THE FATHER OF FRENCH TRAGEDY--THE JESTER--THE DRAMATIST.
MEN OF THE PAST.
During my residence in Paris I became very much interested in the
history of the great men of France, not only in the present day, but in
past years. I was not so well acquainted with the great French masters
in literature, especially of the past, as with the great men of English
history. I believe this to be the fact with most Americans. I soon found
that to know France, to know Paris to-day, I needed to have by heart the
history of her heroes of to-day and yesterday, and especially of those
great men who made Paris their home and final resting-place. The
influence of these men over the minds, manners, and even the morals of
the people of Paris, is still very great. Nowhere is genius more
praised, or adored with a greater devotion, than in Paris. Rank must
there doff its hat to genius, which is the case in no other country but
the American republic. It will then not be out of place for me to sketch
a very few of the most brilliant men who in the years which have fled
away lighted with their smiles the saloons of Paris. I will commence
with
THE FATHER OF FRENCH TRAGEDY.
In the Rue d'Argenteuil, number 18, there is a small quiet house, in
which Corneille, the father of French tragedy, breathed his last. It
has a black marble slab in front, and a bust in the yard with the
following inscription:
"_Je ne dois qu'a moi seul toute ma renommee_."
The great man lies buried in the beautiful church of St. Roch, where a
tablet is erected to his memory.
Corneille was the son of Pierre Corneille, master of forests and waters
in the viscounty of Rouen. His mother was of noble descent, but the
couple were somewhat poor. The dramatist was born in 1606, and early
became a pupil of the Jesuits of Rouen. He was educated for the law, but
had no taste for that profession, and although he attempted to practice
it he was unsuccessful. It was well for France that such was the fact,
for had it been otherwise, she would have lost one of her most brilliant
names.
When Corneille entered upon life, there was no theater in France, though
there were exhibitions of various kinds. At last a few wretched plays
were written by inferior men, and they were acted upon the stage by
inferior actors. Corneille, while vainly endeavoring to win success at
the bar, was incited to write a comedy, and produced one under the title
of "_Melite_." The plot was suggested by an incident in his own life. A
friend of his was very much in love with a lady, and introduced him to
her, that he might, after beholding her charms, indite a sonnet to her
in the name of his friend. The poet found great favor in the eyes of the
lady, and the original lover was cast into the shade. This incident was
the reason Why Corneille wrote "_Melite_." The success of the piece was
very great, a new company of players was established in Paris, and at
that time it was fully equal to any comedy which had been written in the
French language, though it reads dull enough at the present day. The
poet traveled up to Paris to witness his play upon the stage, and was so
well pleased with its reception, that he went on writing plays. They
were without merit, however. He had not yet struck the key-note of his
after greatness.
With four other authors, Corneille was appointed to correct the plays of
Richelieu. Parties quickly sprung into existence in the _salons_ of
Paris. Some of them espoused the cause of Corneille--others openly
traduced his plays and were his enemies. He had the independence to
correct one of Richelieu's plays without the consent of his comrades,
and Richelieu reprimanded him for it. He became disgusted and left Paris
for Rouen. He was quite willing, too, to return to the lady who had
inspired his sonnet. She was very beautiful, and he continued to love
her until his death, and this may be said to be the only lasting passion
of his life.
The poet was not much of a scholar, though well informed. He next wrote
a tragedy entitled "_Media_," and then another comedy called "_The
Illusion_." But he had not yet hit upon the note of success. Soon after,
when about thirty years of age, he commenced the study of the Spanish
language.
An Italian secretary of the queen counseled him to this course, and
advised him to read the "_Cid_" of de Castro, with an idea of making it
a subject for a drama. Corneille followed his advice, and produced a
tragedy which roused all France to enthusiasm. Paris was one prolonged
storm of applause, and when one praised an object, he said "It is fine
as the _Cid!_" The play was translated into the different languages of
all the civilized nations. Fontenelle says: "I knew two men, a soldier
and a mathematician, who had never heard of any other play that had
ever been written, but the name of Cid had penetrated even the barbarous
state in which they lived."
