Part 28

Boileau survived Racine several years: this period was spent in retirement, and his health grew weaker and weaker. He lived either at Paris or Auteuil. There Louis Racine, the son of the poet, from whom we gather these details, often visited him. He was a youth at that time; he and Boileau played at skittles together; the poet was a good player, and often knocked down all nine at one bowling. "It must be confessed," he said, "that I possess two talents equally useful to my country; I play well at nine-pins, and write verses." Louis Racine was then at school at Beauvais. He wrote an elegy on a dog; and his mother, a good but narrow-minded woman, took it to Boileau, and begged him to dissuade her son from following the career of a poet. The youth went trembling to hear his fiat; and Boileau, who saw no eminent talent in the production of his young friend, told him that he was very bold, with the name he bore, to attempt poetry. "Perhaps," he said, "you might one day write well; but I am incredulous as to extraordinary events, and I never heard of the son of a great poet turning out a great poet. The younger Corneille has merit, but he will always be a minor Corneille; take care that the same thing does not happen to you." Thus it is that in age we look back on the career we boldly enter on in youth; and aware of the dangers we ran, and forgetting the enthusiasm and passion that then raised us above fear, and promised us success, we endeavour to impart to our juniors the prudence and experience we have gained. In vain. Life would be far other than it is, did the young, at the dictum of the old, divest themselves of errors and passions, desires and anticipations, and see as plainly as those advanced in life the nothingness of the objects of their wishes. It is the scheme of the Creator, for some unknown purpose, that each new generation should go over the same course; and each, reaching the same point of rest, should wonder what the impulse is that drives successors over the same dangerous ground.

To return to Boileau: not long before his death he somewhat changed his habits. Though not in want of money, he was induced, by the solicitations of a friend, to sell him his house at Auteuil, it being promised that a room should always be reserved for him, and that he should continue as much its master as when he actually possessed it. Fifteen days after the sale he visited the place, and, going into the garden, looked about for a little grove, beneath whose shade he was accustomed to saunter and indulge in reverie; it was no longer there: he called for the gardener, and heard that, by order of the new proprietor, his favourite trees had been cut down: he paused for a moment, and then went back to his carriage, saying, "Since I am no longer master, what business have I here?" He returned instantly to Paris, and never revisited Auteuil.

Boileau was a pious man; he fulfilled strictly his religious duties. It is told of him that, dining with the duke of Orleans on a fast-day, nothing but flesh being served at table, Boileau confined himself to bread: the duke, perceiving this, said, "The fish has been forgotten, so you must be content to forego the fast as we do." "Yet," said Boileau, "if you were but to strike the ground with your foot, fish would rise from the earth." A witty and happy adaptation of Pompey's boast. In his latter years he congratulated himself on the purity of his poems. "It is a great consolation," he said, "to a poet about to die, to feel that he has never written any thing injurious to virtue."

His last days were employed in correcting a complete edition of his works. This was to include his "Dialogue on the Romances," which so pleasantly ridicules the language which mademoiselle Scuderi puts in the mouths of Cyrus, Horatius Codes, and Clelia. Out of respect for the authoress he had hitherto refrained from printing it; but it had been read in private: the marquis de Sévigné had written it down from recollection; and it had been printed in a pirated edition of the works of St. Evremond. Mademoiselle Scuderi being dead, Boileau resolved on publishing it. But the chief addition to his edition was his "Epistle to Ambiguity." Already was the publication in progress when the jesuits took alarm. They gave it in charge to père le Tellier, the king's confessor, to speak to Louis, and to induce him to stop the publication. The monarch was docile to the voice of his confessor: he not only forbade Boileau to publish the satire, but ordered him to give up the original into his hands, informing him, at the same time, that with this omission his edition might appear. But Boileau, feeling himself about to die, disdained to temporise, and preferred suppressing the whole edition rather than truckle to the jesuits.

[Sidenote: 1711. Ætat. 75.]

