It was
followed
the next season by 'Alex-
andre.
andre.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v21 - Rab to Rus
Victor to Montmartre. Stentor never had such a voice at the
siege of Troy.
Then for the strengthening of his nerves, they made him two
great pigs of lead, each in weight 8,700 quintals. Those he took
up from the ground, in each hand one, then lifted them up over
his head, and held them so without stirring three quarters of an
hour or more, which was an inimitable force.
He fought at barriers with the stoutest; and when it came to
the cope, he stood so sturdily on his feet that he abandoned
himself unto the strongest, in case they could remove him from
his place, as Milo was wont to do of old,-in imitation of whom
he held a pomegranate in his hand, to give it unto him that
could take it from him.
The time being thus bestowed, and himself rubbed, cleansed,
and refreshed with other clothes, they returned fair and softly;
and passing through certain meadows, or other grassy places,
beheld the trees and plants, comparing them with what is writ-
ten of them in the books of the ancients, such as Theophrastus,
Dioscorides, Marinus, Pliny, Nicander, Macer, and Galen, and
carried home to the house great handfuls of them, whereof a
young page called Rhizotomos had charge - together with hoes,
picks, spuds, pruning-knives, and other instruments requisite for
herbarizing. Being come to their lodging, whilst supper was
making ready, they repeated certain passages of that which has
been read, and then sat down at table. Here remark, that his
dinner was sober and frugal, for he did then eat only to prevent
the gnawings of his stomach; but his supper was copious and
large, for he took then as much as was fit to maintain and
nourish him: which indeed is the true diet prescribed by the art
of good and sound physic, although a rabble of fond physicians
counsel the contrary. During that repast was continued the les-
son read at dinner as long as they thought good; the rest was
spent in good discourse, learned and profitable. After that they
had given thanks, they set themselves to sing musically, and play
upon harmonious instruments, or at those pretty sports made with
## p. 12017 (#51) ###########################################
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
12017
cards, dice, or cups, thus made merry till it was time to go to
bed; and sometimes they would go make visits unto learned men,
or to such as had been travelers in strange countries. At full
night they went unto the most open place of the house to see
the face of the sky, and there beheld the comets, if any were, as
likewise the figures, situations, aspects, oppositions, and conjunc-
tions of the stars.
-
Then with his master did he briefly recapitulate, after the
manner of the Pythagoreans, that which he had read, seen,
learned, done, and understood in the whole course of that day.
Then prayed they unto God the Creator, falling down before
him, and strengthening their faith towards him, and glorifying
him for his boundless bounty; and giving thanks unto him for
the time that was past, they recommended themselves to his
Divine clemency for the future. Which being done, they entered
upon their repose.
If it happened that the weather were rainy and inclement,
the forenoon was employed according to custom, except that they
had a good clear fire lighted, to correct the distempers of the
air. But after dinner, instead of their wonted exercitations, they
did abide within, and by way of Apotherapie, did recreate them-
selves in bottling hay, in cleaving and sawing wood, and in
threshing sheaves of corn at the barn.
Then they studied the art of painting or carving; or brought
into use the antique game of knucklebones, as Leonicus hath
written of it, and as our good friend Lascaris playeth at it.
While playing, they examined the passages of ancient authors
wherein the said play is mentioned, or any metaphor drawn
from it.
They went likewise to see the drawing of metals, or the cast-
ing of great ordnance: they went to see the lapidaries, the gold-
smiths and cutters of precious stones, the alchemists, coiners
of money, upholsterers, weavers, velvet-workers, watchmakers,
looking-glass-makers, printers, organists, dyers, and other such
kind of artificers; and everywhere giving them wine, did learn
and consider the industry and invention of the trades.
They went also to hear the public lectures, the solemn Acts,
the repetitions, the declamations, the pleadings of the gentle law.
yers, and sermons of evangelical preachers.
He went through the halls and places appointed for fencing,
and there played against the masters of all weapons, and showed
them by experience that he knew as much in it as, yea, more
XXI-752
## p. 12018 (#52) ###########################################
12018
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
than they. And instead of herbarizing, they visited the shops of
druggists, herbalists, and apothecaries, and diligently considered
the fruits, roots, leaves, gums, seeds, and strange unguents, as
also how they did compound them.
He went to see jugglers, tumblers, mountebanks, and quack-
salvers, and considered their cunning, their shifts, their summer-
saults, and their smooth tongues; especially of those of Chauny
in Picardy, who are naturally great praters, and brave gibers of
fibs, in manner of green apes.
At their return they did eat more soberly at supper than at
other times, and meats more desiccative and extenuating; to the
end that the intemperate moisture of the air, communicated to
the body by a necessary confinity, might by this means be cor-
rected, and that they might not receive any prejudice for want
of their ordinary bodily exercise.
