At If I have kept this piece within the limits of a day it is not because I repent of not having so restricted "Mélite," or that I have resolved to bind myself to such henceforward. the present time some worship that rule, many despise it; for myself I only wished to show that my neglect of it was not from want of knowledge. gan to write in 1552,* was the first French" Clitandre," his second work, in which, writer who divided his plays into acts, and however, he observed the unity of time, followed the rules and construction of the he speaks of these rules somewhat conancients. About the same time Baïf and temptuously: others translated several of the masterpieces of the Greek drama, but these were usually performed in colleges at the expense of some great lord. In 1600 a second theatre was erected in the Marais by a company of provincial comedians, to whom was attached the poet Hardy, the French Lope de Vega. Hardy is said to have composed six hundred plays, all in verse, of which only forty-one survive. Twentyfour hours sufficed him to write a tragedy or comedy, and many were written, studied, and acted within three days. If their quality was not of the best the payment was commensurate, being only three crowns each! Nevertheless, they were a great advance upon all that had gone before. Around him sprang up Théophile, Racan, Rotrou, all improving in decency of tone and propriety of language. Although all his later and greater works are de règle, they were so fettered, probably, rather out of obsequiousness to the cardinal and the critics than from conviction or preference. The merits and demerits of the three unities have been so frequently and fully discussed that a very few remarks upon them will suffice in this place. Their effect upon the French stage is evidenced in the frigid and unnatural productions of its classical era. The absurdity of such restrictions is apparent at a glance. If the imagination of the spectator is sufficiently strong to enable him to believe that while seated in his comfortable fauteuil he has been suddenly transported to the streets of ancient Rome, surely it can realize that during the interval of an act, or even of a change of scene, he has been shifted into a house, or a temple, or even into another land; if he can suppose that two thousand or more years have elapsed since he entered the theatre, he can imag The theatre in which these works were represented was even more rude than they. It was an oblong tennis-court, with an alcove at one end; three or four wooden frames on each side, and a painted curtain in the background; bands of blue paper, hanging from the ceiling, represented clouds. When the scene changed from one place to another, which happened very frequently, some draperies were raised or drawn aside, much in the fashion of modern scenery. Of the lives and social condition of the actors Scarron has given us some graphic pictures in his "Roman Co-ine that a few weeks, or months, or even mique." La Bruyère, writing some years years elapse while he is seated there. later, says: "The condition of the actor Even the observance of the rules necessiwas infamous among the Romans, hon- tate great stretches of fancy; they allow ourable among the Greeks; what is it twenty-four hours for the development of with us? We think of them as the Ro- an action which requires at most only mans, we live with them as the Greeks." three to represent. If an audience can make three stand for twenty-four, where is the difficulty of still further increasing the limit? Surely the most discursive action cannot be more absurd than to compress the great events of a life into a day and a night. The unities placed the poet at times in the most ridiculous and unnatural dilemmas. As an instance, in "The Cid," Rodrigue slays Don Gomes, marries his daughter, and conquers the Moors within the orthodox time: while Chimène changes from love to hate and back again Corneille was greatly censured by the to love within the same period; a not uncritics for totally ignoring such restric-paralleled instance, perhaps, in the psytions in his "Mélite." In his preface to chological history of woman, but, under the given circumstances, making a great demand upon our credulity. The classical forms and unities introduced by Jodelle, Baïf, and others, were entirely ignored by Hardy and his contemporaries, whose works were as irregular as Shakespeare's histories or "Winter's Tale." It was Chapelain who first suggested to Richelieu the propriety of enforcing the Aristotelian rules, a suggestion which so delighted the cardinal_that he bestowed upon him a pension of one thousand crowns and full authority over all the poets. Nine years earlier than the appearance of Sackville's "Gordubuc," the first regular play in the English language. Corneille quickly followed up "Mélite” and "Clitandre" with other comedies A M. Chalons, who had been secretary been offered to account for this dislike; some assert that he was jealous of a reception so much superior to that accorded to his own play; others that, for political reasons, he was averse to the glorification of the Spaniards. Whatever might have been the cause, he constrained the Académie to condemn it. At first it hesitated to run counter to the universal verdict of the public. "Make these gentlemen understand," he said to one of the officers of his household, "that I desire it, and that I shall love them as they love me." He was obeyed; and "The Cid" was condemned. But