His death was Christian and catholic, yet not so strictly devout as that of Racine. To the last he maintained his literary tastes, and was alive to critical remark. A friend thought to amuse him during his last illness by reading a new and popular tragedy: "Ah! my friend," he cried, "am I not dying in time? the Pradons, whom we laughed at in our youth, were suns in comparison with these authors." When he was asked how he felt, he replied by a verse from Malherbe:

"Je suis vaincu du temps, je cède à ses outrages."

As he was expiring, he saw M. Coutard approach; he pressed his hand, saying, "Bon jour, et adieu--c'est un long adieu."

He died of dropsy on the chest, on the 13th of March, 1711, in the seventy-fifth year of his age. He was buried in the lower chapel of the Sainte Chapelle, immediately under the spot which, in the upper chapel, is immortalised by his "Lutrin." Numerous friends attended the funeral; and one among them overheard a woman say, "He had many friends, it seems, yet I have heard that he spoke ill of everybody."

This is an exaggeration of what may be considered as the only flaw in Boileau's character:--generous and charitable; simple and natural in his manners; full of friendship, kindness, and integrity; we almost hesitate to pronounce severity of criticism against bad books a fault; but we cannot avoid perceiving that the ridicule he has attached to the names of Chapelain, Cotin, and others, however well deserved by their writings, might have been spared to the men. It reminds us too strongly of the anonymous critics of the present day not to be held in detestation.

It is not necessary to enter at length on the subject of his works. He possessed to a high degree the faculty of wit; generally speaking wit simply, not humour[95]: point the most acute, expressions the most happy, embody and carry home his meaning. He is not as elegant as Horace, nor as bitter nor as elevated as Juvenal: he indeed resembles the former more than the latter; but he has vivacity and truth, and a high tone of moral and critical feeling, which give strength to his epigrams; his principal defect being the want of a playful fancy, which caused a sort of aridity to be spread over his happiest sallies. He laboured to polish his verses diligently; and their apparent ease results from the justness of taste that taught him to retrench every superfluity of expression. The "Lutrin" rises superior to his other productions; and in these days, and for posterity, his fame will chiefly rest upon that poem.

[Footnote 78: The place of his birth and the date have been disputed. Critics have decided on the farts above given. The doubt partly originated in Boileau himself. Louis XIV. one day asked him his age; he replied, "I came into the world a year before your majesty, that I might announce the glories of your reign." The reply pleased the king, and was applauded by the courtiers; nor did Boileau err much in the fact; for, being born as late in the year as December, he was scarcely more than a year older than the king, though the date of that monarch's birth was 1638.]

[Footnote 79: Que si quelqu'un, mes Vers, alors vous importune, Pour savoir mes parents, ma vie, et ma fortune, Contez lui qu'allié d'assez hauts magistrats, Fils d'un greffier, né d'ayeux avocats, Des le berceau perdant une forte jeune mère, Réduit seize ans après à pleurer mon vieux père, J'allai d'un pas hardi, par moi-mème guidé, Et de mon seul génie en marchant seconde, Studieux amateur de Perse et d'Horace, Assez pres de Regnier m'asseoir sur le Parnasse.--Epître X. La famille en pâlit, et vit en frémissant, Dans la poudre du greffier un poète naissant.--Epître V.]

[Footnote 80: The duc de Montauzier married Julie d'Angennes, demoiselle de Rambouillet--the deity of the clique which established the system of factitious gallantry which Molière and Boileau ridiculed and exploded. Of course the duke was inimically inclined; but time softened the exasperation, and Boileau, by apt flattery in his epistle to Racine, completed the change. Soon after the publication of this epistle, the peer and poet met in the galleries of Versailles, and exchanged compliments; the duke took the satirist home to dine with him, and was his friend ever after.]