Thus was Gargantua governed; and kept on in this course of
education, from day to day profiting, as you may understand
such a young man of good sense, with such discipline so contin-
ued, may do. Which, although at the beginning it seemed diffi-
cult, became a little after so sweet, so easy, and so delightful,
that it seemed rather the recreation of a king than the study of a
scholar. Nevertheless, Ponocrates, to divert him from this vehe-
ment intention of spirit, thought fit, once in a month, upon some
fair and clear day, to go out of the city betimes in the morn-
ing, either towards Gentilly or Boulogne, or to Montrouge, or
Charenton-bridge, or to Vanves, or St. Cloud, and there spend
all the day long in making the greatest cheer that could be
devised; sporting, making merry, drinking healths, playing, sing-
ing, dancing, tumbling in some fair meadow, unnestling of spar-
rows, taking of quails, and fishing for frogs and crayfish. But
though that day was passed without books or lecture, yet was it
not spent without profit; for in the said meadows they repeated
certain pleasant verses of Virgil's 'Agriculture,' of Hesiod, and
of Politian's Husbandry'; would set abroach some witty Latin
epigrams, then immediately turned them into rondeaux and bal-
lades in the French language. In their feasting they would some-
times separate the water from the wine that was there with mixed
-as Cato teacheth, De re rustica, and Pliny-with an ivy cup;
would wash the wine in a basin full of water, and take it out
again with a funnel; would make the water go from one glass
to another, and would contrive little automatic engines,- that is
to say, machines moving of themselves.
1
## p. 12019 (#53) ###########################################
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
12019
THE ABBEY OF THELEMA
THER
HERE was left only the monk to provide for; whom Gargantua
would have made Abbot of Seuillé, but he refused it. He
would have given him the Abbey of Bourgueil, or of Sanct
Florent which was better, or both if it pleased him; but the
monk gave him a very peremptory answer, that he would never
take upon him the charge nor government of monks. "For how
shall I be able," said he, "to rule over others, that have not full
power and command of myself? If you think I have done
you, or may hereafter do you, any acceptable service, give me
leave to found an abbey after my own mind and fancy. " The
motion pleased Gargantua very well; who thereupon offered him
all the country of Thelema by the river Loire, till within two
leagues of the great forest of Port-Huaut. The monk then re-
quested Gargantua to institute his religious order contrary to all
others.
"First, then," said Gargantua, "you must not build a wall
about your convent, for all other abbeys are strongly walled and
mured about. "
Moreover, seeing there are certain convents in the world
whereof the custom is, if any women come in,-I mean honor-
able and honest women,- they immediately sweep the ground
which they have trod upon; therefore was it ordained that if
any man or woman, entered into religious orders, should by
chance come within this new abbey, all the rooms should be
thoroughly washed and cleansed through which they had passed.
And because in other monasteries all is compassed, limited,
and regulated by hours, it was decreed that in this new structure
there should be neither clock nor dial, but that according to the
opportunities, and incident occasions, all their works should be
disposed of;"for," said Gargantua, "the greatest loss of time
that I know is to count the hours. What good comes of it?
Nor can there be any greater folly in the world than for one to
guide and direct his courses by the sound of a bell, and not by
his own judgment and discretion. "
Item, Because at that time they put no women into nun-
neries but such as were either one-eyed, lame, humpbacked, ill-
favored, misshapen, foolish, senseless, spoiled, or corrupt; nor
encloistered any men but those that were either sickly, ill-bred,
clownish, and the trouble of the house:-
――――
## p. 12020 (#54) ###########################################
12020
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
("Apropos," said the monk,-"a woman that is neither fair
nor good, to what use serves she? " "To make a nun of," said
Gargantua. "Yea," said the monk, "and to make shirts. ")
Therefore, Gargantua said, was it ordained, that into this
religious order should be admitted no women that were not fair,
well-featured, and of a sweet disposition; nor men that were not
comely, personable, and also of a sweet disposition.
Item, Because in the convents of women men come not but
underhand, privily, and by stealth: it was therefore enacted that
in this house there shall be no women in case there be not men,
nor men in case there be not women.
Item, Because both men and women that are received into
religious orders after the year of their novitiate were constrained
and forced perpetually to stay there all the days of their life: it
was ordered that all of whatever kind, men or women, admitted
within this abbey, should have full leave to depart with peace
and contentment whensoever it should seem good to them so
to do.
Item, For that the religious men and women did ordinarily
make three vows, to wit, those of chastity, poverty, and obedi-
ence: it was therefore constituted and appointed that in this con-
vent they might be honorably married, that they might be rich,
and live at liberty. In regard to the legitimate age, the women.
were to be admitted from ten till fifteen, and the men from
twelve till eighteen.
For the fabric and furniture of the abbey, Gargantua caused
to be delivered out in ready money twenty-seven hundred thou-
sand eight hundred and one-and-thirty of those long-wooled
rams; and for every year until the whole work was completed
he allotted threescore nine thousand gold crowns, and as many
of the seven stars, to be charged all upon the receipt of the
river Dive. For the foundation and maintenance thereof he set-
tled in perpetuity three-and-twenty hundred threescore and nine
thousand five hundred and fourteen rose nobles, taxes exempted
from all in landed rents, and payable every year at the gate of
the abbey; and for this gave them fair letters patent.
The building was hexagonal, and in such a fashion that in
every one of the six corners there was built a great round tower,
sixty paces in diameter, and were all of a like form and big-
Upon the north side ran the river Loire, on the bank
whereof was situated the tower called Arctic. Going towards the
ness.