even so powerful a condemnation produced no effect upon the public, who continued to flock to the theatre in as great numbers, and to applaud the play as enthusiastically as before. No better idea of the pedantic criticism of the literary society of the age could be conveyed to the reader edition of Corneille, of the successive steps by which than the following description, translated from an old the play was condemned: "The one who commenced was M. de Scudéry, who The published his 'Observations against the Cid,' first of all to satisfy himself, and afterwards to please the cardinal, who formed among all his creatures both in court The cardinal, delighted to have found in Scudéry a and city a party to oppose the approvers of The Cid.' man who wished to oppose Corneille, requested him to submit his Observations' to the judgment of the Académie; and he obliged that assembly, spite of its repugnance and all its reasoning, to judicially examine the tragi-comedy and the Observations,' and to pronounce a censure upon it in the ordinary form. Académie assembled on the 16th of June, 1637, named Messieurs de Bourrey, Chapelain, and Desmarets, to task of these commissioners was only to examine the examine The Cid' and the Observations.' The work as a whole; fifteen days afterwards four other commissioners were appointed to examine the verse in particular. These last, who were Messieurs de Cerisy, Gombauld, Baro, and L'Etoile, acquitted themselves of their commission as directed, and the Académie conferences upon their remarks, M. Desmarets was at having deliberated in divers ordinary and extraordinary length ordered to put the finishing touch. But the examination of the body of the work was not so easy to those gentlemen. M. Chapelain, one of the three, made a digest of his reflections, which was presented to the cardinal, who was not entirely satisfied with it, and who made some notes upon the margins to intimate that he desired that the play of 'The Cid' should be declared entirely irregular. He said nevertheless that the substance was good, but that it was necessary to throw into it a few handfuls of flowers.' By the deliberation of the Académie the work was given to Messieurs de Cerisy, Cerisay, Gombauld, and Sirmond to polish. And Gombauld was named for the last revision of the style. All was read and examined by the company in divers ordinary and extraordinary assemblies, as if it had been a question of the ruin or safety of the State, and at length it was sent to press. The cardinal having seen the first leaves, was not satisfied with them, and under the pretext that M. de Cerisy had put in too many flowers, he stopped the impres sion. Having explained the manner in which he desired the work to be written, he gave the charge to M. Ram-Sirmond, who still did not satisfy him. Finally, M. Chapelain had to begin over again all that had been done by himself as well as by others. Out of this he composed the little book which we have under the title of Sentiments of the French Academy upon the tragi comedy of the Cid,' a work which cost five months' labour to the Académie and to the cardinal." Until then we knew not upon the stage [writes Guizot, in his "Corneille,"] either passion, duty, tenderness, or grandeur; and it was love, it was honour, such as the most exalted imagination conceives them, which for the first time and suddenly appeared in all their glory before a public for whom honour was the first virtue, and love the principal occupation of life. Notwithstanding the furore it created, however, it pleased not the Hôtel de bouillet or the critics, and what was of more serious consequence to the author, the cardinal evinced against it a remark able hostility. Various suggestions have VOL. XIII. 603 LIVING AGE. En vain contre le Cid un ministre se ligue, Tout Paris pour Chimène a les yeux de Ro- L'Académie en corps a beau le censurer, So wrote Boileau. 66 I 66 "next. with being destitute of original genius. To rebut this accusation he composed "Horace," which was produced in 1639, and was followed in the same year by "Cinna." So prodigious was the success of these plays that from that time classical At first the author resented this unjust subjects were considered to be alone "Polyeucte" persecution; but more prudent thoughts worthy of the tragic muse. quickly smothered his indignation. and "La Mort de Pompée" appeared am a little more worldly than Heliodorus," "Le Menteur," first acted in he said, "who preferred to lose his bish- 1642, adapted from the Spanish of Pedro opric to his book. I prefer the good de Roxas, may be considered as the first graces of my master to all the reputations work to which the term comedy, in its on earth." And the first edition of "The modern acceptance, can be applied. With Cid" was dedicated to the Duchesse this play his triumphs came to an end and d'Aiguillon, the cardinal's niece. Truth his genius entered upon its decadence, alto say, this most heroical of writers was though he continued to produce pieces at something of a timeserver in private life: short intervals, until the utter failure of several of his plays are dedicated in terms "Pertharite," in 1653, so disgusted him of the most fulsome flattery to rich nonen- with the theatre that he vowed never to tities; and for these adulations he re-write for it again. He kept his word for ceived far more money than ever he gained by his works; indeed, but for those tributes, spite of his genius and popularity, he might have starved.