Part 6

The establishment of the family in Paris is ascertained by a procuration or power of attorney given by the brothers, empowering a cousin to manage their affairs at Rouen. Corneille seemed to feel the change as a new spur to exertion; but, unfortunately, invention no longer waited on industry, as of old. Considering it his duty to write for the stage, he brought out piece after piece, in which he mistook involved intrigue for interest, crime on stilts for heroism, and declamation for passion. His tragedies fell coldly on the public ear; and, as he could not understand why this should he, he always alleges some trivial circumstance as the cause of his ill success; for, having laboured as sedulously as in his early plays, he was insensible to the fact, that arid though pompous dialogues were substituted for sublime eloquence. Boileau's epigram on these unfortunate testimonies of decayed genius is well known:--when the wits of Paris repeated after him:

"J'ai vu l'Agésilas; Hélas! Mais après Attila, Hola!"

Corneille might well regret that he had not persevered in the silence to which he condemned himself when Pertharite failed.

A young rival also sprung up--a rival whose graceful diction, whose impassioned tenderness, and elegant correctness, are the delight of French critics to this day. Yet, though Voltaire and others have set Racine far above Corneille, and though Saint Evremond wrote at the time that the advanced age of Corneille no longer alarmed him, since the French drama would not die with him, the younger poet's superiority was by no means universally acknowledged in his own time. Corneille had a party who still adhered to their early favourite, and called Racine's elegance feebleness, compared with the rough sublimity of the father of the art. "Racine writes agreeably," says madame de Sévigné, in a letter to her daughter; "but there is nothing absolutely beautiful, nothing sublime--none of those tirades of Corneille which thrill. We must never compare him with Racine; but be aware of the difference. We must excuse Corneille's bad verses in favour of those divine and sublime beauties which fill us with transport--these are traits of genius which are quite inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me,--in a word, this is good taste; let us preserve it." If, therefore, Corneille had ceased to write, if he had let his nobler tragedies remain as trophies of past victory, and not aimed at new, he might have held a proud position, guarded by numerous partisans, who exalted him far above his rival. But he continued to write, and he was unsuccessful--thus it became a living struggle, in which he had the worst. He did not like to appear envious: he felt what he said, and he said justly, that Racine's Greek or Mahometan heroes were but Frenchmen with ancient or Turkish names; but he was aware that this remark might be considered invidious. Yet he could not conceal his opinion, nor the offence he took, when Racine transplanted a verse from the Cid into his comedy of The "Plaideurs"--

"Ses rides sur son front ont gravés ses exploits."

"It ill becomes a young man," he said, "to make game of other people's verses." It was still worse when he was seduced into what the French have named a duel with Racine. Henrietta, daughter of our Charles I., wife of the brother of Louis XIV., was a principal patroness of men of genius;--her talents, her taste, her accomplishments; the generosity and kindness of her disposition, made her respected and loved. Louis and she had been attached to one another; their mutual position forced them to subdue the passion; but their triumph over it was not achieved without struggles, which, no doubt, appeared romantic and even tragical to the poor princess. She wished this combat to be immortalised; and, finding in the loves and separation of Titus and Berenice a similarity with her own fate, she deputed the marquis de Dangeau to engage Corneille and Racine, unknown to one another, each to write a tragedy on this subject--not a very promising one at best--and still more difficult on the French stage, where the catastrophe alone forms the piece. But Racine conquered these difficulties;--tenderness and truth of passion interested in place of incident--the audience wept--and criticism was mute. Corneille floundered miserably: love with him is always an adjunct and an episode, but not the whole subject: it helps as a motive--it is never the end. He fancied that his young rival was angry with him for competing with him; and he gave signs of a querulousness which he had no right to feel[18]; but there is something so _naïve_ in his self praises, and such ingenuousness in his repinings, that we look on them as traits portraying the simplicity and singleness of his character, rather than as marks of vanity or invidiousness.