## p. 12021 (#55) ###########################################
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
I 2021
east there was another called Calær, the next following Anatole,
the next Mesembrine, the next Hesperia, and the last Criere.
Between each two towers was the space of three hundred and
twelve paces.
The whole edifice was built in six stories, reckon-
ing the cellars underground for one. The second was vaulted
after the fashion of a basket-handle; the rest were coated with
Flanders plaster, in the form of a lamp foot. It was roofed with
fine slates of lead, carrying figures of baskets and animals; the
ridge gilt, together with the gutters, which issued without the
wall between the windows, painted diagonally in gold and blue
down to the ground, where they ended in great canals, which
carried away the water below the house into the river.
This same building was a hundred times more sumptuous and
magnificent than ever was Bonivet; for there were in it nine
thousand three hundred and two-and-thirty chambers, every one.
whereof had a withdrawing-room, a closet, a wardrobe, a chapel,
and a passage into a great hall. Between every tower, in the
midst of the said body of building, there was a winding stair,
whereof the steps were part of porphyry, which is a dark-red
marble spotted with white, part of Numidian stone, and part of
serpentine marble; each of those steps being two-and-twenty feet
in length and three fingers thick, and the just number of twelve
betwixt every landing-place. On every landing were two fair
antique arcades where the light came in; and by those they
went into a cabinet, made even with, and of the breadth of the
said winding, and they mounted above the roof and ended in
a pavilion. By this winding they entered on every side into
a great hall, and from the halls into the chambers. From the
Arctic tower unto the Criere were fair great libraries in Greek,
Latin, Hebrew, French, Italian, and Spanish, respectively dis-
tributed on different stories, according to their languages. In
the midst there was a wonderful winding stair, the entry whereof
was without the house, in an arch six fathoms broad.
It was
made in such symmetry and largeness that six men-at-arms,
lance on thigh, might ride abreast all up to the very top of all
the palace. From the tower Anatole to the Mesembrine were
fair great galleries, all painted with the ancient prowess, his-
tories, and descriptions of the world. In the midst thereof there
was likewise such another ascent and gate as we said there was
on the river-side.
## p. 12022 (#56) ###########################################
12022
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
In the middle of the lower court there was a stately fountain
of fair alabaster. Upon the top thereof stood the three Graces,
with horns of abundance, and did jet out the water at their
breasts, mouth, ears, and eyes. The inside of the buildings in
this lower court stood upon great pillars of Cassydonian stone,
and porphyry in fair ancient arches. Within these were spacious
galleries, long and large, adorned with curious pictures - the
horns of bucks and unicorns; of the rhinoceros and the hippo-
potamus; the teeth and tusks of elephants, and other things well
worth the beholding. The lodging of the ladies took up all from
the tower Arctic unto the gate Mesembrine. The men possessed
the rest. Before the said lodging of the ladies, that they might
have their recreation, between the two first towers, on the out-
side, were placed the tilt-yard, the hippodrome, the theatre, the
swimming-bath, with most admirable baths in three stages, well
furnished with all necessary accommodation, and store of myrtle-
water. By the river-side was the fair garden of pleasure, and in
the midst of that a fair labyrinth. Between the two other towers
were the tennis and fives courts. Towards the tower Criere stood
the orchard full of all fruit-trees, set and ranged in a quincunx.
At the end of that was the great park, abounding with all sort
of game.
Betwixt the third couple of towers were the butts for
arquebus, crossbow, and arbalist. The stables were beyond the
offices, and before them stood the falconry, managed by falconers
very expert in the art; and it was yearly supplied by the Can-
dians, Venetians, Sarmatians, with all sorts of excellent birds,
eagles, gerfalcons, goshawks, falcons, sparrow-hawks, merlins, and
other kinds of them, so gentle and perfectly well trained that,
flying from the castle for their own disport, they would not fail
to catch whatever they encountered. The venery was a little
further off, drawing towards the park.
All the halls, chambers, and cabinets were hung with tapestry
of divers sorts, according to the seasons of the year. All the
pavements were covered with green cloth. The beds were em-
broidered. In every back chamber there was a looking-glass of
pure crystal, set in a frame of fine gold garnished with pearls,
and of such greatness that it would represent to the full the
whole person.
At the going out of the halls belonging to the
ladies' lodgings were the perfumers and hair-dressers, through
whose hands the gallants passed when they were to visit the
## p. 12023 (#57) ###########################################
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
12023
ladies. These did every morning furnish the ladies chambers
with rose-water, musk, and angelica; and to each of them gave a
little smelling-bottle breathing the choicest aromatical scents.
The ladies on the foundation of this order were appareled
after their own pleasure and liking. But since, of their own free
will, they were reformed in manner as followeth :-
They wore stockings of scarlet which reached just three inches.
above the knee, having the border beautified with embroideries.
and trimming. Their garters were of the color of their brace-
lets, and circled the knee both over and under. Their shoes and
slippers were either of red, violet, or crimson velvet, cut à barbe
d'écrévisse.
