without acknowledgment, what he had read. Some of his tales are to be
found in the "Facetiæ" of Poggius;--that, for instance, which has been
versified by Lafontaine and Dryden: and he applied to himself, after
Lucian (in his treatise of the manner of writing history), the story of
Diogenes rolling his tub during the siege of Corinth. Lucian has been
called his prototype. Their essentially distinctive traits may be seen
at a glance in their respective uses of this anecdote of the cynic
philosopher: in the redundant picturesque buffoonery of dialogue and
description of the one; the felicity, humour, severer judgment, and
chaster style of the other.
It is impossible to characterise the fantastic cloud of words, so far
beyond any thing understood by copiousness or diffuseness, conjured up
sometimes by Rabelais; his vagrant digressions, astounding
improbabilities, and monstrous exaggerations: but he has that rare
endowment which all but redeems these faults, and charms the
reader,--the talent of narrating. His great and fatal blemish is his
grossness, his disregard of all decency, his sympathy with nastiness,
his invasion of all that is weak and vile in the recesses of nature and
the imagination. But it should be said for him, at the same time, that
his is the coarseness which revolts, rather than the depravity which
contaminates; and not only his affectation of a diction more antique
than even his own age, but his use of the vulgar provincialisms called
in France _Patois_, limit his popularity in the original to readers of
his own country, and the better informed of other countries.
Rabelais had a host of imitators in his own age, and that which
immediately succeeded: they have all sunk into utter and just oblivion,
with the exception, perhaps, of Beroalde de Verville, author of the
"Moyen de Parvenir." Scarron more recently made Rabelais his model, with
a congenial taste for buffoonery and burlesque. Molière has not
disdained to borrow from him in his comedies. Lafontaine has versified
several of the tales introduced in his romance, and has even inclined to
his diction. Swift has condescended to be indebted to him. "Gulliver's
Travels" and the "Tale of a Tub" both bear decisive evidence, not only
in particular passages, but in their respective designs, of the author's
being well acquainted with the romance of "Garagantua and Pantagruel."
But the imitations only prove Swift's incomparable superiority of
judgment and genius. No two things can be more different, than the grave
and governed humour of Swift, and the laughing mask of everlasting
buffoonery worn by Rabelais: both employ in their fictions the
mock-marvellous and gigantic; but Swift observes, throughout, a
proportioned scale in his creations, whilst Rabelais outrages all
proportion and probability: for instance, in his absurd yet laughable
fiction of Panurge's six months' travels, and his discovery of
mountains, valleys, rocks, cities, in the mouth of the great giant
Pantagruel. Sterne's "Tristram Shandy" is more closely modelled upon the
romance of Rabelais. There is the same love of farce, whim, and
burlesque, even to the theology of the schoolmen; the same love of
digression and wandering: but in Sterne, a superior finesse of
perception and expression, the relief of mirth and pathos intermingled,
and, above all, a tone of finer humanity.
Rabelais left, besides his romance, "Certain Books of Hippocrates;" and
"The Ars Medicinalis of Galen," revised, edited, and commented by him;
"The Second Part of the Medical Epistles of Manardi, a physician of
Ferrara," edited and commented; "The Will of Lucius Cuspidius;" and "A
Roman Agreement of Sale--venerable Remains of Antiquity:" (Rabelais was
deceived--they were forgeries: the one by Pomponius Lætus; the other by
Pontanus, whom Rabelais, on discovering his mistake, gibbeted in his
romance). "Marliani's Topography of Ancient Rome," merely republished by
him; "Several Almanacks, calculated under the Meridian of the noble City
of Lyons;" "Military Stratagems and Prowess of the renowned Chevalier de
Langey," a relative of his patron cardinal du Bellay (doubtful whether
his); "Letters from Italy, addressed to the Bishop of Maillezieux," with
a historical commentary, far exceeding the bulk of the text, by the
brothers St. Marthe; "La Sciomachie" (sham battle)--a description of the
fête given at Rome by cardinal du Bellay, in honour of the birth of the
duke of Orleans, son of Francis I.; "Epistles," in Latin prose and
French verse; "Smaller Pieces" of French poetry; "The Pantagrueline
Prognostication," connected with the romance; and "The Philosophical
Cream," a burlesque on the disputations of the schoolmen and the
Sorbonne.
