for the coronation about to dawn, when the poet felt his dissolution approaching.  Alfonso’s doctors had killed him at last by superinducing a habit of medicine-taking, which defeated its purpose.  He requested leave to return to the monastery of St. Onofrio—­wrote a farewell letter to Constantini—­received the distinguished honour of a plenary indulgence from the Pope—­said (in terms very like what Milton might have used, had he died a Catholic), that “this was the chariot upon which he hoped to go crowned, not with laurel as a poet into the capitol, but with glory as a saint to heaven”—­and expired on the 25th of April, 1575, and the fifty-first year of his age, closely embracing the crucifix, and imperfectly uttering the sentence beginning, “Into thy hands, O Lord!"[32]

Even after death, success mocked him; for the coronation took place on the senseless dead body.  The head was wreathed with laurel; a magnificent toga delayed for a while the shroud; and a procession took place through the city by torchlight, all the inhabitants pouring forth to behold it, and painters crowding over the bier to gaze on the poet’s lineaments, from which they produced a multitude of portraits.  The corpse was then buried in the church of St. Onofrio; and magnificent monuments talked of, which never appeared.  Manso, however, obtained leave to set up a modest tablet; and eight years afterwards a Ferrarese cardinal (Bevilacqua) made what amends he could for his countrymen, by erecting the stately memorial which is still to be seen.

Poor, illustrious Tasso! weak enough to warrant pity from his inferiors—­great enough to overshadow in death his once-fancied superiors.  He has been a by-word for the misfortunes of genius:  but genius was not his misfortune; it was his only good, and might have brought him all happiness.  It is the want of genius, as far as it goes, and apart from martyrdoms for conscience’ sake, which produces misfortunes even to genius itself—­the want of as much wit and balance on the common side of things, as genius is supposed to confine to the uncommon.

Manso has left a minute account of his friend’s person and manners.  He was tall even among the tall; had a pale complexion, sunken cheeks, lightish brown hair, head bald at the top, large blue eyes, square forehead, big nose inclining towards the mouth, lips pale and thin, white teeth, delicate white hands, long arms, broad chest and shoulders, legs rather strong than fleshy, and the body altogether better proportioned than in good condition; the result, nevertheless, being an aspect of manly beauty and expression, particularly in the countenance, the dignity of which marked him for an extraordinary person even to those who did not know him.  His demeanour was grave and deliberate; he laughed seldom; and though his tongue was prompt, his delivery was slow; and he was accustomed to repeat his last words.  He was expert in all manly exercises, but not equally graceful; and the same defect attended his otherwise striking eloquence in public assemblies.  His putting to flight the assassins in Ferrara gave him such a reputation for courage, that there went about in his honour a popular couplet