Next to their smock they put on a fair corset of pure silk
camblet; above that went the petticoat of white, red tawny, or
gray taffety. Above this was the cotte in cloth of silver, with
needlework either (according to the temperature and disposition
of the weather) of satin, damask, velvet, orange, tawny, green,
ash-colored, blue, yellow, crimson, cloth of gold, cloth of silver,
or some other choice stuff, according to the day.
Their gowns, correspondent to the season, were either of cloth
of gold with silver edging, of red satin covered with gold purl,
of taffety, white, blue, black, or tawny, of silk serge, silk cam-
blet, velvet, cloth of silver, silver tissue, cloth of gold, velvet, or
figured satin with golden threads.
In the summer, some days, instead of gowns, they wore fair
mantles of the above-named stuff, or capes of violet velvet with
edging of gold, or with knotted cordwork of gold embroidery,
garnished with little Indian pearls. They always carried a fair
plume of feathers, of the color of their muff, bravely adorned with
spangles of gold. In the winter-time they had their taffety
gowns of all colors, as above named, and those lined with the
rich furrings of wolves, weasels, Calabrian martlet, sables, and
other costly furs. Their beads, rings, bracelets, and collars were
of precious stones, such as carbuncles, rubies, diamonds, sap-
phires, emeralds, turquoises, garnets, agates, beryls, and pearls.
Their head-dressing varied with the season of the year. In
winter it was of the French fashion; in the spring of the Span-
ish; in summer of the fashion of Tuscany, except only upon
the holy-days and Sundays, at which times they were accoutred
in the French mode, because they accounted it more honorable,
better befitting the modesty of a matron.
## p. 12024 (#58) ###########################################
12024
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
The men were appareled after their fashion. Their stockings
were of worsted or of serge, of white, black, or scarlet. Their
breeches were of velvet, of the same color with their stockings,
or very near, embroidered and cut according to their fancy.
Their doublet was of cloth of gold, cloth of silver, velvet, satin,
damask, or taffety, of the same colors, cut, embroidered, and
trimmed up in the same manner. The points were of silk of
the same colors, the tags were of gold enameled. Their coats
and jerkins were of cloth of gold, cloth of silver, gold tissue,
or velvet embroidered, as they thought fit. Their gowns were
every whit as costly as those of the ladies. Their girdles were
of silk, of the color of their doublets. Every one had a gallant
sword by his side, the hilt and handle whereof were gilt, and the
scabbard of velvet, of the color of his breeches, the end in gold,
and goldsmith's work. The dagger of the same.
Their caps
were of black velvet, adorned with jewels and buttons of gold.
Upon that they wore a white plume, most prettily and minion-
like parted by so many rows of gold spangles, at the end where-
of hung dangling fair rubies, emeralds, etc.
But so great was the sympathy between the gallants and the
ladies, that every day they were appareled in the same livery.
And that they might not miss, there were certain gentlemen ap-
pointed to tell the youths every morning what colors the ladies.
would on that day wear; for all was done according to the pleas-
ure of the ladies. In these so handsome clothes, and habiliments
so rich, think not that either one or other of either sex did waste
any time at all; for the masters of the wardrobes had all their
raiments and apparel so ready for every morning, and the
chamber-ladies were so well skilled, that in a trice they would be
dressed, and completely in their clothes from head to foot. And
to have these accoutrements with the more conveniency, there
was about the wood of Thelema a row of houses half a league
long, very neat and cleanly, wherein dwelt the goldsmiths, lapi-
daries, embroiderers, tailors, gold-drawers, velvet-weavers, tapestry-
makers, and upholsterers, who wrought there every one in his
own trade, and all for the aforesaid friars and nuns. They were
furnished with matter and stuff from the hands of Lord Nausi-
clete, who every year brought them seven ships from the Perlas
and Cannibal Islands, laden with ingots of gold, with raw silk,
with pearls and precious stones. And if any pearls began to
grow old, and lose somewhat of their natural whiteness and lus-
## p. 12025 (#59) ###########################################
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
12025
tre, those by their art they did renew by tendering them to cocks
to be eaten, as they used to give casting unto hawks.
All their life was spent not in laws, statutes, or rules, but
according to their own free will and pleasure. They rose out of
their beds when they thought good; they did eat, drink, labor,
sleep, when they had a mind to it, and were disposed for it.
None did awake them, none did constrain them to eat, drink, nor
do any other thing; for so had Gargantua established it. In all
their rule, and strictest tie of their order, there was but this one
clause to be observed:
_______
FAY CE QUE VOULDRAS
Because men that are free, well born, well bred, and conver-
sant in honest companies, have naturally an instinct and spur
that prompteth them unto virtuous actions and withdraws them
from vice, which is called honor. Those same men, when by
base subjection and constraint they are brought under and kept
down, turn aside from that noble disposition by which they
formerly were inclined to virtue, to shake off and break the bond
of servitude; for it is agreeable with the nature of man to long
after things forbidden, and to desire what is denied.
By this liberty they entered into a very laudable emulation:
to do all of them what they saw did please one. If any of the
gallants or ladies should say, "Let us drink," they would all
drink. If any one of them said, "Let us play," they all played.