After "Berenice," he wrote two other plays, "Pulcherie" and "Surena," and then, happily, gave up composition. Though he saw the pieces of his young rival hailed with delight, he had the gratification of knowing that his own _chef-d'œuvres_ were often acted with applause, that the best critics regarded them with enthusiasm, and that his position was firmly established as the father of French tragedy. He lived to a considerable age; and his mind became enfeebled during the last year of his life. He died on the 1st September, 1584, in the seventy-ninth year of his age.

There is a harmony between the works of Corneille and his character, which his contemporaries, who appreciated only the brilliant, mistook, but which strikes forcibly. He was proud and reserved. Though his dedications are phrased according to the adulatory ceremonial of the day, his conduct was always dignified and independent. He seldom appeared at court, where his lofty, though simple, character found nothing to attract. He was, besides, careless of the gifts of fortune: he detested the cares of property, shrinking, with terror, from such details. Serious, and even melancholy, trifles had no charms for him: dramatic composition absorbed his whole thoughts; his studies tended to improvement in that vocation only. Strait-forward and simple in manner,--his person, though tall, was heavy--his face was strongly marked and expressive--his eyes full of fire,--there was something in the whole man that bespoke strength, not grace--yet a strength full of dignity.

His fortunes were low. The trifling pension allowed him by Cardinal Richelieu expired with that minister. Many years afterwards, Louis XIV. granted him a pension of 2000 francs as the first dramatic poet of the world. He was wholly indifferent to gain; the actors paid him what they pleased for his pieces; he never called them to account. He lived frugally, but had little to live on. A few days before his death his family were in considerable straits for want of money, and the king, hearing of this, sent him 200 louis.

In these traits, recorded chiefly by his brother and his nephew, Fontenelle, we see the genuine traces of a poet. Of a man whose heart is set on the ideal, and whose mind is occupied by conceptions engendered within itself--to whom the outward world is of slight account, except as it influences his imagination or excites his affections. The political struggles and civil wars, in which his youth was spent, gave a sort of republican loftiness to his mind, energy without fierceness, somewhat at variance with the French character.

Once, on entering a theatre at Paris, after a longer retreat than usual in his native town, the actors stopped short: the great Condé, the prince of Conti, together with the whole audience, rose: the acclamation was general and long continued. Such flattering testimonials embarrassed a man modest by nature, and unused to make a show of himself; but they evince the generous spirit of his country. Marks of veneration followed his death.

His character commanded and met with respect. He had long been the eldest member of the academy: on his death his brother was elected to succeed him. Racine contended for the honour of receiving the new academician; on which occasion it was the custom to make a speech in praise of the late member whose place the new one took. Racine's eulogy on Corneille met with great applause, and he recited it a second time before the king. He spoke with enthusiasm of his merits, and, in particular, of "a certain strength, a certain elevation, which transports, and renders his very defects, if he had any, more venerable than the excellence of others." This testimony was honourable to Racine, who had, indeed, so heartfelt an appreciation of his best passages, that, although he interdicted dramas and poetry from his children, he caused them to learn, and taught them to admire, various scenes in Corneille. Many years after Voltaire discovered a descendant of the great poet[19]: he spread the discovery abroad; he invited the young lady to Ferney as to her home; and published for her benefit his two volumes of commentary on her great ancestor's works. This commentary has been found fault with for the degree of blame it contains. Voltaire says himself, he wrote it chiefly to instruct future dramatic poets, and he was sincere in his views, even if he were mistaken. It is chiefly remarkable for the extent of its verbal criticism, and his earnest endeavour to banish all familiar expressions from tragic dialogue, thus rendering French tragedies more factitious than ever. It is strange to remark the different genius of various languages. We endeavour perpetually to bring back ours to the familiar and antique Saxon. We regard our translation of the Bible as a precious treasure, even in this light, being a source to which all good writers resort for true unadulterated English. It has been remarked that the sublimest passages of our greatest poets are written in _short words_, that is, in Anglo-Saxon, or pure English. While Voltaire, on the contrary, tried to substitute words unused in conversation, strangers to the real living expression of passion, and which give a factitious and false air, peculiar to the French buskin, and alien to true elevation of language.