The dramatist had enemies--no man can quickly achieve renown without
making them--and some of them were exceedingly bitter in their attacks
upon him. Richelieu, the cardinal, was excessively annoyed that the man
he had reprimanded should have achieved success, and the French Academy
of Criticism, which was deeply under his influence, after discussions
decided somewhat against "The Cid." This suited the cardinal, but the
poet kept a wise silence, making no reply.
The next effort of Corneille was that resulting in the tragedy of
"_Horace_," which was a master-piece, and was received with unbounded
applause. He surpassed this effort, however, in his next piece, called
"_Cinna_." After this--which many consider his best drama--came
"_Polyeceute"_, a beautiful piece. In it the Christian virtues are
illustrated, and when read before a conclave of learned men, they
deputied Voiture to the poet, to induce him, if possible, to withdraw
it, for the christianity in it the people would not endure. But the play
went to the people without amendment, and so beautiful was its
character, and so delightful the acting, that it carried away the hearts
of the listeners.
Corneille now tried again to write comedy, but did not succeed so well
as in tragedy. He triumphed, however, over a rival, and that to him was
something, though the play is an inferior one. From this time the poet
wrote no better, but in truth worse and worse. He did not fail to write
beautiful scenes, but failed in selecting good subjects. He established
himself in Paris, and could do so with comfort, for the king bestowed a
pension upon him. Before this he had resided at Rouen, running up to
Paris quite often. In 1642 he was elected a member of the French
Academy. He was never a courtier, and was not fitted to shine in gay
Parisian circles. His tastes were very simple, and he was in his manners
like a rustic. To see him in a drawing-room you would not think the man
a genius, nor even a bright specimen of his kind. Some of his friends
remonstrated with him, and tried to rouse him from his sluggishness in
society. He always replied, "I am not the less Pierre Corneille."
La Bruyere says of him, "He is simple and timid; tiresome in
conversation--using one word for another--he knows not how to recite his
own verses." It is strange that he came to Paris, for he loved the
country better, and many attribute the remove to his brother, who was
also winning success as a dramatist.
It had been well if after this Corneille had been content to write no
more plays, for everyone he now produced only proved that his genius
had decayed. The old cunning was gone. A young rival sprung up, the
graceful Racine, and for awhile the old favorite was forgotten, or
laughed at.
Racine took a line from one of his pieces and used it in such a manner
as to excite laughter. Corneille said: "It ill becomes a young man to
make game of other people's verses." Unfortunately he was tempted into a
duel with Racine. The latter triumphed as a writer for the time, and
Corneille stopped his pen, as he should have done a long time before.
But often he had the pleasure of seeing some of his best pieces enacted
upon the stage, and they always excited great enthusiasm. He also knew
that the refined and critical loved his best plays--the better the more
they read them.
The conduct of the poet through his whole life was, in the main, such
as to excite great admiration in after generations. He was no sycophant
in that age of fawning courtiers. He was simple and manly. He was always
melancholy and cared little for the vanities of life. Though poor in
early life, he cared but little about money. The king gave him a pension
of two thousand francs, which at that time was a good income. He was
generous and died utterly poor. One evening when age had bowed his form
he entered a Paris theater. The great _Conde_ was present, and prince
and people as one man rose in honor of the great dramatist. He died in
his seventy-ninth year, and Racine pronounced a high eulogy upon him,
before the academy. Such was its beauty that the king caused it to be
recited before him. In it he extolled the genius of the man who had at
one time been his rival, and he taught his children to revere his
memory.
In France, much more in Paris, the name of Corneille is to-day half
sacred. The house he lived and died in has many visitors, and to his
tomb many a pilgrim comes. And it is not strange that Parisians adore
him, for he was the father of comedy as well as tragedy. It was his
plays that caused the erection of commodious theaters. His plays have
continued to hold their place in the affections of the nation, and he is
reverenced more to-day than he was while living. The foreigner cannot
understand fully the character of modern French dramatists, and that of
their works, without knowing something of Corneille, nor can he wander
long among the streets of Paris, without becoming aware of the
estimation in which he is held at the present time by the intelligent
classes.
THE GREAT JESTER
Rabelais was born in 1483. He was a learned scholar, a physician, and a
philosopher. He was called "the great jester of France," by Lord Bacon.
Many buffooneries are ascribed to him unjustly, and he was a greater man
than certain modern writers make him out to be.
