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It is stated that Cervantes, before his death, composed his will, though what he had to bequeath, except his poverty and his fame, we are nowhere informed. His executors were his wife Catalina, and the licentiate Francisco Nunez, whose acquaintance he had probably made from the accidental circumstance of living in the same house with him. If Nunez had possessed literary abilities, he might have done the world good service by becoming, even at the eleventh hour, the Boswell of our ingenious hidalgo. All we know, however, is, that he desired his remains should be interred in a church belonging to the monks of the Holy Trinity, the habit of whose order he had himself put on, while his daughter Doña Isabella de Saavedra had taken the veil among the corresponding order of nuns. Here at length his ashes might be supposed to have been at rest. But vicissitude attended him even in the grave, for the church a few years afterwards was pulled down, and the bones of the old warrior of Lepanto had to be removed, with those of many other persons, to a new domicile.

The Spanish nation affects still to be proud of Cervantes, but its admiration is probably confined to the students and professors of literature, who engaged, however humbly, in the same career, naturally experience some degree of sympathy for the most distinguished of their countrymen. These have published new editions of Don Quixote, with engravings, notes, commentaries, and biographies, which the opulent have sometimes purchased, but more frequently left on the hands of their enterprising publishers, to be transmitted, as slowly-consuming property, from generation to generation. When the man himself died, not an inscribed stone was placed over him to tell where he lay. His contemporaries and immediate successors neglected the spot, and now it is unknown. All this while the princes and nobles of the land, though gorged with wealth, and spending daily whole fortunes on frivolous amusements, or amusements worse than frivolous, have never thought of appropriating one small sum to commemorate, by a suitable mausoleum, the genius and personal virtues of Cervantes. The heroes who fell before Troy have their mighty barrows, to which fame attaches indissolubly the names of those whom they cover; and the stranger and mariner as they glide along the Troad can recall their favourite chief, and point distinctly to the spot, where, far by the solitary shore, he sleeps.' But the princes of literature and lords of thought are frequently dismissed from the earth without the slightest token from their countrymen of gratitude or recognition. Yet after life's fitful fever they sleep well,' whether with or without a monument, though mankind are obviously unmindful of their own interest when they consign their instructors to an obscure grave, and content themselves with pronouncing barren eulogiums on their writings. It is not even now too late for Spain to do herself justice by enlisting the arts in the service of literature. A statue

to Cervantes would be the most admired object in Madrid. Spaniards of taste would flock to behold it from all parts of the Peninsula; and France, and Germany, and Great Britain, would send pilgrims to the old cradle of the Goths, to gaze upon the effigies of one of the greatest masters of humour.

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But the neglect of the Spaniards does not end here. portraits were taken of Cervantes during his lifetime, by known artists; but both have been suffered to perish, so that, as Mr Roscoe observes, a copy only has survived to our days, which is undoubtedly of the reign of Philip IV., and is attributed by some to Alonso del Arco, while others pretend to trace in it the style of the schools of Vicencio Carducho, or of Eugenio Caxes. But whoever painted this picture, it is certain that it agrees in every respect with the portrait Cervantes drew of himself in the prologue to his novels, when he says: He whom you see here with a sharp countenance, chestnut hair, a smooth and cheerful forehead, lively eyes, a nose aquiline, though wellproportioned, a beard silver, though, some twenty years ago, it was yellow as gold, large mustaches, small mouth, teeth now few in number, as he has only six left, in height of a middle size, neither tall nor low, of a good complexion, rather fair than brown, somewhat heavy in the shoulders, and not very active: this, I say, is the portrait of the author of the Galatea, and Don Quixote de la Mancha, and of him that wrote the Viage al Parnaso in imitation of César Caporali of Perugia, and numberless other works, known by the name of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.'

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OLTAIRE, in his essay on Epic Poetry, says: There is no monument of antiquity in Italy that more deserves the attention of the traveller than the Jerusalem of Tasso. Time, which subverts the reputation of common performances, has rendered that of the Jerusalem more stable and permanent: this poem is now sung in many parts of Italy, as the Iliad was in Greece; and Tasso, notwithstanding his defects, is placed without scruple by the side of Homer and Virgil.'

That which constitutes the distinguishing character of the work now before us, is the blending of the romantic school of poetry with the classic. Each of the two great eras of European civilisation was preceded by a heroic age, which formed the ideal of succeeding times; the achievements of Hercules and his compeers were the themes of the ancient Greek and Roman No. 56.