If one said, "Let us go for our delight into the fields," they
went all. If it were to go a-hawking or a-hunting, the ladies,
mounted upon well-paced nags, carried on their lovely fists (min-
iardly begloved every one of them) either a sparrow-hawk, or a
laneret, or a merlin, and the gallants carried the other kinds of
birds. So nobly were they taught, that there was not one amongst
them but could read, write, sing, play upon musical instruments,
speak five or six several languages, and compose in them all very
quaintly, both in verse and prose. Never were seen knights
so valiant, so noble and worthy, so dexterous and skillful both
on foot and a-horseback, more active, more nimble and quick, or
better handling all manner of weapons, than were there. Never
were seen ladies so proper, so miniard, less forward, or more
ready with hand and needle in every honest and free action
belonging to that sex, than were there.
## p. 12026 (#60) ###########################################
12026
FRANÇOIS RABELAIS
For this reason, when the time came that any man of the said
abbey, either at the request of his parents or for some other
cause, had a mind to go out of it, he carried along with him one
of the ladies,—namely, her whom he had before that chosen
for his mistress, and they were married together. And if
they had formerly in Thelema lived in devotion and amity, much
more did they continue therein in the state of matrimony; and
did entertain that mutual love till the very last day of their life,
in no less vigor and fervency than at the very day of their
wedding.
All the foregoing citations are made from Readings from Rabelais,' by
Walter Besant
## p. 12026 (#61) ###########################################
## p. 12026 (#62) ###########################################
JEAN BAPTISTE RACINE.
## p. 12026 (#63) ###########################################
1
1
br. st.
وا
. 11
14
14.
T
it
## p. 12026 (#64) ###########################################
ཨ ཀ
## p. 12027 (#65) ###########################################
12027
JEAN RACINE
(1639-1699)
BY FREDERICK MORRIS WARREN
B
Y THE time French classical tragedy had reached Racine, in
its development from the Latin drama of Seneca, its form
and style had become definitely fixed. Like its Latin pro-
genitor it consisted of five acts, subdivided into scenes; was written
in long lines, - the Alexandrine verse of twelve syllables,—and ob-
served in its stage setting and the duration of its action the unities
of place and time. But in the process of assimilation to modern
requirements the chorus of the ancients had been dropped, their
monologues had been shortened and subjected to interruptions by the
theatrical device of confidants, and Seneca's lyricism had been given a
stronger admixture of the dramatic element, by the pressure of audi-
ences which had been trained to the action and episodes of the old
miracle plays. All the questions of scenic art which had been agi-
tated for four generations, and from which Corneille's early years
were not exempt, were settled before Racine began. He had only to
take his structure as he found it, and fill it in with such material as
would be in harmony with the French conception of tragedy.
Racine was genius enough to make a place for himself, while con-
forming to these limitations. Corneille had produced his dramatic
effects by opposing the passion of love to some general conception of
duty, honor, or patriotism. His plays treat these topics subjectively,
didactically. They abound in maxims. Their characters are ideal,
perhaps. Their heroes often win attention away from the heroines.
Racine's method is different. He belongs to another, a new gener-
ation, inspired by a different spirit. Instead of being general, his
treatment is individual. His themes relate to private life, not public.
He is objective, studying humanity around him. He indulges rarely
in abstract ideas. If we might apply a modern term to him we
might call him realistic. Certainly he stood, as did Molière, in the
eyes of his contemporaries, for a close adherence to the plain facts
of existence. And in the judgment of the eighteenth century Racine
was "natural. "
Furthermore he worked from within outward. It is an analysis of
character which he aims at, or rather a study of the effects of some
## p. 12028 (#66) ###########################################
12028
JEAN RACINE
passion - almost always love, or its concomitant emotions of jeal-
ousy, hatred, revenge, or remorse, rarely ambition or bigotry.
on the
human heart, with the actions that result from it. The dramatic
solution in Racine is obtained by the clash of such passions. In
other words, Racine's situations are brought about by his charac-
ters, whereas with Corneille it was the situations which produced the
characters. And it so happens, whether from the very nature of
things or from a fixed purpose, that most of Racine's characters are
women. Few of his men can support comparison with them.
Racine's career shows an impulsive temperament,- the tempera-
ment of a poet. He was born at the small town of La Ferté-Milon,
some distance to the northeast of Paris, on December 21st, 1639. His
Christian name, Jean, was in the family. His parents dying before
he was three years old, he fell to the care of his relatives, who sent
him to the college at Beauvais. Leaving this institution at the age
of sixteen, he entered the Jansenist school at Port Royal, where he
imbibed that love for the Greek poets which was to manifest itself
so vigorously in his later works. The foundations of an ardent piety
were evidently laid here also, though they were to be hidden many
years by other interests and occupations. On leaving Port Royal in
1658, and entering Harcourt College at Paris, to receive his final
training, Racine, with his literary instincts and his capacity for en-
joying life, was quickly admitted to a pleasure-loving set of authors
and amateurs, of whom La Fontaine the fabulist was one. Encour-
aged by them, he threw himself into poetry, and in 1660 attracted
public attention and royal munificence by an ode, The Nymph of
the Seine,' written on the occasion of Louis XIV. 's marriage. His
devout family connections, alarmed for his salvation, rusticated him to
the south of France, where he was to study for orders. But in 1663
this experiment was abandoned. Racine returned to Paris, met La
Fontaine again, formed acquaintance with Boileau and Molière, and
under their sanction began his theatrical career.