"The heroic Lives of the great Giants Garagantua and Pantagruel" have
gone through countless editions, various expurgations, and endless
commentaries; but the most valuable or curious are Duchat's, with a
historical and critical commentary, in French; Motteux's, with similar
commentaries, in English; an edition by the bookseller Bernard, of
Amsterdam, in 1741, with the annotations of the two former, revised and
criticised, and illustrations of the text engraved from drawings by
Picart; an edition, in three volumes, Paris, 1823, with a copious
glossary, a curious and highly illustrative table of contents, and
"Rabelæsiana," collected from the author's book, not from his life;
another Paris edition, of the same date, in nine volumes, with a
"variorum" commentary, from the earliest annotators down to Ginguené,
valuable from its copiousness rather than discernment. This last edition
gives the 120 wood-cut Pantagruelian caricatures, first published in
1655, under the title of "Songes drolatiques," and ascribed, upon
questionable grounds, to Rabelais.
It has been said, with every appearance of truth, that the conversation
and character of Rabelais were greatly superior to his book. He knew
fourteen languages, dead and living, including Hebrew and Arabic, and
wrote Greek, Latin, and Italian. The Greek which he puts into the mouth
of Panurge, though not the purest, even for a modern, is fluent and
correct. We may remark, in passing, that the Greek word "αὐτὸ"
given as part of the text in the common character, is written "afto." He
was conversant with all the sciences and most of the arts of his time: a
physician, a naturalist, a mathematician, an astronomer, a theologian, a
jurist, an antiquary, an architect, a grammarian, a poet, a musician, a
painter. His person and deportment are described as noble and graceful,
his countenance engaging and expressive, his society agreeable, his
disposition generous and kind. He was the physician as well as pastor of
his parishioners at Meudon, where he passed his time between the society
of men of letters and his friends, his clerical and medical duties, and
teaching the children who chanted in the choir the elements of music. He
died, it is supposed, in 1553, at the age of seventy, in Paris, and was
buried in the churchyard of St. Paul, Rue des Jardins, at the foot of a
tree, which, out of respect to his memory, was religiously spared, until
it disappeared by natural decay.
It is untrue that he sent to cardinal du Bellay, from his deathbed, this
idle message, by a page whom the cardinal had sent to know his
state--"Tell the cardinal I am going to try the great 'perhaps'--you are
a fool--draw the curtain--the farce is done;" or that he made this
burlesque will,--"I have nothing--I owe much--I leave the rest to the
poor;" or that he put on a domino when he felt his death approaching,
because it is written, "beat! qui moriuntur in Domino." They are
impertinent fictions. Duverdier (quoted by Nicéron in his Literary
Memoirs, vol. XXXII.) had spoken ill of Rabelais in his "Bibliothèque
Française," but retracted in his "Prosographie," and bore testimony to
the Christian sentiments in which he died.
No monument has been placed over the grave of Rabelais, but he has been
the subject of many epitaphs. We select two of them; one in Latin, the
other in French:--
Ille ego Gallorum Gallus Democritus, ill.
Gratius, aut si quid Gallia progenuit.
Sic homines, sic et cœlestia Numina lusi,
Vix homines, vix ut Numina læsa putes.
Pluton, prince du sombre empire,
Ou les tiens ne rient jamais,
Reçois aujourd'hui Rabelais,
vous aurez, tous, de quoi rire.
[Footnote 11: Guillaume Budé.]
