Abbé d'Aubignac, a man of decided talent and
erudition, was not allowed a seat in the French
Academy; nor could his rejection be ascribed to
any cause, save his atrocious opinion, openly
expressed, that Roxane was but an indifferent
work after all.

But the dramatic work in which Richelieu
took the greatest pride was the tragedy Mirame,
of which Desmarets was the only nominal
author, but which certainly owed its existence
partly to the cardinal, who built the large
private theatre in the Palais Royal witli the
sole view of producing it in effective style.
On the first representation the play failed
miserably, and Richelieu, in despair, sent for
Desmarets, who shook in his shoes on receiving
the summons, and had the precaution to take
with him a friend, in whose practical wisdom
he felt great confidence. "Sad want of taste in
the French," cried the cardinal, as they both
entered; "they don't even like Mirame." "Nay,
your Eminence," said the judicious friend, "the
public is not to blame—still less the author of
that piece; but those actors—ah those actors!
Your Eminence must have noticed, not only that
they had not learned their parts, but that they
were disgracefully intoxicated." Richelieu
found the explanation satisfactory, and the
second performance of Mirame—the actors
having been duly admonished, and the audience
carefully selected— went off with the most
brilliant success, the cardinal himself being the
ringleader of approbation, violently using hands
and feet in the work of applause, and
sometimes thrusting his body far out of his box to
secure silence and a proper appreciation of the
choice passages.

Much less fortunate was Europe, another
joint production, which, like Mirame, was
nominally the sole work of Desmarets, and the
dullness of which must have been surprising. The
interest of the piece was intended to be purely
political; allegorical representations of Spain,
France, and other European countries, stalk
upon the boards, and discourse of their power,
their resources, and their relations with each
other. Richelieu, when the work was
complete, found it so very admirable that, in
order to have a special opinion, he sent it to
the French Academy, with the request that the
forty members of that grave body would favour
him with an impartial opinion. The Academicians,
forgetting for the nonce that they were
the cardinal's creatures, looked rather at the
letter than at the spirit of this request, and
returned the play with such a severe criticism
that his eminence, stung to the quick, tore up
the manuscript, and flung it into the fireplace.
Had the season been winter, the cardinal would
have been spared further annoyance, and a fight
famed in the annals of French literature would
have been avoided; but, as it happened, the
season was spring, and there was no fire; so
the cardinal, who had changed his mind in the
course of the night, was enabled to collect the
precious fragments in the morning, and to have
a fair new copy made with all possible speed.
A few slight alterations alone distinguished the
second from the first edition of the play, and
the intellect of the Academicians had undergone
an amelioration likewise. They now clearly saw
that their approval was expected, and, like wise
and learned gentlemen as they were, they sent
in praise without measure, having carefully
avoided a reperusal of the work, partly to save
themselves trouble, partly to avoid every risk that
an unfavourable impression might be revived.

But the misfortunes of Europe were not
to be averted. Elated with the applause of the
Academy, the cardinal could no longer be
content with a private triumph, but must needs
have his play brought out at the Hôtel de
Bourgogne, the great public theatre, during the first
"run" (as we should now say) of the Cid.
Besides his earlier comedies, Corneille had
already produced a tragedy on the subject of
Medea, with slight success; but the Cid,
brought out in 1636, was a work to which
nothing comparable had ever been seen in
Paris, and about which everybody was in
ecstacy. Into the midst of the general
enthusiasm was thrust the poor insipid Europe,
doomed to confront a throng composed of people
in general, and consequently including some
irreverend souls who feared not Richelieu. So
when, after the termination of the play, one of
the actors announced it for repetition on the
following day, unequivocal sounds of
disapprobation arose on all sides, and a general cry
was raised for the all-popular Cid. A severe
critique written on Corneille's play by the
Academy, at the instigation of the cardinal, in
consequence of this mishap, is among the
memorabilia of French literary history.

A thought has occurred to us while collecting
the materials for this paper. The generality of
Englishmen, including those who are passionately
fond of French prose, have a natural antipathy
to French heroic verse, and avoid Corneille
and Racine with an instinctive dread of
boredom, which only the genius of a Rachel
was able to subdue. To the educated Parisian,
a contest between Richelieu and his creatures
on one side, and the great Corneille on the
other, places the former in a purely ridiculous
position; but we doubt whether many Englishmen,
masters of the French language, would, without
having undergone an acclimatising process,
arrive at the conclusion that a play by Desmarets
was so very, very bad, granted that the best
tragedy by Corneille was so very, very good.

HOLIDAY ROMANCE,
BY CHARLES DICKENS,
Will be concluded in the next Number.