolix. The substance is 
 this. An act itself is hindered by obstructing 
 its object. The object of the artist is to derive 
 fame and profit from his works ; of the orator, 
 to make orations; and of the poet, to leave 
 poems. " But to me," he continues, " all the 
 civil occupations of man being interdicted, and 
 all opportunity of exercising eloquence, if I 
 have any, it remains only that I propose to my- 
 self the end of leaving works, and if this is de- 
 nied, it follows, inevitably, that^I should with- 
 draw myself from vain and fruitless labor."
 
 58 
 
 Arguing, then, that honor is the nurse of art, 
 he insists on the impossibility of his composing 
 without receiving some mark of kindness. The 
 direct end of the artist is his work, but the inci- 
 dental, and sometimes the most important one 
 to him, its rewards ; but for his own part, it 
 is impossible to say whether, in the state to 
 which he has been reduced, the one purpose 
 or the other is most impeded. "For the mind," 
 says he, " shows itself dull to think, the fancy 
 sluggish to imagine, the senses heavy in minis- 
 tering to the imagination, the hand slow to write, 
 the pen forgetful of its office, and all my facul- 
 ties chilled, stunned, stupified, and over- 
 whelmed." 
 
 After again reverting to his wish of serving 
 the Prince of MANTUA, he insists on the hard- 
 ship of punishing him while those who injured 
 him were unpunished. 
 
 " It is known to you, most illustrious sir," 
 says he, " that if by me, any one at any time 
 was offended, infinitely numerous are those by 
 whom I have been most iniquitously wronged 
 to my irreparable injury; yet, whilst I am pun-
 
 59 
 
 ished for my faults, their wrongs against me 
 escape with impunity." 
 
 Reasoning at length respecting this injustice, 
 he sums up the division of his subject relative 
 to punishment thus : 
 
 " Collecting together what I have said on the 
 topic of chastisement, it appears to me my 
 errors were worthy of pardon ; still, neverthe- 
 less, up to this time, they have received punish- 
 ment, and it seems to me, if new punishments 
 are to be inflicted, they might be satisfied with 
 fewer and lighter ones; and in consideration 
 of the pardon which I give to my enemies, 
 might regard my own faults with greater cle- 
 mency." 
 
 " But perhaps," he continues, " the serene 
 Princes intend not to punish but to revenge 
 themselves upon me : 
 
 1 tantaene animis coelestibus irseT 
 
 God forbid that such a wish should ever have a 
 place in their minds or such a thought in mine ; 
 for, as the wish would be unworthy of their
 
 60 
 
 greatness, so ought I to think them incapable 
 of it." 
 
 He argues that anger and the desire of re- 
 venge belong to equals. Achilles was enraged, 
 but it was with Hector and Agamemnon. Tur- 
 nus was enraged, but it was with ^Eneas. Rage 
 and vengeance should have no place from a 
 prince to a subject. After digressing to entreat 
 the favor of the pope and the cardinals, from 
 whom all the offices of Christian charity might 
 be expected, TASSO concludes his discourse 
 with an earnest and pathetic appeal to GON- 
 ZAGA, conjuring him by the mutual friendship of 
 their youth, the memory of past benefits and 
 gratitude, the greatness of bis friend's mind, 
 and the heaviness of his own misfortunes, and 
 by every other topic of affectionate entreaty 
 he can use, to have pity on and intercede for 
 him, as well with the lords of ESTE as with 
 other princes and sovereigns. 
 
 Parts of this composition, even thus abridged, 
 it is to be feared have proved tedious to some 
 of our readers. But, on a question so grave 
 and so difficult as the madness or sanity of
 
 61 
 
 TASSO, it would be inexcusable to slur over 
 any material portion of the evidence. 
 
 After collecting such additional important 
 facts as his prose writings afford touching this 
 most perplexed and perplexing question, if the 
 interest of our subject do not increase, the man- 
 ner of treating it may at least be varied, for it 
 will then be admissible to relieve and diversify 
 the dryness of our inquiries, by apt quotations 
 from the " RIME EROICHE e MORALE." With 
 this promise our readers' patience may be en- 
 treated yet a little longer. 
 
 The Discourse to Gonzaga was succeeded by 
 a letter to his friend, bearing date, " from the 
 prison of Sant' Anna in the month of May, 
 1579." 
 
 " If, by what I first wrote," he commences, 
 " I effected nothing else, I shook off my own 
 timidity and habituated myself to argue freely, 
 and you to listen with patience and attention." 
 
 He proceeds to assign many reasons why 
 SCIPIO should intercede for him, and reminding 
 him of the love they formerly bore each other, 
 he adds : "But now, if you are such, and so 
 
 VOL. II. 6
 
 62 
 
 disposed to me no more, at least you cannot 
 deny knowing me well, and being in part the 
 cause of my misfortunes."* 
 
 Taking it for granted that the PRINCES of 
 ESTE are greatly incensed with him, he says, 
 many motives should urge them to clemency ; 
 and he adduces several instances of its being 
 extended to more serious offences. He reminds 
 GONZAGA that ALPHONSO I. magnanimously 
 pardoned those who sought to take away his 
 life ; and HERCULES, his son, forgave SCIPIO'S 
 uncle, who without provocation intended to kill 
 him ; and also the soldiers who came to Ferrara 
 in time of war with the like design. He argues 
 that his friend, in not undertaking his protec- 
 tion, will disable his own judgment, since no 
 one knew men better, or had loved him more. 
 
 " And who," he continues, " is more frank 
 and open in conversation than myself ? Per- 
 haps if I had not been so I might have avoided 
 this misery. But there is not, nor ever was, in 
 
 * Doubtless alluding to his having attempted to draw him 
 into the service of the MEDICI.
 
 63 
 
 my mind, many secrets or concealments, but 
 ever on my brow, and on my tongue, satisfac- 
 tion as plainly as discontent, and anger as well 
 as love are wont to manifest themselves. And 
 if, so to speak, there was in my soul any cavern 
 or labyrinth in which I hid part of my troubles, 
 (for I will not deny having always endeavored 
 to conceal my scepticism,) there was also a re- 
 pository of things more dear than such as are 
 shown to all, which indeed I did not so much 
 discover to you ever, as with a vain familiarity 
 I often hinted their existence."* 
 
 Torquato goes on to say, that however this 
 may be, the same qualities for which he was 
 once held worthy of esteem still exist, and 
 make him deserving of forgiveness, and of 
 SCIPIO'S intercession, in despite of the discovery 
 of his imperfections. And if the CARDINAL 
 d' ESTE will not entreat for his pardon, nor the 
 PRINCESSES of FERRARA, as partakers in their 
 brother's injury, and for other reasons displeased 
 
 This passage is remarkable.
 
 with him, nor DON ALPHONSO* for the same 
 cause, nor his sons, and if the MARquEsst 
 blames his indiscreet return, but cannot, or will 
 not help him, and his old friend the DUKE of 
 UBBINO is dissatisfied with him, and the Car- 
 dinal ALBANO, and others whom he names, for 
 various reasons abandon him, why should not 
 the PRINCE and DUCHESS of MANTUA, of whom 
 he has never written, or spoken, but with ex- 
 treme reverence and affection, why should not 
 they intercede for him ? " And how," he pro- 
 ceeds, " can the DUCHESS of FERRARA, daugh- 
 ter of the one, and sister of the other, endure 
 that I should come to celebrate her nuptials 
 with sighs and lamentations, and that the sea- 
 son of mercy should become to me a time of 
 punishment, the opening of other prisons being 
 the signal for closing mine ?" 
 
 * Don Alphonso of Este. TASSO alludes more than once to 
 his supposed displeasure, the cause of which I have not been 
 able to discover. His son, Don Ceesare, on the contrary, 
 always favored the poet. 
 
 t The Marquess of Este, who gave Tasso an asylum and 
 protection in Turin, and attempted to dissuade him from re- 
 turning to Ferrara.
 
 65 
 
 A long enumeration of the inducements 
 princes have to be merciful succeeds, mingled 
 with arguments against such imperfect pardons 
 as are really only a change of punishment, and 
 complaints of his own hard fortune, and the 
 parsimony of the great. He affirms, that be- 
 tween the princes who so rigorously punished, 
 and those who so coldly and scantily favored 
 him, he knows not with whom he has the least 
 reason to be satisfied. " Yet," he continues, 
 " neither do I call the first cruel, nor the last 
 avaricious, but myself doubly unfortunate, who 
 in the abode of mercy and liberality find only 
 rigor and penury." And to be silent about the 
 princes by whom he was punished, " How is 
 it possible," he asks, " that the Duke of Savoy 
 
 could ever persuade himself 
 
 to sell a favor to the wretched, and profit by 
 the mendicity and infirmity of one who, if not 
 innocent, is at least as unfortunate as culpable." 
 ,.-..- .... " And how is it possible that 
 the DUKES of URBINO and MANTUA, .... 
 most learned princes, can draw good from an 
 author's ill, denying him even the satisfaction 
 of seeing his writings in the hands of men, 
 which is allowed to all, and enjoyed not only 
 6*
 
 66 
 
 by Ludovico Castelvetro, who died out of the 
 bosom of the church, but by arch-heretics, and 
 sowers of scandal and schism ?" 
 
 Leaving princes, he directs his attention to 
 priests, and inquires : 
 
 " If the Cardinal de' Medici is restrained 
 from interfering in his behalf by respect for his 
 brother,* what considerations restrain the Car- 
 dinal of Este, the free arbiter of his actions ? 
 
 and what considerations the 
 
 others?" " Cannot one be 
 
 found," he asks, " who, imitating Christ, will 
 chase from the temple the buyers and sellers 
 of my wretched blood ?" 
 
 Reverting to his friend, " But they will say," 
 he continues, " that you loved me while you 
 thought me good, and now, no longer believing 
 me so, you naturally cast me off from your 
 friendship ; I speak of that friendship by ex- 
 
 * Francis I., Grand Duke of Tuscany, at that time angry 
 with TASSO, and upon ill terms with his brother, the Cardinal 
 FERDINAND de' MEDICI.
 
 67 
 
 cellence, which may exist between greatness 
 like yours, and humility like mine. Most hu- 
 mane sir, even between those whose friendship 
 is dissolved, either because one rises greatly in 
 rank and worth, or the other becomes, or is 
 discovered to be wicked, there still remain 
 some obligations of kindness and courtesy. 
 Because past intercourse, the interchange of 
 benefits, mutual affection, and former scenes, 
 and conversations, grave and gay, cannot be 
 driven from the memory without cruelty. And 
 Aristotle holds, that when our vices admit of 
 remedy or correction, a true friend ought not to 
 abandon us, or refuse us help and favor a 
 precept entirely conformable to Christian cha- 
 rity. And it seems to me my disposition is 
 such, that I would now of myself always 
 choose good and reject evil. But I will not 
 affirm I have been seduced into the latter by 
 the hope of ease, and quiet, and health, things 
 dear to men, nor that I have been beguiled by 
 pleasures to which I am naturally very much 
 inclined, because perhaps my opinion may be 
 false. But I will say, that I was driven from 
 good by bitter attacks and dire necessity ; for 
 Virtue, who presented herself to the youthful
 
 68 
 
 Hercules, did not show me, as she did him, 
 merely a steep, rugged, and difficult ascent, 
 but struck me with vile and abject indigence, 
 and miserable infirmity. And thence did I turn 
 aside, and incline to follow pleasure, her enemy, 
 returning to my old habits of life, and perhaps 
 worse, tempted by enjoyment certainly, but 
 more terrified by the fear of languishing 
 wretchedly a long time in this hospital, where, 
 to my misfortune, I now find myself ; and if some 
 courteous kindness does not reach, and recall 
 me to the better way, I shall not quit the worse 
 while means and opportunity of doing so are 
 wanting, which I would myself go. in search 
 of, if I knew how." 
 
 "Me miserable! Besides two epic poems 
 on most virtuous and noble arguments, it was 
 my intention to have written four tragedies, the 
 plans of which were already formed, and many 
 useful and excellent prose works, wherein I 
 would have so united philosophy and eloquence, 
 as to leave a glorious and ever-during memory 
 behind me in the world. But now, borne 
 down by so much misery, all thoughts of honor 
 and of fame abandon me. Too happy should 
 I deem myself, if, without suspicion, I might
 
 69 
 
 quench the drought that perpetually torments 
 me, and beneath some humble roof, like any 
 ordinary man, lead a life of freedom, if not 
 well, which I never can be more, at all events 
 not so afflicted by infirmity ; if not honored yet 
 not abominated, and, if denied the laws of man, 
 allowed at least those of brutes, who in the 
 streams and at the springs may freely slake 
 their thirst, while I (let me repeat it) am con- 
 sumed by mine.* Nor do I dread so much the 
 greatness of the evil, as its duration, which 
 presents itself horribly to my thoughts, more 
 especially as in such circumstances I am unable 
 to apply myself or compose. And my wretch- 
 edness is greatly augmented by the fear of per- 
 petual imprisonment, and the indignity to which 
 I must familiarize myself, the squalor of my 
 beard, and hair, and clothes, and the sordid 
 filth and misery around me; but, above all, by 
 solitude, my natural and cruel enemy, which 
 sometimes so distressed me, even in my best 
 days, that I went in search of company at un- 
 seasonable hours. And sure I am, that if she 
 who has so little returned my affection beheld 
 
 * See the canzone to the princesses, post.
 
 70 
 
 my condition and my sorrows, she would have 
 pity on me!" 
 
 TASSO shortly afterwards, conceding to his 
 friend that he may in a great degree have told 
 the truth, reminds him that, on the other hand, 
 he cannot deny having seriously hurt, when he 
 meant to help him, and rendered his errors almost 
 inevitable by inconsiderate kindness. Hence 
 arises a new claim on his bounty, for the volun- 
 tary correction of an involuntary wrong, which 
 the poet entreats Gonzaga to allow, "and leav- 
 ing all the bitter, to gather, like a bee from 
 flowers, the sweets of each prince's favor, form- 
 ing therefrom the honey so much longed for, 
 after the gall and wormwood of his melancholy 
 prison."* 
 
 * Letteye, torn. Jv., p. 320, ed. di Pisa.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DEPARTING from the strictly chronological 
 order heretofore generally observed, with a 
 view of presenting at once all the most material 
 proofs respecting TASSO'S sanity in the early 
 part of his imprisonment, some events other- 
 wise important must be passed over, to which 
 it may be expedient subsequently to return. If 
 it shall appear that he was not mad when first 
 shut up in the hospital of Sant' Anna, these oc- 
 currences will find an appropriate place in 
 investigating hereafter the causes of his im- 
 prisonment. For the present, therefore, our 
 inquest of lunacy will be prosecuted still a little 
 farther. 
 
 About a year after the date of the letter to 
 GONZAGA last quoted, TASSO wrote at great 
 length to his friend the MARQUESS BUONCOM- 
 PAGNO, then general of the armies of the church, 
 in explanation of his conduct, and especially of
 
 72 
 
 his religious opinions.* It would seem that in 
 the interval some correspondence of the poet's 
 with the EMPEROR, and the PRINCES of Ger- 
 many, had been divulged , which greatly inflamed 
 the suspicions of his heresy, or at all events 
 exposed him to the charge of double dealing. 
 The object of his letter to BUONCOMPAGNO is to 
 relieve himself from these imputations, to affirm 
 the integrity of his faith, and beg the Marquess's 
 interposition with his HOLINESS, the SACRED 
 COLLEGE, and the DUKE of FERRARA. The 
 bare mention of it3 topics, and its length, will 
 perhaps draw a sigh from the impatient reader, 
 already drugged with TASSO'S theology. Yet 
 much of it is " germane to the matter," and 
 may not be omitted. An abridgment, though 
 less tedious, will be drier; but aridity sur- 
 rounds us, let us hasten our march.t 
 
 " Can it be true," he inquires, " that both 
 
 * The Marquess Buoncompagno was a nephew of Pope 
 Gregory XIII., and had shown Tasso many flattering civili- 
 ties during his visit to Rome in 1575. Serassi, Vita, 210. 
 
 t : . . " Sauver 1" aridit6 du sujet par la rapidite de la 
 marche." JBeaumarchais.
 
 73 
 
 the Pope and the Emperor unite to exclude him 
 from communion with mankind ? Has the 
 rigor of the illustrious Cardinal of ESTE more 
 influence with them than his humble prayers ?* 
 And if the wings of his faith are not strong 
 enough to bear his supplications to the heads of 
 the church and the empire, can they not at 
 least reach the DUKE of FERRARA f But he is 
 sensible he cannot hope favor for the truth until 
 he has purged himself from all suspicion of 
 falsehood, or at least of contradiction, and he 
 will, therefore, attempt to show there was no 
 inconsistency between what he declared to the 
 inquisition, and what he wrote to the Emperor. 
 " He said before the holy office at Bologna, 
 that he had entertained philosophical doubts of 
 the immortality of the soul, the creation of the 
 world, and of other things ; and that he had 
 believed the infinite mercy of Christ might save 
 those who were unworthy of paradise merely 
 from want of faith. Yet he also confessed he 
 
 * In the interval between the letter to Gonzaga and to Buon- 
 compagno, (1579, 1580,) TASSO, it 'seems, became aware, or 
 suspected, that Cardinal d' Este obstructed his liberation. To 
 this opinion he appears, for the most part, to hare subsequently 
 adhered. 
 
 VOL. II. 7
 
 74 
 
 had inclined to some Lutheran and Jewish 
 opinions. But in writing to the Emperor* he 
 said he had Judaized, that he did not believe 
 in the authority of the Pope, and in many re- 
 spects was more disposed to the doctrines of 
 Luther than those of the church. These asser- 
 tions, he says, are reconcileable. He might in- 
 deed excuse himself by the fact that his ex- 
 amination before the inquisition in Bologna 
 was very short, and not very careful, and 
 therefore it would not be remarkable if he had 
 omitted something from inadvertence, or defect 
 of memory, or fear, or shame. But he has a 
 better defence, and it is this. There is no con- 
 tradiction in what he said. Before the holy 
 office he spoke of the form of his faith, and 
 
 * I have attempted to obtain a copy of TASSO'S letter or me- 
 morial to the Emperor. Search has been made for the origina 
 among the archives at Vienna, but thus far in vain. To 
 Baron VON HAMMER PURGSTALL, the distinguished orientalist 
 and scholar, I am greatly indebted for his kind exertions to 
 favor my inquiries, and cannot permit this opportunity of re- 
 turning him my grateful acknowledgments to escape me. To 
 Mr. SCHWARZ, the American consul at Vienna, who was 
 obliging enough to interest himself in them also, I confess my 
 obligations with pleasure.
 
 75 
 
 therefore did not say he was either a Jew or a 
 Lutheran. In writing to the Emperor he spoke 
 of the substance of his opinions, as that God 
 might save just unbelievers, that the Pope 
 could not liberate souls from purgatory, etc. 
 Thus as his doubts had arisen from the writings 
 of philosophers, not the arguments of heretics, 
 or comments on the Scriptures, it could not be 
 said he was either Lutheran or Jew. Yet as 
 his opinions in many respects resembled those 
 of both, it was not wrong that in writing to the 
 Emperor he should use general terms, as ora- 
 tors often do, and with this intention. The 
 unkindness he had met with from the church, 
 always more a step-dame than a mother to 
 him, made him incline to the imperial party. 
 Without entirely separating himself from the 
 Catholic faith, therefore, he desired to recom- 
 mend himself to the electors. And as some of 
 them had renounced Catholicism, not on ac- 
 count of philosophical doubts, but the authority 
 of scripture misinterpreted, and he wished to 
 move their compassion, it was not expedient 
 for him fully to explain, that he had been first 
 secretly, and then openly estranged from the 
 church, not intending to be separated, and for
 
 76 
 
 reasons very different from theirs. And if they 
 had promptly come to his succor, perhaps he 
 might not have cared to be more explicit, be- 
 lieving that concealment which does no hurt to 
 another, may be practised to benefit one's self. 
 His silence, he had hoped, might also avail him 
 in this way. The persons who accused him to 
 the inquisition, as he supposed, were Luca Sca- 
 labrino, a citizen of Ferrara, and Ascanio 
 Giraldini, by birth a Jew, but ennobled by the 
 Duke for his services, influenced, as he 
 imagines, by passion or interest, or deceived 
 by the belief that he had really apostatized. 
 Cardinal d' ESTE, he knew, had the reputation 
 of Scalabrino very much at heart. Not to 
 offend him, therefore, in the person of a de- 
 pendant, and at the same time to render the 
 German princes more favorable to himself, he 
 did not think it important to refute decisively 
 the ignorance or malice of his accusers, if in- 
 deed there was any falsehood in the evidence 
 they gave, of which he is not certain, and 
 speaks only from conjecture. If he afterwards 
 broke forth into some extravagances against the 
 Cardinal d' Este, he could affirm on oath it was 
 in no respect from any bad opinion of the
 
 77 
 
 purity of his life or his faith, nor from hatred 
 or revenge. He enters at length into the causes, 
 real or pretended, of the Cardinal's anger. 
 They are, in short, that not content to be 
 honored as a noble prince of Italy, he was dis- 
 pleased because TASSO would not distinguish 
 him above the kings of France and Spain." . . 
 " Above all things," he continues, " he is sur- 
 prised that the King of France, the champion 
 of Christianity, and Cardinal d' Este, a cardinal 
 of the Catholic church, should attempt to sepa- 
 rate him from the faith of Christ an opinion, 
 or, if you will, an imagination of his, which, if 
 not true, has greatly the appearance of truth." 
 "Because," he proceeds, " I returned to Fer- 
 rara under the authority of the Cardinal Al- 
 bano, .... who ordered a great deal 
 to be written to me about Cardinal d' Este's 
 affection, insomuch that, according to his 
 opinion, I had more to promise myself from the 
 Cardinal than from the Duke of Ferrara or the 
 noble-minded Cardinal de' Medici.* On my 
 
 * Ferdinand de' Medici, who as Cardinal gave many signs 
 of a more elevated character than he afterwards maintained as 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany, under the title of Ferdinand I. 
 7*
 
 
 78 
 
 arrival in Ferrara, I was not received by any 
 one who depended on his serene highness, but 
 by the dependents of the Cardinal, who, how- 
 ever, fulfilled none of the assurances given me 
 by Cardinal Albano, and this led to the deter- 
 mination for which I was imprisoned." 
 
 "I designed that the Duke should cause me 
 to be confined in his own prison, but I was not 
 put there, nor in that of the Bishop or of the 
 friars, where naturally I should have been sent 
 if the inquisition had, or claimed any power 
 over me ; but in the prison of the hospital of Sant' 
 Anna, where neither the Duke, as a temporal 
 prince, nor the Cardinal nor the Bishop, as mi- 
 nisters of the Pope, detain me, but the Cardinal 
 only, as Don Louis of Este, exercising a con- 
 trol over my person, which he cannot have oth- 
 erwise than by usurping the authority of his 
 brother, who is misinformed. Which, whether 
 he does usurp or not, as to what regards the 
 body, I leave your excellency to be informed 
 by Signor Don Agostino Mosti, the prior of this 
 hospital, a lover of religion, always zealously 
 persecuting heretics for the sake of Christ, and 
 a gentleman of such worth, learning, and cour- 
 tesy t that neither from want of will, feeling, or
 
 79 
 
 judgment, would he have treated me so harshly, 
 had he not been commanded. This only will 
 I say, that during the fourteen months I have 
 been sick in this hospital, I have had none of 
 the conveniences usually given to common peo- 
 ple, much less those due to gentlemen like my- 
 self. And the medicines of the soul have been 
 denied to me, as well as those of the body. For, 
 although there is a chaplain duly attentive I 
 presume, he has never been to see me in my 
 illness nor shown me any kind of charity, nor 
 has he, although I have often entreated it, al- 
 lowed me to confess or communicate; and if 
 he deemed me unworthy to sit at the board of 
 angels and partake of the body of Christ, he 
 ought at least to have attempted my conver- 
 sion, arid peradventure, would not have found 
 me obstinate. But not having done so, what 
 am I to think, but that the Cardinal will not 
 allow me to be a Catholic ? either because he 
 is angry with me for making stronger demon- 
 strations of Catholicism in France than it ap- 
 peared to some of his counsellors I ought to 
 have done, or to have an excuse for denying 
 me a place in his court suitable to my merit, and 
 not rewarding me for what I wrote in praise of
 
 80 
 
 his family, which, if not rewarded by the Duke, 
 should naturally have been recompensed by 
 him. Be that as it may, if the Cardinal, so 
 liberal to others, is parsimonious to me, I can 
 only complain of Fortune, who, though she 
 cannot make me change my nature, can change, 
 to my injury, the nature of a generous prince. 
 But that he should deny me the spiritual trea- 
 sures which it belongs to the Pope to distribute, 
 cannot be charged on Fortune." 
 
 He insists, with great reason, that if he has 
 heretofore been careless in matters of religion 
 when he might have enjoyed its benefits like 
 others, that is no excuse for denying them 
 to him now, since his carelessness was never 
 accompanied by contempt. He especially 
 complains that communion is refused him ; 
 mentions incidentally his religious education by 
 the Jesuits, and the early age at which he first 
 communicated, etc., and then, reverting to his 
 after doubts, continues, "And certainly, though 
 I do not deny having questioned the real 
 presence, no scriptural quotation made by 
 the heretics, whose books I never read, im-
 
 81 
 
 bued me with those doubts ; but the same 
 causes that made me doubtful of the creation 
 of the world, the immortality of the soul, and 
 the omnipotence of God." 
 
 Being convinced of the latter by the innu- 
 merable wonders of nature and a thousand ex- 
 ternal proofs, he found no difficulty in believing 
 the trinity, free-will, and the real presence. 
 
 " Since your excellency" (it is thus he con- 
 cludes) "has heard the truth of my faith, and 
 the concordance of my apparently discordant 
 words, it remains that you favor me with the 
 most clement Duke of Ferrara, by the mani- 
 festation of the truth and the granting of the 
 graces I have solicited, before my life, already 
 worn more by infirmity than by years, shall be 
 still farther consumed, of which there does not 
 still remain so little but that I may reasonably 
 think of gathering some fruit from my labors, 
 and enjoying some repose after so many 
 troubles and sufferings. I pray your excel- 
 lency also, for your interposition with his holi- 
 ness and the cardinals his ministers, and hum-
 
 82 
 
 bly recommend to you the health of my soul 
 and of this miserable body. From the prison 
 of Sant' Anna, this 17th day of May, 1580."* 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., p. 24, ed. di Pisa.
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN the beginning of his imprisonment, it would 
 appear that TASSO wrote many supplications, 
 memorials, and justificatory pieces, intended to 
 facilitate his release, and not improbably retard- 
 ing it.* Two of these were addressed to the 
 nobles and deputies of the people of Naples. 
 The first, if it still exist, has not yet been made 
 public. In the second, he labors to excuse 
 himself, touching the more serious of those re- 
 proaches from which he had not before exhibited 
 a full justification, adopting with his country- 
 men a nobler and bolder style of eloquence than 
 would have been endured by the princes of his 
 time. It has been printed without any indication 
 of the date, but must have been written between 
 the middle of 1579 and the first half of 1581. 
 
 * Such is Black's conjecture, who taxes the poet with im- 
 prudence. Vol. ii., 31, 32, 6'5, 99.
 
 84 
 
 TORQUATO'S father, it should be premis- 
 ed, had been secretary to SANSOVINO, Prince 
 of SALERNO. One of the immediate causes of 
 that nobleman's disasters was the part he took 
 in the popular discontents of Naples, when the 
 Viceroy TOLEDO, to whom he was personally 
 obnoxious, endeavored to introduce the inquisi- 
 tion, and the people tumultuously resisted it. 
 A deputation to the Emperor was resolved on 
 by the malcontents, and SANSOVINO chosen de- 
 puty on the part of the nobles. BERNARDO 
 TASSO counselled him to accept this perilous 
 honor, and the coldness of his reception at 
 court, subsequent disgusts, and an attempt on 
 his life, instigated by the son of the Viceroy, 
 drove him from his allegiance into the service 
 of the King of France. Bernardo, in following 
 the fortunes of a patron who proved himself in 
 the end unworthy and ungrateful, was included 
 among his adherents, attainted of treason, and 
 subjected to forfeiture. His youthful and de- 
 voted wife, not allowed to share the exile of her 
 husband, died prematurely of grief, and her 
 brothers took possession of her dowry, which 
 they withheld from her children. TORQUATO,
 
 85 
 
 after his liberation from Sant' Anna, sought to 
 recover a part of it, and often, but in vain, ap- 
 pealed to the royal clemency for the restoration 
 of his father's effects. 
 
 Among many a thrilling tale with which the 
 feudal times abounded, of vassals and their 
 families involved in the ruin of their ambitious 
 lords, BERNARDO TASSO'S must ever hold a 
 place. We may not stop to tell it here. Suf- 
 fice it to say, that though greater horrors may 
 readily be found, the devastation of human af- 
 fections and of domestic happiness has seldom 
 been more complete. The warmth of TOR- 
 QUATO'S expostulation -with the Neapolita^ 
 therefore, was not unreasonable. 
 
 " To the Nobles and Deputies of the People of 
 Naples,* Torquato Tasso, son of Bernardo 
 Tasso and of Portia Rossi. 
 