So much has been said of Corneille's tragedies in the preceding pages that we need scarcely revert to them. He originated the French theatre. It was yet in the block when he took up his artist-tools. We grieve at the mistakes he made--mistakes, as to the structure of the drama, confirmed by subsequent writers, which mark classic French tragedy as an artificial and contracted offspring of a school, instead of being the free and genuine child of nature and genius. Corneille's originality, however, often bursts through these trammels: he has more truth and simplicity than any of his successors, and, as well as being the father of the French drama, we may name him the most vigorous and sublime poet that France has produced.

[Footnote 12: "J'ai brûlé fort longtemps d'une amour assez grande, Et que jusqu'au tombeau je dois bien estimer, Puisque ce fut par-là que j'appris à rimer. Mon bonheur commença quand mon ame fut prise. Je gagnai de la gloire en perdant ma franchise. Charmé de deux beaux yeux, mon vers charma la cour; Et ce que j'ai de nom je le dois à l'amour. J'adorai donc Phylis, et la secrète estime Que ce divin esprit faisait de notre rime. Me fit devenir poète aussitôt qu'amoureux: Elle eut mes premiers vers, elle eut mes premiers feux, Et bien que maintenant cette belle inhumaine Traite mon souvenir avec un peu de haine, Je me trouve toujours en état de l'aimer; Je me sens tout ému quand je l'entends nommer; Et par le doux effet d'une prompte tendresse, Mon cœur, sans mon aveu, reconnaît sa maîtresse. Après beaucoup de vœux et de soumissions, Un malheur rompt le cours de nos affections; Mais tout mon amour en elle consommée, Je ne vois rien d'aimable après l'avoir aimée; Aussi n'aimé-je plus, et nul objet vainqueur N'a possédé depuis ma veine ni mon cœur."]

CORNEILLE.--Poésies Diverses.]

[Footnote 13: See Voltaire's preface to his Commentary on the Cid, and also the admirable account of Guillen de Castro, by Lord Holland.]

[Footnote 14: Voltaire says that he gives the cardinal credit for good faith in this remark, since he saw and felt the defects of the "Cid." Voltaire was himself accused of envy on account of the mass of criticism he accumulated on Corneille, and was glad to show toleration for that which he desired to be tolerated. Both, probably, were sincere in their blame. The question is, how far covert envy (unacknowledged even to themselves) opened their eyes to defects, which otherwise had passed unnoticed.]

[Footnote 15: Fontenelle.]

[Footnote 16: It is curious enough that such pieces often replace the higher tragedy with great effect in days when poetry is at a low ebb, and an audience desires rather to be amused than deeply moved. Such at this time are the delightful dramas of Sheridan Knowles, such the charming "Lady of Lyons," which portray the serious romance of real life, and impart the interest of situation and character, without pretending to the sublime terrors or pathos of heroic tragedy.]

[Footnote 17: Corneille gives much the same account of himself in some verses written in his youth, and which he calls a slight picture of himself:--

"En matière d'amour je suis fort inégal; J'en écris assez bien, et le fais assez mal; J'ai la plume féconde, et la bouche sterile: Bon galant au théâtre, et fort mauvais en ville; Et l'on peut rarement m'écouter sans ennui; Que quand je me produis par la bouche d'autrui."]

[Footnote 18: See his "Excuse à Arioste." In another place he says,--

"Si mes quinze lustres Font encore quelque peine aux modernes illustres; S'il en est de fâcheux jusqu'à se chagriner, Je n'aurai pas longtemps à les importuner."]

