A. D. 1585. Aet. 41. ry.* You cannot, in short, be ignorant of the brilliant rather CHAP. XVII. than solid distinction, that the poem of Tasso is the best, but that Ariosto is the greater poet. Knowing, as you do, all this, how can you believe, that I would dare to arrogate to myself sufficient authority to decide a question, which, after so many obstinate literary contests, still remains undetermined ?—However, if, in such a dispute, I may not be permitted to sit pro tribunali, at least I shall be allowed to give an historical narrative of what I myself experienced in the perusal of these two distinguished poets. When I first was born to literature, I found the whole world divided into parties. That very illustrious Lycaeum, into which I had the happiness to be received, followed that of the Homer of Ferrara; and with that ardent and excessive zeal, which commonly accompanies such contests. In order to nourish my poetical inclination, my teachers recommended to me the perusal and imitation of Ariosto'; thinking that his happy liberty was more likely to fertilize genius, than the servile regularity (as they termed it,) of his rival. I submitted to authority; and the infinite merit of the author bewitched me afterwards to such a degree, that, not satisfied with repeated perusals, I was induced to commit to memory a great part of his poem; and, woe to the daring man, who asserted that Ariosto was either not immaculate, or could possibly have a rival! Sometimes, indeed, I met with persons, A. D. 1585. Aet. 41, CHAP. XVII. who, in order to seduce me, repeated, from time to time, some of the finest passages of the Jerusalem Delivered, with which I felt myself exceedingly affected and delighted. But, faithful to my sect, I detested this complacency; I considered it as one of those sinful inclinations to which our corrupted nature is prone, and which it is our duty to cor rect; and in this opinion I passed all those years, in which our judgment is the mere imitation of others. At length, when I arrived at that period in which we begin to combine our own ideas, and to weigh them in the scales of justice, I read the Jerusalem Delivered, rather from satiety, and a desire of change, than from the hope of profit, or of pleasure. It is indeed impossible to pourtray the extraordinary revolution which this perusal occasioned in my mind. The spectacle which I saw, as in a picture, presenting at one view a great and single action, clearly proposed, skillfully conducted, and perfectly completed; the variety of events always conducing to this end, and rich without confusion; the magic of a style always limpid, always sublime, always sonorous, always capable of ennobling even the most humble and common objects: the brilliancy and force of the colouring, with which he adorns; the bewitching evidence with which he narrates, and persuades; the truth and consistence of his characters; the connexion of ideas; the learning, judgement, and, above all, that prodigious force of genius, which, instead of being exhausted, as generally happens in labours of long continuance, is marvellously increased, till the very last verse of the poem: all A. D. 1585. these things filled me with a new, and, till then, unknown CHAP. XVN, delight; with reverential wonder; with a keen remorse for my long injustice; and an implacable indignation against those who imagine Ariosto to be injured by a mere comparison with Tasso. Not but I perceive in him some marks of human imperfection, but who can be said to be free from them? Can his great predecessor ?-If Tasso sometimes displeases by too much, Ariosto as frequently offends by too little labour and study. If you might expunge from the one a few trifling conceits, beneath the elevation of his mind, you might readily efface in the other, passages too indecent for the public eye. If, in the amorous fondness in the Jerusalem, one would wish less rhetoric, a complaint may be made of the lewdness of that in the Orlando. Verum, opere in longo, fas est obrepere somnum, and it would be a malignant, as it would be a pedantic vanity, to point out, with scrutinizing keenness, the rare and little spots in two such splendid luminaries, quas aut incuria fudit, aut humana parum cavit natura. All this, you will say, does not answer my question, and that you wish to know, definitely and clearly, to which of the poems I would assign the preference. I have already, my dear Sir, professed respectfully, my just repugnance to such a daring decision; and I have disclosed to you with the utmost sincerity the emotions which each of these divine bards excited in my mind. If all this be not sufficient, accept the following result of a late examination of myself upon the subject. If, in ostentation of his power, our good father Apollo were ever to resolve, in a whim, to A. D. 1585. CHAP.XVII. make me a great poet, and for this purpose were to command me to declare openly to which of the two poets I should wish what he was about to dictate to me to resemble, certainly I should hesitate in my choice; but I feel that my natural, and, perhaps, too great propensity to order, exactness, and system, would at length incline me to that of Tasso." CHAPTER XVIII. Tasso petitions the city of Bergamo, to make application for his release-Writes a Discourse in praise of MatrimonyGives an account of a Folletto or Sprite, which molests him in the Hospital-Is seized with a violent fever, of which he thinks himself supernaturally cured-Is set at liberty by the influence of the Prince of Mantua. A. D. 1585. Act. 41. ESCAPED at length from the detail of controversies, I CHAP. XVIII. again resume the melancholy story of the life of Tasso. Before, however, bidding farewell to these disputes, I would once more remark, that nobody was ever written down but by himself; that clouds may be raised for a while by prejudice, or envy ; but they are at last dispersed, and the Sun of Genius shines forth with redoubled radiance. "The Jerusalem, (says Metastasio,) blasted all the literary conspira |