ch,
relinquishing the so-called classic rules, he endeavored, as a French
critic fitly remarks, to introduce a kind of eclecticism in stage
literature; a bold attempt, tempered with prudent reserve, in which he
wisely combined the processes favored by the new school with current
tradition. That play is indeed a happy mixture of drama and comedy. It
contains familiar dialogues and noble outbursts, which however do not
violate the proprieties of academic style.

Though he never displayed the genius of Lamartine or of Victor Hugo, and
though some of his pictures have faded since the appearance of the
dazzling productions of the great masters of romanticism, Casimir
Delavigne still ranks high in the literature of his country and century,
thanks to the lofty and steady qualities, to the tender and generous
feeling, to the noble independence, which were the honorable
characteristics of his talent and his individuality. His works, first
published in Paris in 1843 in six octavo volumes, went through many
subsequent editions.

[Illustration: Signature: Frederic Loliee]

THE CONFESSION OF LOUIS XI.

[On the point of dying, Louis XI. clings desperately to life, and
summons before him a holy monk, Francis de Paula, whom he implores
to work a miracle in his favor and prolong his life.]

_Dramatis personae:_--King Louis XI, _and_ Saint Francis de Paula,
_founder of the order of the Franciscan friars_.

_Louis_--We are alone now.

_Francis_--What do you wish of me?

_Louis_ [_who has knelt down_]--At your knees see me trembling with hope
and fear.

_Francis_--What can I do for you?

_Louis_--Everything, Father; you can do everything: you can call the
dead to life again.

_Francis_--I!

_Louis_--To the dead you say, "Leave your graves!" and they leave them.

_Francis_--Who? I?

_Louis_--You bid our ailments to be cured.

_Francis_--I, my son?

_Louis_--And they are cured. When you command the skies clear, the wind
suddenly blows or likewise abates; the falling thunderbolt at your
command moves back to the clouds. Oh, I implore you, who in the air can
keep up the beneficent dew or let it pour its welcome freshness on the
withering plant, impart fresh vigor to my old limbs. See me; I am dying;
revive my drooping energy; stretch ye out your arms to me, touch ye
those livid features of mine, and the spell of your hands will cause my
wrinkles to vanish.

_Francis_--What do you ask of me? You