[Footnote 19: Corneille had three sons: two entered the army; the third became an ecclesiastic; one fell at the battle of Grave, in 1677; they all died without posterity. He had one daughter, from whom descended the family of Guenebaud.]

ROCHEFOUCAULD

1613-1680

Grimm, in his correspondence, records, that it was a saying of d'Alembert, that, in life, "Ce n'est qu'heur et malheur," that it was all luck or ill luck. The same thing may be said of many books; and, perhaps, of none more than that which has given literary celebrity to François, duke de la Rochefoucauld. The experience of a long life, spent for the most part in the very nucleus of the intrigues of party and the artifices of a court, reduced into sententious maxims, affords food for curiosity, while it flatters our idleness. The most indolent person may read a maxim, and ponder on its truth, and be led to meditate, without any violent exertion of mind. In addition, knowledge of the world, as it is called, always interests. Voltaire says of the "Maxims," "Though there is but one truth in this collection, which is that self-love is the motive of all, yet this thought is presented under such various aspects that it is always impressive. If we considered the pervading opinion of the book theoretically, we might be inclined to parody this remark, and say, "though there is but one multiformed falsehood in this collection,"--but we defer our consideration of the principles of this work till we have given an account of its author, who was no obscure man, meditating the lessons of wisdom in solitude, but the leader of a party, a soldier, a man of gallantry and of fashion; one such as is only produced, in its perfection, in a society highly cultivated; yet the foundations of his character were thrown in times of ignorance and turbulence."

The family of La Rochefoucauld is one of the noblest in France: it ranks equal with that of the sovereign, and enjoyed almost monarchical power when residing on its own possessions; while its influence might give preponderance to the party it espoused, and even shake the throne. François, the eldest son of the duke then in possession, was born at his paternal castle of Rochefoucauld, in Angoumois, in 1613, two years subsequent to the assassination of Henry IV. He grew up, therefore, during the reign of Louis XIII., and first came to court during the height of cardinal de Richelieu's power. His education had been neglected. Madame de Maintenon said of him, in after times, that "his physiognomy was prepossessing, his demeanour dignified; that he had great talent, and little knowledge." We have no details of his early life at court. He was the friend of the duchess de Chevreuse, favourite of the queen, Anne of Austria; and, when this lady was banished, the family of la Rochefoucauld fell into disgrace, and retired to the shelter of their estates.

But a few years before the nobles of France possessed greater power than the king himself. The short reign and wise administration of Henry IV. and Sully had infused a somewhat better spirit into the body politic of the kingdom than that which for forty years had torn the country with civil war; but the happy effects of that prosperous period were obliterated on the accession of Louis XIII. After a series of struggles, however, Richelieu became prime minister; and with unflinching courage, and resolute and merciless policy, he proceeded to crush the nobility, and to raise the monarchical power (invested, it may be said, in his own person,) into absolute rule. The nobles in those days did not plot to supplant each other in the favour of their royal master, nor to gain some place near the royal person; they aimed at supremacy over the king himself: reluctantly, and not without struggles that cost the lives and fortunes of many of the chief among them, did the nobles yield to the despotism of Richelieu. The mother of their sovereign was banished; his brother disgraced; his queen enslaved; the prisons filled with victims; the provinces with exiles; the blood of many flowed: the cardinal reigned secure, and the power of the contending nobles was reduced to feudal command in their own domains.

At length Richelieu died; and, for a moment, his vanquished enemies fancied that their turn was come for acquiring dominion. The state prisons were thrown open; the exiles hastened to return. The friends of the family of la Rochefoucauld wrote to advise them to appear at court. The reigning duke and his sons immediately followed this counsel.[20] [Sidenote: 1642. Ætat. 29.] His eldest son was called prince de Marsillac: his name and person were well known as the friend of the duchess of Chevreuse, and as a favourite of Anne of Austria. He has left us an account of that period, in which he details the high hopes of his party and subsequent disappointment.

