period, 'did not take its origin in benefits or favors
received or expected. It sprang from a pure spontaneous motion of the
soul, which inspired me with love for the noble character of Duke
Charles.' When he finally withdrew from that service, he had his
portrait painted. In his hands he held a fig, and beneath the picture
ran a couplet ending with the words, 'this the Court gave me.'
Throughout his life Tassoni showed an independence rare in that century.
His principal works were published without dedications to patrons. In
the preface to his _Remarks on Petrarch_ he expressed his opinion thus:
'I leave to those who like them the fruitless dedications, not to say
flatteries, which are customary nowadays. I seek no protection; for a
lie does not deserve it, and truth is indifferent to it. Let such as
opine that the shadow of great personages can conceal the ineptitude of
authors, make the most of this advantage.' Believing firmly in
astrology, he judged that his own horoscope condemned him to
ill-success. It appears that he was born under the influence of Saturn,
when the sun and moon were in conjunction; and he held that this
combination of the heavenly bodies boded 'things noteworthy, yet not
felicitous.' It was, however, difficult for a man of Tassoni's condition
in that state of society to draw breath outside the circle of a Court.
Accordingly, in 1626, he entered the service of the Pope's nephew,
Cardinal Lodovisio. He did not find this much to his liking: 'I may
compare myself to P. Emilius Metellus, when he was shod with those
elegant boots which pinched his feet. Everybody said, Oh what fine
boots, how well they fit! But the wretch was unable to walk in them.' On
the Cardinal's death in 1632 Tassoni removed to the Court of Francesco
I. of Modena, and died there in 1635.

As a writer, Tassoni, in common with the best spirits of his time, aimed
at innovation. It had become palpable to the Italians that the
Renaissance was over, and that they must break with the traditions of
the past. This, as I have already pointed out, was the saving virtue of
the early seventeenth century; but what good fruits it might have
fostered, had not the political and ecclesiastical conditions of the age
been adverse, remains a matter for conjecture. 'It is my will and object
to utter new opinions,' he wrote to a friend; and acting upon this
principle, he attacked the chief prejudices of his age in philosophy and
literature. One of his