His place of birth was Chinon, a little town of Touraine. His father was
a man of humble means. He received his early education in a convent near
his home. His progress was very slow and he was removed to another. He
promised poorly for future distinction, but at the second convent he was
fortunate in making the acquaintance of Du Ballay who afterward became a
bishop and cardinal, and whose friendship he retained to the day of his
death.
He was again removed to another convent, where he applied himself to the
cultivation of his talents. There was, however, no library in the place.
Rabelais soon took to preaching, and with the money he was paid for it,
he purchased books. His brother monks hated him for his eloquence in
preaching, and for his evident learning. He was persecuted by these men
and suffered a great deal, principally because he knew Greek. For some
alleged slight offered against the rules of the convent, they wreaked
their vengeance upon him by condemning him to the prison cell, and to a
diet of bread and water. They also applied their hempen cords
thoroughly, and this course of treatment soon reduced Rabelais to a very
weak condition. His friends were by this time powerful and they obtained
his release, and a license from the Pope for him to pass from this
convent to another. But he was thoroughly disgusted with convent life,
and fled from it, wandering over the provinces as a secular priest. He
next gave up this employment altogether, and took to the study of
medicine. He went through the different steps of promotion and was made
a professor. He delivered medical lectures, and a volume of his--an
edition of Hippocrates--was long held in high estimation by the medical
faculty of France.
A medical college of Montpellier had been deprived for some reason of
its privileges, and Rabelais was deputed to Chancellor Duprat to solicit
a restoration of them. The story is told--to illustrate his
learning--that when he knocked at the chancellor's house he addressed
the person who came to the door in Latin, who could not understand that
language; a man shortly presented himself who could, and Rabelais
addressed him in Greek. Another map was sent for, and he was addressed
in Hebrew, and so on. The singularity of the circumstance arrested the
attention of the chancellor, and Rabelais was at once invited to his
presence. He succeeded in restoring the lost honors to the college, and
such was the enthusiasm of the students that ever after, when taking
degrees, they wore Rabelais scarlet gowns. This usage continued till the
revolution.
Rabelais now went to Lyons, and still later to Rome as the physician to
Du Ballay, who was ambassador at that court. Some writers claim that he
went as buffoon instead of physician, but this is unsupported by
evidence. Many stories are told of his buffooneries at the court of
Rome, but unquestionably the majority were entirely untrue. One story
told, however, is good enough to be true. The pope expressed his
willingness to grant Rabelais a favor. The wit replied that if such was
the fact, he begged his holiness to excommunicate him. The pope wished
to know the reason. The wit replied that some very honest gentlemen of
his acquaintance in Touraine had been burned, and finding it a common
saying in Italy when a fagot would not burn "that it had been
excommunicated by the pope's own mouth," he wished to be rendered
incombustible by the same process. It is asserted that Rabelais offended
the pope by his buffooneries, but the assertion can scarcely be
believed. When he had resided for a time in Rome, Rabelais went to
Lyons, then returned to the holy city, and after a second visit went to
Paris, where he entered the family of Cardinal du Bellay, who had also
returned from Rome. He confided to Rabelais the government of his
household, and persuaded the pope to secularize the abbey of St.
Maurdes-Fosses, and conferred it upon the wit. He next bestowed upon him
the cure of Meudon, which he retained while he lived.
One of the first of Rabelais' books was entitled "_Lives of the great
Giant Garagantua and his Son Pantagruel"_. To it he owes a great deal of
his reputation and popularity. It created a vast deal of talk, and was
both highly praised and bitterly attacked. The champions of the church
criticised his book with great severity. Calvin the reformer also wrote
against it with much earnestness. The Sorbonne attacked it for teaching
heresy and atheism, and it was condemned by the court of parliament.
The subjects held up for ridicule were the vices of the popes, the
avarice of the prelates, and the universal debaucheries of the monastic
orders. It was a wonderful book for the times, and it required great
courage in Rabelais to venture upon its publication. He would have lost
position, and perhaps his liberty, had it not been for the monarch
Francis I., who sent for the volume, read it, and declared it to be
innocent and good reading, and protected the author. The sentence
against the book amounted to nothing after this, and it was everywhere
read and admired. Rabelais was set down as the first wit and scholar of
his age.
