Maffei travelled all over Europe. Frederick Prince of Wales welcomed him to England with marked courtesy, and in return he dedicated to the Prince the first book of his translation of the Iliad into Italian. He visited Pope at bis villa on the Thames, and found him engaged in the study of Merope. The University of Oxford conferred a degree on the illustrious Italian, with an elaborate public oration in his praise, from which, however, says a satirical biographer, "he could not have derived much gratification, as, owing to the barbarous English method of pronouncing Latin, he did not understand a word they said."

He died at Verona in 1775, in the eightieth year of his age. His Merope raised the whole tone of the Italian stage, and the tragedians who succeeded him set it steadily before them as a standard of excellence. But they were not equally successful in gaining the popular applause; and the only tragedies which in any way rivalled that of Maffei were those of Giulio Cesare and Giunio Bruto, by Conti. Antonio Conti, a Venetian nobleman (b. 1677; d. 1748), was a contemporary of Maffei; but it was only in the decline of life that he turned his mind to the drama; and so it came to pass that his Giulio Cesare was not represented till 1743, whereas Merope had appeared in 1713. The former of these two tragedies was highly popular when first performed at Venice, and the critics praise the simple grandeur of his characters by contrast with the affectation which clings to the modern dramatists in their treatment of classical subjects. "The true Roman speaks with natural nobility of character, beautiful because it is unconscious; but in our modern tragedies the heroes are great and noble with so vast an effort that they collapse, and become mean and little in the attempt, displaying their foreign origin when they most wish to appear as Romans. The great merit of Conti consists in a wise adherence to those details of the manners and customs of the time which 1 L'Italia lett., ed. Ar., p. 208.

stamp the character of the piece, and in which the French dramatists are often very deficient." ."2 A few tragedians, whose names we must refrain from inserting from want of space, stimulated by the examples of Maffei and Conti, continued to cultivate the tragic muse with praiseworthy zeal worthy of better success.

Translations of French and English plays were also written in great numbers at this time. Among others, the Mahomet and Semiramide of Voltaire were rendered into Italian by Cesarotti. But such foreign aid could not impart sufficient life to sustain the tottering native drama. On the contrary it only served to confirm the prevailing opinion, that although here and there an occasional good tragedy might give promise of better things, Italy would never possess a permanent tragic theatre; that tragedy was not in accordance with the genius and character of her language. This despairing verdict was destined to be immediately called in question, and afterwards completely overthrown by the genius of Alfieri. "Why," he asks, with all the passionate eagerness of his character, "must our divine language, so bold and vigorous in the mouth of Dante, become languid and effeminate on the tragic stage; why should Cesarotti, whose poem of Ossian is full of life and fire, become at once tame and insipid in his tragedies of Semiramide and Mahomet? thing I am sure, that, wherever the fault lies, it is not in our beautiful, flexible, ever-varying Italian speech." He proved the truth of his own words; for, after the publication of his tragedies this reproach could never again be cast upon the dramatic literature of Italy. His immediate predecessors had laboured vainly in the same cause, copying, now the classic and now the French stage, but to no purpose. He bent his genius to the task, and it was done. Despising the mere surface work of imitating the foreign drama, he began by making himself thoroughly acquainted with his own language in its finest models, and then moulded it with masterly vigour 2 Maffei, vol. ii. p. 624.

Of one

to serve the great end he proposed to himself. But this result was only accomplished by years of labour. His early education was little calculated to develop his talents. He was born at Asti, January 17, 1749, of noble. parents; and it was the opinion of those days that for that class of life the smallest amount of education would suffice that "ad un signore non era necessario di diventare un dottore." Eight years of "ineducation," as he himself terms it, had their fruit in a wild ungoverned youth; but with this period of his life we have no concern. It occupies three epochs of his autobiography, and the fourth, which embraces thirty years of manhood and middle life, gives a faithful account of the studies of his maturer years and of their fruit in his works. The representation of Cleopatra, his earliest tragedy, performed in Turin in 1775, brought out forcibly its many defects, and made manifest to Alfieri the necessity of retracing his steps in those paths of learning from which in youth and indolence he had turned aside. "The thick veil," he says, "which had hitherto so effectually blinded me fell from my eyes, and I made a solemn vow to spare myself neither pains nor trouble, until, like a true son of Italy, I had mastered my own language." Beginning literally with the grammar, he proceeded steadily, verse by verse, through the Italian classics. Dante was too difficult at the outset, and was laid aside for Tasso; Ariosto succeeded; then Dante without the help of commentaries, followed by Petrarch, diligently noting the fine passages of each, and never pausing in his work; so that in a year he had an accurate knowledge of these, the four great poets of Italy. And for sixteen