 " I know not, lords and deputies of Naples, 
 whether I ought most to glory in being born of 
 
 * " Seggi" has been translated " deputies." The seggi of 
 
 Naples were originally nothing more than seats in the public 
 
 square, where the principal citizens repaired to converse. In 
 
 process of time, the term was applied to designate the persons 
 
 VOL. II. 8
 
 86 
 
 your blood and on your soil, or you to blush at call- 
 ing me a son of hers. For, if the greatness, no- 
 bility, worth, beauty, and courtesy of a country 
 reflect honor on her children, I have enough to 
 be proud of. On the other hand, I will not say, 
 that if the crimes, baseness, or infamy of a 
 citizen, can disgrace his birth-place, you have 
 reason to be ashamed that I draw my maternal 
 origin from yours, since in me there are no 
 faults or vices the like of which, and even 
 greater, have not been found in many who 
 filled high places in your state and were 
 thought worthy the honor of citizenship, even 
 by yourselves. But I will say, rather, that 
 you should be ashamed of having left me a 
 prey to the tyranny and cruelly of those who 
 have been pleased to exercise them fiercely 
 upon me, and that had you been to me what 
 you ought, it is more likely / should have con- 
 tributed to the improvement of law than its 
 abuse; to the revival of old Italian virtue, 
 rather than inhuman barbarism ; to the correc- 
 
 chosen by the people to exercise certain political powers in 
 their behalf. See COLLETTA Storia di Napoli, torn, i., p. 414, ed 
 di Capolago, 1834.
 
 87 
 
 tion of errors, instead of their increase. In 
 short, / might have proved myself one not un- 
 worthy to have counselled you in what manner, 
 consistently with your own content and honor, 
 you might have obeyed your sovereign, and 
 you would not have forced me into the 
 slavish service, I will not say of a Busiris, a 
 Phalaris, or a Dionysius, but of Necessity, a 
 sterner tyrant than them all, or any other on 
 the roll of time. You forced me, Neapolitans ! 
 when you did not favor me ; you did me wrong 
 when you denied me justice ; you drove me 
 from you when you invited me not. And 
 whom did you thus banish ? One who fled for 
 shelter to your city like a felon bent on crime ? 
 Or one, rather, who sought refuge amid her 
 temples and her altars, if not with the conscious 
 honesty of his past life, at least with an honest 
 purpose for his life to come ? To me, Neapo- 
 litans! the courts of justice have been the 
 haunts of barrators; churches and convents, 
 the dens of thieves ; friends and relations, tor- 
 mentors and executioners. I come, then, not 
 so much to excuse my faults, of which you 
 were the cause, as to accuse you of the neces- 
 sity that led me to commit them. Not like
 
 88 
 
 LYSIAS or HYPERIDES with the Athenians, to 
 flatter and cajole, but like another MILO before 
 his judges, nowise repentant of the deed, and 
 intrepidly regarding others' tears, (if, indeed, 
 there be any to shed one for me,) or like a new 
 SOCRATES, to reason with you, more of your 
 duties than my faults. Prepare yourselves, 
 then, Neapolitans ! to listen to my words with 
 the same lofty composure wherewith I prepare 
 myself to receive whatever of good or of evil, of 
 reward or of punishment, awaits me as the re- 
 compense of my merits or my crimes. 
 
 " There are two periods of my life during 
 which my actions may be considered. One 
 spent in the service of Don ALPHONSO ofEsTE, 
 Duke of Ferrara, the other passed in various wan- 
 derings after my flight to Naples. Because the 
 third and earlier portion, while I was with the 
 Lord Cardinal d' ESTE, may reasonably sink 
 into oblivion with my boyhood, where also his 
 avarice to me, unwonted towards others, may 
 be allowed to rest. 
 
 " The principal charges against me, and rea- 
 sons alleged, as I believe, for secluding me from 
 my species, are also two, discordant and con- 
 tradictory. The one is my first denial of the
 
 89 
 
 faults I had committed, and especially my want 
 of faith. The other is my having subsequently 
 exaggerated them, making myself guilty even 
 of things whereof I was innocent. 
 
 " These imputations I will so endeavor to 
 repel, that my proceedings will not be so much 
 condemned by the Supreme Judge of all, as 
 the proceedings of those judges who departed 
 far more from the common rules of justice, than 
 I from the ordinary custom of criminals." . . . 
 
 " If the circumstances of denying, and then 
 of aggravating my faults, are sufficiently ex- 
 cused, my faults themselves alone remain in 
 naked simplicity ; and having, as it appears to 
 me, sufficiently excused them in my defence to 
 the Ernperor, I will not undertake any new 
 justification."* 
 
 " Let us come, then, to the reasons and forms 
 of the judgment. 
 
 " What culprit Neapolitan was ever re- 
 proached for denying the accusations against 
 him, or palliating and excusing them, or recri- 
 
 * This reference gives an additional interest to bis letter to 
 the EMPEROR, which it has already been mentioned has been 
 sought for in vain. 
 8*
 
 90 
 
 minating, and making the blame of his adver- 
 saries a part of his defence ? If, then, when I 
 went before the inquisition, I did not confess 
 all the secrets of my conscience, and said any 
 thing of the malignity of my accusers, and my 
 own good intentions, or my piety, Christian or 
 civil, I committed no error not committed by 
 all ; I used no art but what is used by every 
 one, I adopted no defence save that which na- 
 ture herself teaches to the inexperienced and 
 unlearned. May not the accused employ ex- 
 traordinary means to defend himself, when ex- 
 traordinary proceedings are used to inculpate 
 him ? If I denied my offence, who denies not 
 his ? If I accused my enemies, who does not 
 accuse them? If I availed myself of my 
 prince's favor, who in such cases omits to do so ? 
 The holy office, Neapolitans, is not the Areo- 
 pagus, where it was forbidden to depart from 
 the merits of the case ; the less so, because 
 everything belongs to the merits, where a 
 man's whole life is inquired into. I see not, 
 therefore, why, like a new Areopagite, the 
 Dominican friar should be wroth with me for 
 quitting the merits of the cause, which at first 
 I declined doing, or why he should refuse me
 
 91 
 
 such counsel and defence as is allowed to all. 
 Perhaps because he thought me guilty ? But 
 is he not aware that the judgments of men are 
 fallible, and that God alone knows the heart, a 
 power peculiar to himself, from which angels 
 and devils are alike excluded ? This he ought 
 to know as a theologian ; and as a jurist he 
 should know, or as a judge have heard from 
 jurists, that to the common forms of judgment 
 the confession of the accused is indispensable.* 
 And as a philosopher, if he be a philosopher, 
 he should know, it is belter for ten guilty to 
 escape, than one innocent to suffer. Not allow- 
 ing me defence, therefore, he forgot what be- 
 longed to the judge, the theologian, and the 
 philosopher. But, above all, he forgot HUMAN- 
 ITY of CHARITY I speak not ; in convents, 
 perhaps, it is like SILENCE, to be found only on 
 the wall."t 
 
 Enlarging on these topics he inquired, where 
 is eloquence prohibited ? Where the means 
 
 * According to the civil law. 
 
 t SILKNCE is frequently seen in convents inscribed on the 
 walls of the refectory.
 
 92 
 
 that move compassion? Where are not the 
 tears of the widow and the orphan pitied, and 
 something pardoned to the infirmity of age, or 
 the promise of youth ? And where, on the 
 contrary, is not pride, perfidy, and treason, and 
 cruelty, odious and abhorred ? " Wretch that 
 I am !" he exclaims ; " to me only are all the 
 affections of humanity forbidden." " And 
 what art," he continues, " was used by me, O 
 just God ! not perfectly consistent with justice ! 
 What did I say that was not firmly believed ?". 
 
 " Nor because I concealed any 
 
 part of the truth, should I the less be reputed 
 a philosopher, since who are more accustomed 
 than philosophers to secresy and concealment 
 
 for the benefit of others ?" 
 
 " But what shall be said of the second time 
 that I went before the inquisition at BOLOGNA ? 
 Was the inquisitor able, with all his artifice, 
 to draw from me a single falsehood against my 
 adversaries ? Is it not unreasonable, then, 
 Neapolitans, that falsehood should prevail 
 against one who would not seek aid from false- 
 hood ? And reasonable that all which is doubt- 
 ful and uncertain should not be believed to his 
 prejudice, and a part even of what is certain,
 
 93 
 
 attributed to the weakness of good nature ? So 
 much for the first part, that of denying my 
 faults, and especially my unbelief. Let us pass 
 to the second, that of aggravating them. This 
 of itself, Neapolitans, is not a crime, but only 
 so from the circumstances, or evil intention at- 
 tending it. For, otherwise, in the prayers 
 ordered by the church, it would be wrong for 
 men to confess some sins, which perhaps they 
 have not committed. Besides, there have been 
 many who, by taking on themselves the faults 
 of their friends, or their lords, have been thought 
 more worthy of praise than blame, and of re- 
 ward than punishment. It remains, then, to be 
 seen, whether I aggravated my faults with evil 
 intention, or the circumstances were such as to 
 render the act culpable. When in the prison 
 of the castle of Ferrara, I begged my life of 
 the Duke's clemency, Neapolitans, I used such 
 art only as was admissible with a magnanimous 
 prince like him, desirous of imitating the noble 
 acts of his ancestors. And I used it with rea- 
 son, because I was not writing to a mere judge, 
 but to a prince. Addressing a judge I ought 
 to have demanded my life only of his justice ; 
 but appealing to a prince, I might solicit it as
 
 94 
 
 a mercy. If, then, I denied to the minister 
 what I confessed to the Duke, I did no more 
 than the extraordinary nature of the case made 
 necessary and proper. Nor was I inconsistent 
 with myself, since the minister I treated like a 
 minister, while I honored the prince as a 
 prince. 
 
 " But when at Turin I confessed that I had 
 been an unbeliever, I said so, persuaded by one 
 who on that occasion was competent to judge, 
 and under guarantee of the word and faith of 
 most honored princes. And I said so in the 
 hope of honor, not of scorn, and with no inten- 
 tion of concealing the truth, but rather of re- 
 vealing it. And if I was deceived, deceit is 
 less discreditable to the dupe than the deceiver. 
 I should not, therefore, be held less honorable 
 after that action than before. And if I bene- 
 fited by it, I only derived an advantage it was 
 natural to seek, and even less than I deserved. 
 Because, if it be the judgment of the Duke of 
 Ferrara, approved by the King of Spain, that 
 I must abide by the confession of my past want 
 of faith, it is either just or unjust. If just, I 
 have submitted to it ; if unjust, as it seems to 
 me, I cannot question it, seeing it is adopted by
 
 95 
 
 all the world. And what seek I, O most just 
 God ! after so many sufferings so many 
 deaths I may say, as I have undergone 
 but a small part of the honors and rewards 
 justly due to my past toils ? If this is all I ask, 
 Neapolitans, should I not be blamed as care- 
 less, and prodigal of my own, rather than 
 greedy of another's ? But you will inquire, of 
 whom do you ask it? Of the Duke of Fer- 
 rara, in whose service and honor I have written 
 many things, worthy of larger recompense than 
 any I dare to ask. And if I have written others 
 not entirely to his taste, or against his reputa- 
 tion, I ought not the less boldly to demand some 
 return for my labors. Because, if I offended 
 him, I did so believing he wished to be offended, 
 and if, taking the hand of another, and striking 
 himself, he could not reasonably punish him 
 whose hand he took, neither can he reasonably 
 punish the excesses of my tongue or my pen, 
 produced by his own violence and artifices." 
 
 Proceeding to say that he respects the Duke 
 as noble, brave, and honorable, and as such, if 
 free to choose, he would always have praised
 
 96 
 
 and celebrated him, he adds, that he does not 
 deem him so wise as to escape being imposed 
 on, nor infallible in his literary judgments. But 
 if the Duke of Ferrara wants the inclination to 
 reward, or patronize his works, why should 
 they remain unencouraged ? If TITIAN or 
 RAPHAEL paint the likeness of a prince, and 
 the picture does not please, will it fail to find a 
 purchaser ? And in like manner, he argues, if 
 his own poems are refused patronage by one 
 sovereign, why should they not receive it from 
 others ? Why not from the nobles and people 
 of Naples themselves ? 
 
 Telling them frankly for what reasons, and to 
 what extent, he is willing to honor them, he 
 concludes : 
 
 " And you, if any promise be made me, see 
 that it is observed j nor believe that I am more 
 solicitous of profit than of liberty, and charac- 
 ter, and honor, without which I see not how 
 profit can exist. Be persuaded, then, that you 
 are the advocates o,f one who, with the spirit 
 not of trade but philosophy, expects from the 
 EMPEROR that sentence which it pleases him to 
 hope will be favorable."* 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., p. 309, ed. di Pisa.
 
 97 
 
 The last piece of evidence it will be requi- 
 site to adduce on this branch of our subject, is 
 a letter of TASSO'S to Cardinal ALBANO. 
 Though in a less finished, and more familiar 
 style than his address to the nobles and depu- 
 ties of the people of Naples, it is equally indi- 
 cative of vigorous, acute, and unclouded in- 
 tellect. 
 
 " To Cardinal Albano. 
 
 " Mine is a new and unheard-of species of 
 misfortune, which compels me to persuade your 
 lordship I am not mad, and ought not, under 
 that pretence, to be guarded or imprisoned by 
 the Duke of Ferrara. New and unheard-of, 
 surely in our times, and in those of our fathers, 
 and our fathers' fathers, since no such instance 
 is related by them, though one like it occurred 
 in ancient Greece. The children of the famous 
 tragic poet Sophocles tried to prove him a luna- 
 tic. He answered by reading his (Edipus, re- 
 cently composed, in consequence of which he 
 was adjudged not merely sane, but wise. I 
 who resemble him, at least in my misery, may 
 in like manner be allowed to appeal to your 
 lordship, a judge no less just, attempting to 
 
 VOL. n. 9
 
 98 
 
 convince you I am not mad, whenever I lament 
 over my past infelicity. 
 
 " I pray your lordship, then, to read two 
 dialogues that I have lately written, one on 
 nobility, and the other on dignity, which will 
 sufficiently demonstrate the condition of my 
 mind. And if you wish to read them you must 
 send for them, or at least open to me the com- 
 merce of letters, forbidden to me by I know 
 not whose authority. But if acts, no less than 
 words, are the signs by which men are to be 
 judged, why should I be thought not only a fool, 
 but a madman ? Whom have I killed, or 
 wounded, or hurt ? Who has asked any kind- 
 ness of me, and been refused ? Who has in- 
 quired of anything belonging to my studies, 
 and not been answered ? Who has sought to 
 help me, and been mocked as by an idiot ? 
 Not the physicians certainly, whom I have beg- 
 ged and prayed above all things to come and 
 see me. Not the confessors, whom, in like 
 manner, I have requested and implored ; nor 
 any of my old friends, not one of whom I have 
 yet seen. If then, no writing, and no act of 
 mine, condemns me as a madman, with what 
 reason does the Duke of Ferrara detain me in
 
 99 
 
 prison as such ? Peradventure it will be said 
 that I have written and spoken more freely of 
 princes and of private persons than I ought, 
 and that I have struck one of the keepers of 
 my prison. To these accusations, my reverend 
 lord, I will specifically reply. 
 
 " Of princes it is my duty to speak with 
 honor and respect ; and I have never been, I 
 will not say so foolish, but so imprudent, as to 
 forget it, not even in those very productions where 
 the contrary might have been more pleasing to 
 others. But those I wrote, believing that your 
 lordship, and the illustrious and excellent 
 SCIPIO GONZAGA, prince of the empire, wished 
 me to undertake the defence of my father 
 against the Dukes of Ferrara and Mantua, 
 against the Cardinal of Este, and also against 
 his most catholic majesty ; and I thought, also, 
 that their serene highnesses the Duke of Savoy, 
 the Duke of Urbino, the republic of Venice, 
 the most clement princes of Germany, and Don 
 John of Austria, would approve the defence.* 
 
 * This defence is not extant, unless, which is probable, the 
 Dialogue del piacere Onesto, is intended. If it be, those parts 
 of it which expressed the poet's indignation against the Car-
 
 100 
 
 But in defending him I have shown, with suffi- 
 cient clearness, I was not a fool. For fools 
 make no distinction of persons, whilst I have 
 spoken with as much respect of his catholic 
 majesty, as indignation of the Cardinal d' Este 
 and others ; so that it seems to me any one 
 might plainly perceive I lacked not resolution 
 to die for my father, nor desired to live, if his 
 catholic majesty denied the life of the father 
 (for an honored memory is life) to the prayers 
 of the son. And he who in this manner is re- 
 solved to die, and yet so much loves life that 
 he would not lose it from mere weariness, can- 
 not be deemed a fool, I only regret, my lord, 
 that this defence, which I undertook under 
 your auspices, and those of the illustrious and 
 excellent Scipio Gonzaga, has not been con- 
 ducted by me with the skill and eloquence it 
 merited ; but if I have written anything which 
 has displeased, it was from grief, 
 
 dinal d' ESTE are no longer to be found in it. Though not 
 printed until 1583, it was written as early as 1580. See vol. 
 vii., p. 120, ed. di Pisa; most probably the Defence, if they are 
 not identical, and the Dialogue, if they are, must have been 
 begun before, because TASSO, among the persons whom he be- 
 lieved would approve the defence, names Don JOHN of AUS- 
 TRIA, who died in 1578. See Muratori Annali d* Italia, x., 385.
 
 101 
 
 " If I am mistaken, however, in supposing that 
 your lordship and Scipio Gonzaga urged me to 
 this defence, if this is but a false imagination 
 a melancholy humor, is Ferrara so far from 
 Rome that a message or a letter could not have 
 warned me to desist? The Duke of Ferrara, 
 indeed, had it intimated to me. Others, too, 
 advised me to forbear. But was I to obey the 
 Duke of Ferrara, in respect to what I had un- 
 dertaken by the advice of others against his 
 consent ? Surely the authority of those with 
 whom it originated should have restrained me, 
 not that of the Duke of Ferrara, a prince aliena- 
 ted from me, little friendly to my reputation, 
 and inclined to favor, if you will not say my 
 enemies, at least my rivals ; but I, who have 
 been wounded in life, honor, and fortune, will 
 say my enemies. And so much for the first 
 point. 
 
 " To the second, respecting words, it appears 
 to me by so much the more easy to reply, as I 
 am certain not only others, but the Duke of Fer- 
 rara himself, desired that I should speak licen- 
 tiously, and in this I cannot be deceived. 
 Nevertheless, that your lordship may see, I, as 
 a reasonable man, would contend with the arms 
 9*
 
 102 
 
 of reason, let the Duke of Ferrara send the 
 Cavalier Gualengo or Count Hercules Tassone 
 to talk with me, and I will so converse with 
 them, on any subject, that there shall remain 
 neither cause nor pretext for keeping me in 
 prison as a madman. 
 
 " To the third particular I reply, that I do not 
 deny having struck the keeper, but I have been 
 willing to give him every satisfaction that a man 
 of his condition could desire. And, it appears 
 to me, he could ask no more than what I gave 
 him by the assurance that I thought he wished 
 me to do so. For as there can be no injury 
 with the consent of the party injured, if I struck 
 him believing he desired me to strike him, I had 
 no design to injure him by the blow. But two 
 years have passed since then, and he has had a 
 writing under my hand, in which I promised 
 him two hundred and fifty crowns on certain 
 conditions, to which I hold myself bound not 
 only by law, but by the honor of a gentle- 
 man. It seems to me then, I have amply 
 proved to your lordship that the Duke of Fer- 
 rara has no ground for confining me as a mad- 
 man. Now let me consider whether he can 
 imprison me as a criminal.
 
 103 
 
 " The offences are either new or old. For the 
 old, having returned under the word of your 
 lordship, confirmed by the Count GUIDO CAL- 
 CAGNINI and Signer CAMILLO GIGLIOLI, his gen- 
 tlemen, he can, in no manner consistent with 
 his honor, detain me on account of them. For 
 the new, if he desired that I should offend him 
 in some way, he cannot reasonably complain 
 that I have done so rather in one way than 
 another. The impression by which he proba- 
 bly desired I should be guided was not certain. 
 And peradventure I have many times said 
 things that displeased him, intending the con- 
 trary, and even though I could have been sure 
 of the will, who can restrain irrational anger ? 
 I did not wish to offend him. He desired to be 
 offended, but in things more hurtful to my re- 
 putation than his own. Surely in that manner 
 I was not bound to offend him. 
 
 "He complains then, that I love myself 
 better than him ; and if he complains of this, 
 he complains unjustly, and has as little reason 
 to find fault with me as to keep me in prison. 
 And if any one entertains a contrary opinion, 
 I affirm positively he does not understand the 
 obligations of honor. But to convince the
 
 104 
 
 Duke of Ferrara that I not only came with the 
 intention to serve and respect him, but still 
 continue in the same mind, let me say, I 
 will never hold my own honor dearer than his, 
 if by the latter is understood the honor he 
 prizes as a prince and a cavalier. 
 
 " What would he have me say ? That as a 
 sovereign I do not think him tyrannical, and 
 that I acknowledge as just his first judgment 
 respecting me, which I know to be otherwise ? 
 Touching honor, as a cavalier, he ought to be 
 satisfied if I hold him in such respect as I do 
 all the chivalry of his time. But are there not 
 many things on which the judgments of cava- 
 liers and even princes differ? As, for instance, 
 whether treaties with a double aspect are law- 
 ful ? Whether it is ever permitted to break 
 faith ? Whether revenge may be taken in the 
 presence of a prince ? Nor these only, but 
 many other things are disputed. If I entertain 
 a different opinion from the Duke of Ferrara, 
 shall I say for this, he is less to be honored as a 
 cavalier than those who entertain my opinion ? 
 No, certainly. And I hold many who differ 
 from me for most honored. So did I hold the 
 late Duke of Urbino, of happy memory, al-
 
 105 
 
 though he approved treaties with a double aspect, 
 which I condemn ; but I do not believe the Duke 
 of Urbino could have been induced to do any- 
 thing if he doubted whether it was honorable 
 or not. Nor do I think the Duke of Ferrara 
 can do otherwise than doubt whether he has a 
 right to detain me in prison, contrary to pro- 
 mise ; nor being doubtful, can he do so with 
 honor; and whoever thinks otherwise is greatly 
 mistaken, as I believe the Duke of Ferrara to 
 be. In other matters, not affecting honor, the 
 Duke can hold what opinions he pleases with- 
 out any shame to him ; but if he thinks, like 
 those who have any literary rivalship with me 
 or I with them, he ought not to hinder me from 
 writing in my own way. That I shall have 
 neither honor nor profit from him, unless I write 
 as he pleases, is what I do not complain of; but 
 I cannot see how he can hinder me from earning 
 a living consistently with his own credit. 
 
 " I could easily have made four hundred 
 crowns a year in VENICE. In my two dia- 
 logues on Nobility and Dignity, I have given 
 the Venetian nobility occasion to deny me 
 what is granted to every body else in their 
 dominions ; because in treating of the prece-
 
 106 
 
 dence of their Doge, and the Duke of Tuscany, 
 and the Grand Duke, .... * and the 
 Duke of Ferrara, and other Dukes, it appears 
 to me I have clearly proved by reason, that 
 their Doge should be postponed ; and if he has 
 precedence, it is only because it has so pleased 
 the Pope and the Emperor. As much more I 
 might have gained in the kingdom of Naples, 
 from the profits of printing there, and presents 
 from princes and nobles ; but respecting the 
 dignity of those six Dukes, I have written in 
 such a manner that the nobility of that kingdom, 
 also, will be little pleased with me.t I should 
 have received a thousand crowns for my poem, 
 if it had been published for my benefit the two 
 different times it has been published-! And the 
 
 * Blank in the original. As there was a dispute about the 
 title of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, which the Duke of Fer- 
 rara did not recognise, TASSO may have first written the Duke 
 of Tuscany, doubtful how he could avoid offending the one or 
 the other. The six Dukes were, probably, the Duke of Savoy, 
 the Duke of Mantua, the Duke of Ferrara, the Grand Duke of 
 Tuscany, the Doge of Venice, and the Duke of Urbino. 
 
 t The six Dukes shows that there was some error or omis- 
 sion in the above blank. 
 
 t This fixes the date of the letter. Only one edition of the 
 Gerusalemme was published in 1580; several in 1581.
 
 107 
 
 Duke of Ferrara has permitted this, or not 
 known how to prevent it, if he desired to do so, 
 and meantime keeps me in prison as a mad- 
 man, allowing me the bare necessaries of life. 
 
 " Count Hercules* tells me I have a right to 
 recover two thousand five hundred crowns from 
 my mother's estate, and my sister writes me I 
 can get thousands. The property of my father 
 was many thousands, which I might have re- 
 covered with those dialogues and my poem ; 
 and now, if through the Duke of Ferrara, all 
 hopes, not only of this but of what I might cer- 
 tainly have promised myself in the kingdom of 
 Naples and the Venetian states, are lost, it is 
 unreasonable to make me lose, also, my just 
 rights to my mother's property, the recovery of 
 which I would as willingly owe to the justice 
 of the King's ministers as to the courtesy of 
 the princes and nobles of Naples. 
 
 " I desire permission to dedicate my dia- 
 logues and poem to whoever will assist me to 
 
 * " TASSO had first written ' my sister,' and then cancelling 
 that, substituted ' Count Hercules, 1 with another word now 
 illegible." Note of the Milanese editor. Probably it was 
 Count Hercules TASSONE.
 
 108 
 
 recover the two thousand five hundred crowns, 
 or give me an equivalent, and pray your lord- 
 ship to ask it for me, and I will converse with 
 any one who comes to speak to me in your 
 name. 
 
 "Allow me, also, to inform your lordship, that 
 my health has suffered so much in this prison, 
 that I cannot make the same exertions as for- 
 merly ; and between the weakness of my con- 
 stitution and the prejudice done me in the king- 
 dom of Naples and in Venice, I cannot so well 
 procure a subsistence as heretofore. 
 
 " Your lordship, therefore, who prevailed on 
 me to come to Ferrara from Savoy, where the 
 prince had offered me the same provision I got 
 from the Duke of Ferrara, and the profits of 
 my works, should provide, or make others pro- 
 vide, I will not say for my convenience, but 
 my reasonable necessities. Your lordship 
 knows how I was born and educated, in what 
 capacity I served the Duke of Ferjrara, and 
 might have served the Grand Duke of Tus- 
 cany. If now, after five years' illness and 
 troubles, I have fallen from my rank, by my 
 folly, as they say, even folly deserves compas- 
 sion as much as punishment ; nor do I see why
 
 109 
 
 I should be less respected than formerly, be- 
 ginning, even according to the opinion of others, 
 to recover my senses. If esteem is denied me, 
 because, as I believe, my reputation has been 
 injured, though men will not honor me as here- 
 tofore, at least they might consider five years' 
 infirmity and suffering a sufficient punishment 
 for every fault, and allow me to live retired, far 
 from courts and favors, not binding me to any 
 service which I dislike and to which no one can 
 constrain me, since over my will no prince in 
 the world has any right, and the Duke of Ferra- 
 ra least of all, though many may have over my 
 person.* If he will exercise it to the utmost, I 
 will die, unwillingly indeed, but far more wil- 
 lingly than I would lead the odious life it is de- 
 sired I should live. I would not willingly die, 
 as I have said, but desire life principally to 
 complete my poem and to write some other 
 things for my own satisfaction. If others 
 would graqt me life only that I may yield the 
 
 * Tisso was by birth a Neapolitan and subject of the King 
 of Spain. His family were of Bergamo, which he claimed as 
 his country. The Duke of Ferrara, therefore, was in no sense 
 his liege lord. 
 
 VOL. II. 10
 
 110 
 
 palm to my rivals and enemies, owning myself 
 vanquished, not only in argument but in com- 
 position, they may keep the gift which most 
 assuredly I shall not accept. It is true, never- 
 theless, that if there were any one who wished 
 me to write, not to honor my enemies or dis- 
 grace myself, but for his own gratification, I 
 would not refuse to do so as far as I could, but 
 I am not able. And if I regard his satisfaction, 
 he, however great he might be, should have 
 respect for mine, and consider that literary 
 emulation is too strong a feeling to be overcome. 
 But as I am convinced that all the Duke of 
 Ferrara seeks from me, he seeks, not so much 
 for his own satisfaction as for my dishonor, and 
 places his pleasure in my disgrace, let your 
 lordship resolve him that I am neither able nor 
 willing to write long poems ; short ones, such 
 as sonnets, canzoni, etc., I will write as he 
 commands, if he wishes me in his service; if 
 he does not, I have said enough of his duty, 
 and your lordship's, and mine, which is to live 
 and die manfully, with cheerfulness if it may 
 be, but with the cheerfulness of a man. Fer- 
 rara, 23d May, [1581.]"
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THESE various pieces, too long perhaps, and 
 not always quite clear enough in the opinion of 
 our readers, in spite of abridgment and occa- 
 sional explanation, have been quoted to very 
 little purpose if a minute comparison of them 
 with each other be requisite to confirm TASSO'S 
 affirmation of his own sanity. 
 
 Their general tenor evinces a sound and cul- 
 tivated mind, whose extraordinary powers are 
 frequently attested by long-sustained and ener- 
 getic reasoning, interspersed with bursts of 
 sublime and pathetic eloquence. Taken all to- 
 gether, they are difficult to resist, and their 
 impression would be weakened rather than in- 
 creased by contrasting numerous passages of 
 similar import. Belief is yielded less to subtle 
 logic than to adequate proof, and the chief art 
 of successful investigation, literary or scientific,
 
 112 
 
 lies in judiciously collecting, analyzing, and 
 combining the materials subjected to experi- 
 ment. It often seems that Time and Nature 
 refuse to be interrogated on their mysteries, 
 when in reality they are silent only to careless 
 inquirers. Questioned more wisely or entreated 
 with greater zeal, as if won by devotion or 
 overcome by perseverance, they yield at length 
 their facts one by one to curiosity. These, for 
 a while, float, scattered and confused, amid he- 
 terogeneous matter atoms in chaos without 
 form and void. Each particle, however, has a 
 species of attraction. Years of patient thought, 
 and the labor of many minds may be necessary 
 to bring them into contact under circumstances 
 favorable to their combination, but the result is 
 instantaneous. When the moment at length 
 arrives, and the re-agent is applied, portions of 
 the mass start forth, assume polarity, arrange 
 themselves, become clear and regular, and the 
 crystallization is TRUTH. 
 