* 66 six years, and during that period gave himself up to the composition of poems upon religious subjects, the principal of which was a translation into verse of "Imitation of Jesus If Richelieu was hostile to the play, he Thomas à Kempis' proved, in a very momentous affair, that Christ." + In 1659, however, the king's he was a good friend to the author. Cor- superintendent of finance, the celebrated neille was passionately in love with a Fouquet, induced him to again tempt pubyoung girl named Mademoiselle de Lam-lic favour. Edipe" was the result of périère. Her father had little desire to this change of purpose, a very poor play bestow his daughter upon a poet whose upon a most terribly sublime subject. only fortune was his talent. He had a Several other works followed, not one of better match in view, and received Cor- which supported his previous fame. Very neille's first advances with a very ill grace. soon a young and most formidable rival, Fontenelle relates that one day, about this Jean Racine, entered the field, and then period, Richelieu, observing the poet the career of the elder poet was ended; a looked more thoughtful and sombre than bitter truth which was presently too clearly usual, asked him if he were at work upon a tragedy. He answered that his mind was far from being tranquil enough for composition, and that his head was turned with love. Richelieu made him relate the story of this wonderful passion, and then, without any comment, took leave of him. But immediately afterwards the young lady's father received an order to appear before the redoubtable minister. "He arrived," to translate Fontenelle's words, "all trembling at so unexpected an order, and returned very well satisfied to be let off by giving his daughter to a man who possessed so much credit." "The Cid" being to a certain extent an imitation, and in parts even a translation, the author was charged by his detractors He dedicated "Cinna" to one Montauron, president of the Parlement of Toulouse, whom he compared to Augustus. For this extravagant laudation he received one thousand pistoles. From that time "pitres à la Montauron" passed into a proverb to describe a lucrative dedication. manifested to him. The Princess Henri- - The greater portion of Corneille's life was passed quietly at Rouen, far away from the scene of his triumphs and failures. It was this voluntary rustication, rather than an insufficient appreciation of his genius, that so long delayed his admission to the Académie, an honour not accorded him until 1647. In 1676 Louis XIV. ordered a revival of all his greater works, which had not been represented for several years; a Steele's "Lying Lover," and Foote's "Liar" are adaptations of the same play. Voltaire says: "It is reported that Corneille's translation of The Imitation of Jesus Christ' has been printed thirty times; it is as difficult to believe this as it is to read the book once." mark of royal favour that called forth the most eager expressions of gratitude from the old poet, and a petition that a similar grace might be extended to his other plays. During the last years of his life he seems to have sunk into obscurity; his generation had passed away, and court and public had found new idols. is fame! His portraits represent him as possessing a fine intellectual face, with eyes full of fire, but with the figure and air of a bourgeois. This physical discrepancy was equally reflected in his mind. He was excessively timid, and his manner was awkward, especially when in the presence of the great; his conversation was tedious, his language incorrect, and his elocution so bad that in reading he could not give any effect even to his own verses; he was acutely sensitive to all rivalry, and the great fame achieved by Racine embittered the latter years of his life. Very few Englishmen of the present day have any acquaintance with his works, still fewer take any pleasure in reading them; their tedious and inflated speeches, rendered yet more tedious by the monotonous jingle of the metre, the perpetually recurring antitheses, the lack of all human sympathy and semblance in their characIn Dangeau's journal, under date Octo- ters, render the perusal of his plays a ber 31st, 1684, we find this entry: "To-wearisome task. To judge their merits day died the good man Corneille." Such impartially it is necessary to isolate the (Teutonic) mind from all preconceived ideas of excellence and standards of taste. We must forget for a time all our former dramatic studies, and keep constantly before us the opposite principles upon which the English and the French classical drama are constructed, and the deduction therefrom— that the beauties of the one are the faults of the other. Our basis of excellence is the nearest possible approximation to nature, and a faithful picture of the various conflicting and contradictory passions that sway the human soul; the French classical school requires in its dramatic characters an elevation, whether The jealousy of Corneille [says Guizot] was of virtue, courage, grandeur, or wickedthat of a child who desires only a smile to reas-ness, above humanity, and perfect consure him against caresses given to his brother; it was that weakness which caused him to see in every event something to disquiet him, and in the most trifling affairs objects of horror. "He was melancholy," says Fontenelle," and it required much more substantial things to render him hopeful and happy, than it did to vex and