CORNEILLE
1606-1684
There is something forcible and majestic attached to the name of the
father of French tragedy. As Æschylus displayed a sublime energy before
the beauty of Sophocles, and the tenderness of Euripides threw gentler
graces over the Greek theatre, so (if we may compare aught French to the
mightier Athenian), before Racine added elegance and pathos, did
Corneille, in heroic verse and majestic situation, impart a dignity and
simplicity to the French drama afterwards wholly lost. We know little of
him--a sort of shadowy indistinctness confounds the course of his life;
but in the midst of this obscurity we trace the progress of a master
mind--a man greater than his works, and yet not so great; who conceived
ideas more sublime than any he executed, and who yet was held back from
achieving all of which he might have been capable by a certain
narrowness of taste. Had Corneille been English or Spanish, unfettered
by French dramatic rules, unweakened by the jejune powers of French
verse, his talent had shown itself far more mighty. As it is, however
imperfect his plays may be, we admire the genius of the man far more
than that of his successors, as displayed in the same career. It has
been observed, that Shakspeare himself never portrayed a hero--a man
mastering fate through the force of virtue. Corneille has done this; and
some of his verses are instinct with an heroic spirit worthy a language
more capable of expressing them.
Pierre Corneille, master of waters and forests in the viscounty of
Rouen, and Marthe Le Pesant, a lady of noble family, were the parents of
the poet, Pierre Corneille, surnamed the great. They had two other
children; Thomas, who followed his brother's career, and was a dramatic
author; and Marthe, who also shared the talents of this illustrious
family. She was consulted by her brother, who read his plays to her
before they were acted. She married, and was the mother of Fontenelle,
the author. Pierre was a pupil of the Jesuits of Rouen, and always
preserved feelings of gratitude towards that society. He was educated
for the bar, but neither displayed taste for, nor obtained any success
in, this career; while the spirit of the age and his own genius pointed
out another, in which he acquired high renown.
The civil dissensions which had hitherto desolated France prevented the
cultivation of the refined arts. Henry IV. bestowed peace on his
country; but the men of his day, brought up in the lap of war, were
rough and unlettered. It is generally found that national struggles
develope, in the first instance, warriors and statesmen; and, when these
are at an end, intellectual activity, finding no stage for practical
exertion, turns itself to the creation of works of the imagination.
Thus, at least, it was in Rome, where Virgil and Horace succeeded to
Cato and Cæsar;--thus in France, where Corneille and Fénélon replaced
Sully and his hero king. The influence of Henry IV. had been exerted to
raise men fitted for the arts of government--that of Richelieu, to
depress them. In the midst of the peace of desolation, bestowed by this
minister on his country, which crushed all generous ardour for liberty
or political advancement, the arts had birth; and the cardinal had not
only sufficient discernment to encourage them in others, but entertained
the ambition of shining himself. The theatre as yet did not exist in
France; monastic exhibitions, mysteries and pageants, had been in vogue,
which displayed neither invention nor talent. By degrees the French
gathered some knowledge of the Spanish stage--the true source of modern
drama, but they imitated them badly. The total want of merit in the
plays of Hardy has condemned them to entire oblivion; and the dramas of
Richelieu, though mended and patched by the best authors in Paris, were
altogether execrable: but the spirit was born and spread abroad.
[Sidenote: 1629.
Ætat.
23.]
Pierre Corneille, in the provincial town of Rouen, imbibed it, and was
incited to write. His first play was a comedy called "Melite." The plot
was simple enough, and suggested by an incident that occurred to
himself. A friend who was in love, and met with no return, introduced
Corneille to the lady, and asked him to write a sonnet, addressed to
her, in his name. The young poet found greater favour in the lady's
eyes, and became a successful rival; and this circumstance, which he
mixed up with others less credible, forms the plot of "Melite." "This,"
writes Corneille, "was my coup d'essai. It is not in the rules, for I
did not then know that such existed. Common sense was my only guide,
added to the example of Hardy. The success of my piece was wonderful; it
caused the establishment of a new company of players in Paris; it
equalled the best which had then appeared, and made me known at court."