 Such, too, is often the process of conviction, 
 though wrought out by means not attentively 
 noted by ourselves, and such, it seems to us, 
 must be the result of this collection of the poet's 
 own representations, made to different persons
 
 113 
 
 at different times, with various objects, and 
 spread over a considerable period. All argu- 
 ment, therefore, would be either superfluous or 
 unavailing. 
 
 If these were the work of a madman, AL- 
 PHONSO is excused for confining him, and there 
 remains only the contrast between poetic im- 
 mortality, royal munificence, and a pauper's 
 hospital. But if our minds reject this conclu- 
 sion, what shall we say of many other admi- 
 rable compositions, both in prose and verse, 
 all written during his confinement ? 
 
 Taking it for granted, therefore, that thus 
 far at least the aggregate of proof is in favor 
 of his sanity, instead of a tedious and minute 
 comparison, to show wherein, and to what ex- 
 tent, his several statements coincide, a hasty 
 glance at the most remarkable points of agree- 
 ment will be sufficient, accompanied by some 
 rules for judging of the rest, and an attempt to 
 reconcile whatever may appear ambiguous or 
 contradictory. 
 
 Some general reflections, never to be lost 
 sight of, at once present themselves. 
 
 In perusing TORQUATO, we must always re- 
 collect to whom, in what situation, and for what 
 10*
 
 114 
 
 purpose, he wrote. Whether free, or in prison, 
 for the public or confidentially ; to what man- 
 ner of person, and with what especial object. 
 Thus, for example, the oration to the Duke of 
 Urbino was addressed directly to a friend, but 
 indirectly to all Italy ; he wished to propitiate 
 della Rovere, but without farther provoking 
 Alphonso, and whatever may have been the 
 secret of his counterfeited insanity, he spoke 
 to one who most probably either knew it 
 already, or was not at all likely to approve its 
 publication. His immediate aim was to vindi- 
 cate himself from the imputation of madness, 
 to hint his motives for wearing the mask of 
 folly, and to explain his reasons for first leav- 
 ing, and then going back to Ferrara, but all so 
 delicately and respectfully, that his defence 
 might be as little offensive as possible. It was 
 written when he was free, indeed, but a poor 
 and helpless fugitive, before he had spoken dis- 
 respectfully of the Duke, and while still ar- 
 dently desiring to return to his service. With 
 this key it must be read. 
 
 The discourse to GONZAGA is dated from 
 prison. It was hastily composed, and sent 
 without correction, and hence the defects of its
 
 115 
 
 style.* There is no doubt he would have cor- 
 rected it if it had been meant to receive imme- 
 diate publicity.! The mutilation it has under- 
 gone renders its effect, when entire, matter of 
 conjecture. It may probably be regarded as 
 an apology for this life, having a double pur- 
 pose to fulfil, that of soliciting his freedom 
 through Gonzaga's influence, and that of re- 
 maining, in any sinister event, to testify he was 
 reasonable at least, if not innocent. Its praises 
 of ALPHONSO may be readily explained : Sci- 
 PIO GONZAGA was brother-in-law to the Duke, 
 and the discourse, or parts of it, might be read 
 by the latter. But a still more sufficient apo- 
 
 * This appears from the postscript. " La fretta che ho di 
 mandar oggi questa scrittura ha fatto che io non lo abbia dato 
 se non una revista correndo." 
 
 t Tasso's letters abound with proof of his anxiety respect- 
 ing the finish of whatever he designed for the press. That this 
 production was not of a character to be printed is also further 
 evinced by its being first published more than thirty years after 
 his death, and in its present imperfect form. He remarks, 
 writing to Cataneo, on 18th October, 1581, that this discourse 
 to Goniaga was not composed " con quella ch' io stimo buona 
 arte," and that he had intended to remodel it. See Lettere, 
 torn, iv., p. 158.
 
 116 
 
 logy for them may be found in a sentence of the 
 poet's " The Prince in whose power I am." 
 
 Whatever a prisoner under the entire control 
 of another may say or write to appease the 
 indignation of him by whose order he suffers, 
 must be received by posterity with many grains 
 of allowance. Praise from one so situated 
 comes loaded with the suspicion of hope or 
 fear, while every word of complaint, and every 
 sign of blame, warns us by its very caution, 
 how much injustice and misery must have been 
 borne in silence. Not from the open conversa- 
 tions of the captive therefore, are his real sen- 
 timents to be gathered. Whispered hints, and 
 broken murmurs, interrupted by tears and 
 sighs, are the true expositors of his half-stifled 
 meaning. 
 
 The letter to Gonzaga, after the discourse, 
 was still more evidently confidential. Some 
 passages of it are curious, but more proper for 
 future than present commentary. 
 
 The main intent of the epistle to BUONCOM- 
 PAGNO was to declare the nature of his fortner 
 doubts, and the orthodoxy of his settled faith, 
 and to assert the consistency of what he wrote 
 to the Emperor with what he said to the inqui-
 
 117 
 
 sition. To these points it is principally di- 
 rected. So far as heretical opinions were 
 made a pretext for detaining him, or scep- 
 ticism was alleged to have unsettled his reason, 
 to whom could he appeal but the head of the 
 church, or through whom more effectually than 
 the nephew of the Pope ? 
 
 The address to the nobles and deputies of 
 the people of Naples, bespeaks the sympathy 
 and assistance of his countrymen in a style 
 worthy of himself. Either written when he 
 despaired of pardon from the Duke of Ferrara, 
 except through the powerful interposition of 
 the Emperor, with the hope of which he deluded 
 himself, or trusting it would not reach ALFHON- 
 so's eye, between whom and the Neapolitans 
 there was little intercourse or community of 
 feeling or policy, its tone is bolder than any- 
 thing we have from him on the same subject. 
 There is much reason to regret, that neither a 
 prior memorial to the nobles and people of 
 Naples, nor the defence of his father, mentioned 
 in his letter to Cardinal ALBANO, nor his own 
 letter to the EMPEROR, have as yet been found.* 
 
 * The preceding memorial to the nobles and deputies of the 
 people of Naples, is mentioned in the Lettere, torn, iv.,
 
 us 
 
 Additional and important facts might be 
 gathered from these documents, and perhaps 
 from his supplication to the senate of Milan, 
 still undiscovered. None of them are refe'rred 
 to by any of his biographers, except the letter 
 to the Emperor, which is barely mentioned by 
 Serassi. 
 
 The last of the justificatory pieces heretofore 
 quoted at length, is TASSO'S letter to Cardinal 
 ALBANO. This was evidently confidential, and 
 is deeply interesting. It wants, to be sure, the 
 unreserved freedom of his communications to 
 the DUKE of URBINO and SCIPIO GONZAGA, 
 
 p. 308. The defence of his father, irUhe'letter to Cardinal Al- 
 bano, ante, 99, and Lettere Inedite, p. 61. The letter to the 
 Emperor, Lettere, torn, iv., p. 312; torn, v., p. 26; torn, i., pp. 
 1 13, 114 ; torn, ii., p. 115. It is likewise mentioned in a letter 
 to Maurizio Cataneo, vol. x., delle opere di TASSO, ed. di Ve- 
 nezia, p. 268, [torn, iv., p. 158, dell' ed. di Pisa,] where he says 
 he wrote it two years ago ; the letter to Cataneo is dated 18th 
 October, 1581. This carries back the date of the letter to the 
 Emperor to the latter part of 1579. The petition to the senate 
 of Milan is mentioned in a letter to Coccapani, vol. ix., ed. di 
 Venezia, p. 238. Perhaps the defence of his father has reference 
 to his Dialogue del piacere Onesto, but in that event it must 
 have been altered, for the indignation which, he says in his let- 
 ter to Cardinal Albano, he expressed in the defence against 
 Cardinal d' Este, is not to be found in the dialogue. See ante, 
 100.
 
 119 
 
 younger men, and more intimate friends. But 
 it is entire, and shows us something of his real 
 opinions about Alphonso, his own strong sense 
 of the injustice done him, and the futility 
 of the alleged causes of his detention. It can- 
 not be overlooked that these contradict each 
 other. Why should angry words, or an attempt 
 to change patrons, be imputed to him as a crime, 
 if he were indeed a lunatic ? Why, during 
 fourteen months, deny him medical advice, if 
 he were afflicted with mental as well as bodily 
 infirmity ? If heresy were his offence, why 
 was he not sent to the prison of the inquisition, 
 not the hospital of the poor and insane ; and 
 why, during so long a period, was there no at- 
 tempt to convert an involuntary and repentant 
 sceptic ? The absurdity of such pretexts is to 
 be equalled only by their cruelty and falsehood. 
 On the other hand, the general consistency 
 of his own statements is striking. A few of 
 the most remarkable coincidences may be 
 briefly noted. The imitation of Brutus and 
 Solon, recommended to him by signs the 
 sacrifice, which had no parallel but that of 
 Abraham the intimation that he must aspire 
 to no fame in letters, but lead a sensual life in
 
 120 
 
 the sty of Epicurus all of which are men- 
 tioned in his oration to the DUKE of URBINO, 
 tally with what he affirms in the discourse and 
 letter to GONZAGA, that new and cruel modes 
 of punishment are devised for him that he is 
 excluded from the common rights of humanity, 
 and the pale of all law, civil, national, and na- 
 tural that he is obliged to understand by 
 signs, like a brute, yet not allowed, like the 
 brutes, to quench his thirst without fear.* In 
 both a change of service is alluded to, and ex- 
 cused ; and in each, as well as the letter to 
 ALBANO, such language as displeased the Duke 
 is apologized for, and attributed to anger, or to 
 ALPHONSO'S own artifice and violence. In the 
 DISCOURSE, as well as the letter to BUONCOM- 
 PAGNO, and that to the NOBLES and DEPUTIES of 
 the PEOPLE of NAPLES, his religious doubts are 
 touched upon, and his ultimate conviction of 
 the truths of Christianity affirmed ; while in the 
 two last he maintains the legitimacy of his mode 
 of defence before the inquisition, and insists 
 there was no contradiction between what he 
 said before the HOLY OFFICE and what he wrote 
 
 * See also his canzone to the Princesses, stanza iii.
 
 121 
 
 to the EMPEROR. In the oration he says the 
 Duke signified to him by signs a wish he was 
 ashamed to manifest by speech a wish, as it 
 appears by the context, that he should make a 
 third between BRUTUS and SOLON. In the dis- 
 course he complains, that as an artist he is 
 forbidden to exercise his art, and declares that 
 he who wishes another to be mad, must not 
 complain if he cannot put bounds or method to 
 his madness. He is furthermore consistent in 
 affirming that the Duke desired to be offended,* 
 and that Scipio knew the circumstances under 
 which he meditated leaving ALPHONSO'S em- 
 ployment, and could excuse him.t 
 
 A man who thus repeats the same facts, 
 without contradiction from any one, and con- 
 temporaneously produces numerous sonnets, 
 canzoni, dialogues, and discourses, all admi- 
 rable, if he were not of sound mind, must have 
 been visited with a madness more wonderful 
 than wisdom. 
 
 * See ante, Letter to the Nobles and Deputies of the People 
 of Naples, etc. 
 
 t See ante, Discourse to Gonzaga, etc. See also his letter 
 to the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Lettere, torn, v., 150, 151. 
 VOL.11. 11
 
 122 
 
 Let it be once for all remarked, that the phi- 
 losophy and logic and morality of TASSO, as 
 manifested in these papers, are not intended to 
 be approved without reserve. Much of them, 
 indeed, is open to censure ; but they were the 
 logic and philosophy, and morality, of his age 
 and country and education, and exhibit not the 
 slightest sign of madness. 
 
 Not only does the evidence disprove insanity, 
 but refute some of the prominent causes as- 
 signed for its origin. These, let them be once 
 more recurred to, were religious doubts, the 
 criticisms on his Jerusalem, the treachery of 
 his friend, and the spoliation of his papers. 
 
 The first, if we believe himself, had ended 
 in the entire confirmation of his faith, which, 
 to the last hour of his life, he confirmed by his 
 practice. He says, in the discourse to GONZAGA, 
 " I laughed at my former doubts," and in ano- 
 ther place, " I was not at all, or very slightly 
 agitated by my former anxieties." 
 
 The exceptions taken to his poem by those 
 to whose censorship he had submitted it, were 
 answered without spleen or passion. For this 
 fact his whole poetical correspondence may be
 
 123 
 
 cited. The alterations advised, almost com- 
 manded, by a fanatical inquisitor, seem rather 
 to have fretted and annoyed, than exasperated 
 him. The great attack of Salviati, under cover 
 of the Academy della Crusca, was not made 
 until 1584, when he had been already five years 
 in prison. TASSO'S " Apology" was grave, 
 modest, sensible, calm, and learned, and direct- 
 ed first and most earnestly to the defence of 
 his father's memory. When the controversy 
 raged more fiercely, and he was assailed with 
 gross vituperation, he still maintained his tem- 
 per. A single passage from his rejoinder may 
 be quoted, bearing in mind that SALVTATI had 
 formerly courted the poet, and praised his 
 poem. 
 
 " In my prosperity," says he, " they en- 
 treated me to a friendship which I sought not ; 
 in my adversity they would force me into an 
 enmity which I shun. Formerly they received 
 more of my heart than they could themselves 
 have gained ; and even now have lost less of 
 my benevolence than others desired. But ever 
 constant to the same purpose, they have been
 
 124 
 
 swifter in pursuing me than I in retiring ; no 
 wonder therefore, that at length we meet." 
 
 Is this the language of a fantastic and irrita- 
 ble poet, deprived of reason by critical injus- 
 tice ? 
 
 His friend's treachery, the fraudulent peru- 
 sal of his papers, and violation of his corres- 
 pondence remain. The effect of these it is 
 not intended to deny or disparage. They pro- 
 bably sunk deep into TASSO'S mind, increasing 
 his melancholy, and rendering him misanthro- 
 pic and suspicious. But between these and 
 madness there is a wide space, which as yet it 
 does not seem TORQUATO overstepped. Neither 
 in the sonnet to a false friend, already quoted, 
 nor in the other on the same subject ; nor in any 
 of the letters respecting MADALO, do we trace 
 a feeling strong and keen enough to denote 
 vacillating reason. 
 
 At length, then, we tread for a moment upon 
 firm ground. TASSO was not mad, at least 
 during the two first years of his detention. 
 Some other cause, therefore, must be sought 
 
 for his IMPRISONMENT. 
 
 His sanity being allowed, there results from
 
 325 
 
 it the propriety of seeking that cause from him- 
 self. Such a search would be folly if his words 
 were a madman's. 
 
 It is equally clear, he was not confined for 
 religious errors. His doubts had ceased ; his 
 faith was settled and orthodox ; his prison was 
 not that of the holy office j during fourteen 
 months no effort was made to punish the obsti- 
 nate, convert the deluded, or confess and ab- 
 solve the repentant sinner. Heresy then, was 
 a pretext only.* Disrespectful language was 
 another, and a yet weaker one. Serassi says 
 the poet used very strong terms of reproach, 
 extending to the whole house of Este, but he 
 quotes no authority. 
 
 TASSO, in his letter to Gonzaga, speaks of the 
 Princesses as partakers in their brother's injury, 
 without saying in what manner, but in the 
 discourse affirms, respecting the Duke : 
 
 "In fine, I offended him only by a few light 
 words, the like of which are often uttered by dis- 
 
 * If, as TASSO often supposed, the Cardinal d' Este was 
 greatly instrumental in his imprisonment, one cannot help 
 conjecturing that this pretence may hare originated with him. 
 11*
 
 126 
 
 contented courtiers, or by treating for a change of 
 service from the necessity of the case, which he 
 may hear from me if he will, and in the manner 
 known to you, most illustrious sir, wherein I do 
 not believe he can think himself aggrieved, and 
 with words that might have been of much im- 
 portance if not said conditionally, but which 
 were uttered, moreover, in a transport of just 
 anger, not against him, but against one who 
 had given me sufficient .cause ; and they were 
 spoken with an intention that they should not 
 have effect, as the sequel shows, and in terms 
 so restricted that it was easy to perceive I had 
 no purpose to remain in his service with a view 
 to his injury, but rather that I sought to go else- 
 where, so as not to be obliged to say or do any- 
 thing that might displease him." 
 
 In another part of the discourse, he says : 
 
 " Nor do I deem less worthy of pardon the 
 words that I uttered, seeing that they were 
 spoken by a man not only angry, but exces- 
 sively enraged." 
 
 And in his letter to Cardinal Albano last cited :
 
 127 
 
 "I am certain, not only others, but the Duke 
 of Ferrara himself, desired that I should speak 
 licentiously, and in this I cannot be deceived." 
 
 And finally, in his address to the Nobles and 
 Deputies of the People of Naples, he remarks, 
 on the same subject : 
 
 "Neither can he reasonably punish the ex- 
 cesses of my tongue or my pen, produced by 
 his own violence and artifices.'* 
 
 The enormous disproportion between the 
 offence, even as stated by Serassi, and the pun- 
 ishment inflicted, must strike every one, and 
 the more forcibly, because ALPHONSO was 
 proud, but not habitually cruel. It should also 
 be noted, that the Duke never condescended to 
 give this excuse for TORQUATO'S confinement. On 
 the contrary, having once alleged madness, and 
 as TASSO says, induced him to feign it, he al- 
 ways abided by his first explanation. The 
 merit of inventing a more frivolous plea belongs 
 to Serassi. Without an argument, it may be 
 held "bad for duplicity." 
 
 The ground is now cleared for our further
 
 128 
 
 advance, by showing at least that neither mad- 
 ness, nor religious errors, nor angry words, 
 were anything more than excuses for TASSO'S 
 imprisonment. 
 
 If nothing more can be learned, we know, at 
 all events, for what he was not confined. Nor 
 has this circuitous method of investigation been 
 pursued only to rouse languid attention by a 
 suspended interest. To irritate our reader's 
 curiosity and unnecessarily delay its gratifica- 
 tion, like the clown in a comedy, who tells 
 everything but what he is asked, would not 
 be worthy of them or of us. Our reserve has 
 a better motive, a serious wish to separate 
 all the truth that is now attainable from every 
 kind of theory and conjecture. But why not 
 tell us at once what reason TASSO gave ? He 
 surely knew why he was confined ? These 
 questions are most natural from those, whatever 
 part of the earth they may inhabit, who speak 
 the language of the BILL of RIGHTS, and to 
 whom MAGNA CHARTA and HABEAS CORPUS 
 are words familiar from their youth. To such 
 ears it sounds strange that a prisoner should 
 not know the cause of his detention. But in 
 many parts of Christendom it is sometimes so
 
 129 
 
 even to this day. The accused is left to 
 imagine the reason of his arrest, though so pub- 
 lic that he alone may be ignorant of it. If such 
 be the ordinary proceeding, it were useless to 
 say how much greater the precaution in cases 
 of secresy. 
 
 Some time may have elapsed before TASSO 
 heard any cause assigned, but the pleasure of 
 the Duke, or his own alleged insanity. The 
 true one perhaps neither ever gave, and both 
 may have had the strongest motives for con- 
 cealing it. Replying in the meantime, first to 
 one ostensible accusation, and then to another, 
 he endeavored to prove his sanity, his ortho- 
 doxy, and his innocence, or at all events the 
 lightness of his offence, according as madness, 
 heresy, disrespectful language, or an intention 
 to desert the service of his lord, were succes- 
 sively imputed to him. This explains MURA- 
 TORI'S opinion that " TASSO himself was not 
 aware of the reason of his imprisonment, and 
 in his delirium fancied that this dreadful 
 storm had come upon him first from one quarter 
 and then from another."* This, too, renders 
 
 * Letter of Muratori to Apostolo Zeno, torn, iv,, p. 114. 
 Opere di T. Tasso, ed. di Pisa.
 
 130 
 
 Torqualo himself intelligible when he says, in 
 the discourse to GONZAGA, " Whatever may 
 be the charges against me, for 1 know not 
 myself precisely what they are." 
 
 To seek them we return to the order of time.
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE first symptom of TASSO'S pretended in- 
 sanity meets us in the account of his drawing 
 a knife upon a servant. 
 
 This is said to have taken place in the apart- 
 ments of the DUCHESS of URBINO.* We have 
 no account of any such circumstance from 
 TASSO himself. It rests upon the authority of 
 Veniero, who does not speak as an eye-witness. 
 Perhaps he only wrote what was given out, 
 purposely to be repeated. Perhaps it was the 
 first scene in TORQUATO'S feigned part. His 
 papers had been searched ; his false friend's 
 treachery was known; the plot against him 
 thickened ; the combat had occurred ; MADALO, 
 
 * May not the device of feigning madness have originated 
 with the Duchess 1
 
 132 
 
 after making those boasts, hid under an et 
 catera, had escaped to Florence, and, strange 
 to say, found refuge from the Duke's justice in 
 the house of his own minister. Is it to be sup- 
 posed he revealed nothing but some criticisms 
 on the Jerusalem? What were the more im- 
 portant treasons of which TASSO speaks ? 
 
 Let it be conceded that it does not appear 
 the Duke's anger was an immediate conse- 
 quence of the affair with MADALO. From all 
 the circumstances, as it is most natural to ima- 
 gine, ALPHONSO'S favor was first on TORQUA- 
 TO'S side. The baseness and cowardice of his 
 adversary would prejudice every brave and 
 generous mind against him, and if the cause of 
 quarrel in any respect touched the Princess, 
 the time might not have arrived when it would 
 be quite safe to report to the Duke what such a 
 man said of his sister. Besides, we have 
 TASSO'S own declaration, that in the beginning 
 of his misfortunes Alphonso showed him the 
 affection, not of a master but a brother.* All 
 this is against the probability of Madalo's reve- 
 lations having immediately reached the Duke. 
 
 * Letter to the Duke of Urbino.
 
 133 
 
 There are some truths which those most in- 
 terested are the last to hear. The open demon- 
 strations made by the minister of justice do not 
 add much weight to the other proof of the 
 Duke's kindness, because they may be sus- 
 pected of artifice. Everything considered, 
 however, the most reasonable conjecture is, that 
 TASSO'S delinquencies reached ALPHONSO one 
 by one. First his heretical opinions ; then his 
 design to change service ; and then some other 
 yet graver faults. 
 
 It is manifest that the Duke did not withdraw 
 his favor on account of TORQUATO'S doubts. 
 According to this discourse, " he conversed on 
 the subject with his loving and beloved lord, 
 and with his license presented himself." 
 
 His intention to leave the Duke's service was 
 a more serious matter, discovered most proba- 
 bly by the fraudulent perusal of his letters. 
 Even after this, however, the princesses inter- 
 ceded for him. 
 
 " The accusation of being faithless to my 
 Prince" it is he himself who speaks 
 " added to the original charges, produced a 
 torrent, nay, a deluge of misfortunes, so great, 
 
 VOL. II. 12
 
 134 
 
 that neither any effort of human reason, nor the 
 favor of the most serene Princesses, who ex- 
 erted themselves earnestly in my behalf, were 
 sufficient to restrain it."* 
 
 Yet this fault alone was not one whence mad- 
 ness could be inferred, nor as a punishment for 
 which its simulation would be commanded. 
 Nor does Tasso himself elsewhere consider it 
 so very heinous, alleging " the necessity of the 
 case," and saying, " he does not believe AL- 
 PHONSO could think him aggrieved by it."t 
 
 Thus much is plain. It was not in conse- 
 quence of this act that he lost the favor of the 
 Princesses. They upheld his cause after it 
 was known he had intended to desert the court 
 of FERRARA, and when they abandoned it, be- 
 sides his contumelious language, if that be 
 " the injury in which they were partakers," 
 they had, as he conceived, " other causes of 
 displeasure."| 
 
 In confirmation of the opinion that all the 
 
 * Discourse to Gonzaga. 
 
 t Letter to Gonzaga after the Discourse. 
 
 t Id.
 
 
 135 
 
 subjects of complaint against him were not 
 known at once, the following sonnet may be 
 quoted. 
 
 There is every reason to believe it was writ- 
 ten early in his troubles, and there is no allu- 
 sion to angry words or imputed madness. His 
 " dubious faith" is distinctly mentioned, and 
 may refer either to his religious doubts, or the 
 imputation of disloyalty. 
 
 At thy loved name my voice grows loud and clear, 
 Fluent my tongue, as thou art wise and strong, 
 
 * Rime, torn, iii., vol. v., p. 31, ed. di Pisa. 
 
 " AL DUCA ALFONSO DI FERRARA. 
 
 lo pure al nome tuo dolce rischiaro 
 
 La lingua, e 'n dir come sei saggio, e forte 
 
 Parche sopra le nubi aura mi porte ; 
 
 Ma tosto caggio in suon basso ed amaro. 
 
 E s' alia tua pietk mio fato avaro 
 
 Non vince, Alfonso invitto, e 1' impia sorte, 
 
 Gela mia lingua, anzi il rigor di morte, 
 
 Ch' omai mi verna, esol pianger m' e caro. 
 
 Piango il morir, ne" piango il morir solo, 
 
 Ma il modo, e la mia fe, che mal rimbomba, 
 
 Che col nome veder sepolta parmi. 
 
 N<i piramidi, o Mete, o di Mausolo. 
 
 Mi saria di conforto aver la tomba, 
 
 Ch' altrc moli innabzar credea co" carmi."
 
 136 
 
 And soaring far above the clouds my song : 
 But soon it droops, languid and faint to hear j 
 And if thou conquerest not my fate, I fear, 
 Invincible ALPHONSO ! FATE ere long 
 Will conquer me freezing in DEATH my tongue 
 And closing eyes, now opened with a tear. 
 Nor dying merely grieves me, let me own, 
 But to die thus with faith of dubious sound, 
 And buried name, to future times unknown. 
 In tomb or pyramid, of brass or stone, 
 
 For this, no consolation could be found; 
 My monument I sought in verse alone." 
 
 The strongest presumption, however, that 
 TASSO'S imputed delinquencies were established 
 to the Duke's conviction, not suddenly, but 
 gradually, arises from the nature of the thing 
 itself. So long as a favorite enjoys his prince's 
 confidence, all attacks upon him must be made 
 with great caution, because they are apt to re- 
 coil. The moment his favor is shaken, many 
 things are exposed from hatred, which were at 
 first suppressed through fear, and at length are 
 listened to. Whether he confesses, and attempts 
 to palliate, or denies, and after denial is con- 
 victed of the facts successively charged upon 
 him, he is equally ruined. The only difficulty 
 is in creating the first unfavorable impression. 
 
 After his assault upon the servant, his origi-
 
 137 
 
 nal place of confinement was a dungeon in the 
 palace court. This is the tradition still pre- 
 served in FERRARA, and confirmed by himself.* 
 He was set at liberty, says SERASSI, and taken 
 to Belriguardo to divert his melancholy.t Is it 
 certain ? No authority is quoted, and on such 
 topics the biographer has not entitled himself 
 to implicit confidence. 
 
 It is probable TASSO was never liberated, 
 and if the monks of San Francesco refused to 
 receive him, there is reason to suspect he was 
 not to return to his usual apartments in the 
 palace, but to his former prison.! 
 
 ROSINI, with great plausibility, supposes he 
 was conducted to Belriguardo, to be more con- 
 veniently and secretly interrogated, and refers 
 to this period a sonnet of TASSO'S to the shade 
 of DUKE HERCULES, ALPHONSO'S father, which 
 begins thus : 
 
 " Shade of great Hercules ! dostthou not see 
 The cruel aim of him that calls thee sire, 
 
 * Serassi, Vita, p. 246, n. 4. Lettere, vol. ix., p. 237, ed. di 
 Venezia. Letter to the Lords and Deputies of the People of 
 Naples, ante, p. 93. 
 
 t Serassi, Vita, p. 248. 
 
 t Rosini, Cavedoniana, iii., p. 39. 
 
 12*
 
 .138 
 
 Who with unwonted arts would wring from me 
 The words and acts that may increase his irel 
 From the pure milky way, above the gyre 
 
 Of wandering stars, and far beyond the sun, 
 
 Among the pitying angels send down one 
 Who may their hearts with clemency inspire," etc.* 
 
 The Professor thinks the Princess herself 
 may have participated in the harsh proceedings 
 to which TASSO alludes.t This conjecture, 
 though countenanced by the expression " their 
 hearts," is too revolting to be willingly indulged, 
 and may be escaped from by supposing the 
 allusion is to the Duke and Cardinal only. Yet 
 it must be confessed there are other complaints 
 
 * Rime, torn, iii., vol. v., p. 35, ed. di Pisa. 
 " SONNETTO 101. 
 
 Al Duca, Ercole di Ferrara, che voglia dal cielo ispirar pield 
 ne'Jigli. 
 
 Alme grande d' Alcide, io so che miri 
 L' aspro rigor della Real tua prole, 
 Che con insolite arti, atti e parole, 
 Trar da me cerca, onde ver me s' adiri, 
 Dal gran cerchio di latte, ove ti giri 
 Sovra P erranti stelle, e sovra il sole, 
 Un messagier di tua pieta sen vole, 
 E spirto in lor d' umanitade inspiri," etc. 
 
 t Rosini, Cavedonianai.,p. 16.
 
 139 
 
 of rigor on the part of at least one of the 
 Princesses. 
 
 " A hell of torment in this life of mine, 
 
 My sighs are as the Furies breathing flame, 
 Desires around my heart like serpents twine, 
 
 A bold fierce throng no skill or art may tame; 
 As the lost race to whom Hope never came 
 
 So am I now for me all hope is o'er 
 My tears are Styx, and my complaints and shame 
 
 The fires of Phlegethon but stir the more. 
 My voice is that of Cerberus, whose bark 
 
 Fills the abyss, and echoes frightfully 
 Over the stream, dull as my mind and dark: 
 
 In this alone less hard my fate maybe, 
 That there poor ghosts are of foul fiends the mark, 
 
 While here an EARTHLY GODDESS tortures me."* 
 
 Rime, parte prima, vol. L, p. 170. 
 