The character of the book we have noticed cannot be defended. Its
irreverent use of scripture quotations, and loose wit, are not to be
overlooked, but there was no advocacy of atheism in it. Indeed we must
look upon Rabelais as acting the part of a reformer. If he had sought
simply popularity and the favor of the court and church, he would
certainly not have written a book which is a scathing attack upon pope,
prelate, and monk. The book is full of dirty expressions--but the age
was a very impure one, and we should not judge him too severely. He was
a Frenchman, and French wit in all ages has taken great liberties with
decency.
Among the other books which Rabelais wrote, we may mention "_Several
Almanacs_," "_The Powers of Chevalier de Longery_," "_Letters from
Italy_," "_The Philosophical Cream_," etc. etc. His greatest book, which
we have mentioned, went through a great number of editions and had a
tremendous sale. It was republished in several foreign states.
Rabelais was a scholar, for he knew well fourteen languages, and wrote
with facility Greek, Latin, and Italian. He was a good physician, an
accomplished naturalist, a correct mathematician, an astronomer, an
architect, a painter, a musician, and last of all, a wit and
philosopher. He was a good pastor over the parishioners of Meudon, and
acted as physician to their bodies as well as souls.
There are idle tales to the effect that he made his will as follows: "I
have nothing--I owe much--I leave the rest to the poor." And also that
he sent a message as follows, to Cardinal du Ballay. "Tell the cardinal
I am going to try the great 'perhaps'--you are a fool--draw the
curtain--the farce is done." These were fictions invented by the very
pious Catholics, who hated him for his satires upon the church.
Rabelais must have been a great man. Even his learning alone would have
made him the most distinguished man in France at the time he lived.
Those who hated him have tried to cover his memory with shame, and have
represented him as merely a buffoon, but such was not the truth. He did
often descend to buffooneries and to almost obscene sayings, and these
things have had their influence upon France, and have contributed to
make the French people what they are to-day--a nation of professed
Catholics, but really a nation of infidels and atheists. But Rabelais
was more than a wit. He was a public benefactor. He improved medical
science, and was as much a reformer in his laughable attacks upon the
fat and lazy monks, as was Calvin himself.
Rabelais died at the age of seventy, and was buried in the churchyard of
St. Paul, Rue des Jardins, at the foot of a beautiful tree which was
preserved in his memory. No monument was ever placed over his grave, but
he did not need one to perpetuate his memory.
THE DRAMATIST.
One of the men of the past who exerted and still exerts a wide influence
over French literature, is Racine. He was born in 1639, in the small
town Ferte-Milon, in Valois. The parents died while he was in infancy,
and he and a sister, their only children, were left orphans in the care
of their maternal grandfather. This sister remained in Ferte-Milon
during her life, which was not long. Racine was not happy while young,
and being neglected by his grandparents felt it keenly. He was a scholar
at Beauvais, and attached himself to one of the political parties which
at that time always sprang up in schools and colleges. He was in one of
their contests wounded upon his forehead, and bore the scar through
life.
Racine was transferred from Beauvais to the school of the convent of
Port Royal, and the Jesuits noticing his natural quickness, bestowed
careful attention upon his education. He was so wretchedly poor that he
could not buy copies of the classics, and he was obliged to use those
owned by others, and which were much inferior to copies he could have
purchased had he possessed money. He was early struck with the beauty of
the Greek writers--and more especially the Greek tragedians. He wandered
in the woods with Sophocles and Euripides in his hands, and many years
after could recite their chief plays from memory. He got hold of the
Greek romance of Theogines and Chariclea, but the priests would not
tolerate such reading and committed the volume to the flames. He got
another copy and it shared the same fate. He concluded to purchase
another, kept it till he learned it by heart, and then took it to the
priests and told them they might have that also.
At Port Royal Racine was happy. He was a gentle-hearted boy and his
masters loved him. He early began to compose verses and showed an
intense love of poetry. At nineteen he left Port Royal for the college
of Harcour, at Paris. When he was twenty-one Louis XIV. was married, and
invited every versifier in the kingdom to write in honor of the
occasion. Racine was an obscure student and was unknown as a poet. He
wrote a poem on the marriage, and it was shown to M. Chapelain, who was
the poetical critic of Paris at that time. He thought it showed a good
deal of promise and suggested a few alterations. It was carried to the
patron of the critic, who sent him a hundred louis from the king, and a
pension of six hundred livres. The poet's friends were anxious that he
should choose a profession, and that of the bar was strongly urged upon
him. He objected. An uncle who had a benefice at Uzes, wished to resign
it to his nephew. Racine concluded to visit his uncle in the provinces.
