we find Tasso, who had returned to Rome, sternly rebuking the assembled Fathers for their delay in appointing a new head to the Church. The sonnet that contains this fearless expression of opinion concerning the writer's ecclesiastical patrons compares not unfavourably with a similar passage* in Lycidas (1, 110/130); and we give it as an indication of the undiminished sanity and vigour of the mind that produced such fruit, together with Solerti's comment thereon: To the Cardinals on their delay in electing a Pope : 'What! still in consecrated mantles wrapt, Dyed with the blood of Christ this crimson hue, "This boldness on Tasso's part is unusual, especially at that time; but, in addition to the general feeling and ill-humour aroused by the extraordinary duration of the interregnum, we detect in this sonnet an expression of personal annoyance in the poet at seeing retarded the probability of a support or of a protector in the new pope.' (Vita,' p. 665.) Rare indeed may have been the courage at that epoch to address Princes of the Church so bluntly; but the imputation of an unworthy motive in a matter which the writer would have placed above personal considerations seems entirely gratuitous. Unfortunately, the * 'Cieca voglia' seems to correspond with 'Blind mouths.' St Peter is referred to in his quality of pilot or sailor. Church dignitaries, after having been soundly rated for neglect of duty, are threatened with a mystical engine of punishment. In addition to the above resemblances (to the passage in Lycidas) the word 'scrannel,' which appears here and has puzzled philologists, may have been coined by Milton to reproduce the sound value of 'scrannio' (a mean seat or stool), used occasionally by Tasso as a term of contempt. 6 remark is also typical (and for this reason we make the quotation) of an otherwise excellent biography. For thoroughness, sincerity, and an intimate knowledge of the period, Solerti's Life of Tasso' is quite on a par with the monument to Milton's fame erected by Masson, and our indebtedness to him for assistance in unravelling the truth is so great that one hardly likes to hint a fault; but it will constantly occur to a careful student of these pages that possibly because he is disgusted at Manso's 'romance,' and therefore inclined to fall into the other extreme-this very able man of letters is more in sympathy with the literary dovecots of the Cinquecento than with the man of genius, the strange Bird of Paradise who took this stormy period to come and dwell among them. Surely, Tasso deserves the same loving and reverential treatment that English biographers have lavished on Milton; but readers of Masson who take up Solerti expecting to find similar regard for an equally splendid and pathetic figure in the history of devotional poetry will be disappointed. They will also be pained to find mingled with the natural feeling of pity proper in such a case, a certain measure of undeserved contempt for the 'povero amalato' when the strangeness and incoherence, the restlessness and vacillation of these closing years are being considered. We say 'undeserved,' because the nine years which followed the imprisonment are distinguished by a literary output, of prose as well as poetry, equal in quality and quantity to that of any writer who has already produced his magnum opus; also by a struggle with misfortune steadfastly and not unsuccessfully maintained. With unflagging industry and zeal, and considerable adroitness, this literary agonist kept himself till the last hour of his life well in the eye of the intellectual public of that day. He had trials, of course, but they never exceeded his powers of endurance, and were frequently relieved by magnificent entertainment in the seats of learning he visited--religious foundations and princes vying for the honour of having provided the environment in which even his shorter pieces were produced, and his briefest halt in a provincial town being considered a sufficient distinction to appear in the municipal archives. Finally, in recognition of his lofty character and unrivalled faculties, the authorities in Rome granted him an annuity sufficient for his needs, and were about to present him, in his fifty-first year, and in a ceremony that would have taken place before representatives of every civilised state in Europe, with the laurel of Petrarch. Fate willed that this outward token should only be laid upon his brow after death; but, though called away at this supreme hour, his case seems hardly one for disdainful pity: 'O selig der, dem er im Siegesglanze* Die blut'gen Lorbeern um die Schläfe windet.' The long imprisonment had conferred on Tasso a crown like that of martyrdom; and his chief glory on the side of character is that, vaguely aware of this, he suffered no meanness or lapse in conduct