 "SONNETTO 329. 
 
 Un Inferro angoscioso e la mia vita, 
 I miei sospir son le tre Furie ardenti, 
 
 I mieidesir la schiera de' serpenti 
 
 Contra il misero cor fiera ed ardita. 
 La speranza da me fatt' ha partita, 
 Comelaggiu tra le perdute genti ; 
 
 II pianto e" Stige, e i miei sospir cocenti 
 Di Flegetonte la fiamma infinita, 
 
 Le voci mie son Cerbero, che latra, 
 La valle Inferna,ove ilgran flume mea,
 
 140 
 
 The "Earthly Goddess" is an expression 
 but too significant, and further confirmation of 
 its meaning will be found hereafter. Passages 
 in the discourse to Gonzaga have already been 
 adverted to, from which it appears that ALPHONSO 
 favored him during his difficulties with the 
 inquisition, and that the Princesses did not with- 
 draw their countenance even after his intention 
 to leave the Duke's service was divulged. Be- 
 sides " participating in their brother's injury," 
 alluding, probably, to the poet's disrespectful 
 language, they had, he imagined, "other causes 
 of displeasure." 
 
 It was something more, then, than merely 
 angry words, or a design to quit the court of 
 Ferrara, that drew down upon him so heavy a 
 punishment. Serassi, indeed, quotes part of 
 
 E la mia mente tenebroso e atra. 
 
 E in questo e a me la sorte assai men rea, 
 Ch' ivi tormenta la dolente squadra 
 
 Spirto infernal, e me TERRESTRE DBA." 
 
 See also the canzone to the Prince of Tuscany, post, and 
 observe a passage of the discourse to Gonzaga, where he 
 says, . . . " And I grieve that those who ought to alleviate 
 my misery, or at least console it, should minister to its rigor, 
 and become aiders of its bitterness."
 
 141 
 
 the following sonnet to sustain the opposite con- 
 clusion : 
 
 " TO THE DUKE ALPHONSO. 
 
 My gracious lord ! if you, indeed, complain 
 
 Of the rude license of my angry tongue, 
 
 Not from my heart, believe me, sprang the wrong 
 
 It honors you and feels itself the pain: 
 
 Nor should a few rash, daring words and vain, 
 
 Weigh against praises, well matured and long, 
 
 By love and study woven into song, 
 
 Which neith: r ire nor avarice can stain. 
 
 Why tedious suffering, then, for transient crime, 
 
 And brief rewards for ever-during fame! 
 
 Such was not royal guerdon in old time ! 
 
 Yet my right reasoning is perhaps to blame, 
 
 Honor you gave, not borrowed from my rhyme, 
 
 Which to your merit's grandeur never came !"* 
 
 * Rime, parte seconda, torn, iii., vol. v., p. 64, s. 118. 
 
 " AL DUCA ALPHONSO. 
 
 Magnanimo Signor, se mai trascorse 
 Mia lingua si, che ti nojasse in parte, 
 Non fu mossa dal cor, ch' a venerarte 
 Devoto intende, e s& per duol rimorse. 
 Ne temerarj detti in lance apporse 
 Debbono a quei, che pensamento, ed arte 
 Matura, cd orna, o da vergate carte, 
 Che da te sdegno, o fame d' or non torse 
 Dunque lunghi gastighi a brevi offese
 
 142 
 
 We will not stop to argue that the language 
 is hypothetical, merely, " my gracious lord, 
 if you indeed complain" TASSO might not then 
 be apprised what coloring the Duke intended to 
 give to his imprisonment, and in striving to 
 appease him would, of course, adopt whatever 
 explanation he thought ALPHONSO preferred, 
 especially if it promised to shorten his own suf- 
 ferings. The imputation of madness threatened 
 indefinite confinement. Angry words, on the 
 contrary, might be expiated by a temporary se- 
 clusion. 
 
 It were superfluous to re-urge that the Duke, 
 it would seem, never deigned to assign TAS- 
 so's passionate language as an excuse for his 
 punishment, but merely as a proof of his insani- 
 ty; and the words of the poet more than once 
 quoted, show he was persuaded not only others, 
 but Alphonso "desired he should speak licen- 
 tiously,"* and that his hasty expressions re- 
 
 Dansi, e per lungo onor breve conforto 
 Dar man reale, in guiderdon non debbe 1 
 Ma pur mia ragion somma 6 sommo torto ; 
 Ch' in dir di te, non giunse a te, ma prese 
 Onor mio stile, e pregio a s& n'accrebbe." 
 Letter to Cardinal ALBANO, ante, p. 101.
 
 143 
 
 suited " from the Duke's own violence and 
 artifices."* Let it be observed, however, in 
 reference to this sonnet, that the enumeration of 
 one fault does not inevitably exclude the sup- 
 position of others, for if it did, the project of 
 seeking a new patron, which TASSO indisputa- 
 bly at one time entertained, would be disproved 
 by the omission to mention it. SERASSI advances, 
 as a further confirmation of his theory, a passage 
 from one of the poet's letters to RONDINELLI, 
 in which he says : 
 
 "I returned two years ago to Ferrara, recall- 
 ed by the authority of Cardinal ALBANO, to the 
 nuptials of the lady Margherita Gonzaga, where, 
 not receiving from the serene lord Duke the fa- 
 vors the Cardinal had taught me to expect, I 
 committed, through excess of anger and fancy, 
 some faults for which I was imprisoned."t 
 
 It is needless to comment upon the air of 
 caution here observed, or to repeat that it is the 
 language of a prisoner whose letters were often 
 
 * Letter to the Nobles and People of Naples, ante, p. 95. 
 t Lettere, torn, iv., p. 191.
 
 144 
 
 intercepted. Still more inconclusive is the 
 extract quoted by Serassi from a letter of TAS- 
 so's to the Duchess of Ferrara: 
 
 " I do not ask pardon for thoughts or inten- 
 tions by which I did injury to no one save 
 myself, but for words wherein the violence of 
 others was more to blame than my own will."* 
 
 Besides words then, there were " thoughts 
 and intentions," and for these his excuse is, 
 that they did harm to no one save himself. Let 
 it be supposed that they related exclusively to 
 a change of service. There still remains the 
 invincible difficulty of supposing a command 
 to feign madness on account of this simple of- 
 fence ; because, at the time that order was inti- 
 mated, the angry words had not been uttered. 
 
 A short extract from a long letter of his to 
 the Duke, authorizes the conjecture that there 
 were other topics of complaint which, even in 
 writing to ALPHONSO, it was expedient to indi- 
 cate with great circumspection. After many 
 scholastic exhortations to clemency, he says : 
 
 * Lettere, torn, i., p. 312.
 
 145 
 
 " And having said thus much of MERCY and 
 of JUSTICE, I throw myself at your feet, most 
 clement lord! and pray you to pardon the false, 
 foolish, and daring words for which I was put in 
 prison, and at the same time obtain me forgive- 
 ness for all my other faults of temerity, and 
 particularly those which concern the offence 
 of any prince. For if, not from hatred but 
 passion, I have erred against your highness and 
 others, it would be an act worthy of your cle- 
 mency, that this and every other fault of mine 
 should be pardoned."* 
 
 What then were his other faults ? Why are 
 they characterized as faults of temerity ? How 
 did they concern the offence of any prince ? Is 
 there anything to connect them with that " heavy 
 sin of temerity," of which he once accused 
 himself, " in having dared to lift his thoughts 
 so high ?" 
 
 Independent of contemporaneous rumor, it 
 is certainly remarkable how many authors 
 have agreed in finding among his poems written 
 about this period the confession of errors 
 
 * Lettere, torn, i., p. 272, ed. di Pisa. 
 VOL. II. 13
 
 146 
 
 caused by LOVE. Part of one of his sonnets 
 has been often cited : 
 
 " Celestial Virgin ! scales like thine from heaven 
 My earthly lord received, and yet denies 
 No grace or mercy. Could my heart be riven 
 And seen by him, would he not say arise! 
 What to true lovers shall not be forgiven 
 In whom all imperfections FAITH supplies."* 
 
 Another addressed to ALPHONSO, has also 
 been frequently relied on : 
 
 "TO THE DUKE ALPHONSO, ASKING 
 TO BE LIBERATED. 
 
 Like a new IXION upon Fortune's wheel, 
 
 Whether I sink profound or rise sublime, 
 
 One never-ceasing martyrdom I feel, 
 
 The same in wo, though changing all the time. 
 
 I wept above, where sun-beams sport and climb 
 
 The vines, and through their foliage sighs the breeze, 
 
 * Rime, parte prima, torn, i., vol. iii. 
 
 " Vergine bella, il mio Signer in terra 
 Ha bilance alle tue ben somiglianti ; 
 Tu gliele desti, e non le torse affetto. 
 Ma se vedesse ci6, che' 1 mio cor serra, 
 Diria: chi non perdona ai fidi amanti, 
 In cui per fe s" adempie ogni difetto V
 
 147 
 
 I burned and froze, languished and prayed in rhyme. 
 Nor could your ire, nor my own grief appease. 
 Now in my prison, deep and dim, have grown 
 My torments greater still and keener far, 
 As if all sharpened on the dungeon-stone: 
 Magnanimous Alphonso! burst the bar, 
 Changing my fate, and not my cell alone, 
 And let my fortune wheel me where you are !"* 
 
 The general appositeness of TASSO'S mytho- 
 logical allusions gives an importance to the first 
 line it would not otherwise possess. His figures 
 
 Rime, parte seconda, torn, iii., vol. v., p. 31, Son. 53. 
 
 "AL DUCA ALFONSO, DIMANDA LA 
 SUA LIBERAZIONE. 
 
 Me novello Ission rapida aggira 
 La rota di fortuna, e s' in sublime 
 Parte m' innalza, o pur se mi deprime, 
 Sempre pero m' affligge, e mi martira. 
 Piansi lassuso, ov' entra il sole, e spira 
 L'aura piu lieta. tra frondose cime : 
 Arsi, gelai, languii, pregando in rime, 
 Ne 1 scemai le mie pene, e la vostra ira. 
 Or in career, profondo o son cresciuti 
 1 miei tormenti, od b piu acuto e forte 
 Vecchio dolor, cui giro aspro sia cote. 
 O magnanimo Alfonso, a me si muti 
 Non sol prigion, ma stato: e se mia sorte 
 Rotar pur vuole, intorno a voi mi rote."
 
 148 
 
 of that description are always significant, though 
 not always gracefully or naturally introduced* 
 and, in this instance, perhaps, more than the 
 mere penalty of his fault may be hinted. That 
 something alleged against him was imperfectly 
 proved, results not only from the cruel aim of 
 extorting a confession by " unwonted arts," here- 
 tofore adverted to, but is farther confirmed by 
 the terzetts of the eighty-eighth sonnet, in which 
 he implores the spirit of the deceased Duke 
 Hercules to send a celestial messenger with 
 ASTREA'S scales from Heaven, because those 
 of earth are false : 
 
 " There the old fault with the past-suffered pain 
 Be balanced placing merits on one side 
 And errors on the other. Thus, again, 
 Thy son, my honored lord, may well divide 
 Evil from good, the certain from the vain, 
 And between FATE and WILL like JOVE decide."* 
 
 It is not unworthy of note, that a sonnet ad- 
 
 * Rime, parte seconda, torn, iii., vol. v., p. 49, Son. 88. 
 " duivi 1' antica colpa, e '1 gia sofferto 
 Gastigo in un si libri, e dall' un lato 
 Stian gli error miei, dall' altro ogni mio merto, 
 Poscia il tuo figlio, e mio Signor laudato 
 Pesi col bene il mal, col dubbio il certo, 
 dual Giove in Ciel pesa il volere, e '1 fato."
 
 149 
 
 dressed to the PRINCESSES, and evidently writ- 
 ten in the first days of his imprisonment, neither 
 earnestly repels the imputation of madness nor 
 entreats pardon for using terms of reproach. 
 The topics dwelt upon are his misery, the con- 
 tinuance of his former virtues, and his constant 
 truth, honor, and devotion : 
 
 " TO THE PRINCESSES OF FERRARA. 
 
 "Sisters of great Alphonso! to the West 
 Three times have sped ths coursers of the sun, 
 Since sick and outraged I became a jest, 
 And sighed o'er all that cruel Fate has done ; 
 Wretched and vile whatever meets my eye 
 Without me, wheresoe'er I gaze around ; 
 Within, indeed, my former virtues lie, 
 Though shame and torment 's the reward they've found. 
 Aye ! in my soul are TRUTH and HONOR still 
 Such as if seen, the world were proud to own, 
 And your sweet images rny bosom fill ; 
 But lovely idols ne'er content alone 
 
 True hearts; and mine, though mocked and scorned at will 
 Is still your temple, altar, shrine, and throne."* 
 
 * Rime, parte prima, torn, i., vol. iii., p. 177, Son. 343. 
 "ALLE PRINCIPESSE DI FERRARA. 
 
 " Sucre del grand Alfonso, il terzo giro 
 Ha gia compiuto in gran pianeta eterno, 
 
 13*
 
 150 
 
 In a canzone, however, also inscribed to the 
 sisters, and composed shortly after the sonnet, 
 among several interesting allusions to his situa- 
 tion, is one to the offence committed by his 
 tongue. Yet that topic is not treated with the 
 deep and passionate repentance which one 
 would expect from the general tone of the com- 
 position, had angry language been his only, or 
 even his greatest fault. 
 
 If the presumption of attempting to translate 
 any part of a canzone so celebrated can be 
 forgiven, some extracts from it will be far bet- 
 ter than any commentary for those who do not 
 read Italian, while the original will enable 
 those who do, to appreciate the inferences de- 
 
 Ch' io dallo strazio afflitto, e dallo scherno, 
 Di Fortuna crudele egro sospiro, 
 Lasso ! vile ed indegno e ci6 che tniro 
 A me d' intorno, o ch' in altrui discerno : 
 Bello e ben, s'ivi guardo, il petto interne ; 
 Ma che 1 premj ha sol d' onta, e di martiro, 
 Bello e si, che veduto al mondo, esempio 
 Fora d' onor: vi siete ambe scolpite, 
 E vive e spira 1'una e 1' altra immago. 
 Pur d' Idoli si belli appien non pago, 
 Ilverdesio; ma voi, lasso! schernite 
 La fede, e '1 cor ch' e vostro altare e tempio."
 
 151 
 
 duced from it and the difficulty of transfusing 
 the expressions which authorize them, at once 
 exactly and poetically into another tongue. 
 That task it is not pretended has been here 
 well performed.* 
 
 "TO THE PRINCESSES OF FERRARA. 
 
 Fair daughters of Ren6 ! my song 
 Is not of pride and ire, 
 Fraternal discord, hate, and wrong, 
 Burning in life and death so strong, 
 
 * " It will sufficiently appear," says Serassi, " by reading 
 this canzone and that to the Duke, ' O magnanimo figlio,' etc., 
 with what strong colors he painted his misery, and how elo- 
 quently he strove to move their compassion. But all his efforts 
 proved fruitless, at least for the moment, the wounds inflicted 
 on those tender bosoms by his daring words being still too 
 green," (pp. 290, 291.) This explanation he may possibly have 
 drawn from some authentic source, but unhappily does not 
 quote his authority. 
 
 "ALLS PRINCIPESSE DI FERRARA. 
 
 O figlie di Renata 
 
 lo nori parla alia pira 
 
 De' fratei, che ne pur la morta unio, 
 
 Che di regnar malnata
 
 152 
 
 From rule's accurst desire, 
 
 That even the flames divided long 
 
 Upon their funeral pyre.* 
 
 But you I sing, of royal birth, 
 
 Nursed on one breast like them ; 
 
 Two flowers, both lovely, blooming forth 
 
 From the same parent stem 
 
 Cherished by heaven, beloved by earth 
 
 Of each a treasured gem ! 
 
 To you I speak in whom we see 
 
 With wondrous concord blend, 
 
 Sense, Worth, Fame, Beauty, Modesty 
 
 Imploring you to lend 
 
 Compassion to the misery 
 
 Voglia, e disdegno, ed ira 
 
 L 'ombre, il cener, le fiamme anco partid ;* 
 
 Ma parlo a Voi, che pio 
 
 Produsse e real seme, 
 
 In uno stesso seno 
 
 duasi in fertil terreno, 
 
 Nate, e nodrite pargolette insieme, 
 
 duasi due belle piante, 
 
 Di cui serva e la terra, e il Cielo amante. 
 
 A voi parlo, in cui fanno 
 
 Si concorde armonia 
 
 Onestk, senno, onor, belezza, e gloria : 
 
 A voi spiego il mio affanno, 
 
 E della pena mia 
 
 * Eteocles and Polynices, who fell by each other's hands, 
 and whose ashes are said to have separated on the funeral 
 pile.
 
 153 
 
 And sufferings of your friend. 
 The memory of years gone by, 
 O ! let me in your hearts renew 
 The scenes, the thoughts o'er which I sigh, 
 The happy days I spent with you 
 And what, I ask, and where am I 
 And what I was, and why secluded 
 Whom did I trust and who deluded 1 
 
 Daughters of heroes and of kings, 
 
 Allow me to recall 
 
 These and a thousand other things 
 
 Sad, sweet, and mournful all ! 
 
 From me few words, more tears, Grief wrings 
 
 Tears burning as they fall. 
 
 For royal halls and festive bowers 
 
 Where, nobly serving, I 
 
 Narro, e' n parte piangendo, acerba istoria; 
 
 Ed in voi la memoria 
 
 Di voi, di me rinnovo : 
 
 Vostri affetti cortesi, 
 
 Gli anni miei tra voi spesi, 
 
 dual son, qual fui, che chiedo ove mi trovo, 
 
 Chi mi guido, chi chiuse, 
 
 Lasso! chi m' affido, chi mi deluse? 
 
 duesta cose piangendo, 
 
 A voi rammento, o prole 
 
 D' Eroi, di Regi, gloriosa e grande : 
 
 E se nel mio lamento 
 
 Scarse son le parole, 
 
 Lagrime larghe il mio dolor vi spande. 
 
 Cetre, trombe, e ghirlande 
 
 Misero, piango, e piagno
 
 154 
 
 Shared and beguiled your private hours, 
 Studies, and sports I sigh ; 
 And lyre, and trump, and wreathed flowers 
 Nay more, for freedom, health, applause, 
 And ev'n HUMANITY'S lost laws ! 
 
 Why am I chased from human kind 1 
 
 What CIRCE in the lair 
 
 Of brutes, thus keeps me spell-confined 1 
 
 Nests have the birds of air, 
 
 The very beasts in caverns find 
 
 Shelter and rest, and share 
 
 At least kind Nature's gifts and laws, 
 
 For each his food and water draws 
 
 From wood and fountain, where, 
 
 Wholesome, and pure, and safe, it was 
 
 Furnished by Heaven's own care; 
 
 Studj, diporli, ed agi, 
 
 Mense, logge, e palagi 
 
 Ov' or fui nobil servo, ed or compagno : 
 
 Libertade, e salute, 
 
 E leggi oime ! d' umanita perdute. 
 
 Da' nipoti d' Adamo, 
 
 Oime ! chi mi divide 
 
 O qual CIRCE mi spinge infra la gregge ? 
 
 Oime ! che in tronco o in ramo 
 
 Augel vien che s' annide, 
 
 E fera in tana ancor con miglior legge. 
 
 Lor la Natura regge : 
 
 E pure e dolci e fresche 
 
 Lor porge 1' acque il fonte ; 
 
 E '1 prato e '1 colle e '1 monte 
 
 Non infette salubri, e facili esche;
 
 155 
 
 And all is bright and blest, because 
 FREEDOM and HEALTH are there ! 
 
 I merit punishment, I own; 
 
 I erred, I must confess it ; yet 
 
 The fault was in the tongue alone 
 
 The heart is true. Forgive ! forget ! 
 
 I beg for mercy, and my woes 
 
 May claim with pity to be heard ; 
 
 If to my prayers your ears you close, 
 
 Where can I hope for one kind word 
 
 In my extremity of ill 1 
 
 And if the pang of hope deferred 
 
 Arise from discord in your will, 
 
 For me must be revived again 
 
 The fate of Metius* and the pain. 
 
 E'l ciel libero, e 1'aura 
 
 Lor luce e spira, e lor scalda e ristaura. 
 
 Merto le pene errai 
 
 Errai, confesso ; e pure 
 
 Rea fu la lingua, il cor si scusa e nega 
 
 Chiedo pietade omai; 
 
 E s'alle mie s venture 
 
 Non vi piegate voi, chi lor si piega 1 
 
 Lasso ! chi per me prega 
 
 Se voi mi sete sordet 
 
 Deh ! se voler discorde 
 
 In si grand uopo mio vi fa diverse, 
 
 In me fra voi 1" esempio . 
 
 Di MEZIO* si rinnovi, e '1 duro scempio. 
 
 * Metius was torn asunder by wild horses.
 
 156 
 
 I pray you then, renew for me 
 The charm that made you doubly fair, 
 In sweet and virtuous harmony 
 Urging, resistlessly, my prayer ; 
 With HIM for whose lov'd sake, I swear 
 I more lament my fault than pains, 
 Strange and unheard-of as they are." etc. 
 
 Among TASSO'S madrigals, it has already 
 been observed, there are some to ANGELA, a 
 female favorite of ALPHONSO'S, for whom also 
 three of his sonnets were written. In the two 
 first he entreats her to carry his prayers to the 
 Duke, and in the third says her angelic voice 
 
 " Pardon will ask, for one who sings and weeps 
 O'er his FOND FAULTS," etc.* 
 
 Gluell' armonia si nova 
 
 Di virtu, che vi face 
 
 Si belle, or bei per me faccia concenti, 
 
 Sicch' a pieta commova 
 
 duel Signer, per cui spiace 
 
 Piu la mia colpe a me che i miei tormenti 
 
 Lasso ! benche cocenti ;" etc. 
 
 * " Chiede pieta perun, che canta, e piange 
 Gli error suoi folli," etc. 
 
 See Rime, parte prima, torn, i., vol. iii.,p. 125, Sonnetto 239. 
 See also Sonnets 228, 229, 244, 250, torn. i.. vol. iii., and Madri- 
 gals 14, 20, 176, 118, with the editor's remarks in the ed. of 
 Pisa.
 
 167 
 
 One of the strongest of the poetic proofs to 
 be met with in his acknowledged works, has 
 been hithertONStrangely neglected. It is found 
 in the canzone to the PRINCE of TUSCANY, 
 which, even in ROSINI'S essay, is not cited, 
 though briefly glanced at in his " Avvertenze."* 
 
 " But I than other lovers' state, 
 So much more hard, alas ! my own, 
 As Love less cruel is than Hate 
 Must sigh to winds that round me moan, 
 Just anger at my unjust Fate 
 And not for sweet illusions flown, 
 Averted look, or prudish air, 
 False words, or a deceitful tone, 
 Disdainful smile, or frown severe, 
 Nor roses lost, nor lilies flown, 
 Nor glove, nor veil reclaimed, alone- 
 No ! no ! alas ! from none of those 
 Arise my far more serious woes. 
 
 For I, unhappy wretch ! complain 
 
 Of torments strange and new 
 
 Save in the realms of hate and pain, 
 
 Nor does a tear for me bedew 
 
 Even Pity's cheek, which free from stain 
 
 * Rime, torn. iv. vol. vi., p. 219, ed. di Pisa, he merely says: 
 " Si osservino i tre primi versi e gli ultimi cinque delle 
 stanza iii." The canzone is at page 138 of the same volume. 
 
 VOL. II. 14
 
 158 
 
 Wears a pale marble hue. 
 Nor of my living hell the gates 
 Can I break down, where angels deign 
 My faults to punish, like the Fates, 
 Because I dared in burning strain 
 On my poor lyre my griefs to own, 
 Like ORPHEUS finding once again 
 My PROSERPINE can turn to stone !"* 
 
 PEL PRINCIPE DI TOSCANA DA S. ANNA. 
 
 lo, che tanto piu sono 
 
 D'ogni amanto infelice, 
 
 Cluanto odio e piu d' amor pronto a far danno, 
 
 Aure, in voi spargo il suono, 
 
 Che del mio petto elice 
 
 Or giusto sdegno, ed or non giusto affanno : 
 
 Non d' un soave inganno 
 
 Di voce lusinghiera : 
 
 Non d' un guardo furtive : 
 
 Non d' un sembiante schivo : 
 
 Non d' un fronte rigida e severa: 
 
 Non d' un guanto, o d' un velo, 
 
 Che gigli copra, e rose, i' mi querelo. 
 
 Misero! masidoglio 
 
 De' piu nuovi tormenti, 
 
 Che abbia il regno dell' odio, e della sorte 
 
 E veggio farsi scoglio 
 
 Pietade a' miei lament!,
 
 159 
 
 Farther poetical extracts would but swell 
 this volume, already larger than was at first 
 intended. A reference to other productions is 
 subjoined for the sake of those who desire to 
 continue their researches;* the rest of our 
 
 Tinta nel volto di pallor di morte ; 
 
 Nfe posso aprir le porte 
 
 Di questo vivo Inferno, 
 
 Ove son degli errori 
 
 Gli Angioli i punitori, 
 
 Perch' io sfoghi cantando il duolo interno 
 
 Novo Orfeo colla cetra ; 
 
 Tanto la mia Proserpina s' impetra !" etc. 
 
 * See, in addition to the Rirne already cited, as addressed to 
 the Princess LEONORA, and those hereafter referred to, as quoted 
 by Rosini, the following, on account of their connection either 
 with his love, his madness, or imprisonment. 
 
 TOM. I. 
 
 Sonnets 165, 185, 220, 228, 229, 239, 217, 249, 250, 258, 259, 
 364, 423, 424, 425, 426 ; note in the latter " la data, fede." 
 
 TOM. II. 
 
 Madrigals 44, 51, 55, 128, 129, 160, 163, 175, 203, 237, 242, 
 243, 247, 241), 273, 374, 375, 376, 378. 
 
 TOM. III. 
 
 Sonnets 77,81, 83, 84, 85, 88, 95, 97, 100, 102, 108, 109, 110, 
 111,144,461.
 
 160 
 
 readers will doubtless be satisfied with a single 
 prose' quotation. It is from a letter to the Duke 
 of Urbino. 
 
 " I entreat your serene highness to favor me 
 with my Lord Duke, and the Lord Cardinal 
 Guastavillani, to the end that I may be released 
 from this prison of Sant' Anna without being 
 troubled for those things which from phrenzy 
 I have done and written in matters of LOVE."* 
 
 The autograph of this letter is now no longer 
 to be found,t ancfin the editions of the day the 
 place of the last word is supplied by a blank. 
 
 MANSO, indeed, gives it as it was ; but his 
 authority might be disputed if it were not for 
 
 TOM. IV. 
 
 Sonnets 42, 58, 83, 84, and sonnets 2, 3, 7, 8, 10, of the Rime 
 Piacevoli. 
 Madrigal 1. 
 
 RIME INEDITE. 
 Madrigals 5, 6, '-0, 20, 25, 40, 41, 56, 61, 62, 63. 
 
 * Lettere, torn, i., p. 287, 288. 
 
 t Rosini Cavedoniana, part iii., p. 23.
 
 161 
 
 MURATORI'S.* That candid, erudite, and judi- 
 cious critic fills the blank in the letter at a 
 time, when being librarian to the Duke of 
 Modena, he must have seen the original. The 
 question of its authenticity, therefore, is irrevo- 
 cably settled, and with it the cause of TASSO'S 
 imprisonment. Taken in connection with the 
 foregoing proofs, it leaves little room for doubt, 
 though the details are unknown to us, and 
 perhaps doomed to remain so. ' 
 
 There can be no difficulty at least in adopt- 
 ing the opinion of CORNIANI, expressed in his 
 own grave and measured terms. After quoting 
 MURATORI'S letter to APOSTOLO ZENO, and 
 remarking upon the impossibility of reconciling 
 the heavy penalty inflicted, with the incon- 
 siderate offence ^alleged, he adds: 
 
 " Is it not more reasonable to believe that 
 jealous honor prompted ALPHONSO to^ such 
 otherwise inexplicable severity ? In my opinion, 
 the imprisonment of TASSO is as great a 
 
 * Letter to Apostolo^Zeno. Lettere, torn, ir., p. Ill, delle 
 operedi T. Tasso, ed. di Pisa. 
 
 14*
 
 162 
 
 mystery as the exile of OVID, and probably of 
 the same character."* 
 
 * . . . " E non sara piu ragionevole il credere che gelosa 
 cura di onore offeso inducesse Alfonso ad una tale inesplicabile 
 severita 7 La prigionia del Tasso e a mio credere un arcano 
 equale a quello dell' esilio di Ovidio e forse della medesima 
 indole." I secoli della Letteratura Italiana Epoca Sesta, art. 
 xxx., v., vol. vi., pp. 232, 233, ed. di Brescia, 1819.
 
 tea 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ENOUGH, perhaps, has been said on this part 
 of our subject, if we are to stop at the limits of 
 strict proof. But curiosity has long busied 
 itself with conjectures, and our task would be 
 unfinished if all notice of them were omitted. 
 It will be remembered, that in one of the frag- 
 ments of his mutilated discourse to GONZAGA, 
 he observes, speaking of his poems, " And if 
 they contained anything lascivious, like tares 
 among the wheat, it is known that I intended 
 to correct it." Ominous blanks precede and 
 follow this sentence. Without ascribing to the 
 court of Ferrara greater rigor than belonged to 
 an age which worshipped ARIOSTO, and patro- 
 nized ARETINO, it is difficult to imagine that 
 TASSO'S sins against decency very far lighter 
 in comparison should have been visited with 
 any great indignation, unless they affected an 
 exalted personage. 
 