After one unsuccessful venture, his 'Thébaïde' (1664) was played
by Molière's company.
It was followed the next season by 'Alex-
andre. ' Both of these dramas reflect the ideas of older authors, par-
ticularly Corneille. But in 1667, with Andromaque,' a delineation
of maternal love in conflict with a widow's fidelity, set off by the
love and jealousy of suitors and rivals, Racine found his peculiar
and lasting manner. The enthusiasm aroused by the psychological
analyses of 'Andromaque' had been exceeded in Paris only by the
delight occasioned by the romantic declamations of The Cid. ' He
next tried a comedy of an Aristophanic bent, The Pleaders' (1668),
a satire of legal procedure. But this was Racine's sole deviation
from the tragic path. Britannicus' (1669), on the imperiousness of
## p. 12029 (#67) ###########################################
JEAN RACINE
12029
Agrippina and the baseness of Nero; 'Bérénice' (1670), the idyl
of the Jewish princess forsaken by her lover Titus, for reasons of
State; Bajazet' (1672), the vengeance of a queen on her rival and
faithless lover; 'Mithridate' (1673), the Oriental despot, the enemy
of Rome, disputing a girl's heart with his own son; 'Iphigénie'
(1674), a mother's love, oblivious of all but the object of its passion,
contrasted with filial affection and obedience,- all these pictures of
the heart of woman were summed up, reached their culmination, in
the love, shame, jealousy, revenge, and remorse which the poet im-
agined in the story of 'Phèdre' (1677). The great parts in Racine
were for the heroines. The heroes rarely attained the level of being
even counterpoises.
A literary cabal in favor of the rhymester Pradon prevented the
immediate success of 'Phèdre'; and this circumstance, coupled with
his reviving devotion, led Racine to renounce the stage and its sur-
roundings. He was made historiographer of the King, married, and
divided his time between his family and the court. But the old fire
was only smoldering within him. It burst forth into new and brighter
flame when at the summons of Madame de Maintenon a religious
drama was demanded for the girls' school at St. Cyr. The fusion of
Racine's piety with the gratification of his poetic ideals was now
possible; and 'Esther' (1689), a Scriptural idyl built on the model of
French tragedy, with the addition of the lyric choruses of the Greeks,
displayed his talent at its best. Another sacred tragedy with choruses,
'Athalie (1691), was lost to Racine's contemporaries by doubts about
the wisdom of schoolgirls acting. The remainder of our author's
life was passed in the exercise of his official duties, in the composi-
tion of religious hymns, and the penning of biting epigrams ridicul-
ing the playwrights of the time. He died the last year of the century,
on April 26th.
The first part of Racine's dramatic work, from 'Andromaque' to
'Phèdre,' being strictly within the canons of French classical tragedy,
calls for no further mention. But the second part, though consisting
of but two plays, drawn from sacred sources, presents certain novel-
ties. The addition of the choruses, imitated as they evidently were
from Greek models, suggests that French tragedy, in its conflict
with its rival the opera, would not be above borrowing some of that
rival's attractions. Besides, 'Athalie,' which is regarded by many as
the best example of French tragedy, takes certain liberties with the
scenery and the number of persons in evidence on the stage; and
this points to a modification, an enlarging, of the scope of the tradi-
tional play.
'Athalie' is also to be noticed for its plot. The element of love
does not enter into it. It is the strife of an unscrupulous, ambitious,
## p. 12030 (#68) ###########################################
12030
JEAN RACINE
yet fluctuating woman with the direct and persevering enthusiasm
of a strong man who summons the miraculous to his aid. For
these divergences from the ordinary run, and for its intrinsic excel-
lence, 'Athalie' was the constant preoccupation of French dramatists
down to the reaction in the nineteenth century against all tragedy,
classical or romantic. It powerfully aided in confirming Racine in
the supremacy which his method, his psychology, his measured lan-
guage and harmonious versification, had combined in awarding to
him. The subsequent history of French tragedy is hardly more than
a commentary on Racine.
The best edition of Racine's complete works is published at Paris
by Hachette et Cie. , in the series of 'Les Grands Écrivains' (8 vols. ,
8vo). It is edited by Paul Mesnard. Nearly every French critic
has written on Racine, but F. Brunetière's chapters (Lectures 5 and 7)
in his 'Époques du Théâtre Français' (Paris, 1892), and G. Lanson's
comments in his 'Histoire de la Littérature Française' (Paris, 1895),
pages 532-547, are especially valuable.
L. M Warren.
THE RIVALS
From Bajazet '
Scene: The private apartments of Bajazet at Byzantium. Present: Rox-
ana, Bajazet, Atalide, Zara.
R
OXANA -
Come, Bajazet, 'tis time to show yourself,
That all the court may recognize its master:
All that these walls contain, many in number,
Gathered by my command, await my wishes.