"The persecution I had suffered," he writes[21], "during the power of the cardinal de Richelieu, having finished with his life, I thought it right to return to court. The ill health of the king, and the disinclination that he manifested to confide his children and kingdom to the queen, made me hope that I might soon find important occasions for serving her, and of giving her, in the present state of things, the same marks of attachment which she had received from me on all occasions when her interests, and those of madame de Chevreuse, were in opposition to those of cardinal de Richelieu. I arrived at court; and found it as submissive to his will after his death as during his life. His relations and his creatures continued to enjoy all the advantages they had gained through him; and by a turn of fortune, of which there are few examples, the king, who hated him, and desired his fall, was obliged, not only to conceal his sentiments, but even to authorise the disposition made by the cardinal in his will of the principal employments and most important places in his kingdom. He chose cardinal Mazarin to succeed him in the government. Nevertheless, as the health of the king was deplorable, there was a likelihood that every thing would soon change, and that, the queen or monsieur (the duke of Orleans, brother to Louis XIII.) acquiring the regency, they would revenge on the followers of Richelieu the outrages they had received from himself."

Affairs, however, took a very different turn. Mazarin and others, the creatures of and successors to Richelieu, were less arrogant, less ambitious, and less resolute than their master. They were willing to acquire power by allying themselves to the adverse party. Mazarin, in particular, felt that, on the death of Louis XIII., he should not possess influence enough to cope with the persons who, by rank, were destined to the regency; and he perceived, at once, that it was his best policy to become the friend, instead of the rival, of the queen and the duke of Orleans. Anne of Austria saw safety in encouraging him in this conduct. Mazarin grew into a favourite, and supplanted those who had stood by her during her years of adversity. Thus, while the surface of things appeared the same, the spirit was changed. Rochefoucauld saw that the queen entertained new views and new partialities, and was supported by the same party by which she had been hitherto oppressed. As her friend, he perceived the advantages she gained by this line of conduct, and, by prudent concessions, retained her regard. When the king died, and she became regent, Mazarin had made himself necessary to her, for it was by his policy that the other members of the council of the regency were reduced to insignificance; so that the queen, entirely attached to him, anticipated with something of aversion the reappearance of madame de Chevreuse, who, on the death of Louis XIII., hastened 1643 to return to Paris. [Sidenote: 1643. Ætat. 30.] The prince of Marsillac perceived her apprehensions, and asked her permission to meet madame de Chevreuse on her way, which the queen readily granted, hoping that the prince would dispose her former friend to seek the friendship of Mazarin. This was, indeed, Marsillac's purpose: he gave the fallen favourite the best advice that prudence could suggest, and the duchess promised to follow it. In this she failed. She fancied that she could supplant the cardinal in the queen's favour; she acted with arrogance; and her imprudence insured her ruin.

_Le bon temps de la régence_ followed. For five years France enjoyed external and internal prosperity. The former was insured by the battle of Rocroi, and other successes, obtained by the prince of Condé and Turenne, against the power of Spain. The latter was more fallacious. The intrigues, cabals, and dissensions of the court were carried on with virulence. Manners became every day more and more corrupt--the gulf between Mazarin and his antagonists wider. We have little trace of Marsillac's conduct during this interval. He followed the campaigns, and served gallantly in several actions. He was present at the siege of Mardike, in which he was wounded in the shoulder, which obliged him to return to Paris. He bought the governorship of Poitou, and took up his residence there. He visited Paris, but want of money prevented his remaining. His secretary, Gourville, lets us into a view of the corruption of the times, when he details how he enriched his master by only obtaining from Emery, the comptroller of the finances, a man of low extraction, whose extortion, luxuriousness, and debauchery disgusted the nation, a passport for a thousand tons of wheat, to be brought from Poitou to the capital; and the profit he gained by this transaction enabled the prince, to his infinite joy, to remain in Paris.