of Maria’s equipage.  Marino’s genius corresponded nicely to the environment in which he now found himself; the Italians of the French Court discerned in him the poet who could best express their ideal of existence.  He was idolized, glutted with gold, indulged and flattered to the top of his bent.  Yearly appointments estimated at 10,000 crowns were augmented by presents in return for complimentary verses or for copies of the poem he was then composing.  This poem was the Adone, the theme of which had been suggested by Carlo Emmanuele, and which he now adroitly used as a means of flattering the French throne.  First printed at Paris in 1623, its reception both there and in Italy secured apotheosis in his lifetime for the poet.[187] One minor point in this magnificent first folio edition of Adone deserves notice, as not uncharacteristic of the age.  Only two Cantos out of the twenty are distinguished by anything peculiar in their engraved decorations.  Of these two, the eleventh displays the shield of France; the thirteenth, which describes Falsirena’s incantations and enchantments, is ornamented with the symbol of the Jesuits, IHS.  For this the publishers alone were probably responsible.  Yet it may stand as a parable of all-pervasive Jesuitry.  Even among the roses and raptures of the most voluptuous poem of the century their presence makes itself felt, as though to hint that the Adone is capable of being used according to Jesuitical rules of casuistry A.M.D.G.  One warning voice was raised before the publication of this epic.  Cardinal Bentivoglio wrote from Italy beseeching Marino to ’purge it of lasciviousness in such wise that it may not have to dread the lash of our Italian censure.’  Whether he followed this advice, in other words whether the original MS. of the Adone was more openly licentious than the published poem, I do not know.  Anyhow, it was put upon the Index in 1627.  This does not, however, appear to have impaired its popularity, or to have injured its author’s reputation.  Soon after the appearance of Adone, Marino, then past fifty, returned to Naples.  He was desirous of reposing on his laurels, wealthy, honored, and adored, among the scenes from which he fled in danger and disgrace thirty years before.  His entrance into Naples was an ovation.  The Iazzaroni came to meet his coach, dancing and scattering roses; noblemen attended him on horse-back; ladies gazed on him from balconies.  A banner waving to the wind announced the advent of ’that ocean of incomparable learning, soul of lyres, subject for pens, material for ink, most eloquent, most fertile, phoenix of felicity, ornament of the laurel, of swans in their divine leisure chief and uncontested leader.’  At Naples he died in 1625—­felicitous in not having survived the fame which attended him through life and reached its climax just before his death.

[Footnote 187:  It is worth noting that Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis was first printed in 1593, thirty years previously.]