 In his canzone to the Prince of Tuscany, he
 
 164 
 
 says, " he is punished in a living hell by angels, 
 because he unburthened his bosom to his lyre ;" 
 and in his letter to the Duke of Urbino he 
 speaks of the things " which through phrensy 
 he had done and written in matters of love." 
 Before his journey to France he left with Ron- 
 dinelli some compositions, which he desired 
 " should be buried with him." The improba- 
 bility that these productions were written for 
 another has already been remarked. TASSO'S 
 solicitude that they should never see the light, 
 favors the belief that they related to himself. 
 This desire could not have arisen from literary 
 demerit, which is not the fault of his passionate 
 effusions. If he judged differently why not 
 destroy them ? Does not their very preserva- 
 tion lead us to infer they must have had an in- 
 terest stronger than any that attaches to verses 
 extorted by the importunity of a friend? as- 
 sociations too powerful and too tender for his 
 prudence or his firmness ? A personal refer- 
 ence in the only one distinctly specified has 
 been conclusively shown ; and the energy of 
 language to be found in all his most objectiona- 
 ,ble pieces, authorizes a like presumption with 
 respect to the rest also. Who writes for ano-
 
 165 
 
 ther as he writes for himself? We have seen 
 that several of his sonnets were falsely enti- 
 tled, and the one sent to LEONORA from Castel- 
 Durante was described as having been " com- 
 posed for a hapless lover sometime in anger 
 with his mistress," merely for disguise. Is it 
 probable such a mask was only once worn ? 
 That the papers left with Rondinelli were the 
 same alluded to in the discourse, or the same 
 pryed into by Madalo, is of course incapable 
 of proof. What may be safely affirmed is, 
 that some of his productions contained passages 
 exceptionable for their freedom, " like tares 
 among the wheat," " which it was known he 
 intended to correct," and that he deemed this 
 circumstance of consequence enough to be 
 noted in connection with his imprisonment, and 
 other important events of his life, in an apolo- 
 getic treatise. 
 
 But in what manner could the intended cor- 
 rection of these verses bear upon his imprison- 
 ment, or interest those who caused it, unless 
 the verses themselves referred to some one very 
 dear to the Duke ? Why should " bitter rigor," 
 and " unwonted arts," be used to extort con- 
 fession of unimportant " words and acts," and
 
 166 
 
 how could their avowal increase ALPHONSO'S 
 ire, if he were unconnected with the person 
 whom those " acts and words" concerned ? 
 
 If we suppose, on the other hand, that his 
 imprisonment was occasioned by the acciden- 
 tal or treacherous disclosure of amatory poetry, 
 suspected to be addressed to the Princess, 
 everything becomes intelligible' his mis- 
 tress's early injunctions of silence his direc- 
 tions to Rondinelli the dearer mysteries of 
 his heart half-hinted to GONZAGA the refer- 
 ence to her who corresponded so little to his 
 love his heavy sin of temerity Madalo's 
 more important treasons the attempt to extort 
 confession the bitter rigor and unwonted arts 
 the words and acts that might increase Al- 
 phonso's ire the order to feign insanity the 
 sacrifice of Abraham the command that he 
 must aspire to no fame of letters the prohibi- 
 tion to write the anger of the Princesses 
 the allusions to his fond faults to his Proser- 
 pine to Ixion, and to the angels that punished 
 him. 
 
 By this supposition, also, LEONORA'S volun- 
 tary celibacy, notwithstanding the most advan- 
 tageous offers of marriage, and TASSO'S con-
 
 167 
 
 slant devotion to the Duke, in spite of the rigor 
 of his chastisement, are sufficiently accounted 
 for. 
 
 ROSINI anxiously sought, and believes he has 
 discovered, the identical verses that caused 
 TASSO'S punishment. He adduces several, 
 sufficiently inexcusable, but their very number 
 provokes a doubt, and there is nothing that ir- 
 resistibly connects any of them with LEONORA. 
 If they do indeed refer to her, they overpass so 
 far the bounds of respect and modesty, as to 
 indicate weakness on her part, or vain-glorious 
 falsehood on his. In either case, happy would 
 it have been for him if he had never written, 
 what it is alike disreputable to feign or to be- 
 tray the mysteries that faith, delicacy, and 
 even love itself, hold for ever inarticulate.* 
 
 * The rhymes quoted by Rosini are the following: 
 Tom. L, sonnets 348, 185; torn, ii., dialogue ii., p. 119; 
 torn, i., sonnets 258, 259 ; Rime Inedite, madrigal 62 ; the quar- 
 tina and stanza from the Albert! MSS., hereafter given, and the 
 following, from the same source, published by Signer Betti : 
 
 " Fiamma d' amor, che mi divori il petto 
 Spengi una volta il tuo fatale ardore : 
 Libcrtade perdei, e d" intelletto
 
 168 
 
 Whether the circumstances alluded to in 
 these rhymes were feigned or'real, it is impos- 
 sible to absolve TASSO from the deepest cen- 
 sure. How must the Princess have been out- 
 raged in either alternative ! In one there was 
 a breach of truth in the other of confidence 
 in both of honor. The very excellence of 
 the poetry is an aggravation of the injury, since 
 it rendered not only public, but immortal, that 
 which, whether true or false proceeding from 
 the delirium of joy or of fancy her lover 
 should have buried in eternal silence. If his 
 raptures were imaginary, disgust and contempt 
 must to some extent replace the pity we have 
 felt for him. If real, his vanity and imprudence 
 find palliation only in the unnatural obstacles 
 which power and prejudice opposed to a law- 
 ful union with the object of his affections. Ro- 
 SINI inclines to the first opinion, and supports 
 it principally by these reasons. He was par- 
 doned by LEONORA; he was not condemned to 
 
 Privo mi vuol 1' irato mio Signore; 
 D' Eleonora ottener non puoi 1' affetto 
 Dunque a che giova un disperato amorel 
 Vanne lunghi da me, vanne in eterno, 
 II fuoco ad' aumentar giu nell Averno."
 
 169 
 
 death by the Duke. The Professor imagines 
 that the Princess would more readily forgive 
 the boast of favors never won, than the viola- 
 tion of confidence reposed ; and therefore at- 
 tributes to the poet what he esteems the lesser 
 crime. Those little skilled in such casuistry, 
 and between offences equally dishonorable un- 
 willing to decide, may find room to doubt the 
 forgiveness of LEONORA, perhaps even her con- 
 stancy. The proof of the pardon advanced by 
 ROSINI is in its very terms equivocal, and still 
 farther impaired by the sonnet and canzone to 
 the Princesses, and the sonnet to the Marquis 
 of PALENO.* 
 
 A sufficient cause for the anger, though not 
 for the cruelty of the Duke, and a justification 
 of the subsequent passiveness of his sister, 
 though scarcely of her apparent indifference to 
 the severity of her lover's punishment, may un- 
 doubtedly be found in the various quotations 
 combined by the Professor. The productions 
 cited, true or false, if they related to LEONORA, 
 
 * Rime, parte prima, torn, i., vol. iii., p. 221, sonnet 431, and 
 ante, p. 48, vol. i., and p. 151, vol. ii. 
 
 VOL. n. 15
 
 170 
 
 must have wrung the most sensitive portion of 
 a woman's and a brother's heart. Though not 
 destined to see the light, merely to have written 
 them was a fault which any high-spirited 
 female, whether PRINCESS or peasant, might 
 forgive possibly, but never could forget. Such 
 wounds time and repentance may indeed heal, 
 but they always leave behind them sad memen- 
 toes of past suffering and imperfect cure. With 
 the first serious wrong committed on either 
 side, LOVE loses half his divinity : borne down 
 by the weight of our infirmities, his pinions 
 droop, as if loaded by the fogs of earth, until 
 from the heavens, to which he soared, in the 
 ardor and confidence of soul, that claims 
 kindred with the stars, he sinks to the level of 
 mortality, never more to rise beyond it. 
 
 ROSINI'S second argument, on which he most 
 relies the capital punishment that awaited 
 TASSO, if his verses had been deemed true 
 is sustained by a reference to the secret history 
 of the times. The miserable fate of Duke 
 ALPHONSO'S first wife, LTJCRETIA de' Medici, 
 daughter of COSIMO L, and of Maria de' Me- 
 dici, her sister, show the facility with which
 
 171 
 
 death was then inflicted for similar offences.* 
 And though by an extraordinary exception 
 TASSO'S life might have been spared, ROSINI 
 conceives he would never have been liberated. 
 But supposing his verses to be false, the order 
 to feign madness may have seemed an adequate 
 and appropriate penalty to the Duke, according 
 to the opinion of the Professor. Subsequently 
 refusing to abide by the imposture, and pro- 
 claiming his sanity, the imprisonment in Sant' 
 Anna, which was colored with the pretence of 
 care, savored, in reality, more of vengeance 
 than of justice. Yet it may well be objected, 
 that the penalty of TASSO'S transports was 
 severe enough, even if they were true, while 
 the stain of princely honor was made -more 
 doubtful by imputed madness, than even by 
 death itself. 
 
 After all, however, affected insanity might 
 
 * These are the examples cited by Rosini, Saggio, 99. He 
 might have added the fate of the Duke of Andria, the lover of 
 the Princess of Venosa. Rime Inedite, vol. xxxii., delle opere 
 di Tasso, pp. 9, 166; and those of the Page Malatesta of Ri- 
 mini, the lover of Maria de' Medici, and Bernardo Antinori, 
 the lover of Leonora di Toledo de' Medici. Origine e De- 
 seendenza della Real Cata de' Medici, 313, 328, MSS.
 
 172 
 
 appear to the Duke a just, and not dispropor- 
 tionate punishment for the temerity of plighted 
 vows, or the project of a secret marriage, and 
 the mind would fain escape by this unsupported 
 conjecture, from conclusions derogatory to the 
 fame of the poet, and the honor of LEONORA. 
 
 When persons of such extraordinary merit 
 have suffered in their lives misery as signal as 
 their genius was eminent, it seems hard to con- 
 demn them, after death, on mere probabilities. 
 Posthumous attainder is nearly banished from 
 modern legislation, and if in ordinary tribunals 
 doubt insures acquittal, how much more should 
 it do so when posterity sits in judgment upon 
 the illustrious unfortunate, who found refuge 
 from their sufferings only in the grave. 
 
 They still preserve in. the library of Ferrara, 
 a MS. collection of poems sent by TASSO to 
 the Princesses, with the following dedication : 
 
 " To the Princesses of Ferrara. 
 
 " I dedicate to your highnesses these rhymes, 
 composed during these last years of my wretch- 
 edness, that it may be seen neither the malignity 
 of men nor of fortune have power to efface
 
 173 
 
 your worth and merit from my memory, or to 
 take from me the desire to serve and honor 
 you ; and I flatter myself with the hope, that 
 if you perceive the spirit both of mind and of 
 heart in which they are written, it will not go 
 unrecompensed. Among the greatest of re- 
 wards, however, I shall esteem their passage, 
 under the protection of your glorious names, to 
 the light of the world and the knowledge of 
 men, where, so long as they last, they will re- 
 eord your greatness and virtues, and my sincere 
 devotion. Ferrara, 20th November, 1580."* 
 
 His discourse on female virtue, in which he 
 also takes occasion to praise the sisters, was 
 probably written about the same period. 
 
 According to SERASSI, the DUCHESS of UR- 
 BINO enjoyed these marks of TASSO'S respect 
 and gratitude, but LEONORA was no longer in a 
 condition to favor the poet, or listen to his muse. 
 Her health had long been declining, and soon 
 gave signs of approaching dissolution. The 
 last remaining trace of her lover's remembrance 
 is preserved in the following letter. It is 
 
 * Letlere, torn. ii.,p. 261. 
 
 15*
 
 174 
 
 directed to Father Francis Panigarola, then 
 much celebrated for his eloquence. 
 
 " I have heard, with the greatest satisfaction, 
 that your reverence is in Ferrara, and I pray 
 you to visit me, for to you permission will be 
 readily granted whenever you please ; and if 
 you cannot do me that kindness, at least be 
 good enough to write to me. I have sent you 
 many letters, but either they have not reached 
 your hands, or your answers have not come to 
 mine, for every other supposition is forbidden 
 by your courtesy. I continue the same devoted 
 servant and admirer of your reverence that I 
 always was, and love you as I love few others, 
 and as you are loved by few. If Madam LEO- 
 NORA'S health improves, as I most earnestly de- 
 sire and hope, I pray your reverence most 
 humbly to kiss her hands in my name, and say 
 to her for me, that I have been deeply grieved 
 at her illness, which I have not mourned in 
 verse, from I know not what secret repugnance 
 of spirit. But if in anything else I can serve 
 her, she has but to command me ; I speak espe- 
 cially of poetry on more cheerful subjects. 
 
 '* To the serene lady DUCHESS I entreat my
 
 175 
 
 respects, and remind her where I am. Live 
 happy. From Ferrara."* 
 
 Nothing appears to show whether this letter 
 was ever answered. The hopes of LEONORA'S 
 recovery which it expresses were delusive. She 
 passed soon after to a better life, in the forty-fourth 
 year of her age, with all the marks of Christian 
 piety and resignation. Her death is thus 
 briefly recorded in the MS. annals of Ferrara. 
 
 " On the 10th of February, 1581, died 
 MADAM LEONORA, daughter of Duke HERCULES 
 II., who preferred a life of celibacy." 
 
 She was lamented in a volume of poetry, 
 where contributions may be found from nearly 
 all the genius of her time and country. The 
 name of TASSO alone is wanting. Serassi as- 
 cribes it to the jealousy of Ducchi, who col- 
 lected them, yet admits that no verses on that 
 occasion exist among his author's writings, and 
 elsewhere imputes TORQUATO'S silence to the 
 magnitude of sufferings that admitted no new 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., p. 161.
 
 176 
 
 grief, or the little interest taken by the Princess 
 in his misfortunes, and her omission to solicit 
 his release.* Since the days of his biographer 
 another half century has gone by, bringing to 
 light many of the poet's compositions. But 
 this page is still a blank. LAURA was wept by 
 PETRARCH in a hundred sonnets.t From TASSO 
 LEONORA received not one. The reasons of 
 this silence, and of his former jealousy, as well 
 as of her anger or indifference, are still a mys- 
 tery. How far she returned his affection, those 
 who have accompanied us to this point in our 
 researches, are as competent to determine as 
 ourselves. We affect no power to raise the 
 cloudy veil of centuries any higher, and if we 
 could, might possibly be inclined to drop it, 
 after satisfying our own curiosity. Nor are we 
 at all disposed to venture arguments with 
 which few would be satisfied. The lapse of 
 ages, and difference of country and customs, 
 occasion endless variety in the judgments of 
 
 * Contrast the text of p. 298, with note 4 of p. 297, 
 Serassi, Vita di Torquato Tasso. 
 
 t Not literally. The sonnets are but ninety ; there are ten 
 stanzas, however, in addition, besides the " Triumphs."
 
 177 
 
 men, and as the world pardons everything to 
 greatness, it is uncertain, at this day, taking it 
 throughout, whether LEONORA would be more 
 condemned for weakness than insensibility. 
 For ourselves at least we will venture no opi- 
 nion. The question is too grave for a jurisdic- 
 tion so humble. We refer it to our fair readers ; 
 and in a matter so doubtful each may find plau- 
 sible reasons for supposing in the Princess the 
 just degree of rigor she would herself prefer. 
 Even LEONORA'S reputed piety, whence many 
 will deduce a pure and constant love, unhap- 
 pily admits of more than one interpretation. If 
 the disappointment of earthly affections natu- 
 rally turns the innocent heart to heaven, it is 
 equally true that penance and austerity fre- 
 quently close a life of pleasure ; and no less 
 certain that remorse of conscience has been 
 pretended as an excuse for deserting one lover, 
 by those who passed instantly to the arms of 
 another. TASSO'S affectionate recollection of 
 the PRINCESS, almost in her last hours, is, how- 
 ever, a strong proof of her worth, and though 
 we may not with Serassi believe her quite a 
 saint, her religion was probably ardent and 
 sincere.
 
 173 
 
 Although the acknowledged works of TASSO 
 alone have been resorted to for the materials of 
 this essay, the following productions are too 
 remarkable to be passed over in silence. They 
 are among the manuscripts acquired by Count 
 MARIANO ALBERTI of Rome, from the Prince 
 FALCONIERI, and now in the course of publica- 
 tion. An endorsement on the first, in an ancient 
 hand-writing, suggests that they were the very 
 lines whose discovery subjected TORQUATO 
 to the Duke's vengeance. Without entering 
 into the question of their authenticity, which 
 would be foreign to our plan, we submit them 
 to the inspection of our readers :* 
 
 * Since this was written, Count Alberti has greatly disap- 
 pointed the expectations of his friends by publishing only a 
 part of the alleged MSS. of TASSO in his possession. 
 
 Whatever may have been the motive for withholding others 
 previously exhibited to many, and of which even written copies 
 were in circulation, the effect has been to create a great diffi- 
 dence in respect to the authenticity of the whole. The restraints 
 on the press in Italy, however, render the publication of such 
 papers so difficult that their suppression must not be judged 
 harshly without full knowledge of all the circumstances, and it 
 is not easy to resist the internal evidence of genuineness that 
 some of them exhibit, especially the sonnet beginning " Giurai 
 Signor," etc., hereafter quoted. 
 
 The MSS. of TASSO acquired by Foppa, descended, it is
 
 179 
 
 1 O when shall I, with my own LEONORE, 
 Love's dear delights in liberty renew 1 
 Has pitying fate indeed such joys in store? 
 Laurels, and lyre, and bashfulness adieu !"* 
 
 ' Of LIFE you may deprive me, mighty lord, 
 Such right from monarch's usurpation springs ; 
 But REASON gift of the ETERNAL WORD 
 To take from MAN because of LOVE he sings 
 Of LOVE, by Heaven and Nature taught absurd ! 
 Nay worse, a crime the worst of crimes in kings 
 Pardon I craved denied me or deferred, 
 I do repent my soul's repentant stings !"t 
 
 certain, to the Falcon ieri family, and existed in their library 
 when Serassi wrote his life of the poet. It is equally clear that 
 Foppa did not publish all the inedited poetry they contained , 
 for he admits it in his preface. How much of it Count Alberti 
 may have obtained from Prince Falconieri, is another question, 
 not yet perhaps ripe for adjudication. See Serassi, Vita di 
 Tasso, and Foppa, Opere del Tasso non piu stampate. 
 
 * " duando sara che d' ELEONORA mia 
 Possa godermi in libertade amorel 
 Ah ! pietoso il destin tanto mi dia ! 
 Addio cetra, addio lauri, addio rossore:* 
 
 t " Tormi potrei, alto Signer la vita, 
 Chfc de' monarchi e usurpato dritto ; 
 Ma tormi quel, che la bonta infinita 
 Senno mi di6, perchfe, d' AMORE HO SCRITTO, 
 E delitto maggior d' ogni delitto, 
 PERDON chiedei, tu mel negasti addio: 
 Mi pento ognor del pentimento mio."
 
 180 
 
 " TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS AND 
 SERENE LORD DUKE. 
 
 I swore, my lord ! but my unworthy oath 
 
 Was a base sacrilege which cannot bind, 
 
 Since GOD alone, directs and governs both, 
 
 The greatest of his works, the HUMAN MIND. 
 
 REASON I hold from HIM. Who would not loathe 
 
 Such gift, a pledge in Power's vile hands to find 1 
 
 Do not forget, my lord, that even the sway 
 
 Of sovereign KINGS has bounds at which it ends; 
 
 Past them they rule not, nor should we obey. 
 
 He who to any mortal being bends 
 
 One step beyond, sins 'gainst the light of day : 
 
 Thus then, my soul her servile shackles rends! 
 
 And my sound mind shall henceforth none obey 
 
 But HIM whose reign o'er KINGS and worlds extends/ 
 
 * " Giurai Signor, ma il giuramento mio 
 Fu un' esecrando sacrilegio indegno 
 Che sol governa e sol dirige IDDIO 
 L' opra stupenda dell' umano ingegno 
 Cid ch' all arbitrio suo serb6 com' io 
 Ceder a un vil poter mentito impegno 1 
 E delitto Signor porre in obblio 
 Ch' an co al poter dei Re" prerutto e un segno ; 
 Oltre quello non v : ha legge o diritti, 
 Oessan del' uomo la potesta sovrano, 
 E un passo solo e un imipeta un delitto. 
 I ceppi io frango e in liberlade intera, 
 Rendo il dominio di mia mente sana 
 A quel che ai Re e all' universe impera."
 
 181 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NOTHING now remains but an inquiry into the 
 state of TASSO'S mind in the latter years of his 
 confinement. Yet this is not without interest 
 and difficulty. We have brought down our 
 sketches of his history to the summer of 1581, 
 and until that time, at least, the general effect 
 of the evidence is clearly in favor of sanity. 
 The circumstances contradicting it are few 
 and weak, or susceptible of easy explanation. 
 
 Intending however, to state both sides of the 
 question as fairly as possible, the following 
 brief summary will show what parts of his 
 correspondence impugn our own opinion. The 
 letters to the Duke of Ferrara and the Gonzaga, 
 on the subject of the inquisition at the time of his 
 first imprisonment, have been already quoted at 
 length. If his own explanation of his conduct 
 about that period is to be credited, he feigned 
 madness by command of the Duke, and com- 
 
 VOL. II. 16
 
 182 
 
 mitted excesses to win his favor. The strange 
 style of those productions is thus accounted for. 
 The strong suspicion of a disordered intellect 
 they must have created in the mind of our 
 readers, was not sought to be diminished by 
 any artifice of ours. It yielded to the subse- 
 quent numerous and overwhelming proofs of 
 sanity contained in the oration to the Duke of 
 URBINO, his discourse to GONZAGA, his letters 
 to BUONCOMPAGNO and the Cardinal ALBANO, 
 and his addresses to the NOBLES and DEPUTIES 
 of NAPLES. The only other symptoms occur- 
 ring prior to the autumn of 1581, are those 
 rather of melancholy or eccentricity than de- 
 rangement, and are too slight to shake the 
 conviction produced by the various wonderful 
 efforts of his genius, of which we have in vain 
 attempted to give our readers an idea by our 
 feeble translations. To enable them, however, 
 to form their own judgment on that point, 
 instead of attempting to dictate to it, we will 
 enumerate all that occur to us. 
 
 Writing to GONZAGA in 1576, on the 24th of 
 March, he says : 
 
 " Your lordship will find a letter enclosed
 
 183 
 
 which was written to me from Poland by M. 
 ASCANIO.* I know that he spoke of me and 
 my poem at great length to the Duke, and 
 hence my humors of last year had their 
 origin."! 
 
 This refers to his melancholy and fears in 
 1575, when he went before the inquisition at 
 Bologna. But it has already been observed, 
 that the first rumor of insanity does not meet 
 us until the attack on the servant of the Duch- 
 ess of URBINO, in June, 1577, two years after- 
 wards. 
 
 In a letter of his to Giovanni Battista Barile, 
 dated 20th July, 1578, he says : 
 
 " I am at Pesara, where, notwithstanding a 
 most friendly reception from the Duke of UR- 
 BINO and courteous treatment by all the nobles, 
 I cannot tranquillize my mind, because here, 
 also, it seems to me to be desired that I should 
 understand and converse by signs, and I being 
 a reasonable creature, on whom nature has not 
 
 * Ascanio Giraldini, before mentioned. 
 t Lettere, torn, iii., 93, 94.
 
 184 
 
 only conferred the gift of speech, but (unless 
 self-love deceives me) the power to speak pro- 
 perly, will not do such wrong to myself as 
 to signify my thoughts by gesture like a dumb 
 brute ; so far from it, that I desire to publish 
 them not only by words but in writing, that 
 they may be known to men now and for ever."* 
 
 The rest of this letter, which is a long one, 
 shows not the least mark of an unsound mind ; 
 and, resisted as that supposition is by the many 
 strong proofs already cited, it is more reasona- 
 ble to imagine that, in fact, he was treated as he 
 himself declares, either because the report of 
 his madness was believed, or because the court 
 of Urbino thought it prudent to affect a belief 
 in it. 
 
 His apology to the Cardinal ALBANO for dis- 
 trusting him has been already noticed, and con- 
 sidering the treachery he had suffered, and the 
 danger he had incurred, may be regarded as 
 evincing merely a suspicious turn of mind, but 
 too natural in his unhappy condition, and which 
 
 * Lettere Inedite, p. 47, vol. xviii., at the end of Controversie, 
 ed. di Pisa.
 
 185 
 
 he immediately atoned for to the utmost of his 
 power. Writing to his sister Cornelia, on the 
 14th February, 1581, he says : 
 
 " I believe there is no other impediment to 
 my liberation but the opinion which perhaps 
 my LORD DUKE entertains of my eccentricity, 
 (umore,) and, therefore, to satisfy him of that, 
 whereof it seems to me he might be already 
 well satisfied that I will run into no folly, I arn 
 ready to take medicine, and submit to any 
 regimen except water, which you know I re- 
 fused even in your own house, and which you 
 kindly permitted me to refuse." 
 
 This prepossession, or affectation of the 
 Duke's respecting his madness, or wish that 
 he should seem mad, is no proof against TASSO, 
 in whom it might be prudent to refer to it thus 
 cautiously. His dislike of water was invinci- 
 ble, as it still is with many of his countrymen, 
 who think that beverage unwholesome ; and 
 besides it is sufficiently obvious that TORQUATO 
 preferred wine.* With these explanations 
 
 * Lettere, torn, i., 149; iii., 276. 
 16*
 
 186 
 
 there is nothing in the letter to raise a doubt. 
 He goes on to instruct his sister respecting the 
 best mode of soliciting his release, tells her 
 what help she may expect, and what means 
 she should employ, and concludes by saying : 
 
 " I write these things to you, thus minutely, 
 not only because distance depriving me of 
 your conversation, I like to write familiarly as 
 I would speak if you were present, but because 
 I wish you to be informed what friendships 
 and acquaintance and dependence I have, as 
 well as of those things which some call humors, 
 and which, whatever they may be, and called 
 by what name you please, it seems tome might 
 be easily tolerated anywhere, even in court 
 itself."* 
 
 This letter, it would appear, never reached 
 his sister, for in writing to her afterwards, on 
 the 15th of April, he says : 
 
 " You appear not to know that I am in 
 prison ; and perhaps neither the manner nor 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., pp. 71, 73.
 
 187 
 
 description of my confinement is known to 
 the Duke of FERRARA, nor the Duchess of 
 URBINO, but I am kept here at the pleasure 
 of* ... into whose power, thinking to do 
 me a service, I was led by Monsignoret . . . 
 and he uses all kind of rigor and inhumanity 
 against me, contrary to the faith pledged to me 
 by Monsignore above mentioned, and disfavors 
 me in everything, especially in my studies, and 
 in writing, and in printing my works, in which 
 I most wish to be helped and favored."! 
 
 If the reference here is, as we believe, to 
 the Cardinal d' ESTE, and the Cardinal 
 ALBANO, this statement, far from being indica- 
 tive of insanity, corresponds with what seems 
 to have been TASSO'S ultimate conviction, and 
 to us still appears the most probable conjecture, 
 namely, that the Cardinal of ESTE was even 
 more vindictive than the Duke. 
 
 In his letter to Cardinal ALBANO, dated the 
 23d of May, 1581, and already quoted entire, 
 
 * Probably Cardinal d' Este. 
 
 t Cardinal Albano. 
 
 t Lettere, torn, i., p. 215.
 
 188 
 
 in which he reasons with great force and clear- 
 ness upon the cruelty and absurdity of detain- 
 ing him in prison as a madman, TASSO excuses 
 himself for striking his keeper two years before, 
 by saying he did it believing the man desired 
 to be struck by him. The similarity of this 
 apology with that made for speaking insolently 
 of the Duke, namely, that not only others, but 
 the Duke himself desired it, savors somewhat 
 of the fixed ideas, and single trains of thought, 
 applied indifferently to every one, by persons 
 of a disordered intellect. Yet it is more than 
 possible that the keeper, to avoid the suspicion 
 of collusion with his prisoner, or to cover some 
 indulgence granted or purchased, may have 
 suggested the expediency of a feigned quarrel. 
 If this conjecture is not admissible, we are 
 thrown back upon the weight of conflicting 
 evidence, and the question how far these com- 
 paratively slight circumstances can overbalance 
 the proofs of judgment, learning, and sagacity, 
 displayed during that period in his works. 
 
 Another difficulty arises from his dialogue 
 " 11 Messagero." This was written in 15SO, 
 and he there introduces a familiar spirit, the 
 same, he says, who appeared to him four years
 
 189 
 
 previous, and whose conversation assuredly 
 rather soars above, than falls beneath, the 
 ordinary standard of human genius.* It would 
 appear that this imaginary colloquy was after- 
 wards urged as a proof of his insanity, for in 
 writing to CATANEO in 15S4, he says, " but per- 
 haps I may seem to contradict myself, because 
 in the dialogue of ' THE MESSENGER,' I 
 feigned to converse with a spirit, which I never 
 would have done, even if I could have had the 
 power. But you must know that dialogue was 
 composed by me several years ago, at the com- 
 mand of a princet who perhaps had no evil 
 intention, nor did I esteem it wrong or dangerous 
 to treat the subject thus poetically. But since 
 then, my enemies making a mockery of me, 
 have brought me to the extremity of wretched- 
 ness, rendering that in part true which I had 
 but fancied," etc.} 
 
 Such are the strongest grounds that occurred 
 to us in the course of our investigations, for 
 
 * See the Dialogue, torn. i. Dialoghi, p. 50, vol. vii., ed. di 
 Pisa. 
 
 t Probably the Prince of Mantua. 
 t See the whole letter, post.
 