He remained for some time there, but he found there was little hope of
advancement and grew restless. The scenery around him was magnificent,
yet, though he was a poet, he had no eye for the grand and impressive in
scenery. He was too much of a Parisian for that. A Parisian is all
art--and cares nothing for nature. He prefers fine buildings and
paintings to fields, mountains, and majestic rivers.
Racine wrote a poem entitled "_The Bath of Venus_," and began a play
upon the Greek one of Theogines and Chariclea, which had delighted him
so much when he was young. He returned to Paris somewhat discouraged,
after an absence of only three months. Here, through the rivalry of two
play-writers, he was persuaded to write very hastily a new play. He
consented, and produced one which was well received by the Parisians. It
did not do justice to his powers, however, and he soon after wrote
"_Alexandre_," which was an advance upon the previous performance. He
was unacquainted with the English or Spanish drama, and had studied only
the French of Corneille, and the Greek. He attempted the Greek drama,
and of course found it very difficult to render dramas founded upon
Grecian national subjects, and with Grecian manners, interesting to a
Parisian audience. "_Alexandre_" was not successful upon the stage, but
the best critics did not hesitate to award the premium of great dramatic
genius to Racine, and he was encouraged to go on.
While the dramatist was writing "_Andromaque_" he was bitterly attacked
by the leader of a sect of religionists for the wretched morality of his
play. He felt the attack keenly, and that it was just, no American will
deny, though Frenchmen will. The poet replied to the attack in a witty
and satirical letter.
The "_Andromaque_" of Racine had a fine success, and one character was
so full of passion and was so well represented upon the stage, that it
cost the life of the actor who fell dead from excitement. Then followed
in quick succession "_Brittonicus_" and "_Berenice_," which were also
successful. His plays were full of intense passion and eloquence, and it
would not give the reader a fair idea of their influence over the
French, did we not admit that their representations of human life were
such as to undermine the morality of those who listened to them. The
plays of Racine have exerted a prodigious influence over the intelligent
classes of Paris, and their wretched morality poisoned the nation. For
my part, when I consider the literature of France--and no one can judge
of a people without knowing its literature--I do not wonder that a very
low morality exists throughout the country, but more especially in
Paris. The great plays of past and modern times are saturated with
licentiousness--the great romances of past and present years, are foul
with impurities. Racine, living in an age of licentiousness, reflects it
in his plays, and his plays are admired to-day in Paris, as of yore;
hence it follows that those who go and see them acted must be somewhat
affected by their immorality. Madame Rachel has made the characters of
Racine familiar to all France, and has revived all his blemishes as well
as beauties.
The poet met with much severe criticism after the representation of the
last mentioned of his plays. Madame Sevigne was one of Corneille's
warmest admirers, and did not join the company of Racine worshipers. A
benefice was now given the poet, but soon after it was disputed by a
priest; lawsuits began, and finally he relinquished it in disgust.
Racine, Moliere, Boileau, and others were in the habit of meeting and
having convivial suppers together, and on such occasions Racine
projected new plays, and characters were often suggested to him by his
fellow authors. In one of his after plays, which was not successful, he
showed a talent for comedy far above mediocrity. It was once represented
before the king, who laughed so hard that his courtiers were astonished.
Racine was elected member of the Academy in 1673, and made a very modest
speech when the honor was conferred upon him. He brought out one after
another, "_Bajazet_," "_Mithridates_," "_Phoedra_," and "_Iphigenia_,"
all of which had an excellent reception. The day "_Phoedra_" was brought
out, another dramatist brought out a drama with the same title. He had
powerful friends who went so far as to pack his theater, and buy boxes
at the theater upon the stage of which Racine's play was to be enacted,
and leave them empty. This incident shows us the fierceness of rivalry
between authors at that time. To such an extent was the quarrel carried
by the friends of the respective authors, that Racine, who was a very
sensitive man, resolved to renounce the drama. His early religious
education tended to strengthen his resolution. He soon became a severe
and stern religionist, undergoing penances to expiate the guilt incurred
for his life of sin. His confessor advised him to marry some woman of
piety, to help him on in his good work, and he therefore married. The
woman was Catherine de Romenet. She was of a higher position, and was
wealthy. She knew nothing of the drama, was not fond of poetry, and was
a very strict religious woman. She was sincere and affectionate, and
wrought a wonderful change in Racine. Under her quiet tuition he became
very narrow in his religious convictions, but quite happy in his mind.
