2. FRENCH TRAGEDY.
French tragedy is purely a work of art. It does not claim to mirror Nature in her infinite complexity; it is the professedly artificial presentment, in the noblest form, of character unfolding itself by means of one action, as far as possible in one place, and within the limits of one day. It is bound by other formal and conventional rules: of versification—such as the alternation of masculine and feminine pairs of rhymes, and of taste—such as the avoidance of all "doing of deeds" on the stage (e.g., all fighting and dying take place behind the scenes) and the grouping of the fewest possible secondary parts around the one central situation.
There are but three names in the front rank of writers of French tragedy: Corneille (1606-1684), Racine (1639-1699), and Voltaire (1694-1778). Their tragic masterpieces cover but one century of time, from Corneille's Le Cid (1636) to Voltaire's Mérope (1743). Before these poets, French tragedy had not reached such a degree of perfection as to be entitled to an identity of its own; after them and their few feeble imitators, it was merged into a new form, and, as classical French tragedy, ceased altogether to be.
Corneille purified both thought and language of the bad taste due to the prevailing Spanish influence. He subordinated the actor to the play, instead of composing, as his predecessors had done, lengthy monologues for mere histrionic display. He did away with absurdly tangled plots, and focussed the interest of tragedy on character. Tragedy thus purified, he made immortal by the strength and elevation of his moral teaching. His principal plays are Le Cid (1636), Cinna (1639), Polyeucte (1640).
The new tragedy shaped by Corneille, Racine carried to its highest perfection of form. Nothing in his plays betokens struggle, innovation, or effort. His is the polished finish of ease and ripeness. Subtle delineation of the passions, profound tenderness, faultlessness of style and expression, distinguish him above all others. Yet this very perfection of form robs him of some of the rough, wholesome vigor, which makes Corneille's plays the most healthy reading in the French language. Corneille speaks by the mouths of heroes, Racine speaks by the mouths of men.
Voltaire is only to be placed by their side for the extraordinary skill, amounting to genius, with which he followed in their footsteps. We must not look to him for new departures, nor indeed for the lofty authority of the one, or the harmonious richness of the other. Yet in each particular he succeeds, by the force of art, in getting within measurable distance of his models: his Zaïre (1733) and Mérope (1743) would hardly have been disowned by either.
After Voltaire, new times demanded new methods. The nineteenth century reacted against the portraiture of character alone, and required more complete representation of the action; it called for deeds enacted on the stage, and not in the slips. Hence, a new form, with a new name, le drame, has taken exclusive possession of the French tragic stage.