 190 
 
 sometimes doubting TASSO'S entire sanity, and 
 we fear not to expose them frankly in contrast 
 with the different proofs of a contrary character, 
 which in the end produced an opposite convic- 
 tion. To countervail these doubts, besides the 
 number and excellence of his works in verse 
 and prose, and his own irresistible arguments 
 on the question, we have an extensive corres- 
 pondence with his friends during the whole 
 time from 1575 to 1581. There are letters to 
 Cataneo of the 2Sth of March, 25th of June, and 
 28th of July; to his sister of the 16th of June, 
 and to Cardinal ALBANO of the 7th or 17th of 
 June, and 9th of August in the latter year, none 
 of which exhibit symptoms of derangement. 
 
 To CATANEO, on the 28th of March, he 
 writes : 
 
 " It is two years since your reverence, by the 
 authority of Cardinal ALBANO, led me to Fer- 
 rara, where I found no one who appeared to 
 know any thing of all that you had written to 
 me. A few days before the expiration of the 
 two years, Count Hercules Tassone brought 
 me a letter from my sister, and read me another, 
 written, if 1 remember rightly, from the Car-
 
 191 
 
 dinal to himself. I have not seen him since, 
 and although I have more than once written to 
 the Cardinal, I have received no answer," etc. 
 
 He prays CATANEO to procure the influence 
 of the republic of Venice, " so that the com- 
 merce of letters may be opened to him." 
 
 On the 16th June he sends his sister a sonnet 
 on Don JOHN of AUSTRIA, to be shown to divers 
 noble personages, with whom he prays her to 
 intercede for his liberty, which a sister may 
 with propriety do for a brother. 
 
 " Of myself, and my condition," he con- 
 tinues, " I know not what else to write to you 
 save that I am sick and in prison, and desirous 
 of liberty. My faults have been mercifully 
 punished by our LORD GOD ; of men 1 will not 
 speak may it please his Divine Providence 
 to remind them that they are of mortal birth, 
 and that I too was born a man, and would 
 die so !" 
 
 This apostrophe alludes, no doubt, to his 
 imputed madness. It is remarkable that neither 
 in this, nor in the preceding letter to this sister,
 
 192 
 
 nor in any other part of his correspondence, is 
 the slightest reference to be found to the death 
 of LEONORA.* 
 
 In his letter to Cardinal ALBANO of the 17th 
 June, he says : 
 
 " Count Hercules Tassone brought me, last 
 month, a letter from my sister, which suggests 
 to me the recovery of part of my mother's 
 fortune. Afterwards, not many days ago, in 
 the presence of the Prince of MANTUA, he 
 gave me another, and at the same time one 
 from Signore MAURIZIO, your secretary, to 
 which I replied, and would have given my 
 answer to the Count if he had returned. I 
 know not what to add to my first letter, unless 
 it be that I am disposed, not merely from my own 
 inclinations, but also from the counsel of your 
 Signore MAURIZIO, to write and speak willingly 
 with all honor of the Duke of FERRARA, and if 
 Count HERCULES will show you the copy of a 
 work on nobility which I gave to the Prince 
 
 * As the Princess died on the 10th, he might not have heard 
 of it on the 14th of February, but it is scarcely to be supposed 
 he remained ignorant of it on the 16 th June.
 
 193 
 
 of MANTUA, you will see that I have not written 
 otherwise of his highness than as a devoted 
 servant ought. In like manner I will write 
 another of dignity, which I would send your 
 lordship if I knew how, and so much for what 
 you advise me respecting the Duke of FERRARA. 
 The other princes I will honor to the utmost of 
 my power, or at least force myself not to offend. 
 " Will your lordship think how far, by honor- 
 ing, rather than not offending them, I may be 
 able to obtain my liberty, and think also of my 
 present state and my past ? I sent this morning 
 to my sister a sonnet on Don JOHN of AUSTRIA, 
 that it might be shown to Signore MAURIZIO. I 
 pray your lordship would deign to read it, and 
 remind the Duchess to expedite my liberation. 
 From Ferrara in Sant' Anna, 7th June, 1581."* 
 
 Writing to MAURIZIO CATANEO, on the 25th 
 June, he mentions the letter from his sister, 
 
 * The date of this letter, as given in the printed works, is as 
 above, but as the sonnet is mentioned as having been sent to his 
 sister in the letter of the 16th, before cited, it is obvious that the 
 true date of that to the Cardinal is the 17th. Leltere, torn, v., 
 p. 74. 
 
 VOL. II. 17
 
 194 
 
 and the dialogues on nobility and dignity, as 
 well as his belief that " the Cardinal could 
 open to him the commerce of letters ;" " and 
 if there has been any impediment put to it, as 
 I suspect, without the knowledge of the Duke, 
 the Cardinal's authority is such that he could 
 easily remove it, not only because it has been 
 so affirmed to me by many, but also because 
 my own reason persuades me of it. I cannot 
 believe that the Duke is informed of the nature 
 of my malady, which never can be cured in this 
 prison, and I fear, if they are much longer 
 delayed, all remedies will be in vain. I there- 
 fore pray the Cardinal, that the more desirous 
 he is of my health, the more solicitous he will 
 be for my freedom," etc.* 
 
 On the 28th July he writes to Cataneo thus : 
 
 " Since the Count Hercules brought me my 
 sister's last letter, I have written to you so often 
 that you will readily pardon me if I forget not 
 only the number of the letters, but their con- 
 
 * Lettere, torn, v., pp. 75, 76, ed. di Pisa.
 
 195 
 
 tents. This at least I remember, that I prayed 
 your Lord Cardinal to make interest for my 
 liberation, to the end that before the coming 
 autumn I may go to the baths, and I now remind 
 you of it, and pray you to solicit his lordship, 
 for it is a question affecting my life, which will 
 be in great peril if speedy remedy be not found 
 for my illness. I beg to recall to your remem- 
 brance the affair of the privileges ;* for those 
 of Lucca you may speak in my name to the 
 good Philip de' Nobili. Salute our friends, and 
 our Lord God be with you. From Ferrara in 
 Sant' Anna."t 
 
 He tells Cardinal ALBANO on the 9th of 
 August, that 
 
 " Signore Alexander Pocaterra will inform 
 your lordship of my willingness to write and 
 please the Duke of FERRARA, as far as possible 
 in my weak and infirm condition, and at the 
 same time, of the desire I have to be at liberty, 
 without which there is no hope of health for me. 
 
 * Probably for printing his works, 
 t Lettere, torn, v., p. 76.
 
 196 
 
 May your lordship's authority cause the one to 
 be known and the other to be fulfilled, etc. 
 Your lordship may be assured that I am more 
 desirous of writing and pleasing the Duke than 
 all others of his house. From Ferrara, in 
 Sant' Anna." 
 
 Confinement in a lunatic hospital, in a cell 
 like TASSO'S, occasioned by such causes, and 
 surrounded by such objects, must have greatly 
 increased his habitual despondency. We ought 
 not to wonder if it really drove him mad ; the 
 marvel rather is, that he should have continued 
 sane. Before, however, attributing any effect 
 to his seclusion or pronouncing on its character, 
 as everything respecting it is disputed, even the 
 nature of his detention and treatment, a few 
 extracts from his own letters, respecting them, 
 will not be useless. 
 
 His affecting description of " the indignities 
 to which he was exposed, the squalor of his 
 beard, and hair, and clothes, and the sordid 
 filth and misery around him," cannot be for- 
 gotten.* 
 
 * Letter to Scipio Gonzaga, ante, p. 69.
 
 197 
 
 He complains to BUONCOMPAGNO, in 1581, 
 of the harsh treatment he suffers from Agostino 
 Mosti, the prior of the hospital.* 
 
 It appears that his correspondence was en- 
 tirely cut off, until Giulio Mosti, the nephew of 
 the prior, became his friend, and he repeatedly 
 entreats "to be restored to the commerce of 
 letters." t 
 
 Writing to GUALENGO, 29th September, 1 582, 
 he prays a little more comfort, and promises not 
 to forget it if he should come to better fortune.J 
 
 In 1583, he wishes to converse with CATANEO 
 in private, being unwilling to confide secrets to 
 letters. In the same year, having lost, together 
 with his salary, all the profit he hoped from 
 printing his works, he is entirely at the mercy 
 of the ministers, although he often has occa- 
 sion to put his hand in his purse for necessa- 
 ries. 
 
 In 1584, he begs Father GRILIUO that he 
 
 * Letter to Buoncompagno, ante, pp. 78, 79. 
 t Lettere, torn, iv., p. 165. 
 t Id. 169. 
 5 Id. 294. 
 
 17*
 
 198 
 
 may be allowed to confess, which he is anxious 
 to do, but it does not depend on him, but on 
 M. Agostino Mosti, the prior of the hospital, 
 who not only permits him to be annoyed by his 
 neighbors and disturbed in his studies, but 
 who himself treats him in many respects in an 
 unbecoming manner; " so that the greatest favor 
 I could receive from your fraternity, would be 
 to take me out of his hands."* 
 
 In 1585, he says, "I write not from prison 
 but from St. Benedict, where Count Giulio 
 Pepoli brought me in his carriage, and I hope 
 from him similar favors hereafter."t 
 
 In the same year he complains of being re- 
 imprisoned after temporary indulgence.} 
 
 In 1586, he says, he is sick and in prison, 
 and from the quarter whence he hoped liberty 
 comes first confinement.^ 
 
 * Vol. ix., ed. di Venezia, p. 24. 
 
 t Lettere, torn, i., p. 87, ed. di Pisa. 
 
 t Id. 61. 
 
 5 Lettere, torn, ii., p. 72. The allusion possibly may be to 
 Tuscany. 
 
 To these may be added Aldus's testimony to his "sense, 
 hunger, and nakedness." See Serassi, 314, n. 4.
 
 199 
 
 Many of his sonnets describe his prison and 
 the misery he suffers there ; and after making 
 all due allowance for poetic exaggeration, we 
 cannot recognise in them either the commodious 
 and pleasant apartments of MANSO, or the hu- 
 mane detention of BLACK.* The following to 
 SCIPIO GONZAGA, may be taken as a specimen : 
 
 " Sure PITY, SCIPIO, on earth has fled 
 From Royal breasts to seek abode in heaven ; 
 For if she were not banished, scorned, or dead, 
 Would not some ear to my complaints be given? 
 Is NOBLE FAITH at pleasure to be riven, 
 Though freely pledged that I had naught to dread, 
 And I by endless outrage to be driven 
 To worse than DEATH the death-like life I've led ? 
 For this is of the quick a GRAVE ; and here 
 Am I, a living, breathing corpse interred, 
 To go not forth 'till prisoned in my bier ; 
 O earth ! O heaven ! if Love and Truth are heard, 
 Or Honor, Fame, and Virtue worth a tear, 
 Let not my prayers be fruitless or deferred !"t 
 
 * Black, vol. ii., Appendix xxviii., p. 452. 
 t Rime, torn, iii., s. 48, p. 29, ed. di Pisa. 
 
 "AL SIGNOR SCIPIO GONZAGA, 
 SULLA SUA PRIGIONIA. 
 
 Scipio, o pietade e morta, od e bandita 
 Da regj petti, e nel celesto regno
 
 200 
 
 Various other descriptions to the same pur- 
 port might be quoted, but the reader will pro- 
 bably be better contented with a reference.* 
 
 In these, as well as in his prose writings 
 already cited, he is consistent in affirming that 
 " FAITH WAS PLEDGED TO HIM," and that he 
 returned "confiding in the promises made by 
 Cardinal ALBANO and the gentlemen of the 
 Duke."t 
 
 Fra' Divi alberga, e prende il mondo a sdegno, 
 O fia la voce del mio pianto udita. 
 Dunque la nobil fe sara schernita, 
 Ch' e di mia libertd. si nobil pegno ; 
 Ne fine avra mai questo strazio indegno, 
 Che m' inforsa cosi tra morte e vital 
 duesta e tomba de vivi, ov io son chiuso 
 Cadavero spirante, e si disserra 
 Solo il career de' morti : Oh, Divi, Oh, Cielo. 
 S' opere d' arte e d' ingegno, amore, zelo 
 D' onore, han premio ovver perdono in terra, 
 Deh ! non sia, prego, il mio pregar deluso." 
 
 * See sonnet to the Cardinal Albano, Rime, torn, iii., s. 77, 
 p. 43; to Vincenzo Gonzaga, id., s. 83, p. 46; to the shade of 
 Duke Hercules, id., s. 85, p. 47; to Duke William of Mantua, 
 id., 159, s. 108, 109, p. 60, s. 110, 111; canzone xxvi., Rime, 
 torn, iv., p. 94 ; canzone xiv., torn, ii., p. 40, and various other 
 compositions. 
 
 t See sonnet to Scipio Gonzaga, " la nobil fe" " chi mi 
 guido" "chi mi deluse,"in the canzone to the Princesses, and
 
 201 
 
 Until the summer or autumn of 1581, then, 
 he seems to have struggled with his miseries, 
 buoyed up occasionally with the hopes of free- 
 dom, and, however melancholy, still rational. 
 But we now approach a period when he 
 exhibited numerous and serious marks of a 
 distemper resembling madness, and, indeed, 
 only distinguishable from it by the greater 
 exactness of modern science. 
 
 The first decided symptoms of this malady 
 which attracted our attention, are observable 
 in a letter to CATANEO, dated the 18th of Octo- 
 ber, 1581, but little more than two months after 
 that to the Cardinal Albano.* 
 
 " To Signore Maurizio Cataneo ; Rome. 
 
 " Although I desire more earnestly to be 
 thought good than learned, yet it would dis- 
 please me to be reputed ignorant. And if 
 virtue is science, and without knowledge no 
 
 " la data fede," in the sonnet to Margherita Gonzaga, Duchess 
 of Ferrara, Rime, torn, i., s. 426. See also, lettere, torn, i., p. 
 78, 169; torn, ii., 175,197, 274; torn, iv., 196; Lettere Ine- 
 dite, 64. 
 * Ante, p. 195.
 
 202 
 
 perfect action can be performed, I ought to 
 value the reputation of learning as much as 
 that of goodness itself. If it shall please 
 God, therefore, to grant me life, I will strive 
 to efface from the minds of men the belief 
 that to my misfortune, and through the malignity 
 of others, has been spread abroad. But as it 
 is not in my power to correct it entirely, for the 
 present I will only give you an account of the 
 interruptions I meet with in studying and com- 
 posing. These are of two sorts, human and 
 diabolical. The human are cries of men, and 
 especially of women and children ; laughter 
 full of mockery ; noises of various animals, 
 excited by men to annoy me, and sounds of 
 inanimate things produced by mortal agency. 
 The diabolical are enchantments and witch- 
 craft. As to the enchantments I am not so 
 certain, because the rats, of which my room is 
 full, and who appear to me possessed, may make 
 the noise they do naturally without any diabo- 
 lical art, and the origin of the other sounds I 
 hear may also be traced to human means. 
 Nevertheless, it appears to me sufficiently cer- 
 tain that I am bewitched, and the spells are 
 very powerful. For when I take a book or a
 
 203 
 
 pen, I hear voices sounding in my ears, among 
 which I distinguish the names of Paul, James, 
 Jerome, Francis, Fulvius, and others, which 
 perhaps are those of evil spirits envious of my 
 quiet. For if they are not such, they would 
 seek by courtesy to remove the evil opinion I 
 have conceived of them from their acts. 
 Although I often write before eating, I am more 
 troubled with fumes that ascend to the head 
 than I have ever been heretofore, insomuch 
 that I am often disturbed by phantasms. Such 
 being my condition, it is no wonder that in 
 writing to your Cardinal I improperly used the 
 term ' instruments of the understanding,' but 
 rather that I have not committed many other 
 errors. And when it happens, as it very often 
 does, that external interruptions concur with 
 these internal ones, they enrage me to such a 
 degree that very often I do not finish my letters, 
 but tear them to pieces and begin them again, 
 as I have done with this, of which I have torn 
 and re-written many copies. Others I have 
 penned very hastily, and sent from my hands 
 immediately without correction, in which, if I 
 have committed mistakes, they ought to be 
 imputed by the courteous reader more to trouble
 
 204 
 
 than ignorance. For in thinking over what I 
 have written, my blunders occur to me very 
 readily, but after they can no longer be cor- 
 rected, and this frets me exceedingly. In this 
 perturbation of spirit, not only my letters, but 
 my other productions have been composed, so 
 that I do not merely hesitate to pronounce them 
 good, but will never acknowledge them for mine 
 until I have time to revise them. Because, not 
 such as spring from a disturbed, but those that 
 are the fruit of a quiet mind, are properly to be 
 accounted mine. Besides this, some others 
 have been badly written for many reasons, 
 which, if I live, I will recompose and enlarge. 
 
 " Such was one sent two years ago to the 
 EMPEROR, and others to the most serene 
 Duchess of MANTUA, and to the most illustrious 
 SCIPIO GONZAGA, to which, not having been 
 able to give the form of an oration, I intended 
 this last year to extend into many orations, 
 containing the several proofs of the numerous 
 calamities I have suffered, and the wrongs I 
 have endured, as well as the nature of my 
 faults, which do not deserve the punishment 
 my enemies think them worthy of, and perhaps 
 are lighter than their own. But, deterred by the
 
 205 
 
 fatigue, and the obstacles I have met with, I 
 have given over writing them, or rather post- 
 poned it to a better opportunity, and now the 
 division I had made of the subject has escaped 
 my mind, for my memory has been much im- 
 paired by this illness. I should like to remember 
 them, if I do not reconsider many, and divide 
 them differently. But if your illustrious lord, 
 who has always most prudently advised me, 
 thinks I would do better to forget the injuries I 
 have done to others, and they to me, than by 
 writing to revive them in my memory and 
 theirs, I will freely consent that the past may 
 rest in silence. 
 
 " I pray, nevertheless, that my reputation 
 and quiet may be recommended to his lordship, 
 and expect his counsel, without which I am 
 unwilling to do anything. And that in giving 
 it to me he may be sure of what I can promise 
 for myself, know, that when I am not disturbed 
 by such noises as those, that even at this 
 moment have not ceased, and which are enough 
 to drive even wise men mad, and when I have 
 taken proper remedies, and am nourished by 
 proper food, such as does not increase my 
 melancholy, I do not despair of being fit to fill 
 
 VOL. II. 18
 
 206 
 
 the office of a secretary. And sure I am it would 
 rarely be necessary for me to transcribe my 
 letters, and never more than once. Still it is a 
 place I do not wish for. And if I could get 
 the two thousand five hundred crowns justly 
 due me in the kingdom of Naples, and a 
 thousand or more which it seems to me Sig- 
 nore* .... is my debtor, if I should 
 receive but half of what has been made by the 
 publications of my poem, I would think only of 
 attending to my studies, not so much from the 
 hope of fame, as the wish for peace, which may 
 it please heaven to grant me on any terms. 
 And I kiss your hands. From Ferrara."t 
 
 What renders this description of his situation 
 still more curious is, that on the seventh and 
 eleventh of the same month he wrote two long 
 letters to Brother Mark, a Capuchin friar, who 
 pretended that heaven had revealed to him all 
 TASSO'S thoughts. The poet, waiving a dis- 
 cussion on miracles, on which it is impossible 
 to reason, argues sensibly, and even acutely, 
 
 * Probably Febo Bonnk. 
 t Lettere, torn, iv., p. 156.
 
 207 
 
 but in courteous and friendly terms, on the 
 natural impossibility of what the friar tells him. 
 These letters axe excluded with regret, on 
 account of their length, but the learned reader 
 will not fail to consult them.* 
 
 In December, 1581, writing to ALDUS the 
 younger, who contemplated printing an edition 
 of his poems, he says : 
 
 " I will send you the rhymes, but it will take 
 two months to arrange and get them ready, and 
 my labor will be all in vain if I do not first take 
 medicine, and attend to my health very care- 
 fully, for which purpose I want the advice of 
 Signore MERCURIALE."! 
 
 Such of his letters as we have in 1582, 
 exhibit no further symptoms of a disordered 
 fancy. He merely says, in the course of a long 
 and sensible one to GONZAGA : 
 
 " For I am tired, and almost sick of the 
 world, and desirous of nothing so much as 
 
 * See Lettere, torn, ii., 133, 137. 
 
 t A celebrated physician of Padua. Lettere, torn, v., p. 139.
 
 208 
 
 quiet, not destitute of reputation ; which, how- 
 ever, I do not mean to seek with much care or 
 study, but would not lose more of than I have 
 done already by my folly, for the loss is irreme- 
 diable, and causes me infinite grief."* 
 
 In 1583 he consulted the celebrated JEROM 
 MERCURIALE, professor of medicine in the 
 University of PADUA : 
 
 " I have been sick now some years, and the na- 
 ture of my disease is unknown even to myself; 
 yet it is my firm belief I have been bewitched. 
 But whatever may be the cause of the malady, 
 these are the effects. Pain in the intestines, 
 with slight dysentery ; buzzing in the ears and 
 head, so strong that I sometimes seem to have 
 a clock in it ; continual fancies of different 
 kinds, but all disagreeable, which often disturb 
 me to such a degree that I cannot apply myself 
 for five minutes at a time ; and the more I strive 
 to force my attention, the more I am distracted 
 by various imaginations, and sometimes by the 
 
 * Lettere, torn. IT., p. 304, ed. di Pisa. Letter to Scipio 
 Gonzaga, dated 26th October, 1582.
 
 209 
 
 violent passions they excite, according to the 
 nature of the phantasies that occur. Besides 
 this, after meals I am troubled with fumes in 
 the head, which is greatly heated, and in all 
 the sounds I hear I fancy human voices, so that 
 things inanimate often seem to speak to me. 
 At night I am disturbed by dreams, and so 
 carried away by imagination that I appear to 
 have heard (if indeed I have not really heard) 
 some things respecting which I have conferred 
 with Father Mark, a Capuchin, the bearer 
 hereof, and other fathers and laics with whom I 
 have conversed about my disease, which being 
 in this respect not only violent, but afflicting 
 above all others, has need of some powerful 
 remedy. And though no cure can be expected 
 without the help of GOD, who never abandons 
 those that firmly believe in him, yet as divine 
 grace permits the use of human means to human 
 infirmities, I recur to you for help and counsel, 
 and pray you, if you cannot send the remedies, 
 at least to write your advice, which I always 
 held in great esteem, and would now prefer to 
 that of most others. The greater my need and 
 misery, the greater will be my obligation, if, 
 through your assistance, I shall recover my 
 18*
 
 210 
 
 health. And though at present not only in 
 that respect, but in all others, 1 am in the worst 
 condition, nevertheless, by the mercy of our 
 Lord, there remains to me so much of my 
 wonted intellect that I am not unable to com- 
 pose ; and in that way you may expect from 
 me every sort of gratitude. If you do, or ought 
 to wish for any reward from me, it is this, 
 which will never be sought in vain, but on the 
 contrary often paid without being asked. I 
 should like also to know Signore Melchior 
 Guilandino's opinion, and pray you to remem- 
 ber me most warmly to Signore John Vincent 
 Pinello, who has been many years, and still is, 
 near my heart. From Ferrara, the vigil of St. 
 Peter, 1583."* 
 
 In one of his letters to CATANEO in this year, 
 there is a remarkable passage. He says he is 
 aware that it was through his own imprudence 
 he fell into the calamity from which he has not 
 yet entirely escaped, although the Duke and 
 Duchess have shown such courtesy to him, 
 
 Lettere, torn, v., p. 260, ed. di Pisa.
 
 211 
 
 both in words and actions, as to give him hopes 
 of entirely recovering their favor.* 
 
 On the first of October in the same year he 
 writes to Biagio Bernardi as follows : 
 
 " On your return I will answer the sonnet of 
 Signore Humajo, as I am bound to do by his 
 courtesy. Nor is it singular that I take time to 
 reply, because PHOEBUS is niggardly to me, 
 having found the art of printing and selling my 
 works, which I hoped to do myself, he spends 
 his time gaily in Paris among ladies and cava- 
 liers, without giving me any of the money he 
 receives for them, as he had promised to do 
 under his hand.t But if Signore Humajo 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., p. 180, ed. di Pisa. 
 
 t Doubtless a play was intended upon the name of PHOEBUS 
 BONNA, and upon the word art, used either in the letter of his 
 correspondent Bernardi, or the sonnet of Humajo. 
 
 This FEBO BONNA contrived to get the privilege of printing 
 the Jerusalem from the Pope, the King of France, the Doge of 
 Venice, the Duke of Ferrara, and the Governor of Milan. 
 The original edition of 1581 is before me, with the copy of 
 each at full length. Bonna was a Ferrarcse, and the use he 
 made of these privileges is obvious enough from TASSD'S 
 words. The poet frequently complains in his correspondence 
 of the injustice done him by printing his works without giving 
 him any part of the profit.
 
 212 
 
 means a different Phoebus and different art, I 
 will gladly hear his opinion thereon, because 
 those who will have poetry to be a divine fury, 
 inspired by APOLLO and the MUSES, do not allow 
 it to be an art, as you may perceive, in the 
 
 The want of concert on this subject among the different 
 governments of Italy continues to this day to be a serious dis- 
 couragement to letters, and a crying injustice to authors. If a 
 work is bad, it falls of course. If good, editions are multiplied 
 in the adjoining states, from which the publishers alone derive 
 all the benefit. Such at least is the general rule. There are 
 occasional honorable exceptions of conscientious booksellers, 
 who think themselves bound to make some recompense, but 
 this of course must be trifling. An author in Italy, therefore, 
 can scarcely ever expect profit. 
 
 With what justice, then, are the Italians reproached for their 
 neglect of literature 1 When this, and all the other obstacles 
 they must encounter, are considered, the wonder is that anyone 
 writes at all. Nor is this evil confined to Italy. French works 
 are printed surreptitiously in Belgium, English in France, 
 American in England, and English in America. How long 
 shall literary piracy be the only one tolerated by civilized 
 nations'? Why do not Great Britain and the United States set 
 the example of a compact to secure the rights of intellectual 
 property 1 One of the most glorious and useful triumphs of 
 civilization would be the establishment of free trade an 
 uniformity of weights, measures, and money, and the universal 
 security of copy-right and invention throughout Christendom- 
 A congress for this purpose would redeem the name from 
 odium, and such an alliance would be indeed HOLY.
 
 213 
 
 IONE of PLATO. Be that as it may, of two 
 things I assure you. One is, that I am not of 
 those poets who do not understand what they 
 themselves write ; the other, that my produc- 
 tions cost me much labor, which those are not 
 wont to undergo who compose in poetic ecsta- 
 cies ; and it is so much the greater as it is in 
 part new to me, for before my memory was 
 weakened I rarely put pen to paper, but could 
 retain and repeat three or four hundred stanzas 
 at once, and now I can hardly remember a 
 sonnet; and if it has not been recently made, 
 forget it entirely, so that from this cause, and 
 the number of my griefs, I no longer take the 
 same pleasure in my studies that I used to do. 
 "You will therefore excuse me, if I send you 
 nothing new except perhaps a sonnet, that it 
 will not be tedious to copy. And if you think 
 that Signore Mercuriale's skill may restore 
 me the memory I have lost, or even preserve 
 to me the little that remains, I shall be greatly 
 obliged both to you and him. I have received 
 his advice in writing, and am willing to let blood 
 and submit to a cautery in the arm, as he ad- 
 vises. But the one in the leg and the absti- 
 nence from wine, which he recommends, are
 
 214 
 
 too disagreeable I mean to abstain entirely, 
 and drink nothing else but broth ; because I 
 would willingly obey him in using wine moder- 
 ately and temperately. I pray you, therefore, 
 if you return here, to help Count Camillo to 
 cure me, or at least preserve my life, before 
 you go to Padua. And if you will give me 
 the receipt for the conserve that Signore MER- 
 CURIALE wishes me to take, it will be greatly 
 welcome ; and the more so the pleasanter it is, 
 because you know, the excellence of a physi- 
 cian consists in giving not merely salutary but 
 agreeable prescriptions. Remind Signer MER- 
 CURIALE, therefore, that I am infirm ; for though 
 I eat with a good appetite, in other respects I 
 am much troubled. In the mean time, accept 
 my respects and wishes for your health. From 
 Ferrara, 1st October, 1583." 
 
 An extract from a letter of his to the Cava- 
 lier ENEAS TASSO, in 1585, shows the increase 
 of his belief in supernatural agency as the 
 source of his torments. 
 
 " Things become even 
 
 worse ; because the devil, with whom I walk
 
 215 
 
 and sleep, not being able to master me as he 
 wishes, has become a manifest thief of my 
 money, taking it from me while I am asleep, and 
 opening my boxes so that I cannot keep it safe. 
 Heretofore he has robbed me discreetly, but 
 not being able to trust his continuing to do so, I 
 
 send you the rest 
 
 I pray you to acknowledge the receipt of it, and 
 to exert yourself that I may escape from the 
 hands of the devil with my books and papers, 
 of which I can no more be secure than of my 
 money. And if the thing were not so certain, 
 and so strange, and extraordinary, as to move 
 pity of itself, I would add my entreaties on 
 account of the intimacy between our fathers, 
 etc. Sant' Anna, 10th November, 1585."* 
 
 Writing to Cataneo the year following, he 
 says : 
 
 "You must know I have been bewitched and 
 have never been cured, and perhaps I have 
 more need of an exorcist than a physician, 
 because the disease comes from magic," etc. 
 
 * Lettere, torn, ii., p. 90, ed. di Pisa.
 