years they continued to be his daily study. To his mind they contained all the elements of poetry, with the exception of the actual mechanism of blank verse, which, he observes, can be easily extracted from the combination of the four, when taken together and manipulated with a little art." 1 Later

1 Alfieri, Opere, vol. ii. p. 109.

in life he found another model for blank verse in the Ossian of Cesarotti, which had a great attraction for him. His friends, who watched his labours with interest, next recommended a study of the best prose writers; and finally, still in the pursuit of his language in its purest form, he betook himself to Tuscany to accustom himself " a parlare, udire, pensare, e sognare in Toscano, e non altrimenti mai più." Like all true Italian scholars he could not away with the French Italian, which in his time, as now, prevailed in Italy; and which has such a mischievous effect upon the language, weakening its fine nervous idioms, and spoiling all its originality. Against these "gallicismes " Alfieri waged a ceaseless warfare, more especially because, owing to his Piedmontese birth and education, they were a special stumbling-block in his own path. The first use he made of the knowledge of his own language was to re-write the two tragedies of Filippo and Polinice, which in his youth he had written in French. Filippo is now considered one of his best tragedies, and the dialogue between the King of Spain and his minister (Act ii. Sc. 5), as a masterpiece of vigour and brevity, rivals Corneille's famous challenge scene in the Cid. The hateful character of Philip II. is portrayed with a powerful hand. To the study of his own literature succeeded that of the ancient classics; and the result of this was the tragedy of Antigone. Antigone offers another striking instance of conciseness (Act iv. Sc. 1). The second scene of the second act is one of great power, and is famous for the one sentence: Il reo d'un delitto é chi'l pensa." Still keeping on classical ground, he wrote Agamennone, and pursued the narrative in the tragedy of Oreste. Aware that the subject had already been treated by Voltaire, he endeavoured to borrow the French tragedy from a friend, who refused to lend it, advising him to write his own play first, on the ground that, in that way his Oreste, whether better or worse than the French one, would be at all events his own. "I took

this excellent advice," says Alfieri, "and it ever afterwards became a rule with me, if I wrote on a subject already treated by modern writers, never to read their tragedies till I had composed my own. Thus I preserved an originality which none can dispute." However, every rule requires an exception to prove it, and, in the case of Merope, Alfieri had read Maffei's tragedy on the same subject before composing

his own.

"In

long. Of the sincerity of these convictions he gave a remarkable proof. There was a law at that time in Piedmont that subjects of Alfieri's position and station. in life might not leave the kingdom without permission of the Government. This was sufficiently galling to a man of Alfieri's restless independent spirit; but another law, which prohibited, under penalty of a heavy fine, the publication of any books out of the kingdom unless revised by the State, touched him still more nearly. these circumstances," says Alfieri, "it was evident that I could not be both an author and a subject of His Piedmontese Majesty. Of the two I chose to be an author." He was also aware that the principles of liberty which he insisted upon so earnestly in his writings-in the Tirannide, for example, and in his tragedy of Virginia, one of his most powerful compositions-were not calculated to win the approbation of the Piedmontese Government. His proud, independent genius could brook no restraint of this nature, and he resolved to shake off the galling chains at whatever cost; to bid adieu to his country; in short, to make use of the word which he coined for the occasion-"di spiemontezzarmi." This self-banishment involved the renunciation of his inheritance and all other worldly possessions; but the greatness of the sacrifice did not stagger his purpose. He deliberately made over to his sister Giulia (wife of the Conte di Cumiana) the whole of his property, on condition of her allowing him an annual pension of fourteen thousand lire. At one time it seemed doubtful if the Government would allow him to draw this pension, and the chapter which he devotes to this extraordinary incident,1 relates in an amusing manner the various economies he strove to practise, and his calculations as to what profession would best secure him a livelihood. His passion for horsessecond only to his love of literatureand his great gift for managing them, led him seriously to consider whether the trade of a horse-breaker would not 1 Vol. ii. pp. 58-71.

