ses and the saintly heroism of Olympus and of Calvary, of Homer
and the Fathers, of Plato and St. Ignatius; the other was filled with
the philosophical thought of the primitive Italian and Pythagorean
epochs, fecundated by his own conceptions and by the new age;
philosopher and apostle of an idea, Bruno consecrated his life to the
development of it in his writings and to the propagation of his
principles in Europe by the fire of enthusiasm. The one surprised the
world with the melody of his songs; being, as Dante says, the "dolce
sirena che i marinari in mezzo al mare smaga," he lulled the anguish
that lacerated Italy, and gilded the chains which bound her; the other
tried to shake her; to recall her to life with the vigour of thought,
with the force of reason, with the sacrifice of himself. The songs of
Tasso were heard and sung from one end of Italy to the other, and the
poet dwelt in palaces and received the caress and smile of princes;
while Bruno, discoursing in the name of reason and of science, was
rejected, persecuted, and scourged, and only after three centuries of
ingratitude, of calumny, and of forgetfulness, does his country show
signs of appreciating him and of doing justice to his memory. In Tasso
the poet predominates over the philosopher, in Bruno the philosopher
predominates over and eclipses the poet. The first sacrifices thought to
form; the second is careful only of the idea. Again, both are full of a
conception of the Divine, but the God that the dying Tasso confessed is
a god that is expected and comes not; while the god that Bruno proclaims
he already finds within himself. Tasso dies in his bed in the cloister,
uneasy as on a bed of thorns; Bruno, amidst the flames, stands out as on
a pedestal, and dies serene and calm. We must now follow our fugitive to
Venice.

At the time Giordano Bruno arrived in Venice that city was the most
important typographical centre of Europe; the commerce in books extended
through the Levant, Germany, and France, and the philosopher hoped that
here he might find some means of subsistence. The plague at that time
was devastating Venice, and in less than one year had claimed forty-two
thousand victims; but Bruno felt no fear, and he took a lodging in that
part of Venice called the Frezzeria, and was soon busy preparing for the
press a work called "Segni del Tempo," hoping that the sale of it would
bring a little money for daily needs. This work was lost, as were all
thos