idle to carry on this comparison, already tedious. The
life of Goldoni was one long scene of shifts and jests, of frequent
triumphs and some failures, of lessons hard at times, but kindly.
Passions and _ennui_, flashes of heroic patriotism, constant
suffering and stoical endurance, art and love idealised, fill up the
life of Alfieri. Goldoni clung much to his fellow-men, and shared
their pains and pleasures. Alfieri spent many of his years in almost
absolute solitude. On the whole character and deeds of the one man was
stamped Comedy: the other was own son of Tragedy.

If, after reading the autobiographies of Alfieri and Goldoni, we turn
to the perusal of their plays, we shall perceive that there is no
better commentary on the works of an artist than his life, and no
better life than one written by himself. The old style of criticism,
which strove to separate an author's productions from his life, and
even from the age in which he lived, to set up an arbitrary canon
of taste, and to select one or two great painters or poets as ideals
because they seemed to illustrate that canon, has passed away. We are
beginning to feel that art is a part of history and of physiology.
That is to say, the artist's work can only be rightly understood by
studying his age and temperament. Goldoni's versatility and want of
depth induced him to write sparkling comedies. The merry life men
passed at Venice in its years of decadence proved favourable to his
genius. Alfieri's melancholy and passionate qualities, fostered in
solitude, and aggravated by a tyranny he could not bear, led him
irresistibly to tragic composition. Though a noble, his nobility only
added to his pride, and insensibly his intellect had been imbued with
the democratic sentiments which were destined to shake Europe in his
lifetime. This, in itself, was a tragic circumstance, bringing him
into close sympathy with the Brutus, the Prometheus, the Timoleon of
ancient history. Goldoni's _bourgeoisie_, in the atmosphere of
which he was born and bred, was essentially comic. The true comedy
of manners, which is quite distinct from Shakspere's fancy or from
Aristophanic satire, is always laid in middle life. Though Goldoni
tried to write tragedies, they were unimpassioned, dull, and tame. He
lacked altogether the fire, high-wrought nobility of sentiment, and
sense of form essential for tragic art. On the other hand, Alfieri
composed some comedies before his death which were devoid of