At length the time for liberation arrived.  In the summer of 1586, Don Vincenzo Gonzaga, Prince of Mantua, kinsman of the poet’s friend Scipio, came to Ferrara for the purpose of complimenting Alfonso’s heir on his nuptials.  The whole court of Mantua, with hereditary regard for Tasso, whose father had been one of their ornaments, were desirous of having him among them; and the prince extorted Alfonso’s permission to take him away, on condition (so hard did he find this late concession to humanity, and so fearful was he of losing the dignity of jailor) that his deliverer should not allow him to quit Mantua without obtaining leave.  A young and dear friend, his most frequent visitor, Antonio Constantini, secretary to the Tuscan ambassador, went to St. Anne’s to prepare the captive by degrees for the good news.  He told him that he really might look for his release in the course of a few days.  The sensitive poet, now a premature old man of forty-two, was thrown into a transport of mingled delight and anxiety.  He had been disappointed so often that he could scarcely believe his good fortune.  In a day or two he writes thus to his visitor

“Your kindness, my dear friend, has so accustomed me to your precious and frequent visits, that I have been all day long at the window expecting your coming to comfort me as you are wont.  But since you have not yet arrived, and in order not to remain altogether without consolation, I visit you with this letter.  It encloses a sonnet to the ambassador, written with a trembling hand, and in such a manner that he will not, perhaps, have less difficulty in reading it than I had in writing.”

Two days afterwards, the prince himself came again, requested of the poet some verses on a given subject, expressed his esteem for his genius and virtues, and told him that, on his return to Mantua, he should have the pleasure of conducting him to that city.  Tasso lay awake almost all night, composing the verses; and next day enclosed them, with a letter, in another to Constantini, ardently begging him to keep the prince in mind of his promise.  The prince had not forgotten it; and two or three days afterwards, the order for the release arrived, and Tasso quitted his prison.  He had been confined seven years, two months, and several days.  He awaited the prince’s departure for a week or two in his friend’s abode, paying no visits, probably from inability to endure so much novelty.  Neither was he inclined or sent for to pay his respects to the duke.  Two such parties could hardly have been desirous to look on each other.  The duke must especially have disliked the thought of it; though Tasso afterwards fancied otherwise, and that he was offended at his non-appearance.  But his letters, unfortunately, differ with themselves on this point, as on most others.  About the middle of July 1586, the poet quitted Ferrara for ever.