And his wonder that such a tragedy should have obtained so great a reputation induced him to see whether he could not do more justice to the subject. Like Maffei, he dedicated his tragedy to his mother in token of filial affection; and by a few masterly strokes he adds vigour to a subject which seemed to have reached its culminating point of interest in the hands of former tragedians. Sofonisba and La Rosmunda, the earliest tragedies of the Teatro Antico, were again invested by him with their "sceptred pall." He relates with much candour how, on reading his first Sofonisba to a friend, it was such an evident failure that he threw it into the fire. He afterwards re-wrote it, though never to his entire satisfaction. La Congiura dei Pazzi was next suggested to him as a subject for a tragedy, by his friend Il Gori. Alfieri read the account of this conspiracy for the first time in Machiavelli's History, and was so enraptured with the vigorous style of the narrative as to lay aside his dramatic works for the time, and to write a treatise on La Tirannide, which he published in later years. Although his more mature judgment taught him to look upon the subject of his work in a modified light, and to wish that his wild invectives against princes and potentates had been strengthened by reasonable arguments, he would not allow himself to temper with "il gelo degli anni" the passionate cry for liberty which breathes in this ardent work of his youth. No one desired more earnestly than he did the freedom of his country, no one was more intolerant of the yoke of oppression under which Italy had groaned so

suit him. It was, he considered, one of the least servile of occupations, and most easily combined with that of a poet, "since a tragedy may be as well written in a stable as in a court."1 But at length his affairs were arranged, and his sister, deeply lamenting the step he had taken, was allowed by the Government to pay him the annual pension he had asked for. Alfieri was now free. His movements were no longer restrained by arbitrary rule. His writings might express his bold uncompromising sentiments without fear of restraint. The completion of the Congiura dei Pazzi, hitherto only planned, was the first fruit of this liberty, written, as he himself expresses it, with "febbre frenetica di libertà." But this cannot excuse the false colours in which, to serve the cause of freedom, Alfieri represents an action acknowledged by all historians to have been the most dastardly of crimes. To borrow the words of Roscoe-for none more forcible could be found-" What shall we think of a dramatic performance in which the 'Pazzi' are the champions of liberty in which superstition is called in to the aid of truth, and Sixtus consecrates the holy weapons devoted to the slaughter of the two brothers in which the relations of all parties are confounded, and a tragic effect is attempted to be produced by a total dereliction of historical veracity, an assumption of falsehood for truth, of vice for virtue?"2 Still, while lamenting the general principles it inculcates, we must not be deterred from pointing out the beauty of some of the individual parts. The scene of the two Medici brothers, Lorenzo and Giuliano, which contains a tribute to the founder of their family, the great Cosmo, and a masterly description of a tyrant's method of crushing his people into submission -displays his great gift of eloquence in a striking manner. Don Garzia followed the Congiura, and is again made. the engine for an attack upon the Medici. His next tragedy, Maria Stuarda, he

wrote for the singular reason that he did not like the subject; but with that indomitable will, so characteristic of him, he determined to see if he could not do justice to it, in spite of his disinclination. The experiment failed as a whole, although the principal characters, Queen Mary, Darnley, and Mary, Darnley, and Bothwell, are well drawn. The subordinate parts of Ormond and Lamorre are creations of his fancy, for it is in vain to seek them in history. He continued his work with astonishing rapidity; in ten months (1782) he wrote seven tragedies, arranged the plan of two new ones, and revised and corrected the fourteen which he had composed altogether. From time to time he judged of their effect by reading them aloud in a mixed society, inviting the criticisms of the learned, profiting even by the "yawns, coughs, and restlessness " of the rougher or more ignorant elements of his audience, to note for alteration such passages as were dull and heavy, and could not command general interest. But hitherto, with the sole unfortunate example of Cleopatra, none of his tragedies had been put upon the stage. At last he was stimulated to make the attempt by the representation of a version of Thomas Corneille's Conte d'Essex, by a company of dilettanti in the private theatre of the Duca Grimaldi, at Rome. Poor in the original, the play appeared even worse in a translation; and Alfieri longed to substitute one of his own, written with native fire, in his own beloved Italian language. He offered his Antigone to the amateur corps dramatique. It was readily accepted, and the company not being sufficiently strong for all the parts, that of Creonte, usurper of the throne of Thebes, fell upon himself. The success of the piece surpassed his expectations, and induced him to venture on what he terms the terribile prova of printing and publishing his works. The first edition consisted of one volume, containing his first four tragedies, published at Rome in 1783, and followed immediately by six more tragedies published in two volumes at Siena. He was immediately assailed by the