[Footnote 81: The following is a specimen of the poetry of the "Pucelle,"--the Maid of Orleans is addressing the king:--

"O! grand prince, que grand des cette heure j'appelle, Il est vrai, le respect sert de bride à mon zèle: Mais ton illustre aspect me redouble le cœur, Et me le redoublant, me redouble la peur. A ton illustre aspect mon cœur se sollicite, Et grimpant contre mont, la dure terre quitte. O! que n'ai-je le ton désormais assez fort Pour aspirer à toi, sans te faire de tort. Pour toi puissé-je avoir une mortelle pointe Vers où l'épaule gauche à la gorge est conjointe, Que le coup brisât l'os, et fit pleûvoir le sang De la temple, du dos, de l'épaule, et du flanc."]

[Footnote 82: Voltaire, in his "Mémoire sur la Satire," severely censures Boileau. Voltaire was peculiarly sensitive to satire, while he never spared it in his turn; he cherished a sort of reserve in his mind, that made it venial in him to attack with virulence, while no one was to censure him without the most cutting return. This fact, however, does not alter his argument. It is a difficult question. It may be said that it is impossible but that bad books should be criticised by contemporary writers, while all men of generous and liberal natures will be averse to undertaking the office of butcher themselves.]

[Footnote 83: The pensions were granted in 1663. Chapelain selected the names; but we can hardly believe that he wrote the list, such as it has come down to us, wherein the praise lavished on himself is ridiculous enough: The occasion of the pension is appended to the name: this is a specimen of some among them:--

"Au sieur Pierre Corneille, premier poète dramatique du monde, deux mille francs.

"Au sieur Desmarets, le plus fertile auteur, et doué de la plus belle imagination qui ait jamais été, douze cents francs.

"Au sieur Molière, excellent poète comique, mille francs.

"Au sieur Racine, poète français, huit cents francs.

"Au sieur Chapelain, le plus grand poète français qui ait jamais été, et du plus solide jugement, trois mille francs."]

[Footnote 84: Satire IX.]

[Footnote 85: For an account of Chapelle, see Life of Molière.]

[Footnote 86: In one of his later poems, Boileau, addressing his verses, thus speaks Of the successes of his youth:--

"Vains et faibles enfans dans ma vieillesse nés, Vous croyez sur les pas de vos heureux ainés, Voir bientôt vos bons-mots, passant du peuple aux princes, Charmer également la ville et les provinces; Et, par le prompt effet d'un sel rejouissant. Devenir quelquefois proverbes en naissant. Mais perdez cette erreur dont l'appas vous amorce, Le temps n'est plus, mes Vers, ou ma plume, en sa force Du Parnasse Français formant les nourissons, De si riches couleurs habillait ses leçons: Quand mon Esprit, poussé d'un courroux légitime, Vint devant la Raison plaider contre la Rime, A tout le genre humain sçut faire le procès, Et s'attaqua soi-même avec tant de succès. Alors il n'était point de lecteur si sauvage, Qui ne se déridât en lisant mon ouvrage, Et qui pour s'égayer, souvent dans ses discours D'un mot pris en mes vers n'empruntât le secours."]

[Footnote 87: In an article in The Liberal, Mr. Leigh Hunt draws a parallel between Boileau and Pope, in that spirit of just and delicate criticism for which he is remarkable: "As Terence was called half Menander so Boileau is half Pope. He wants Ariel; he wants his invisible world; he wants that poetical part of poetry which consists in bringing a remote and creative fancy to wait on the more obvious wit and graces that lie about us." The critic, however, bestows great praise on the exordium of the "Lutrin;" and it must be remembered that Boileau preceded Pope, and that the English poet was in some sort an imitator of the French.]

[Footnote 88: The desk, being old fashioned and cumbrous, covered the whole space before the chanter, and hid him entirely; the chanter consequently removed it, which excited the anger of his superior, the treasurer, who had it replaced. It was again removed, again replaced; the whole chapter being in a state of dissension and enmity on the subject, till Lamoignon contrived to pacify the parties.]