My slaves (the rest will follow where they lead)
Are the first subjects that my love allots you.
[To Atalide]-
This sudden change from wrath to milder mood
May well surprise you, madam. For, but now,
Determined to take vengeance on a traitor,
I swore he should not see another day;
Yet almost ere he spoke my heart relented:
'Twas love imposed that oath, and love revokes it.
Reading deep passion in his wild distraction,
His pardon I pronounced, and trust his promise.
## p. 12031 (#69) ###########################################
JEAN RACINE
12031
Bajazet — Yes, I have promised, and my word is pledged
Ne'er to forget all that to you I owe:
Have I not sworn that constant care and kindness
Roxana
Atalide-
Roxana
Atalide
-―――
Roxana
Atalide
Roxana
-
――――――
Roxana
-
Shall duly pay my debt of gratitude?
If on these terms your favor I may claim,
[Exit.
I go to wait the harvest of your bounty.
Heavens! What amazement strikes me at this moment!
Is it a dream? and have mine eyes deceived me?
What mean these frigid words, this sombre greeting,
Which seems to cancel all that passed between us?
What hope does he imagine mine, for which
I banished my resentment, and restored him
To favor? He, methought, swore that his heart
Would own me mistress to his dying day.
Does he repent already of the peace
That we had signed? Was I just now deluded?
But was he not conversing with you, madam ?
What did he say?
To me? He loves you always.
His life at least depends on my belief
That it is so. But tell me, pray, when joy
Should triumph, how can you explain the gloom
That settled on his features as he left me?
Madam, I saw no cloud upon his brow.
Oft has he told me of your gracious kindness,
And he just now was full of it; at parting
He seemed to me the same as when he entered.
But be that as it may, need it surprise you
That on the eve of such important issues
He should be troubled, and some signs escape him
Of anxious thoughts that on his mind intrude?
Such plausible excuses do you credit
For skill that pleads on his behalf more fairly
Than he could do himself.
What other cause-
Enough! I read your motive, madam, better
Than you suppose. Leave me, for I would be
Alone a little while. I too am troubled,
And anxious cares are mine as well as his,
To which I owe a moment's thought in secret.
How must I construe all that I have seen?
Are they in league together to deceive me?
Wherefore this change, those words, that quick departure?
Did I not catch a glance that passed between them?
## p. 12032 (#70) ###########################################
12032
JEAN RACINE
Fatima-
Roxana
Fatima
Were they not both struck with embarrassment ?
Ah! why has Heaven doomed me to this affront?
Is this the fruit of all my blind affection?
So many painful days and sleepless nights,
Plots and intrigues, treason too deep for pardon!
And shall they all turn to a rival's profit?
But yet, too ready to torment myself,
I may too closely scan a passing cloud,
And take for passion what is mere caprice.
Surely he would have carried to the end
His wiles; and in full prospect of success,
He could have feigned at least a moment longer.
Love, uncontrolled by reason, quakes at shadows:
Let me take courage. Why should Atalide
Be dreaded as my rival? What has he
To thank her for? To which of us to-day
Owes he the sceptre?
But too well I know
Love is a tyrant; and if other charms
Attract, what matter crowns, or life itself?
Can benefits outweigh the heart's attachment ?
I need but search mine own. Did gratitude
Constrain me to his brother, when this wretch
Bewitched me? Ah! if other tie were absent,
Would the idea of marriage so alarm him?
He gladly would have seconded my wishes,
And not have braved destruction by refusal.
Just cause.
-
But some one comes to speak with me.
What can she want?
Enter Fatima
Forgive me this intrusion:
But there is come a courier from the army;
And though the seaward gate was shut, the guards,
On bended knees, without delay unlocked it
To orders from the Sultan, to yourself
Addressed, and strange to say, 'tis Orcan brings them.
Orcan!
Yes, he; of all the Sultan's slaves
The one most trusted for his faithful service,
Blackest of those whom Afric's sun has scorched.
Madam, he asks impatiently for you:
## p. 12033 (#71) ###########################################
JEAN RACINE
12033
Roxana
I thought it best to give you timely notice,
And lest you should be taken by surprise,
I have detained him in your own apartments.
What new disaster comes to overwhelm me?
What can his bidding be? What my reply?
Doubtless the Sultan, in his mind perturbed,
Has Bajazet condemned a second time.
Without my sanction none will dare to take
His life; for all obey me here. But ought I
To shield him? Bajazet or Amurath
Which claims allegiance? One have I betrayed;
The other may be false to me. Time presses;
I must resolve this fatal doubt, nor let
The precious moments pass.
Cannot conceal its secret inclination.
I will watch Bajazet and Atalide:
Then crown the lover, or destroy the traitor.
NDROMACHE [to Hermione] —
Love, when most cautious,
THE APPEAL OF ANDROMACHE
From 'Andromaque›
Scene: The palace of Pyrrhus, at Buthrotum in Epirus. Present: An-
dromache, Hermione, Cleone, Cephissa.
Α
XXI-753
Translation of R. B. Boswell.