The comedy itself has slight merit, and reads dully. Perhaps the
spectators felt this, for it had its critics. Corneille made a journey
to Paris to see it acted.
[Sidenote: 1634.
Ætat.
23.]
He there heard that the action of a play ought to be confined within the
space of twenty-four hours; and he heard the meagerness of his plot and
the familiarity of the language censured. As a sort of bravado, to show
what he could do, he undertook to write a tragedy full of events, all of
which should occur during the space of twenty-four hours, and raised the
language to a sort of tragic elevation, while he took no pains to tax
his genius to dc its best. At this time Corneille neither understood the
basis on which theatrical interest rests (the struggle of the passions),
nor had he acquired that force of expression which elevates him above
all other French dramatic writers. He went on writing plays whose
mediocrity renders them absolutely unreadable, and produced six
comedies, which met with great success, as being the best which had then
appeared, but which are now neither read nor acted. Thus brought into
notice, he became one among five authors who corrected the plays of
cardinal de Richelieu. His associates were L'Etoile, Boisrobert,
Colletet, and Rotrou; of whom the last only was a man of genius, and he
alone appreciated Corneille's merit. The others envied and depreciated
him. They were joined in this sort of cabal by men of greater talent,
and who ranked as the first literati of the day. Scuderi and Mairet both
attacked him; and at last he had the misfortune to awaken the ill
feelings of the cardinal-minister-author. Richelieu had caused a play to
be acted at his palace, called the "Comédie des Tuileries," the scenes
of which he himself arranged. Corneille ventured, unhidden, to alter
something in the third act.
[Sidenote: 1634.
Ætat.
29.]
Two of his associates represented this as an impertinence; and the
cardinal reproved him, saying, that it was necessary to have "un esprit
de suite," or an orderly mind, meaning a cringing one. This circumstance
probably disgusted Corneille with his occupation of corrector to
greatness; for, under the pretext that his presence was required at
Rouen for the management of his little property, he retired from his
subaltern employment.
Another reason may have induced him to take up his principal abode at
Rouen. The same lady who inspired the first conception of "Melite"
continued to have paramount influence over his thoughts. Her name was
madame du Pont; she was wife of a maitre des comptes of Rouen, and
perfectly beautiful. This was the serious and enduring passion of his
life. He addressed many love poems to her, which he always refused to
publish, and burnt two years before his death. She first inspired him
with the love of poetry; and her secret admiration for his productions
rendered him eager to write.[12] His genius was industrious and
prolific.
We have few traces to denote that Corneille was a scholar. However, of
course, he read Latin, and Seneca furnished him with the idea of a
tragedy on the subject of Medea. The "Sophonisba" of Mairet was the only
regular tragedy that had appeared on the French stage.
[Sidenote: 1635.
Ætat.
29.]
Corneille aspired to classic correctness in this new play; but his piece
met with little success. It was a cold imitation of a bad original--the
interest was null. Corneille was afterwards aware of its defects, and
speaks openly of them when he subsequently printed it. After "Medea" he
wrote another comedy, in his old style, called "The Illusion." It is
strange that a writer whose merit consists in energy and grandeur should
have spent his youth in writing tame and mediocre comedies.
At length Corneille broke through the sort of cloud which so long
obscured his genius and his glory. And let not the French ever forget
that he owed his initiation into true tragic interest to the Spanish
drama. Difference of manners, religion, and language renders the heroic
subjects, which are so sublime and vehement in their native Greek dress,
in modern plays either tame expositions of book learning, or false
pictures, in which Frenchmen take ancient names, but express modern
sentiments. Spanish poets at once escaped from these trammels: they
portrayed men such as they knew them to be; they represented events such
as they witnessed; they depicted passions such as they felt warm in
their own hearts; and Corneille, by recurring to these writers, at once
entered into the spirit of stage effect and interest, and opened to his
countrymen a career, which, if they and he had had discernment to
follow, might have raised them far higher in the history of modern
drama. The incongruities of the Spanish theatre are, it is true,
numerous; and, in following their example, much was to be avoided, both
in plot and dialogue. Corneille felt this; but, in some degree, he fell
into the opposite extreme.