[Footnote 89: In the first edition of this work the scene of the poem was laid at the insignificant village of Pourges, not far from Paris. He found afterwards that the effect of the poem was injured by this change, and he transferred it to its right and proper place.]

[Footnote 90: Citeaux was a famous abbey of Bernardins situated in Burgundy. The monks of Citeaux had not conformed to the reform lately introduced into other houses of their order, which caused Boileau to represent Indolence as domiciled among them.]

[Footnote 91: The speech of Indolence breaks off suddenly and characteristically,--

"La Mollesse, oppressée, Dans sa bouche à ce mot sent sa langue glassée, Et lasse de parler, succombant sous l'effort, Soupire, étend les bras, ferme l'œil, et s'endort."

This last line, so expressive of the lassitude it describes, charmed the brilliant but unfortunate Henrietta of England, duchess of Orleans. One day, in the chapel at Versailles, while waiting the arrival of the king, she perceived Boileau, and, beckoning him to approach, whispered:

"Soupire, étend les bras, ferme l'œil, et s'endort."]

[Footnote 92: Charles Perrault was a man of merit and imagination, though his want of learning led him into such deplorable literary errors. It was through his representations that Colbert founded the academies of painting, sculpture, and architecture; and he always exerted his influence in favour of the improvement of science and art. The work by which he has, however, obtained immortality, is his "Mother Goose's Tales." Perhaps he would have disdained a fame thus founded; but, while the fancy is the portion of the human mind, shared in common by young and old, which receives the greatest pleasure from works of intellect; while (in spite of Rousseau's doctrine) children are singularly quick in discerning the difference between a lie and a fable, and that to interest their imaginations is the best method of enlarging their minds and cultivating their affections'; Perrault's name will be remembered with gratitude, and "Mother Goose's Tales" remain the classic work of a child's library.]

[Footnote 93: Racine's Letters.]

[Footnote 94: Lettres à Racine.]

[Footnote 95: There is humour, certainly, in the description of the bishop, in the "Lutrin," escaping from his enemies by forcing them to receive his blessing.]

RACINE

1639-1699

Born under not very dissimilar circumstances from Boileau--running, without great variation, the same literary career--sometimes associated in the same labours, always making a part of the same society, and, throughout, his dearest friend, yet the texture of their minds caused Racine to be a very different person from the subject of the foregoing sketch. The lives of both were unmarked by events; but while the one calmly and philosophically enjoyed the pleasures of life, unharmed by its pains, the more tender and sensitive nature of Racine laid him open to their impression. Censures, that only roused Boileau to bitter replies, saddened and crushed his friend. The feelings of religion, which made the former a good and pious man, rendered the other, to a great degree, a bigot. The one was independent of soul, the other sought support: yet, as the faults of Racine were combined with tenderness and amiability of disposition, and as he possessed the virtues of a warm heart, it is impossible not to regard his faults with kindness, while we deplore the mistakes into which they betrayed him. To trace out the different natures of men, to account for the variation, either from innate difference, or the influence of dissimilar circumstances, is, perhaps, one of the most useful objects of a biographer. We all vary one from another, yet none of us tolerate the difference in others: the haughty and independent spirit disdains the pliant and tender, while this regards its opposite as unfeeling and lawless. The conviction, on the contrary, ought to be deeply impressed of the _harmony of characters_--that certain defects and certain virtues are allied, and ever go together. We should not ask the sheep for fleetness, nor wool from the horse; but we may love and admire the gifts that each enjoy, and profit by them, both as matter of advantage and instruction.

Racine was born of a respectable family of Ferté-Milon, a small town of Valois. His father and grandfather both enjoyed small financial situations in their native town. His father, Jean Racine, married Jeanne Sconin, whose father occupied the same sort of position in society. This pair had two children, whom their deaths left orphans in infancy. The wife died in 1641, and her husband survived her only two years.