 216 
 
 " Of the foletto [or 
 
 spirit,]* I must write you something more. 
 The little rogue has stolen many crowns from 
 me ; I don't know how many, not keeping ac- 
 count of them like misers, but perhaps they 
 may amount to twenty. He turns my books 
 upside down, opens my chests, and steals my 
 keys, so that I can keep nothing. I am miser- 
 able at all times, but especially during the 
 night, and I know not whether my disease be 
 phrenzy or what is its nature, nor can I find 
 any other remedy than eating heartily and 
 indulging my appetite, that I may sleep soundly. 
 As to food indeed, by the grace of God, I can 
 eat abundantly, for the magician's object seems 
 not to have been to prevent my digestion, but 
 my contemplations. Often, however, I fast, not 
 from devotion, but fulness of stomach, and at 
 such times I cannot sleep. Look upon me with 
 compassion, and know that I am miserable be- 
 cause the world is unjust."t 
 
 * The foletto seems to be a sort of Sprite, Puck, or Robin 
 Goodfellow. 
 
 t Lettere, torn, ii., p. 174; Black, vol. ii., 175; the date is 
 Christmas day, [1586,] according to Black.
 
 217 
 
 The longest and most circumstantial account 
 of the spirit is in the following letter to Cataneo : 
 
 " To-day, which is the last but one of the 
 year, the Reverend Father Licino's brother 
 brought me your two letters, but one of them 
 disappeared after I read it, and I believe the 
 foletto must have carried it off, because it is 
 the one that speaks of him. This is one of the 
 wonders I have often seen in this hospital. 
 Hence I am certain they are the work of a ma- 
 gician, and I have many proofs of it, but espe- 
 cially of a loaf taken visibly from before my 
 eyes half an hour before sunset, arid a plate of 
 fruit, which vanished the day that the Polish 
 youth who is so deservedly admired, visited me. 
 The same thing has happened with other pro- 
 visions, at a time, too, when nobody entered 
 my prison, and with gloves, letters, and books, 
 taken from locked chests and found in the 
 morning on the floor. Others I have never 
 found, nor do I know what has become of them; 
 but such as have disappeared when I am 
 absent may have been taken by men, who I 
 verily believe have the keys of all my trunks. 
 Thus, you see, I can defend nothing against 
 
 VOL. n. 19
 
 218 
 
 my enemies or the devil, except my will, 
 with which I will never consent to learn 
 anything from himself or his magicians. 
 FiciNo says, they may move the imagination, 
 but without the intellect have no authority or 
 force, because that depends immediately upon 
 GOD. The same thing may be gathered from 
 many philosophers, both Platonists and Peripa- 
 tetics. Alexander Aphrodisiensis especially, 
 will not allow that the imagination is mistress 
 of man's judgment, but that he is free to listen 
 or not listen to it, having command over his 
 fancy. But perhaps, some may think I con- 
 tradict myself, because in my dialogue of the 
 MESSENGER, I feigned to converse with a spirit, 
 which I never would have done, even if I 
 could have had the power. But you must 
 know, that dialogue was composed by me 
 several years ago, at the command of a prince 
 who, perhaps, had no evil intention, nor did I 
 esteem it wrong or dangerous to treat the sub- 
 ject thus poetically. But since then, my ene- 
 mies making a mockery of me, have brought 
 me to the extremity of wretchedness, render- 
 ing that in part true which I had but fancied. 
 At the period referred to, I was not subject to
 
 219 
 
 any misery of this sort, as may be learned from 
 a strict examination of the gentlemen in whose 
 houses I lodged. My proofs, however, must 
 be drawn more from reasoning than testimony, 
 though evidence would not be wanting were 
 not the truth oppressed by my enemies, who are 
 many, powerful, and implacable, and whom I 
 seek not to appease, except by means becom- 
 ing a Christian. For, God knows, I was never 
 either magician or Lutheran, and I never read 
 heretical books, nor works on necromancy, or 
 any prohibited art. Nor did I ever delight in 
 the conversation of Huguenots, nor praise their 
 doctrines, bui often blamed them by words and 
 writings. Nor did I hold opinions against the 
 holy catholic church, though I will not deny 
 having sometimes lent too ready an ear to the 
 reasoning of philosophers, but never in such wise 
 as not to humble my intellect before theolo- 
 gians and to be more ready to learn than to 
 contradict. But now my wretchedness has 
 confirmed my faith, and amid all my misfor- 
 tunes I have the consolation to be free from 
 doubts, though I have many wishes. And if 
 the fear of death has ever forced me to wrong 
 myself or truth, such terror has now no influ-
 
 220 
 
 ence, for I love not life, except attended with 
 such things as might be granted by a gracious 
 prince, who would be willing to annul the me- 
 mory of falsehood and let truth remain, not 
 for the purpose of blaming others, but for his 
 satisfaction and my own. In the meantime, I 
 am unhappy, nor will I conceal my misery in 
 order that you may remedy it with all your 
 power, and all your industry, and all your faith. 
 Know then that beside the wonders of thefoletto, 
 which I reserve for future correspondence, I 
 have many nocturnal frights. For even when 
 awake, I seem to behold small flames in the 
 air, and buuieiiuies uiy eyes Cas>li fiie iu such a 
 way that I dread the loss of sight, and I have 
 actually seen sparks of fire issue from them. I have 
 also seen in the middle of the bed-tester shadows 
 of rats, which it was naturally impossible should 
 be there. I have heard dreadful noises, and 
 there is often hissing, tingling, ticking like a 
 clock, and ringing of bells in my ears. Often 
 the hour is struck, and sometimes in my sleep 
 it seems as if a horse fell upon me, and I after- 
 wards found myself languid and fatigued. I 
 have been afraid of epilepsy, apoplexy, and 
 blindness. I am subject to headaches, but not
 
 221 
 
 excessive, and to pains in the intestines, the 
 side, the legs and thighs, but not very violent, 
 and have been weakened by vomiting, dysen- 
 tery, and fever. 
 
 " In the midst of these fears and sufferings, 
 there appeared to me the image of the glori- 
 ous Virgin in the air, with her son in her arms, 
 surrounded by a halo of various colors, so that 
 I ought not to despair of her grace. And 
 though this might easily be a phantasy, because 
 I am frenetic and disturbed by various phan- 
 tasms, and infinitely melancholy, nevertheless, 
 by the grace of God, I can sometimes withhold 
 my assent, [cohibere assensum^ which, as CICERO 
 remarks, is the operation of a sound mind ; 
 and therefore I incline to believe it a miracle 
 of the Virgin. But, if I arn not deceived, 
 my frenzy is owing to some confections I ate 
 three years ago, since from that period I date 
 this new disease, which succeeded to the first, 
 arising from a similar cause, but neither so long 
 nor so difficult to cure, for this, if it be not 
 incurable, very much resembles such as are 
 never cured. Since then, the spells have been 
 again renewed, yet no provision has been made 
 for curing me any more than at first. 
 19*
 
 222 
 
 " Though I have a good appetite I am rather 
 choice in food and wish it to be delicate ; my 
 digestion does not seem impaired, and I often 
 sleep long and quietly, yet I do not think my 
 life safe, and the evil is so wonderful that it 
 might deceive the most skilful physicians, and 
 therefore I esteem it the work of magic. It 
 would be a mercy, therefore, to release me from 
 this place, where the enchanters are allowed to 
 do what they please with me without fear of pun- 
 ishment, either because they are favored by 
 persons in power, or because my lord Duke 
 will not believe a word I say, although I never 
 told his highness a falsehood, or spoke with 
 intent to deceive him, or with any other unbe- 
 coming a gentleman. And if I could not de- 
 part with some proof of his bounty, which is 
 most needed by me, I would still go at all 
 events. Remember Signor MAURTZIO, that I 
 have lived forty years and more, twenty of 
 which have been spent in the service of the 
 
 house of ESTE and in prison * 
 
 It is time, therefore, to put an end to these 
 hopes either with despair or with mercy, which 
 
 * Blank in the printed copies.
 
 223 
 
 latter would more befit their greatness, and my 
 character, and that of my faults, of which part 
 are to be imputed to fortune, another part to 
 nature, and part to the arts and violence of my 
 enemies, so that my own portion is the smallest 
 and slightest of all. And if the faults commit- 
 ted by youth are to be excused, mine are most 
 excusable ; if those followed by immediate re- 
 pentance merit pardon, mine have deserved it 
 many years. They ought not, therefore, to be 
 remembered anew after my penitence, their 
 promises, and your intercession, or if they are, 
 they should be classed, not among the deliber- 
 ate but the unintended not among the wilful 
 but the involuntary, so that I might expect not 
 merely pardon but favor. And if my illustri- 
 ous lord* could have procured me the favor of 
 speaking to the Duke, I would have prayed 
 him to grant me life, restore me health, set me 
 at liberty, and repair by his generosity the 
 injuries I have suffered during many years' im- 
 prisonment, and to console me by his kindness 
 for the wrongs that have been done me. What 
 more worthy favor could your Lord Cardinal 
 
 * Cardinal ALBANO.
 
 224 
 
 do, what more easy, more sought for, or more 
 promised f 
 
 " I do not know why I have not again seen 
 the gentleman to whom I gave the letter for 
 him, nor whether he received it or answered it. 
 You who are his secretary can help me to good 
 ink, as the saying is, and I pray you without re- 
 serve to do so, for ceremony may be laid aside 
 where there is friendship and confidence. From 
 an audience I should expect my liberty, and can 
 then determine more fully upon the publication 
 of my works and the dedication. In printing 
 them, I will remember your suggestion, but my 
 own wishes must be executed, for my malady 
 has not so impaired my senses that I am unable 
 to form sound resolutions. 
 
 " I have received the dedication and canzone 
 you sent me, and expect that when the Reverend 
 Father Licino returns, the city of Bergamo will 
 do me the good offices I have prayed for with 
 his highness, or those which others should pray 
 for me, because my infirmity has been so long, 
 my imprisonment so tedious, rny life is so 
 advanced, and my labors have proved so fruitless, 
 that they might move not only Bergamo, but 
 all Italy to pity. Kiss the hands of the illus-
 
 
 trious patriarch Gonzaga for me, and those of 
 the excellent Signore Don Odoardo, and give 
 the sonnet to Cavalier Guarnello, if I send it to 
 you, for I have not yet written it, but will strive 
 to do so to-night or to-morrow, and if I can't I 
 won't detain this letter, but send it by another 
 post, and you will then make my apology to 
 him, and excuse me, if I am not sufficiently 
 excused by phrenzy, impediments and occu- 
 pations, and in part by studies which I can 
 neither continue nor entirely abandon. Live 
 happy."* 
 
 The fragment of a letter addressed to Gon- 
 zaga, without date, but written during his 
 imprisonment, also deserves to be quoted. 
 
 " I am sick, and my illness is not a matter of 
 jest, nor without peril, and therefore I have need 
 of a physician and a confessor, and perhaps of 
 some one who will exorcise spirits, and chase 
 
 * This letter is without date, but the " forty years and more," 
 and the twenty in the service of the house of Este, and in prison, 
 fix it after 1584. Black and Serassi assign it to 1586. See 
 Lcttere, torn, ii., 158, 163, ed. Pisa. Black's Life, vol. ii., 
 p. 169.
 
 226 
 
 away phantasms. Among the sorest infirmities 
 of the mind is ambition, which attacked it 
 many years ago, and has never been fully 
 cured, so that I could not really despise the 
 honors of this world, and those who bestow 
 them."* 
 
 In 1587, after his liberation from Sant' Anna, 
 or more properly speaking after he had been 
 given in ward to the Duke of MANTUA, upon 
 the guarantee that he was not to leave his 
 dominions, t and probably on the assurance also 
 that he was not to write or speak disrespectfully 
 of ALPHONSO, he thus addresses his friend 
 SCIPIO GONZAGA. 
 
 " I am in feeble health and utterly melancholy, 
 so that I am reputed mad by others and my- 
 self, when, being unable to conceal the many 
 powerful thoughts, cares and inquietudes of an 
 infirm and distempered mind, I break out into 
 long soliloquies, which, if they are overheard, 
 
 * Lettere, torn, ii., 98, 99. 
 
 t See ante, 56, and also Serassi, Vita, 369.
 
 227 
 
 as they often may be, make known to others 
 my designs, and what I hope and wish. 
 
 " Philosophy is the physic of the mind, and 
 therewith I often minister to myself, and then 
 begin to laugh at my misfortunes, and all the 
 injuries I have suffered. What more . ? I laugh 
 even at the bad opinion men have taken up . 
 against me, and at my own foolishness which 
 confirmed it. But this laughter is well nigh to 
 fury, and I have need of hellebore, or some 
 such other medicament, to relieve the body, 
 full of ill-humors, and to correct the stomach, 
 whence certain vapors ascend to the head, that 
 disturb it in thought and speech."* 
 
 In 1588 he consulted Pisani, a distinguished 
 physician, and a short extract from his letter 
 will suffice to give an idea of the state of his 
 disorder : 
 
 . . . " I will not venture to express my 
 own opinion, therefore, respecting my long 
 malady. It is almost useless to say, that there 
 
 * The date is the 1st October, 1587. Lettere, torn, iv., 
 p. 98.
 
 228 
 
 being two species of melancholy, the one con- 
 stitutional, the other occasioned by improper 
 food, I am affected by the latter to such a 
 degree that not only the brain is disturbed, but 
 the whole mass of the blood corrupted ; and 
 by a third species which begins in the stomach, 
 with certain intestine commotions, and exhala- 
 tion of vapors, that cruelly obscure the intellect. 
 Nor will I add that my miserable despondency 
 is increased by witchcraft and enchantment, 
 that I may not appear to resemble other 
 madmen."* 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., 283.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ENOUGH, perhaps more than enough of these 
 quotations, multiplied with the view of fairly 
 presenting, in their full force, those singular 
 illusions of the senses, sometimes confounded 
 with madness by TASSO himself, as they have 
 often been by others, both before and since. In 
 order to rebut the presumption they tend to 
 create, by his own testimony, it would be 
 requisite to cite nearly all else that he wrote or 
 did for fourteen or fifteen years of his life. This 
 is manifestly impossible. It must not be for- 
 gotten, however, that during this period, besides 
 maintaining an extensive correspondence, he 
 entirely remodelled his Jerusalem, composed 
 his poem on the creation, and wrote or corrected 
 a great many other works.* 
 
 * Without pretending to give a complete list, or to be very 
 exact in dates, the following may be enumerated: 
 II Malpiglio ovvero della Corte, 1582 or 1583. 
 
 VOL. ii. 20
 
 230 
 
 MANSO'S long account of TASSO'S eloquent 
 imaginary conversation with a spirit, is the only 
 thing material that could be added to inflame 
 the suspicion of his sanity after his liberation. 
 In that account MANSO himself has been sus- 
 pected of poetical exaggeration. But assuming 
 it as all true, we are brought to the inquiry 
 whether the rest of his conduct and writings, 
 not merely so rational and sensible, but so phi- 
 losophical and full of genius, can be ascribed 
 to a lunatic, with sane intervals, or whether 
 
 II Malpiglio Secondo, 1583. 
 
 La Molza ovvero dell' Amore, 1583. 
 
 II Beltramo ovvero della Cortesia, 1584. 
 
 II Gianluca ovvero delle Maschere, 1584. 
 
 11 Ghirlinzone ovvero 1' Epitaffo, 1585. 
 
 II Forestiero Napoletano, 1585. 
 
 II Cataneo ovvero degl' Idoli, 1585. 
 
 Della Dignita, (revised and finished,) 1585. 
 
 Apologia, etc., 1585. 
 
 Risposta all' Academia della Crusca, 1585. 
 
 II Costantino ovvero della Clemenza, 1589. 
 
 II Manso ovvero dell' Amicizia, 1592. 
 
 II Conte ovvero dell' Imprese, 1594. 
 
 II monte Oliveto. 
 
 Orazione in lode della casa Medici. 
 
 II Torrismondo. 
 
 II Nifo ovvero del Piacere. 
 
 Dialogo della Poesia Toscana, etc.
 
 231 
 
 there is any satisfactory mode of accounting 
 for the extraordinary delusions to which he was 
 subject without supposing a derangement of his 
 intellectual powers. Just before his death pre- 
 parations were made to crown him solemnly 
 with laurel in the capitol. Was all ROME mad 
 likewise ? But if that ceremony may be sus- 
 pected of poetical enthusiasm, what shall we 
 say of his lawsuit at Naples, where insanity 
 was pleaded in opposition to his claim.* The 
 pedantry of quoting a judicial decision on a 
 matter where all the world have become judges, 
 will not, most assuredly, be committed. But 
 the tribunals of justice are little liable to enthu- 
 siasm, and the strong effect of TASSO'S life and 
 works in opposition to the charge, must be 
 remarked, not only in the final event of the 
 case, but even on Dr. Black himself, whose 
 whole book was written upon the theory of the 
 poet's madness. The biographer calls the 
 allegation of insanity, " this absurd and inhuman 
 
 * Serassi, 460. It does not certainly appear that a judgment 
 was pronounced upon the point; but the cause proceeded, and 
 was compromised by the payment of an annuity, which it is 
 not presumable would have been done if the plea of insanity 
 could have been supported.
 
 232 
 
 objection" Inhuman, if you please, though that 
 might be disputed, but how absurd, if he were 
 really mad ? 
 
 A more whimsical victory over one's own 
 favorite hypothesis, has rarely been achieved 
 by the involuntary and unobserved impulse of 
 common sense. 
 
 But if TASSO'S life and works repel conclu- 
 sively the supposition of madness, how are we 
 to explain those extraordinary hallucinations of 
 his, that seem utterly irreconcileable with a 
 sound intellect ? 
 
 In his day, and even much more recently, 
 this would have been entirely impossible; but 
 modern science, by the collection of authentic 
 materials, and the habit of strict and patient 
 induction and analysis, has opened a new 
 chapter in the history of the human mind ; and 
 it may now be affirmed, that all the symptoms 
 of TORQUATO can be accounted for upon phi- 
 losophical principles, without at all supposing 
 his understanding to be disturbed. 
 
 Let it be remarked that TASSO, in attributing 
 his disease to supernatural agency, reasoned in 
 the spirit of his age, when a disbelief in witch-
 
 craft was heretical.* Be it observed, also, and 
 this is by far more important, that he often 
 speaks doubtfully of the facts, which are at 
 variance with his judgment, and yields belief 
 to them reluctantly only when compelled by 
 the apparently irresistible evidence of his 
 senses. Thus he says as to the enchantments 
 he is not so certain, because the rats, who 
 appear to him possessed, may make the noise 
 they do naturally, and the origin of the other 
 sounds may be traced to human means.'t 
 Then follow the names and sounds he hears, 
 and the objects he sees, or thinks he sees. 
 
 In his letter to Mercuriale he says, " I appear 
 to have heard, (if indeed I have not really 
 heard,") etc. We find him also congratulating 
 himself on his resolution to defend his W//from 
 the devil ; on his capacity to withhold his 
 assent, which is, he says, the mark of a rational 
 mind, and on his ability to compose. 
 
 He seems to behold flames in the air, and he 
 
 * Black himself very reasonably attributes the thefts of the 
 foletto, not to the devil, " but to TASSO'S devilish attendants." 
 Black's Life of Tasso, vol. ii., p. 175. 
 
 t Vide, ante, letter to CATANEO. 
 20*
 
 234 
 
 hears noises and sees sights entirely unaccounta- 
 ble to him by natural causes, and hence the 
 evil is attributed to magic, and the good to 
 miracle. 
 
 If the phantasms of TASSO can be explained, 
 therefore, without admitting his intellect to be 
 impaired, the riddle of his supposed madness 
 is solved. This subject has of late years been 
 so ably and admirably discussed in various 
 works, both popular and scientific, that an 
 apology is due to our readers for the diffuseness 
 of our borrowed explanations. But the trea- 
 tises of Dr. Ferriar and Dr. Hibbert, Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott's Demonology and Witchcraft, and 
 Brewster's Natural Magic, are as yet sealed 
 books to such as speak only the language of 
 TASSO, into which it is not improbable this 
 essay may be translated. Those who read 
 them in the original, therefore, will hold us 
 excused. 
 
 " The leading case, as it may be called, on 
 this subject, is that of M. Nicolai, the celebrated 
 bookseller of Berlin. This gentleman was a 
 man of letters, and had the moral courage to 
 lay before the Philosophical Society of Berlin, 
 an account of his own sufferings, from having
 
 235 
 
 been by disease subject to a series of spectral 
 illusions. He traced his illness to a succession 
 of disagreeable incidents which happened to 
 him in 1791. The depression of spirit they 
 occasioned, was increased by neglecting a peri- 
 odical bleeding he had been accustomed to 
 observe. This state of health brought on the 
 disposition to see phantasmata, which frequented 
 his apartments, presenting crowds of persons 
 who moved and acted in his sight, and even 
 spoke to him. The phantoms exhibited nothing 
 unpleasant to the imagination of the learned 
 visionary, and he had loo much firmness to be 
 otherwise affected by their presence than with 
 a kind of curiosity, as he remained convinced 
 from the beginning to the end of the disorder, 
 that these singular effects were merely symp- 
 toms of the state of his health, and did not in 
 any other respect regard them as a subject of 
 apprehension. After some time and the use of 
 medicine, the phantoms became less and less 
 distinct in their outline faded, as it were, on 
 the eye of the patient, and, at length, totally 
 disappeared."* 
 
 * Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. Letter I.
 
 236 
 
 " Dr. Hibbert, who has most ingeniously, as 
 well as philosophically handled this subject, has 
 treated it also in a medical point of view, with 
 a science to which we make no pretence, and 
 a precision of detail to which our superficial 
 investigation affords us no room for extending 
 ourselves. 
 
 " The visitation of spectral phenomena is 
 described by this learned gentleman, as inci- 
 dental to sundry complaints ; and he mentions 
 in particular, that the symptom occurs not only 
 in plethora, as in the case of Nicolai, but is a 
 frequent hectic symptom often an associate of 
 febrile and inflammatory disorders frequently 
 accompanying inflammation of the brain a 
 concomitant, also, of highly excited nervous 
 irritability equally connected with hypochon- 
 dria, and finally, united in some cases with 
 gout, and in others, with the effects of excitation, 
 produced by several gases. In all these cases, 
 there seems to be a morbid degree of sensibility, 
 with which this symptom is ready to ally itself, 
 and which, though inaccurate as a medical defi- 
 nition, may be held sufficiently descriptive of one 
 character of the various kinds of disorder with 
 which this painful symptom is connected."
 
 237 
 
 " A very singular and interesting illustration 
 of such combinations as Dr. Hibbert lias re- 
 corded of the spectral illusion with an actual 
 disorder, and that of a dangerous kind, was 
 frequently related in society by the late learned 
 and accomplished Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, 
 and sometimes, I believe, quoted in his lectures. 
 The narrative, according to the author's best 
 recollection, was as follows. A patient of Dr. 
 Gregory, a person, it is understood, of some 
 rank, having requested the Doctor's advice, 
 made the following extraordinary statement of 
 his complaint. 
 
 " ' I am in the habit,' he said, ' of dining at 
 five, and exactly as the hour of six arrives, I am 
 subjected to the following painful visitation. 
 The door of the room, even when I have been 
 weak enough to bolt it, which I have sometimes 
 done, flies wide open ; an old hag, like one of 
 those who haunted the heath of Forres, enters 
 with a frowning and incensed countenance, 
 comes straight up to me, with every demonstra- 
 tion of spite and indignation which could 
 characterize her who haunted the merchant of 
 Abudah, in the oriental tale, she rushes upon 
 me, says something, but so hastily that I can-
 
 238 
 
 not discover the purport, and then strikes me a 
 severe blow with her staff. I fall from my 
 chair in a swoon, which is of longer or shorter' 
 endurance. To the recurrence of this appari- 
 tion I arn daily subjected. And such is my 
 new and singular complaint.' The doctor 
 immediately asked whether his patient had 
 invited any one to sit with him when he ex- 
 pected such a visitation ? He answered in 
 the negative. The nature of the complaint 
 he said, was so singular, it was so likely to be 
 imputed to fancy, or even to mental derange- 
 ment, that he shrunk from communicating the 
 circumstance to any one. ' Then,' said the 
 Doctor, ' with your permission, I will dine 
 with you to day, tete-d-tete, and we will see if 
 your malignant old woman will join our com- 
 pany.' The patient accepted the proposal with 
 hope and gratitude, for he had expected ridi- 
 cule rather than sympathy. They met at din- 
 ner, and Dr. Gregory, who suspected some 
 nervous disorder, exerted his powers of conver- 
 sation, well known to be of the most varied 
 and brilliant character, to keep the attention of 
 his host engaged and prevent him from thinking 
 of the approach of the fated hour, to which he
 
 239 
 
 was accustomed to look forward with so much 
 terror. He succeeded better in his purpose 
 than he expected. The hour of six came 
 almost unnoticed, and it was hoped might pass 
 away without any evil consequence ; but it was 
 scarce a moment struck when the owner of the 
 house exclaimed in an alarmed voice, 'The hag 
 comes again !' and dropped back in his chair 
 in a swoon, in the way he had himself described. 
 The physician caused him to be let blood, and 
 satisfied himself that the periodical shocks of 
 which his patient complained arose from a ten- 
 dency to apoplexy."* 
 
 " A second and equally remarkable instance 
 was communicated to the author by the medical 
 man under whose observation it fell, but who 
 was of course desirous to keep private the name 
 of the hero of so. singular a history. Of the 
 friend by whom the facts were attested I can 
 only say, that if I found myself at liberty to 
 name him, the rank which he holds in his pro- 
 fession as well as his attainments in science and 
 philosophy, form an undisputed claim to the 
 most implicit credit. 
 
 * Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. Letter I.
 
 240 
 
 "It was the fortune of this gentleman to be 
 called in to attend the illness of a person now 
 long deceased, who in his lifetime stood, as I 
 am informed, high in a particular department 
 of the law, which often placed the property of 
 others at his discretion and control, and whose 
 conduct, therefore, being open to public obser- 
 vation, he had for many years borne the character 
 of a man of unusual steadiness, good sense, and 
 integrity. He was at the time of my friend's 
 visits, confined principally to his sick room, 
 sometimes to bed, yet occasionally attending to 
 business and exerting his mind apparently with 
 all its usual strength and energy, to the conduct 
 of important affairs entrusted to him ; nor did 
 there, to a superficial observer, appear anything 
 in his conduct, while so engaged, that could 
 argue vacillation of intellect- or depression of 
 mind. His outward symptoms of malady 
 indicated no acute or alarming disease. But 
 slowness of pulse, absence of appetite, diffi- 
 culty of digestion, and constant depression of 
 spirits seemed to draw their origin from some 
 hidden cause which the patient was determined 
 to conceal. The deep gloom of the unfortu- 
 nate gentleman the embarrassment which he
 
 241 
 
 could not hide from his friendly physician 
 the briefness and obvious constraint with which 
 he answered the interrogations of his medical 
 adviser, induced my friend to take other me- 
 thods for prosecuting his inquires. He applied 
 to the sufferer's family to learn, if possible, the 
 source of that secret grief which was gnawing 
 at the heart and sucking the life-blood of his 
 unfortunate patient. 
 
 " The persons applied to, after conversing 
 together previously, denied all knowledge of 
 any cause for the burthen that obviously 
 affected their relative. So far as they knew, 
 and they thought they could hardly be de- 
 ceived, his worldly affairs were prosperous ; no 
 family loss had occurred, which could be fol- 
 lowed with such persevering distress ; no 
 entanglements of affection could be supposed 
 to apply to his age, and no sensation of severe 
 remorse could be consistent with his character. 
 The medical gentleman finally had recourse to 
 serious argument with the invalid himself, and 
 urged to him the folly of devoting himself to a 
 lingering and melancholy death, rather than 
 tell the subject of affliction which was thus 
 wasting him. He specially pressed upon him 
 
 VOL. n. 21
 
 242 
 
 the injury he was doing to his own character 
 by suffering it to be inferred that the secret 
 cause of his dejection, and its consequences, 
 was something too scandalous to be known, 
 bequeathing in this manner to his family a sus- 
 pected and dishonored name, and leaving a 
 memory that might be associated with the idea 
 of guilt, which the criminal had died without 
 confessing. The patient, more moved by this 
 species of appeal than by any which had yet 
 been urged, expressed his desire to speak out 
 
 frankly to Dr. . Every one else was 
 
 removed, and the door of the sick room made 
 secure, when he began his confession in the 
 following manner : 
 
 " c You cannot, my dear friend, be more con- 
 scious than I, that I am dying under the effect 
 of a disease which consumes my vital powers ; 
 but neither can you understand the nature of 
 my complaint, and the manner in which it acts 
 upon me, nor if you did, I fear, could your zeal 
 and skill avail to rid me of it.' 
 
 "'It is possible,' said the physician, 'that 
 my skill may not equal my wish to serve you, 
 yet medical science has many resources, of
 
 243 
 
 which those unacquainted with its powers never 
 can form an estimate. But until you plainly 
 tell me your symptoms of complaint, it is im- 
 possible for either of us to say what may or 
 may not be in my power, or within that of 
 medicine.' 
 
 " ' I may answer you,' replied the patient, 
 ' that my case is not a singular one, since we 
 read of it in the famous novel of Le Sage. 
 You remember doubtless the disease of which 
 the Duke d' Olivarez is there said to have 
 died r" 
 
 " ' Of the idea,' answered the medical gen- 
 tleman, ' that he was haunted by an apparition 
 to which he gave no credit, but died neverthe- 
 less because he was overcome, and heart-broken 
 by its imaginary presence.' 
 
 " ' I, my dearest doctor,' said the sick man, 
 ' am in that very case ; and so painful and 
 abhorrent is the presence of the persecuting 
 vision, that my reason is totally inadequate to 
 combat the effects of rny morbid imagination, 
 and I am sensible I am dying a wasted victim 
 to an imaginary disease.' 
 