to strip him of the right to wear the painful honour thrust upon him. Early in 1591, and with some misgiving, Tasso consented to accompany Costantini to Mantua, where he stayed the greater part of the year, but where he was so unhappy that on one occasion, refusing to eat, he seems to have determined so to end his days. This is the only attempt on his life he is known to have made, and, as it admitted of reconsideration, need not be taken very seriously. The incident is of some importance in relation to the sufferer's supposed madness, of which, had the attempt been more resolute, it would have furnished the confirmation which is still lacking. This question, or the allied one of the origin of the Duke's anger, cannot here be discussed. We may, however, suggest that a clue to the bitter personal resentment shown by the Duke, which in the closing years of his life prevented him from writing a line of consolation to the poet when appealed to shortly before the latter's death, might be found in the following madrigal, if the name of the lady concerned were known. The matter referred to must have appeared of supreme importance, or Tasso would not have made it the subject of an address to the Divinity. * O happy he for whom, in victory's hour, Death winds the blood-stained laurels round his brow. ('Faust,' 1, 1573-4.) 'HE ASKS AID OF CHRIST.' 'Behold how soft, how sweet the light, Of glossy tress and glances bright; See there how smooth, how white The hand that drew the net so subtly spread; Father, a kindly ray To guide me, that my feet may find Thine own true path; these toils unbind, If from offence so deep Heaven's grace can free! We now come to the year in which the 'Mondo Creato' was commenced. Tasso had returned to Rome in the suite of the young Duke of Mantua, and early in 1592 set out for Naples, where, as the guest of Prince Conca and later of Count Manso, he remained till the end of April. Like 'Paradise Regained' (and here Solerti accepts Manso's statement) the poem owes its origin to a suggestion from another mind; the Count's mother, who delighted in their guest's religious conversation, having encouraged him to write a purely sacred poem. The analogy which it bears to the previously published 'La Sepmaine' of Du Bartas shows that our author was acquainted with that work; but into his own he has poured such rich stores of learning, speculative philosophy, imagination and moral precept-fact, fable and worldly wisdom-that in this version of the wellknown theme we have a distinctly original production. There is conformity of treatment but little imitation, though both writers may have been indebted to Pliny and Lucretius, as well as to more remote Mosaic cosmology. As the title indicates, 'Le sette Giornate del Mondo Creato' reproduces the Biblical account of the beginning of things, and, Ptolemaic views still prevailing, places the earth at the centre of the Universe. The poem starts with the assumed existence of the Trinity, selfsufficing and eternal, whom the author invokes in the opening numbers, asking that, like a harp struck by its master's hand, he may produce a strain that will attract all peoples to listen to his assertion of Divine truth. The discourse is divided into seven books, one being assigned to each of the successive acts of creation, and concludes with the appearance of our first ancestors on the scene of their subsequent misfortunes. It will thus be seen that, as Solerti points out, this last work of the poet leaves off where Paradise Lost' begins. It is written in blank verse, Tasso having discarded the assistance of rhyme, probably considering ottava rima hardly compatible with the dignity of his subject and not caring to walk in the steps of Dante. The poem is didactic, theological and descriptive; and, although unfinished, there is little reason to suppose that the general scheme would have been much altered. At any rate, the first book seems to have received final correction; it is therefore from this, the most polished portion, that we have chosen some examples, chiefly relating to Light. The solemnity of the opening lines shows clearly how deeply Tasso was impressed with the importance of his task; we also perceive how far he has travelled from the semi-paganism of the stanza, previously cited, with which he begins the Liberata.' GIORNATA PRIMA. 'Father of Heaven, and Thou, Eternal Son--- And Thou, of both these spirits, both these splendours, And likewise sacred light and sacred flame Pure stream from purest fountain welling forth In whom, if it become me so to say, The first high model refulfils himself : Thou, Triple Sun, Lord, Messenger and Bond, Fire in the hearts, light in the minds of men; * * Cf. Questi ne porta il fuoco invêr la luna; Questi la terra in sè stringe ed aduna.' ('Paradise,' I, 116-18.) |