César, de ta victoire écoute moins le bruit;
Elle n'est que l'effet du malheur qui me suit.—ID.
Cæsar, rejoice not in thy victory;
For my misfortune was its only cause.
What a poor artifice! what a false as well as impudent notion! Cæsar conquered at Pharsalia only because Pompey married Cornelia! What labor to say that which is neither true, nor likely, nor fit, nor interesting!
Deux fois du monde entier j'ai causé la disgrâce.—ID.
Twice have I caused the living world's disgrace.
This is the "bis nocui mundo" of Lucan. This line presents us with a very great idea; it cannot fail to surprise; it is wanting in nothing but truth. But it must be observed, that if this line had but the smallest ray of verisimilitude—had it really its birth in the pangs of grief, it would then have all the truth, all the beauty, of theatrical fitness:
Heureuse en mes malheurs, si ce triste hyménée
Pour le bonheur du monde à Rome m'eût donnée
Et si j'eusse avec moi porté dans ta maison.
D'un astre envenimé l'invincible poison!
Car enfin n'attends pas que j'abaisse ma haine:
Je te l'ai déjà dit, César, je suis Romaine;
Et, quoique ta captive, un cœur tel que le mien,
De peur de s'oublier, ne te demande rien.—ID.
Yet happy in my woes, had these sad nuptials
Given me to Cæsar for the good of Rome;
Had I but carried with me to thy house
The mortal venom of a noxious star!
For think not, after all, my hate is less:
Already have I told thee I am a Roman;
And, though thy captive, such a heart as mine,
Lest it forget itself, will sue for nothing.
This is Lucan again. She wishes, in the "Pharsalia," that she had married Cæsar.
Atque utinam in thalamis invisi Cæsaris essem
Infelix conjux, et nulli læta marito!
—Lib., viii, v. 88, 89.
Ah! wherefore was I not much rather led
A fatal bride to Cæsar's hated bed, etc.
—ROWE.
This sentiment is not in nature; it is at once gigantic and puerile: but at least it is not to Cæsar that Cornelia talks thus in Lucan. Corneille, on the contrary, makes Cornelia speak to Cæsar himself: he makes her say that she wishes to be his wife, in order that she may carry into his house "the mortal poison of a noxious star"; for, adds she, my hatred cannot be abated, and I have told thee already that I am a Roman, and I sue for nothing. Here is odd reasoning: I would fain have married thee, to cause thy death; and I sue for nothing. Be it also observed, that this widow heaps reproaches on Cæsar, just after Cæsar weeps for the death of Pompey and promises to avenge it.
It is certain, that if the author had not striven to make Cornelia witty, he would not have been guilty of the faults which, after being so long applauded, are now perceived. The actresses can scarcely longer palliate them, by a studied loftiness of demeanor and an imposing elevation of voice.
The better to feel how much mere wit is below natural sentiment, let us compare Cornelia with herself, where, in the same tirade, she says things quite opposite: