fortune came in the spring of 1595. But it
came too late; for his death-illness was upon him. On the first of April
he had himself transported to the convent of S. Onofrio, which overlooks
Rome from the Janiculan hill. 'Torrents of rain were falling with a
furious wind, when the carriage of Cardinal Cinzio was seen climbing the
steep ascent. The badness of the weather made the fathers think there
must be some grave cause for this arrival. So the prior and others
hurried to the gate, where Tasso descended with considerable difficulty,
greeting the monks with these words: 'I am come to die among you.''[62]
The last of Tasso's letters, written to Antonio Costantini from S.
Onofrio, has the quiet dignity of one who struggles for the last time
with the frailty of his mortal nature.[63]

'What will my good lord Antonio say when he shall hear of his Tasso's
death? The news, as I incline to think, will not be long in coming; for
I feel that I have reached the end of life, being unable to discover any
remedy for this tedious indisposition which has supervened on the many
others I am used to--like a rapid torrent resistlessly sweeping me away.
The time is past when I should speak of my stubborn fate, to mention not
the world's ingratitude, which, however, has willed to gain the victory
of bearing me to the grave a pauper; the while I kept on thinking that
the glory which, despite of those that like it not, this age will
inherit from my writings, would not have left me wholly without guerdon.
I have had myself carried to this monastery of S. Onofrio; not only
because the air is commended by physicians above that of any other part
of Rome, but also as it were upon this elevated spot and by the
conversation of these devout fathers to commence my conversation in
heaven. Pray God for me; and rest assured that as I have loved and
honored you always in the present life, so will I perform for you in
that other and more real life what appertains not to feigned but to
veritable charity. And to the Divine grace I recommend you and myself.'

[Footnote 62: Manso _op. cit._ p. 215.]

[Footnote 63: This letter proves conclusively that, whatever was the
nature of Tasso's malady, and however it had enfeebled his faculties as
poet, he was in no vulgar sense a lunatic.]

On April 25, Tasso expired at midnight, with the words _In manus tuas,
Domine_, upon his lips. Had Costantini, his sincerest friend, been
there, he might have said like Kent: