[11]Guillaume Budé.
[CORNEILLE]
1606-1684
There is something forcible and majestic attached to the name of the father of French tragedy. As Æschylus displayed a sublime energy before the beauty of Sophocles, and the tenderness of Euripides threw gentler graces over the Greek theatre, so (if we may compare aught French to the mightier Athenian), before Racine added elegance and pathos, did Corneille, in heroic verse and majestic situation, impart a dignity and simplicity to the French drama afterwards wholly lost. We know little of him—a sort of shadowy indistinctness confounds the course of his life; but in the midst of this obscurity we trace the progress of a master mind—a man greater than his works, and yet not so great; who conceived ideas more sublime than any he executed, and who yet was held back from achieving all of which he might have been capable by a certain narrowness of taste. Had Corneille been English or Spanish, unfettered by French dramatic rules, unweakened by the jejune powers of French verse, his talent had shown itself far more mighty. As it is, however imperfect his plays may be, we admire the genius of the man far more than that of his successors, as displayed in the same career. It has been observed, that Shakspeare himself never portrayed a hero—a man mastering fate through the force of virtue. Corneille has done this; and some of his verses are instinct with an heroic spirit worthy a language more capable of expressing them.
Pierre Corneille, master of waters and forests in the viscounty of Rouen, and Marthe Le Pesant, a lady of noble family, were the parents of the poet, Pierre Corneille, surnamed the great. They had two other children; Thomas, who followed his brother's career, and was a dramatic author; and Marthe, who also shared the talents of this illustrious family. She was consulted by her brother, who read his plays to her before they were acted. She married, and was the mother of Fontenelle, the author. Pierre was a pupil of the Jesuits of Rouen, and always preserved feelings of gratitude towards that society. He was educated for the bar, but neither displayed taste for, nor obtained any success in, this career; while the spirit of the age and his own genius pointed out another, in which he acquired high renown.
The civil dissensions which had hitherto desolated France prevented the cultivation of the refined arts. Henry IV. bestowed peace on his country; but the men of his day, brought up in the lap of war, were rough and unlettered. It is generally found that national struggles develope, in the first instance, warriors and statesmen; and, when these are at an end, intellectual activity, finding no stage for practical exertion, turns itself to the creation of works of the imagination. Thus, at least, it was in Rome, where Virgil and Horace succeeded to Cato and Cæsar;—thus in France, where Corneille and Fénélon replaced Sully and his hero king. The influence of Henry IV. had been exerted to raise men fitted for the arts of government—that of Richelieu, to depress them. In the midst of the peace of desolation, bestowed by this minister on his country, which crushed all generous ardour for liberty or political advancement, the arts had birth; and the cardinal had not only sufficient discernment to encourage them in others, but entertained the ambition of shining himself. The theatre as yet did not exist in France; monastic exhibitions, mysteries and pageants, had been in vogue, which displayed neither invention nor talent. By degrees the French gathered some knowledge of the Spanish stage—the true source of modern drama, but they imitated them badly. The total want of merit in the plays of Hardy has condemned them to entire oblivion; and the dramas of Richelieu, though mended and patched by the best authors in Paris, were altogether execrable: but the spirit was born and spread abroad. 1629.
Ætat.
23. Pierre Corneille, in the provincial town of Rouen, imbibed it, and was incited to write. His first play was a comedy called "Melite." The plot was simple enough, and suggested by an incident that occurred to himself. A friend who was in love, and met with no return, introduced Corneille to the lady, and asked him to write a sonnet, addressed to her, in his name. The young poet found greater favour in the lady's eyes, and became a successful rival; and this circumstance, which he mixed up with others less credible, forms the plot of "Melite." "This," writes Corneille, "was my coup d'essai. It is not in the rules, for I did not then know that such existed. Common sense was my only guide, added to the example of Hardy. The success of my piece was wonderful; it caused the establishment of a new company of players in Paris; it equalled the best which had then appeared, and made me known at court." The comedy itself has slight merit, and reads dully. Perhaps the spectators felt this, for it had its critics. Corneille made a journey to Paris to see it acted.1634.
Ætat.
23. He there heard that the action of a play ought to be confined within the space of twenty-four hours; and he heard the meagerness of his plot and the familiarity of the language censured. As a sort of bravado, to show what he could do, he undertook to write a tragedy full of events, all of which should occur during the space of twenty-four hours, and raised the language to a sort of tragic elevation, while he took no pains to tax his genius to dc its best. At this time Corneille neither understood the basis on which theatrical interest rests (the struggle of the passions), nor had he acquired that force of expression which elevates him above all other French dramatic writers. He went on writing plays whose mediocrity renders them absolutely unreadable, and produced six comedies, which met with great success, as being the best which had then appeared, but which are now neither read nor acted. Thus brought into notice, he became one among five authors who corrected the plays of cardinal de Richelieu. His associates were L'Etoile, Boisrobert, Colletet, and Rotrou; of whom the last only was a man of genius, and he alone appreciated Corneille's merit. The others envied and depreciated him. They were joined in this sort of cabal by men of greater talent, and who ranked as the first literati of the day. Scuderi and Mairet both attacked him; and at last he had the misfortune to awaken the ill feelings of the cardinal-minister-author. Richelieu had caused a play to be acted at his palace, called the "Comédie des Tuileries," the scenes of which he himself arranged. Corneille ventured, unhidden, to alter something in the third act.1634.
Ætat.
29. Two of his associates represented this as an impertinence; and the cardinal reproved him, saying, that it was necessary to have "un esprit de suite," or an orderly mind, meaning a cringing one. This circumstance probably disgusted Corneille with his occupation of corrector to greatness; for, under the pretext that his presence was required at Rouen for the management of his little property, he retired from his subaltern employment.
Another reason may have induced him to take up his principal abode at Rouen. The same lady who inspired the first conception of "Melite" continued to have paramount influence over his thoughts. Her name was madame du Pont; she was wife of a maitre des comptes of Rouen, and perfectly beautiful. This was the serious and enduring passion of his life. He addressed many love poems to her, which he always refused to publish, and burnt two years before his death. She first inspired him with the love of poetry; and her secret admiration for his productions rendered him eager to write.[12] His genius was industrious and prolific.
We have few traces to denote that Corneille was a scholar. However, of course, he read Latin, and Seneca furnished him with the idea of a tragedy on the subject of Medea. The "Sophonisba" of Mairet was the only regular tragedy that had appeared on the French stage. 1635.
Ætat.
29. Corneille aspired to classic correctness in this new play; but his piece met with little success. It was a cold imitation of a bad original—the interest was null. Corneille was afterwards aware of its defects, and speaks openly of them when he subsequently printed it. After "Medea" he wrote another comedy, in his old style, called "The Illusion." It is strange that a writer whose merit consists in energy and grandeur should have spent his youth in writing tame and mediocre comedies.