He brought up his children with the same views, and they all took
monastic vows. His daughters were, one after another, given to the
convent. He had seven children in all, and found it difficult to meet
all his family expenses.
At this time he was made historiographer to the king, and witnessed many
important battles. His life at court was very pleasant to him, and
though he was a little too much inclined to be servile, yet he was
generally an upright man. The story is told of him, that once when in
the bosom of his little family, an attendant of the great duke came to
invite him to dinner at the Hotel de Conde.
He sent back the reply, "I cannot go; I have returned to my family
after an absence of eight days; they have got a fine carp for me, and
would be much disappointed if I did not share it with them."
Boileau and Racine were very intimate friends, and many anecdotes are
related of them. Boileau had wit--Racine humor, and a natural turn for
raillery. The contests of the two were often amusing. The king was much
pleased with the dramatist, and gave him a suit of apartments in the
palace, and the privilege of attending his parties. Madame de Maintenon
made a great favorite of him. He could recite poetry freely, and was
asked to declaim before a young princess. He found that she had been
learning some of his own plays. One of the best of his plays was
performed in the presence of Madame de Maintenon, who liked it so well
that she beseeched him to write a play which should contain no offensive
sentiments. Racine was in agony, for he feared to injure his reputation.
His vow prevented his return to his old employment, yet he feared to
refuse the request. He compromised the matter by dramatising the
touching bible history of Esther. At court the play had a wonderful
success, and the poet tried again upon the story of Atheliah of the
house of Judah; and in "_Athalie_" we have the best of all his dramas.
Singular as it may seem, this play was not well received at court, and
Racine felt mortified. Boileau told him, however, that posterity would
declare it the best of all his plays, and he was right.
It was about this time that the dramatist received the keenest blow
which he had experienced hi his lifetime, and which broke his heart.
Madame de Maintenon was his warm friend, and was extremely fond of his
society. The country was at that time in great distress, and she
conversed with the poet upon the subject. She was much pleased with his
observations, and asked him to commit them to paper, promising that what
he should write should be seen by no eye but her own. He complied with
her request, and while she was one day reading his essay, the king
suddenly entered, and casting his eye upon the paper, demanded the name
of the author. Madame de Maintenon broke her promise, and gave the name
of the writer. The king was very angry, and asked, "Does he think that
he knows everything because he writes verses?"
Madame de Maintenon saw at once that the king was much displeased, and
felt it to be her duty to inform the poet, that he might stay away from
court for a while, until the monarch's anger died away. Racine was
plunged into the deepest distress, and grew daily weak and ill. He
wandered over the park of Versailles, hoping to accidentally meet Madame
de Maintenon, for she did not dare to receive him publicly. He at length
met her, and she promised that she would yet bring pleasanter days to
the poet--that the cloud would soon pass away. He replied with great
melancholy that no fair weather would return for him.
One day, while in his study, he was seized with a sudden illness, and
was obliged to take at once to his bed. An abscess in his liver had
closed, though this was not known at the time. His disease grew very
painful, and he became more patient and resigned. As death drew near,
his original sweetness of disposition came back to him, and his deep
melancholy fled away. The nobles of the court gathered around his
bed-side, and the king sent to make inquiries as to his condition. He
arranged all his pecuniary affairs. Boileau was with him, and when he
bade him farewell, he said, "I look on it as a happiness that I die
before you."
When the physicians had discovered the abscess in his liver, they
resolved upon an operation, and he consented, though with no hope of
saving his life. He said, "The physicians try to give me hope, and God
could restore me; but the work of death is done." In three more days he
expired, in his sixtieth year. Thus lived and died one of the most
brilliant men in the history of France.