terrify him; nothing could equal his incapacity for business unless it was his aver-guage spoken by these sublimated beings sion for it, and the slightest thing caused him fright and terror. At home his humour was brusque, sometimes rude in appearance, but in the bottom he was very easy to live with and was a good father, a good husband, a good relation, tender and full of friendship." In the world he was by turns proud and humble, vain of his genius, but incapable of drawing from it any authority. At the end of his life this weakness of character was increased by physical debility. Corneille was the father of the French drama; he found it crude, dull, without a spark of genius to illumine the leaden mass, he left it one of the literatures of the world. He was also a representative man, since he, more than any other, was an embodiment of the higher literary spirit of his age, and fixed the tragic drama of his country for nearly two centuries. Molière, like our own Shakespeare, while reflecting the world which surrounded him, mirrored the eternal aspect of humanity, and thus became a writer for all time. Racine was but a disciple of the elder master, the materials were moulded ready to his hand. sistency of thought and action; a hero must be always a hero, even to his valet. To the one nature is the all-sufficient model, to the other she is a poor imperfect creature, who can be rendered presentable only by very high-heeled cothurni, much padding, and a heroic mask. The lan must not approach the ordinary utterances Enfin je me vois libre, et je puis, sans con- sirs; fluences which surrounded it; a greater mind would have moulded the taste of the age, his was moulded by it. Had he pursued the vein he opened in "The Cid" he would have done better things and given to his nation an original dramatic literature instead of the weak imitation of a great but defunct one. In spite of its artificial language, and the improbabilities of the action, arising from the restrictions of the unities, his play contains many natural touches and a certain truthfulness to nature. But it was these touches, and this truthfulness which, while they won the hearts of the public, procured its condemnation by the critics. Had he boldly defied the last and trusted to the truer instincts of the former he would have become a much greater writer; but he had not the courage; perhaps it would have required a higher than could be expected from less than one of his superhuman heroes to have braved Richelieu and the of the early Christians, which was condemned by the Hôtel de Rambouillet for having too much of Christianity in it. "Rodogune" is perhaps the most powerful of all his works; but the same faults pervade all — his Romans are French heroes; his heroines talk the language of précieuses; the dialogues of his lovers are thèses d'amour, in which they perpetually argue upon the property or impropriety of their attachment in the neatest epigrams and antitheses. Two despairing lovers meet after a long separation to find one married to another, and part with these words: Adieu trop vertueux objet et trop charmant. Pauline. Adicu trop malheureux et trop parfait amant. Polyeucte, act 2, scene 2. A husband being led away to death for his pagan wife. Here is their last partembracing Christianity desires to convert ing: Pauline. Au nom de cet amour ne m'abandon ncz pas. Polyeucte. Au nom de cet amour daignez suivre Hôtel de Rambouillet. The précieuses, These criticisms were sufficient to extinguish all Corneille's proclivities to the natural, which he henceforward carefully avoided. In "Horace," his next play, poor love seems introduced only to be shown its insignificance when compared with sterner virtues, and everybody acts and thinks with the undeviating regularity of machines. Yet it is a fine work notwithstanding; the characters of the two Horaces are truly Roman, and the last scene of Camille has the ring of real passion in it. Over "Cinna" the critics went into ecstasies, pronouncing it to be his masterpiece; but only a sense of duty could, I think, induce any one but a Frenchman enthusiastic upon the school to read it through at the present day. The utter dreariness of its long bombastic speeches, its disagreeable and unnatural characters, and, above all, its horrible heroine, whom an admiring Frenchman has called "that adorable shrew," render it repulsive in the extreme. A far more interesting work is "Polyeucte," a story mes pas. C'est peu de me quitter, tu veux donc me séduire ? C'est peu d'aller au ciel, je vous y veux Paul. Imaginations. conduire. Célestes vérités. Paul, Etrange aveuglement ! Pol. Eternelles clartés! Paul. Tu préfères la mort à l'amour de Pauline! Pol. Vous préfèrez le monde à la bonté divine! etc. Love with Corneille is not a passion but a fatality, dependent, not upon sentiment, but upon certain arbitrary agreméns; few of his heroines have anything feminine except the name, and they make a parade of virtues which they employ only to drive their desperate lovers to acts more frequently evil than good. "Their love," says St. Beuve, "is rather of the head than the heart." Having presented several examples of his faults, it is but fair to close this article with a specimen of his excellence. I select Camille's last speech to Horace, her brother, who has killed Curiace, her affianced husband. It is her malediction upon Rome: Rome, l'unique objet de mon ressentiment ! amant, Rome, qui t'a vu naître, et que ton cœur adore! |