 " The medicalgentleman listened with anxiety 
 to his patient's statement, and for the present
 
 244 
 
 judiciously avoiding any contradiction of the 
 sick man's preconceived fancy, contented him- 
 self with more minute inquiry into the nature 
 of the apparition with which he conceived 
 himself haunted, and into the history of the 
 mode by which so singular a disease had made 
 itself master of his imagination, secured, as it 
 seemed, by strong powers of the understanding, 
 against an attack so irregular. The sick per- 
 son replied by stating that its advances were 
 gradual, and at first not of a terrible, or even 
 disagreeable character. To illustrate this, he 
 gave the following account of the progress of 
 his disease. 
 
 < My visions,' he said, ' commenced two 
 or three years since, when I found myself from 
 time to time embarrassed by the presence of a 
 large cat, which came and disappeared I could 
 not exactly tell how, till the truth was finally 
 forced upon me, and I was compelled to regard 
 it as no domestic household cat, but a bubble 
 of the elements, which had no existence save 
 in my deranged visual organs, or depraved 
 imagination. Still I had not that positive 
 objection to the animal entertained by a late 
 gallant highland chieftain, who has been seen
 
 245 
 
 to change to all the colors of his own plaid, if a 
 cat by accident happened to be in the room 
 with him, even though he did not see it. On 
 the contrary I am rather a friend to cats, and 
 endured with so much equanimity the presence 
 of my imaginary attendant, that it had become 
 almost indifferent to me; when, within the 
 course of a few months, it gave place to, or 
 rather was succeeded by, a spectre of a more 
 important sort, or which at least had a more 
 imposing appearance. This was no other than 
 the apparition of a gentleman usher, dressed 
 as if to wait upon a lord lieutenant of Ireland, 
 a lord high commissioner of the kirk, or any 
 other who bears on his brow the rank and 
 stamp of delegated sovereignty. 
 
 " ' This personage, arrayed in a court dress, 
 with a bag and sword, tamboured waist- 
 coat and chapeau-bras, glided beside me like 
 the ghost of Beau NASH, and whether in my 
 own house or in another ascended the stairs 
 before me, as if to announce me in the drawing- 
 room ; and sometimes appeared to mingle 
 with the company, though it was sufficiently 
 evident that they were not aware of his pre- 
 sence, and that 1 alone was sensible of the 
 21*
 
 246 
 
 visionary honors which this imaginary being 
 seemed desirous to render me. This freak of 
 the fancy did not produce much impression on 
 me, though it led me to entertain doubts on the 
 nature of my disorder, and alarm for the effect 
 it might produce upon my intellects. But that 
 modification of my disease had also its ap- 
 pointed duration. After a few months the 
 phantom of the gentleman usher was seen no 
 more, but was succeeded by one horrible to the 
 sight, and distressing to the imagination, being 
 no other than the image of death itself the 
 apparition of a skeleton. Alone, or in com- 
 pany,' continued the unfortunate invalid, ' the 
 presence of this last phantom never quits me. 
 I in vain tell myself a hundred times over, that 
 it is no reality, but merely an image summoned 
 up by the morbid acuteness of my own excited 
 imagination and deranged organs of sight. But 
 what avail such reflections while the emblem 
 at once and presage of mortality is before my 
 eyes, and while I feel myself, though in fancy 
 only, the companion of a phantom representing 
 a ghastly inhabitant of the grave, even while I 
 yet breathe on earth ? Science, philosophy, 
 and even religion has no cure for such a disor-
 
 247 
 
 der ; and I feel too surely that I shall die the 
 victim of this melancholy disease, although I 
 have no belief whatever in the reality of the 
 phantom which it places before me.' 
 
 " The physician was distressed to perceive 
 from these details how strongly this visionary 
 apparition was fixed in the imagination of his 
 patient. He ingeniously urged the sick man, 
 who was then in bed, with questions concerning 
 the circumstances of the phantom's appearance, 
 trusting to lead him, as a sensible man, into 
 such contradictions and inconsistencies as would 
 bring his common sense, which seemed to be 
 unimpaired, so strongly into the field that it 
 might combat successfully the fantastic disorder 
 which produced such fatal effects. 
 
 " ' This skeleton, then,' said the doctor, 
 1 seems to you to be always present to your 
 eyes ?' 
 
 " ' It is my fate, unhappily,' answered the 
 invalid, ' always to see it.' 
 
 " ' Then I understand,' continued the physi- 
 cian, it is now present to your imagination?' 
 
 " * To my imagination it certainly is so,' re- 
 plied the sick man. 
 
 " And in what part of the chamber do you
 
 248 
 
 now conceive the apparition to appear?' the 
 physician inquired. 
 
 " ' Immediately at the foot of my bed,' 
 answered the invalid. ' When the curtains are 
 left a little open, the skeleton, to my thinking, 
 is placed between them, and fills the vacant 
 space.' 
 
 " ' You say you are sensible of the illusion,' 
 said his friend, have you firmness to convince 
 yourself of the truth of this ? Can you take 
 courage enough to rise and place yourself in 
 the spot so seeming to be occupied, and con- 
 vince yourself of the illusion ?' 
 
 " The poor man sighed, and shook his head 
 negatively. 
 
 " ' Well,' said the doctor, ' we will try the 
 experiment otherwise.' Accordingly he rose, 
 and placing himself between the two half- 
 drawn curtains at the foot of the bed, indicated 
 as the place occupied by the apparition, asked 
 if the spectre was still visible. 
 
 " ' Not entirely so,' replied the patient, * be- 
 cause your person is between him and me, but 
 I observe his skull peering above your shoulder.' 
 
 " It is alleged the man of science started at 
 the moment, despite philosophy, on receiving
 
 249 
 
 an answer ascertaining with such minuteness 
 that the ideal spectre was close to his own per- 
 son. He resorted to other means of investiga- 
 tion and cure, but with equally indifferent 
 success. The patient sunk into deeper and 
 deeper dejection, and died in the same distress 
 of mind in which he had spent the latter 
 months of his life ; and his case remains a me- 
 lancholy instance of the power of imagination 
 to kill the body even when its fantastic terrors 
 cannot overcome the intellect of the unfortunate 
 persons who suffer under them. The patient 
 in the present case sunk under his malady, and 
 the circumstances of his singular disorder 
 remaining concealed, he did not, by his last 
 illness and death, lose any of the well-merited 
 reputation for prudence and sagacity which had 
 attended him during the whole course of his 
 life."* 
 
 Thus far Sir Walter Scott. Sir David 
 Brewster, in his letters on natural magic, gives 
 a most interesting and satisfactory account of 
 
 * Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. Letter I.
 
 250 
 
 this class of phenomena, and relates the follow- 
 ing very singular case : 
 
 " A few years ago I had occasion to spend 
 some days under the same roof with the lady 
 to whose case I have above referred. At that 
 time she had seen no spectral illusions, and was 
 acquainted with the subject only from the 
 interesting volume of Dr. Hibbert. In con- 
 versing with her about the cause of these appa- 
 ritions, I mentioned that if she should ever see 
 such a thing she might distinguish a genuine 
 ghost existing externally, and seen as an exter- 
 nal object from one created by the mind, by 
 merely pressing one eye, or straining them both 
 so as to see objects double ; for in this case the 
 external object, or supposed apparition, would 
 invariably be doubled, while the impression on 
 the retina created by the mind would remain 
 single. This observation recurred to her when 
 she unfortunately became subject to the same 
 illusions ; but she was too well acquainted with 
 their nature to require any such evidence of 
 their mental origin ; and the state of agitation 
 which generally accompanies them seems to
 
 251 
 
 have prevented her from making the experiment 
 as a matter of curiosity. 
 
 " The first illusion to which Mrs. A. was 
 subject, was one which afiected only the ear. 
 On the 26th of December, 1530, about half 
 past four in the afternoon, she was standing 
 near the fire in the hall, and on the point of 
 going up stairs to dress, when she heard, as she 
 supposed, her husband's voice calling her by 
 
 name, ' , come here! come to me!' 
 
 She imagined he was calling at the door to have 
 it opened, but on going there and opening the 
 door she was surprised to find no person there. 
 Upon returning to the fire, she again heard the 
 same voice calling out very distinctly and 
 
 loudly, ' , come, come here !' She 
 
 then opened two other doors of the same room, 
 and upon seeing nobody she returned to the 
 fire-place. After a few moments she heard the 
 
 same voice still calling, ' , come to 
 
 me, come, come away!' in a loud, plaintive, 
 and somewhat impatient tone. She answered 
 as loudly, * Where are you ? I don't know 
 where you are ;' still imagining that he was 
 somewhere in search of her ; but on receiving 
 no answer she shortly went up stairs. On Mr.
 
 252 
 
 A.'s return to the house about half an hour 
 afterwards, she inquired why he called her so 
 often and where he was ; and she was of course 
 greatly surprised to learn that he had not been 
 near the house at the time. A similar illusion, 
 which excited no particular notice at the mo- 
 ment, occurred to Mrs. A., when residing at 
 Florence about ten years before, and when she 
 was in perfect health. When she was undres- 
 sing after a ball, she heard a voice call her re- 
 peatedly by name, and she was at that time 
 unable to account for it. 
 
 " The next illusion which occurred to Mrs. A. 
 was of a more alarming character. On the 
 30th of December, about four o'clock in the 
 afternoon, Mrs. A. came down stairs into the 
 drawing room, which she had quitted only a 
 few minutes before, and on entering the room 
 saw her husband, as she supposed, standing 
 with his back to the fire. As he had gone out 
 to take a walk about half an hour before, she 
 was surprised to see him there, and asked him 
 why he had returned so soon. The figure looked 
 fixedly at her with a serious and thoughtful ex- 
 pression of countenance, but did not speak. 
 Supposing that his mind was absorbed in
 
 253 
 
 thought, she sat down in an arm-chair near the 
 fire, and within two feet at most of the figure, 
 which she still saw standing before her. As its 
 eyes, however, continued to be fixed upon her, 
 she said, after the lapse of a few minutes, 
 
 'Why don't you speak r" The figure 
 
 immediately moved off towards the window at 
 the farther end of the room, with its eyes still 
 gazing on her, and it passed so very close to 
 her in doing so, that she was struck by the cir- 
 cumstance of hearing no step, nor sound, nor 
 feeling her clothes brushed against, nor even 
 any agitation of the air. Although she was 
 now convinced that the figure was not her hus- 
 band, yet she never for a moment supposed that 
 it was anything supernatural, and was soon con* 
 vinced that it was a spectral illusion. As soon 
 as this conviction had established itself in her 
 mind, she recollected the experiment which I 
 had suggested, of trying to double the object ; 
 but before she was able to do this, the figure 
 had retreated to the window, where it disap- 
 peared. Mrs. A. immediately followed it, 
 shook the curtains and examined the window, 
 the impression having been so distinct and for- 
 cible that she was unwilling to believe it was 
 VOL. ii. 22
 
 254 
 
 not a reality. Finding, however, that the figure 
 had no natural means of escape, she was con- 
 vinced that she had seen a spectral apparition, 
 like those recorded in Dr. Hibbert's work, and 
 she consequently felt no alarm or agitation. The 
 appearance was seen in bright daylight and 
 lasted four or five minutes. When the figure 
 stood close to her it concealed the objects be- 
 hind it, and the apparition was full as vivid as 
 the reality. 
 
 " On these two occasions Mrs. A. was alone, 
 but when the next phantasm appeared her hus- 
 band was present. This took place on the 4th 
 of January, 1830. About ten o'clock at night, 
 when Mr. and Mrs. A. were sitting in the draw- 
 ing-room, Mr. A. took up the poker to stir the 
 fire, and when he was in the act of doing this, 
 Mrs. A. exclaimed, ' Why, there's a cat in the 
 room !' 'Where ?' asked Mr. A. ' There, 
 close to you,' she replied. ' Where ?' he re- 
 peated. Why, on the rug, to be sure, between 
 yourself and the coal-scuttle.' Mr. A., who had 
 still the poker in his hand, pushed it in the 
 direction mentioned. Take care,' cried Mrs. 
 A., * take care, you are hitting her with the po- 
 ker.' Mr. A. again asked her to point out exactly
 
 255 
 
 where she saw the cat. She replied, ' Why, 
 sitting up there, close to your feet, on the rug. 
 She is looking at me. It is Kitty come here, 
 here, Kitty.' There were two cats in the house, 
 one of which went by this name, and they were 
 rarely, if ever, in the drawing room. At this 
 time, Mrs. A. had no idea that the sight of the 
 cat was an illusion. When she was asked to 
 touch it, she got up for the purpose, and seemed 
 as if she were pursuing something that moved 
 away. She followed a few steps, and then 
 said, It has gone under the chair.' Mr. A. as- 
 sured her it was an illusion, but she would not 
 believe it. He then lifted up the chair, and 
 Mrs. A. saw nothing more of it. The room 
 was then searched all over, and nothing found 
 in it. There was a dog lying on the hearth 
 who would have betrayed great uneasiness if a 
 cat had been in the room, but he lay perfectly 
 quiet. In order to be quite certain, Mr. A. 
 rung the bell and sent for the two cats, both of 
 which were found in the housekeeper's room. 
 
 " About a month after this occurrence, Mrs. 
 A., who had taken a somewhat fatiguing drive 
 during the day, was preparing to go to bed 
 about eleven o'clock at night, and sitting before
 
 256 
 
 the dressing-glass was occupied in arranging 
 her hair. She was in a listless and drowsy 
 state of mind, but fully awake. When her 
 fingers were in active motion among the papil- 
 lotes, she was suddenly startled by seeing in 
 the mirror the figure of a near relation, who 
 was then in Scotland and in perfect health. 
 The apparition appeared over her left shoulder, 
 and its eyes met hers in the glass. It was en- 
 veloped in grave-clothes, closely pinned, as is 
 usual with corpses, around the head and under 
 the chin, and though the eyes were open, the 
 features were solemn and rigid. The dress 
 was evidently a shroud, as Mrs. A. remarked 
 even the punctured pattern usually worked in 
 a peculiar manner around the edges of that gar- 
 ment. Mrs. A. described herself as at the same 
 time sensible of a feeling like what we con- 
 ceive of fascination, compelling her to gaze on 
 this melancholy apparition, which was as dis- 
 tinct and vivid as any reflected reality could be, 
 the light of the candles upon the dressing-table 
 appearing to shine fully upon its face. After a 
 few minutes she turned round to look for the 
 reality of the form over her shoulder, but it 
 was not visible, and it had also disappeared
 
 257 
 
 from the glass when she looked again in that 
 direction. 
 
 "On another occasion the same lady, having 
 dismissed her maid, was preparing to go to bed, 
 when on raising her eyes, she saw seated in a 
 large easy-chair before her, the figure of a de- 
 ceased friend, the sister of Mr. A. The figure 
 was dressed as had been usual with her, with 
 great neatness, but in a gown of a peculiar 
 kind, such as Mrs. A. had never seen her wear, 
 but exactly such as had been described to her 
 by a common friend as having been worn by 
 Mr. A.'s sister during her last visit to England. 
 Mrs. A. paid particular attention to the dress, 
 air, and appearance of the figure, which sat in 
 an easy attitude in the chair, holding a handker- 
 chief in one hand. Mrs. A. tried to speak to 
 it, but experienced a difficulty in doing so, and 
 in about three minutes the figure disappeared. 
 About a minute afterwards, Mr. A. came into 
 the room and found Mrs. A. slightly nervous, 
 but fully aware of the delusive nature of the 
 apparition. She described it as having all the 
 vivid coloring and apparent reality of life, and 
 for some hours preceding this and other visions, 
 she experienced a peculiar sensation in her 
 22*
 
 258 
 
 eyes, which seemed to be relieved when the 
 vision had ceased. 
 
 " On the 5th of October, between one and 
 two o'clock in the morning, Mr. A. was awoKe 
 by Mrs. A., who told him she had just seen the 
 figure of his deceased mother draw aside the 
 bed-curtains and appear between them. The 
 dress and the look of the apparition were pre- 
 cisely those in which Mr. A.'s mother had been 
 last seen by Mrs. A. at Paris in 1824. 
 
 " On the llth of October, when sitting in the 
 drawing-room, on one side of the fire-place, she 
 saw the figure of another deceased friend 
 moving towards her from the window at the 
 farther end of the room. It approached the 
 fire-place, and sat down in the chair opposite. 
 As there were several persons in the room at 
 the time, she describes the idea uppermost in 
 her mind to have been the fear lest they should 
 be alarmed at her staring in the way she was 
 conscious of doing at vacancy, and should fancy 
 her intellect disordered. Under the influence 
 of this fear, and recollecting a story of a similar 
 effect in Sir Walter Scott's work on demonology 
 and witchcraft, which she had lately read, she 
 summoned up the requisite resolution to cross
 
 the space before the fire-place, and seat her- 
 self in the same chair with the figure. The 
 apparition remained perfectly distinct till she 
 sat down, as it were, in its lap, when it 
 vanished. 
 
 " On the 26th of the same month, about two 
 P. M., Mrs. A. was sitting in a chair by the 
 window in the same room with her husband. 
 He heard her exclaim, ' What have I seen !' 
 And on looking at her he observed a strange 
 expression in her eyes and countenance. A 
 carriage and four had appeared to her to be 
 driving up the entrance road to the house. As 
 it approached she felt inclined to go up stairs to 
 prepare to receive company, but as if spell- 
 bound she was unable to move or speak. The 
 carriage approached, and as it arrived within 
 a few yards of the window, she saw the figures 
 of the postillions, and the persons inside, take 
 the ghastly appearance of skeletons and other 
 hideous figures. The whole then vanished 
 entirely, when she uttered the above-mentioned 
 exclamation. 
 
 " On the 3d of December, about nine P. M., 
 when Mr. and Mrs. A. were sitting near each 
 other in the drawing-room occupied in reading,
 
 260 
 
 Mr. A. felt a pressure on his foot. On looking 
 up he observed Mrs. A.'s eyes fixed with a 
 strong unnatural stare on a chair about nine or 
 ten feet distant. Upon asking her what she 
 saw, the expression of her countenance changed , 
 and upon recovering herself she told Mr. A. 
 that she had seen his brother, who was alive 
 and well at the moment in London, seated in 
 the opposite chair, but dressed in grave-clothes, 
 and with a ghastly countenance, as if scarcely 
 alive. 
 
 " Such," continues the author last quoted, 
 " is a brief account of the various spectral 
 illusions observed by Mrs. A. In describing 
 them I have used the very words employed by 
 her husband in his communications to me on 
 the subject,* and the reader may be assured 
 that the descriptions are neither heightened by 
 fancy nor amplified by invention. The high 
 character and intelligence of the lady, and the 
 station of her husband in society, and as a man 
 of learning and science, would authenticate the 
 most marvellous narrative, and satisfy the most 
 
 * Edinburgh Journal of Science, New Series, No. 4>, pp. 218, 
 219 ; No. 6, p. 244 ; and No. 8, p. 261.
 
 261 
 
 scrupulous mind, that the case has been philo- 
 sophically, as well as faithfully described. In 
 narrating events which we regard as super- 
 natural, the mint! has a strong tendency to 
 give more prominence to what appears to itself 
 the most wonderful ; but from the very same 
 cause, when we describe extraordinary and in- 
 explicable phenomena, which we believe to be 
 the result of natural causes, the mind is prone 
 to strip them of their most marvellous points, 
 and bring them down to the level of ordinary 
 events. From the very commencement of the 
 spectral illusions seen by Mrs. A., both she and 
 her husband were well aware of their nature 
 and origin, and both of them paid the most 
 minute attention to the circumstances which 
 accompanied them, not only with the view of 
 throwing light upon so curious a subject, but 
 for the purpose of ascertaining their connection 
 with the state of health under which they 
 appeared. 
 
 " As the spectres seen by Nicolai and others 
 had their origin in bodily indisposition, it 
 becomes interesting to learn the state of Mrs. 
 A.'s health when she was under the influence 
 of these illusions. During the six weeks within
 
 262 
 
 which the three first illusions took place, she 
 had been considerably reduced and weakened 
 by a troublesome cough, and the weakness 
 which this occasioned was increased by her 
 being prevented from taking a daily tonic. Her 
 general health had not been strong, and long 
 experience has put it beyond a doubt, that her 
 indisposition arises from a disordered state of 
 the digestive organs. Mrs. A. has naturally a 
 morbidly sensitive imagination, which so pain- 
 fully affects her corporeal impressions, that the 
 account of any person having suffered severe 
 pain by accident or otherwise, occasionally 
 produces acute twinges of pain in the corres- 
 ponding parts of her person. The account, for 
 example, of the amputation of an arm, will pro- 
 duce an instantaneous and severe sense of pain 
 in her own arm. She is subject to talk in her 
 sleep with great fluency, to repeat long pas- 
 sages of poetry, particularly when she is 
 unwell, and even to cap verses for half an hour 
 together, never failing to quote lines beginning 
 with the final letter of the preceding one till 
 her memory is exhausted. 
 
 " Although it is not probable that we shall 
 ever be able to understand the actual manner
 
 263 
 
 in which a person of sound mind beholds 
 spectral apparitions in the broad light of day, 
 yet we may arrive at such a degree of know- 
 ledge on the subject as to satisfy rational 
 curiosity, and to strip the phenomena of every 
 attribute of the marvellous. Even the vision 
 of natural objects presents to us insurmountable 
 difficulties, if we seek to understand the precise 
 part which the mind performs in perceiving 
 them ; but the philosopher considers that he 
 has given a satisfactory explanation of vision 
 when he demonstrates that distinct pictures of 
 external objects are painted on the retina, and 
 that this membrane communicates with the 
 brain by means of nerves of the same substance 
 as itself, and of which it is merely an expansion. 
 Here we reach the gulf which human intelli- 
 gence cannot pass ; and if the presumptuous 
 mind of man shall dare to extend its specula- 
 tions further, it will do it only to evince its 
 incapacity and mortify its pride. 
 
 " In his admirable work on this subject, Dr. 
 Hibbert has shown that spectral illusions are 
 nothing more than ideas, or the recollected 
 images of the mind, which in certain states of 
 bodily indisposition have been rendered more
 
 264 
 
 vivid than actual impressions ; or to use other 
 words, that the pictures in the ' mind's eye' 
 are more vivid than the pictures in the body's 
 eye. The principle has been placed by Dr. 
 Hibbert beyond the reach of doubt ; but I pro- 
 pose to go much farther, and to show that the 
 4 mind's eye' is actually the body's eye, and 
 that the retina is the common tablet on which 
 both classes of impressions are painted, and 
 by means of which they receive their visual 
 existence according to the same optical laws. 
 Nor is this true merely in the case of spectral 
 illusions ; it holds good of all ideas recalled by 
 the memory, or created by the imagination, and 
 may be regarded as a fundamental law in the 
 science of pneumatology. 
 
 " In the healthy state of the mind and body, 
 the relative intensity of these two classes of 
 impressions on the retina is nicely adjusted. 
 The mental pictures are transient, and compa- 
 ratively feeble, and in ordinary temperaments 
 are never capable of disturbing or effacing the 
 direct images of visible objects. The affairs of 
 life could not be carried on if the memory were 
 to intrude bright representations of the past into 
 the domestic scene, or scatter them over the
 
 265 
 
 external landscape. The two opposite impres- 
 sions, indeed, could not co-exist; the same 
 nervous fibre which is carrying from the brain 
 to the retina the figures of the memory, could 
 not, at the same instant, be carrying back the 
 impressions of external objects from the retina 
 to the brain. The mind cannot perform two 
 different functions at the same instant, and the 
 direction of its attention to one of the two 
 classes of impressions, necessarily produces the 
 extinction of the other ; but so rapid is the 
 exercise of mental power, that the alternate 
 appearance and disappearance of the two con- 
 tending impressions, is no more recognised 
 than the successive observations of external 
 objects during the twinkling of the eyelids. If 
 we look, for example, at the facade of St. 
 Paul's, and without changing our position call 
 to mind the celebrated view of Mont Blanc 
 from Lyons, the picture of the cathedral, though 
 actually impressed upon the retina, is momen- 
 tarily lost sight of by the mind, exactly like an 
 object seen by indirect vision ; and during the 
 instant the recollected image of the mountain, 
 towering above the subjacent range, is dis- 
 tinctly seen, but in a tone of subdued coloring 
 VOL. n. 23
 
 266 
 
 and indistinct outline. When the purpose of 
 its recall is answered it quickly disappears, and 
 the picture of the cathedral again resumes the 
 ascendancy. 
 
 " In darkness and solitude, when external 
 objects no longer interfere with the pictures of 
 the mind, they become more vivid and distinct; 
 and in the state between waking and sleeping 
 the intensity of the impressions approaches to 
 that of visible objects. With persons of studious 
 habits, who are much occupied with the opera- 
 tions of their own minds, the mental pictures 
 are much more distinct than in ordinary per- 
 sons ; and in the midst of abstract thought, 
 external objects even cease to make any im- 
 pression on the retina. A philosopher, absorbed 
 in his contemplations, experiences a temporary 
 privation of the use of his senses. His children 
 or his servants will enter the room directly 
 before his eyes without being seen. They will 
 speak to him without being heard, and they 
 will even try to rouse him from his reverie 
 without being felt, although his eyes, his ears, 
 and his nerves, actually receive the impres- 
 sions of light, sound, and touch. In such cases, 
 however, the philosopher is voluntarily pur-
 
 267 
 
 suing a train of thought in which his mind is 
 deeply interested ; but even ordinary men, not 
 much addicted to speculations of any kind, 
 often perceive in their ' mind's eye' the pictures 
 of deceased or absent friends, or even ludicrous 
 creations of fancy, which have no connection 
 whatever with the train of their thoughts. Like 
 spectral apparitions they are entirely involun- 
 tary, and though they may have sprung from a 
 regular series of associations, yet it is fre- 
 quently impossible to discover a single link in 
 the chain. 
 
 " If it be true then, that the pictures of the 
 mind and spectral illusions are equally impres- 
 sions upon the retina, the latter will differ in no 
 respect from the former, but in the degree of 
 vividness with which they are seen ; and those 
 frightful apparitions become nothing more than 
 our ordinary ideas rendered more brilliant by 
 some accidental and temporary derangement 
 of the vital functions."* 
 
 More minute and detailed explanations would 
 be foreign to the object of this work. Those 
 
 * Letters on Natural Magic.
 
 263 
 
 who desire them will consult the various philo- 
 sophical treatises in which they maybe found.* 
 Nor is it our purpose to institute any tedious 
 comparison for the purpose of showing that 
 TASSO'S disorder was of this particular descrip- 
 tion. Either the thing proves itself, or we 
 should fail to prove it. 
 
 He lived nearly nine years after his release, 
 was invited to fill a professorship in GENOA, 
 which he declined, and in all manner of wisdom, 
 save only the worldly, was reputed not merely 
 sane but wise. 
 
 In his letters he often complains pathetically 
 of sickness, poverty, loss of memory, melan- 
 choly, despair, and even phrenzy; but after 
 1587, there are no further details respecting 
 his imaginary sights and sounds, or the pranks 
 
 Of the FOLETTO.t 
 
 Unless, therefore, MANSO'S account of his 
 conversation with a spirit is to be credited, 
 
 * See, beside the works already referred to, Abercrombie's 
 Inquiry concerning the Intellectual Powers. 
 
 t See Lettere, torn, i., 191, 225, 311, 345 ; torn, ii., 26, 27, 63, 
 94, 116, 183, 187, 203, 207; torn, iii., 234; torn, iv., 16, 223, 237, 
 388, 351.
 
 269 
 
 there is no reason for believing that his phan- 
 tasms continued, though he still feared poison, 
 and desired a reliquary to protect him from 
 spells.* 
 
 He frequently wrote to Duke ALPHONSO, im- 
 ploring his forgiveness, but in vain ; and the 
 last of these letters, dated not long before his 
 death, is more in the tone of one who had done 
 than suffered injury : 
 
 * Lettere, torn, iv., 80; torn, ii., 207. The only letters that 
 favor the supposition of his spectral apparitions having tor- 
 mented him after his release, are those of 1586: Lettere, torn, 
 ii., 36, 37, 116; those of 1587: torn, i., 216; torn, ii., 294, 295; 
 torn, iii., 241 ; those of 1588 : torn, i., 186, and torn iv., 246, 
 except such as are above quoted and his last letter to Con- 
 stantino. Of the Rime, the only passages that occur to us, as 
 in conflict with any part of the foregoing theory are, sonnet 
 442, torn, iii,, to Manso, when he says : 
 
 " lo fatto quasi per dolore insano" 
 and sonnet 179, torn, iii., to Veniero : 
 
 " Q.ui dove sol pieta forse mi serra." 
 
 It is not impossible his malady may have returned at inter- 
 vals, but becoming aware that it had caused his sanity to be 
 doubted, he ceased to speak of it.
 
 270 
 
 " To the Duke of Ferrara. 
 
 " If the past could return, there is nothing 
 I would rather choose than always to have 
 served your highness, or at least not to have 
 lost your favor by misfortune. But since it is 
 impossible to correct the past, which is long, in 
 what remains to me of the future, which is very 
 short, 1 will take more care to avoid your high- 
 ness's displeasure than that of anybody else. 
 This has been my resolution for many years, 
 however obstructed or badly executed. I beg 
 you anew to have compassion on me ; and I 
 pray God with the most devout heart to grant 
 me his pardon, and that of your serene high- 
 ness. Deign -to consider what the Prince of 
 Venosa has written, and what I have said 
 several times to your ambassador, and may God 
 send you long life and happiness. Rome, 10th 
 of December, 1594." 
 
 Our task is finished. We have but followed 
 the advice of Michael Angelo : " The statue is 
 in the marble ; seek it there and you will 
 find it." 
 
 THE END.
 
 ERRATA 
 
 Page 37, note, line 3. Instead of " Doltore" read Dottore. 
 8. Instead of " picta" read pietd. 
 10. Instead of " Suglio" read Luglio. 
 74, note, line 2. Instead of" origina" read original. 
 135, note, last line. Instead of " innabzar" read innalzar. 
 139, note, line 2. Instead of" Inferro" read Inferno.

 
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