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poets; the chivalry of the middle ages supplied those of Western Europe after the revival of letters. The poems of the former which have been handed down to us as classic epics, are characterised by unity of design, all the parts of the narrative contributing to bring about one great event. But in the chivalrous fictions of the latter, this was not dreamed of. Strength of colouring in the portraits of the heroes, fertility in the invention of adventures to be ascribed to them, vivacity of narration, and truthfulness of detail as to the manners of the times referred to-these were the only requisites. A construction including necessary beginning, a decided progress, and an end which might be termed a satisfactory winding-up of the story, was never attempted.

In the age of Tasso, Italy was inundated with these wild and incoherent productions; scarcely a single paladin of Charlemagne, or knight of King Arthur's round table, but had his poet in the sixteenth century. Tasso himself wrote in this style in his youth; and at seventeen years of age produced a poem called Rinaldo, which was received by his countrymen with passionate admiration. But in his maturer years he conceived the design of embodying the best of the fictions of chivalry in a classic form, taking the materials of his poem from the heroic ages of Christendom, but assimilating it in design and execution to the works of Homer and Virgil. The result was the production of an epic which exhibited the beauty arising from unity of design, combined with that kind of romance which fell in with the feelings, the recollections, and the prejudices of Europeans. It was first called Godfrey, after the hero to whom even Rinaldo was to give place, but afterwards Gerusalemme Liberata (Jerusalem Delivered).

The poem comprises part of the history of the first Crusadethat is, the campaign of 1099—so that it is brought within a space, which, according to history, does not exceed forty days. It is easy to see that Tasso was particularly happy in choosing a subject, than which we cannot imagine one more calculated to inspire a poet of his age. Here are the Saracens, believing it to be their vocation to subjugate the whole world to the religion of the Prophet; and the Christians, persuaded that it is their duty to enfranchise the sacred spot where the mysteries of redemption had been accomplished, and where all those great facts had taken place which constituted the foundations of their faith.

The religion of that age, Christian as well as Mohammedan, was intimately connected with all that was chivalrous and warlike; and nothing could be more poetical than the mixture of self-devoting piety with martial valour and confidence in Heaven, which formed the medieval hero. Divine assistance was invoked before every conflict: if his own side prevailed, it was by the approving favour of the Eternal; if it suffered loss, it was his chastening rod upon his people; and if the enemy performed prodigies of valour, it was through the powerful alliance of evil spirits. God, therefore, and his angels, on the one side,

devils and magicians on the other, constitute the supernatural machinery by which the course of events is directed.

The tender passions are throughout combined with the main action. In this respect Tasso enjoyed a great advantage over Homer and Virgil. In a Greek or Roman hero, love must have been treated as weakness; but in a Christian knight it was a flame ennobled by religion, giving elevation to the character, and prompting to the noblest deeds of valour.

The materials of the poem thus considered, are the most suitable that can be imagined for a modern epic; and the execution has rendered it not less interesting than elevated. It is admitted at the same time that Tasso could scarcely divest himself of his early habits of thought and feeling; and that, in spite of the more correct notions which he had acquired of the true epopee, he has not always avoided the anomalies inseparable from the romances of chivalry.

'CANTO I.

I sing the illustrious chief, whose righteous hands
Redeemed the tomb of Christ from impious bands;
Who much in counsel, much in field sustained,
Till just success his glorious labours gained.
In vain did hell in hateful league combine
With rebel man, to thwart the great design;
In vain the mingled force from Libya's coasts
Joined their proud arms with Asia's warlike hosts ;
High Heaven approved, and made the roving bands
His standard seek, and wait his high commands.

Five years had passed since the commencement of the war; and the Christian forces having taken Nice, Antioch, and Tortosa, had rested for the winter months. It was now spring. The great Searcher of Hearts, having perceived in Godfrey of Boulogne the pious valour necessary to constitute him the leader of the host, despatched Gabriel to intimate to him his high behest. Gabriel prepares to obey:

He clothes his heavenly form with ether light,

And makes it visible to human sight;

In shape and limbs like one of earthly race,
But brightly shining with celestial grace;
A youth he seemed, in manhood's ripening years,
On the smooth cheek when first the down appears;
Refulgent rays his beauteous locks unfold;
White are his nimble wings, and edged with gold;
Thus stood the angelic power, prepared for flight,
Then instant darted from the empyreal height.

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