An Italian secretary of the queen, Mary d'Medici, named Chalons, having
retired to Rouen, advised Corneille to learn Spanish, and pointed out
the "Cid" of Guillen de Castro as affording an admirable subject for a
drama.[13] There are several old Spanish romances which narrate the
history of the blow received by the father of the Cid from the Count
Lozano--the death of the former by the youthful hand of the avenging
son--and the subsequent demand which Ximena, daughter of Lozano, makes
the king of the hand of Rodrigo. The Spanish poet saw that, by
interweaving the idea of a prior attachment between Rodrigo and Ximena,
the struggle of passion that must ensue, ere she could consent to marry
the slayer of her father, presented a grand, deeply moving subject for a
drama. Corneille followed closely in Guillen de Castro's steps: he
rejected certain puerilities adopted by the Spaniard from the ancient
ballads of their country, which were venerable in Spain, but might
excite ridicule in France; but he at the same time injured his subject
by too much attention to French rules. The senseless notion of unity of
time takes away from the probability of the circumstances; and that
which becomes natural after a lapse of years, is monstrous when crowded
into twenty-four hours; so that we repeat Scuderi's exclamation, "How
actively his personages were employed!" The French rule of having but
two or three persons on the stage at a time detracts from the spirited
scene, where, in the Spanish play, the nobles quarrel, and the blow is
given at the council board of the sovereign. Corneille mentions one or
two defects himself, which show rather his erroneous notions than
defects in his play. Speaking of the weakness of purpose and want of
power which the king displays as a fault, he says, no king ought to be
introduced but as powerful and prudent; though he gives no reason why a
dramatic sovereign should be an abstract idea, instead of an historic
and real personage. When the king, in Guillen de Castro, shows himself
as he was, the lord paramount of turbulent feudal nobles, whom he was
unable to control, and yet to whom he will not yield, and exclaims----
"Rey soy mal obecido,
Castigarè mis vasallos!"--
we see at once the various motives of action which rendered him eager to
crush a quarrel between two influential families by uniting them in
marriage. Corneille makes the scene take place at Seville, a city not in
possession of the Spaniards till many years after. Certainly, the
countryman of Shakspeare have no right to be severe on anachronisms; but
the reason Corneille gives for his choice of place displays slender
knowledge of the ancient state of a neighbouring country, or even of its
geography. He says he does it to make the sudden incursion of the Moors,
and the unprepared state of the king, more probable, by causing the
attack to come by sea; when, in fact, in those days the boundaries of
the warring powers were so uncertain, and the inroads so predatory, that
nothing was more frequent than unforeseen invasions; and, besides,
Seville is on the Guadalquivir, and several miles from the coast.
The real interest of the play, resting on the position of Rodrigo, who,
despite his affection for Ximena, avenges his father, and of the
miserable daughter, who feels her attachment for her lover survive the
death of her parent, and the mutual struggles that ensue, overpowers
these minor defects, aided as it is by powerful language and energy of
passion. The success of the tragedy was unprecedented, it was received
with enthusiasm in Paris, and all France re-echoed the praise, till a
sort of epidemic transport was spread through the country. It became a
national phrase to applaud any thing or person by calling them as
excellent as the Cid (_beau comme de Cid_); the name spread through the
world; translations of the play were made in all languages; a knowledge
of it became incorporated with all minds. "I knew two men," says
Fontenelle, in his life of Corneille, "a soldier and a mathematician,
who had never heard of any other play that had ever been written; but
the name of the Cid had penetrated even the barbarous state in which
they lived."