Why fly you, madam? Is it not a sight
To please you, Hector's widow at your knees,
Weeping? But not with tears of jealousy
I come, nor do I envy you the heart
Surrendered to your charms. A cruel hand
Robbed me of him whom only I admired.
Love's flame was lit by Hector long ago,
With him it was extinguished in the tomb.
But he has left a son. Some day you'll know
How closely to one's heart a son can cling;
But you will never know, I wish it not,
How keen the pang when danger threatens him,
And they would take him from you,-all that's left
To soothe a blighted heart. Ah, when worn out
With ten long years of woe, the Trojans sought
Your mother's life, on Hector I prevailed
## p. 12034 (#72) ###########################################
12034
JEAN RACINE
Hermione-
Andromache-
How scornfully did she refuse my prayer!
Cephissa- Accept her counsel. See him, as she says;
One look of yours may Greece and her confound-
But look, he seeks you of his own accord.
Enter Pyrrhus and Phoenix
Pyrrhus [to Phoenix] -
Pyrrhus-
Andromache-
Phoenix-
Phoenix-
Andromache [to Cephissa]-
My eyes have over him!
Cephissa-
Andromache
To succor her. O'er Pyrrhus you have power
As I had then o'er Hector. Can they dread
The infant he has left? Him let me hide
In some far distant isle. And they may trust
My fears to keep him there, taught but to weep
With me.
Cephissa-
I feel for you, but duty holds
My tongue tied, when my sire declares his will:
It is by him that Pyrrhus's wrath is stirred.
But who can bend him better than yourself?
His soul has long been subject to your eyes:
Make him pronounce the word, and I'll consent.
Pyrrhus-
Andromache-
Pyrrhus-
Where is the princess? Said you not that she
Was here?
Is lost!
Andromache-
Will follow.
I thought so.
--
Hermione is gone, and we
Is certain.
Now you see what power
What says she?
Has he not promised them my child?
Given him up.
Speak! Why obstinately dumb?
All
But not
Vain are my tears,- his death
How her pride disdains to look
My way!
I should but irritate him more.
Let us retire.
Yielded to Greece.
Come, Hector's son shall be
## p. 12035 (#73) ###########################################
JEAN RACINE
12035
Andromache [throwing herself at his feet) —
Stop, sire.
What will you do?
Give up the son? Why not the mother, then?
Where is the kindness that you swore to me
So lately? Can I touch no chord at least
Of pity? Does this sentence bar all hope
Of pardon?
Phoenix knows my word is pledged.
Pyrrhus-
Andromache-
-
Pyrrhus-
Andromache
Pyrrhus-
――――――
No dangers were too great for you to brave
On my behalf!
Blind then, I now can see.
Your wishes might have won his pardon once;
You ne'er so much as asked it. Now you come
Too late.
Full well you understood, my lord,
The sigh that feared repulse. Forgive the trace
Of pride, that died not with my royal rank,
And made me shrink from importunity.
My lord, you know, had it not been for you,
Andromache would never have embraced
A master's knees.
No, in your secret soul
You hate me, scorn to owe me anything.
This son, the only object of your care, —
You would have loved him less, had he been saved
Through me. You hate me with a bitter scorn,
And worse than all the other Greeks combined.
Enjoy at leisure such a noble rage.
Come, Phoenix.
I will go where Hector's gone.
What further can I say to him?
The author of my woes, he knows them all.
[To Pyrrhus]-
See to what state you have reduced me, sire!
I've seen my father slain, our walls enwrapt
In flames, and all our family cut off,
My husband's bloody corpse dragged through the dust,
His only son reserved for chains with me.
For his sake I endure to live a slave.
Andromache
Cephissa Madam-
Andromache
Yea, more, this thought has sometimes brought relief,—
That fate has fixed my place of exile here;
The son of many kings beneath your sway
## p. 12036 (#74) ###########################################
12036
JEAN RACINE
Pyrrhus-
Is happier as a slave than he could be
Elsewhere, and I had hoped his prison walls
Might be a place of refuge. Priam found
Achilles could respect his fallen state:
I thought his son more generous still. That trust,
My Hector, pardon, when I deemed thy foe
Too noble to commit a dastard's crime!
Ah, had he but allowed us to abide
Where for thine ashes I had raised a tomb,
And ending there his hatred and our woes,
Parted us not from thy beloved remains!
Go and await me, Phoenix. -
Madam, stay.
Your tears may yet win back this cherished son.
Yes, I regret that, moving you to weep,
I armed you with a weapon 'gainst myself;
I thought I could have brought more hatred here.
You might at least consent to look at me:
See, are my eyes those of an angry judge,
Whose pleasure 'tis to cause you misery?
Why force me to be faithless to yourself?
Now for your son's sake let us cease to hate.
'Tis I who urge you, Save the child from death.
Must sighs of mine beg you to spare his life?
And must I clasp your knees to plead for him?
Once more, but once,- Save him and save yourself.
I know what solemn vows for you I break,
What hatred I bring down upon myself.
Hermione shall go, and on her brow
For crown I set a burning brand of shame;
And in the fane decked for her marriage rites
Her royal diadem yourself shall wear.