The two children, a boy and a girl, were brought up by their maternal grandfather. The daughter passed her life at Ferté-Milon, and died there at the advanced age of ninety-two. The son, named Jean, was born on the 21st of December, 1639. We have few traces of his childhood. It was not, apparently, a happy one; at least we are told that, when all the family of Sconin assembled at his house, on those festive anniversaries which the French celebrate with so much exactitude, his orphan grandchildren were wholly disregarded[96]; and the gentle sensitive heart of Racine must have felt this neglect severely. His first studies were made at Beauvais. At this time the civil war of the fronde was raging in France. The scholars at Beauvais were also divided into parties; and "Vive Mazarin," or "A bas Mazarin," became the rallying cries of their mimic wars; yet not so mimic but that the little combatants encountered perils. Racine himself received a wound on his forehead, of which he ever after bore the mark. The master of the school used to show the scar to everybody as a token of the boy's courage; a quality of which, in after life, he made no great display. [Sidenote: 1670. Ætat. 11.] His grandfather died while he was still a child, and he fell to the care of his widowed grandmother. Two of this lady's daughters were nuns in the abbey of Port Royal, and she took up her abode with them; which was, doubtless, the cause that, on leaving the school at Beauvais, Racine was received a pupil in the seminary of that convent.

[Sidenote: 1655. Ætat. 16.]

At this time, in France, the education of young people was chiefly committed to the clergy. The jesuits did all they could to engross an employment full of promise of power--the great aim of that society. Their principal rivals were the teachers of the abbey of Port Royal, whose methods were admirable, and whose enthusiasm led them to diligence and patience in their task. Theoretically it seems an excellent plan to commit the bringing up of youth to those who dedicate their lives to the strictest practices of virtue, as the recluses of Port Royal at that time undoubtedly did. But, in fact, the monkish spirit is so alien to the true purposes of life, and men who sacrifice every pleasure and affection to the maintenance of ascetic vows must naturally give so preponderating an importance to the objects that influence them, that such teachers are apt rather to trouble the conscience, and plunge youth in extravagant devotion; inspiring rather a polemical spirit, or a dream of idleness, than instilling that manly and active morality, and that noble desire to make a right use of the faculties given us by God, which is the aim of all liberal education. The effects of a monkish tutelage spread a sinister influence over the ductile disposition of Racine; the faults of his character were all fostered; the independence and hardihood he wanted were never instilled.

As a school for learning it succeeded admirably. Greek and Latin were assiduously cultivated by the tutors, and Racine's wonderful memory caused him to make swift progress. M. de Sacy took particular pains with him: discerning his talents, and hoping that he would one day distinguish himself, he took him into his own apartments, and gave him the name and treatment of a son. M. Hannon, who succeeded to M. de Sacy, on the death of the latter, continued the same attentions. Racine was poor: he could not purchase good copies of the classics, and he read them in the Basle editions without any Latin translation. His son tells us that he still possessed his father's Plutarch and Plato, the margins of which were covered with annotations which proved his application and learning.

It is impossible not to be struck by the benefit derived from the Greek writers by a child of genius, who was indebted to the respect which the priests showed for ancient authors for the awakening of his mind to poetry and philosophy. But for this saving grace the monks would probably have allowed him to read only books of scholastic piety. Racine, young as he was, drank eagerly from the purest fountains of intellectual beauty and grace, opened by the Greeks, unsurpassed even to this time. His imaginative spirit was excited by the poetry of the Greek tragedians; and he spent many a day wandering in the woods of Port Royal with the works of Sophocles and Euripides in his hands. He thus obtained a knowledge of these divine compositions which always remained; and in after years he could recite whole plays.[97] It happened, however, that he got hold of the Greek romance of the loves of Theagines and Chariclea. This was too much for priestly toleration. The sacristan discovered the book and devoted it to the flames; another copy met the same fate. Racine bought a third, learnt the romance by heart, and then took the volume to the monk, and told him he might burn that also.