fire which he had expected of literary criticism, correspondence, and newspaper comments. The pedanti Fiorentini, as he calls them, gave him to understand that, if his manuscript had been corrected by their Academy, it would have had a better chance of success. An exception must be made in favour of Il Calzabigi's just and enlightened criticisms, which, far from angering the author, were of great service to him in his subsequent compositions. Το this critic Alfieri wrote a reply, and the correspondence serves as an admirable preface to the first volume.1 After the publication of these tragedies, Alfieri paused in his labours, and set out on extensive travels to France and England, not, as he tells us, from any curiosity or wish to see either of those countries, but partly from sheer restlessness, and partly for the purpose of buying English horses. This passion, already alluded to, was sufficiently strong to supersede for a period of eight months at a time the books and poetry which were at other times of such absorbing interest. During his sojourn of four months in London (1784) he bought fourteen horses (as many horses as he had written tragedies), which, with infinite labour, he transported to Siena. He feelingly describes all the miseries the poor animals suffered in the transit, and his careful passage of Mont Cenis, which offered no small difficulties and danger to the high-bred English horses, "vivaci e briosi oltre modo."2 On his way through Piedmont, the reigning King of Sardinia, Vittorio Amadeo II., sought in vain to lure the voluntary exile back to his native country. Liberty of thought and liberty of action were more than ever prized by Alfieri after his sojourn in England, and the royal courtesies were in vain, although later, in 1796, when the king was hard pressed by the French arms, Alfieri would have been glad had it been possible to render him any service. Breathing more freely when he had left Piedmont behind him, Alfieri began anew his rambles over Italy and Europe.

1 Alfieri, Tragedie, vol. i. pp. 1-92.
2 Alfieri, Vita, vol. ii. p. 123.
No. 213.-VOL. XXXVI.

The fame of Voltaire's tragedy of Brutus stirred up a spirit of rivalry in the Italian tragedian. "Voltaire write on Brutus!" he exclaims; "I will have a Brutus of my own; nay, I will have two; and we will see if I cannot outdo this Frenchman of plebeian origin." And so Bruto Primo appeared, dedicated to Washington, followed by Bruto Secondo, dedicated to "Il libero Popolo Italiano." They are noisy and tumultuous tragedies, where the stage is perpetually crowded with Roman citizens clamouring for freedom; and although they contain some fine declamations in favour of liberty, they are the least happy of Alfieri's works. His tragedies were now nineteen in number, and Alfieri, who had originally intended to limit their number to twelve, resolved to abstain from writing any more, and to publish them all in a new and complete edition. He was in Paris at the time of this resolution (1787), so he entrusted the publication of the new edition to Didot, a Frenchman of whose taste and talents the fastidious author had a high opinion. It was three years in preparation, owing to the care and pains which were lavished upon it, and it was still in type when Didot's press suddenly stopped for want of hands. The workmen, plunged deep in the politics of that exciting time, spent "whole days," says the indignant author, "in reading the newspapers and expressing their ideas as to the government of the kingdom, instead of attending to their business of setting up the types." But these were only the first signs of the awful storm of the Revolution from which Alfieri on his return to Paris, in 1792, narrowly escaped with his life. His Memoirs describe the well-known events of the 10th of August, the massacre of the Swiss Guard, the pitiless treatment of the Royal Family; his own flight, accomplished five days afterwards with the utmost difficulty.3 The atrocities he had himself witnessed, supplemented each day by some new tale of horror as it reached Italy, filled to overflowing the measure of Alfieri's hatred of and contempt for 3 Vol. ii. pp. 188, 207.