gedy of
_Polyeucte_ (1643). It is the story of Christian martyrdom; a homage
rendered to absolute self-devotion to the ideal; a canticle intoned
in celebration of heavenly grace. Polyeucte, the martyr, sacrifices
to his faith not only life, but love; his wife, who, while she knew
him imperfectly, gave him an imperfect love, is won both for God and
for her husband by his heroism; she is caught away from her tenderness
for Severe into the flame of Polyeucte's devout rapture; and through
her Severe himself is elevated to an unexpected magnanimity. The
family, the country, the monarchy, religion--these in turn were
honoured by the genius of Corneille. He had lifted the drama from
a form of loose diversion to be a great art; he had recreated it as
that noblest pastime whose function is to exercise and invigorate
the soul.

The transition from _Polyeucte_ to _Le Menteur_, of the same year,
is among the most surprising in literature.[2] From the most elevated
of tragedies we pass to a comedy, which, while not belonging to the
great comedy of character, is charmingly gay. We expect no grave
moralities here, nor do we find them. The play is a free and original
adaptation from a work of the Spanish dramatist Alarcon, but in
Corneille's hands it becomes characteristically French. Young
Dorante, the liar, invents his fictions through an irresistible
genius for romancing. His indignant father may justly ask, Has he
a heart? Is he a gentleman? But how can a youth with such a pretty
wit resist the fascination of his own lies? He is sufficiently
punished by the fact that they do not assist, but rather trouble,
the course of his love adventure, and we demand no further poetical
justice. In Corneille's art, tragedy had defined itself, and comedy
was free to be purely comic; but it is also literary--light, yet solid
in structure; easy, yet exact in style. The _Suite du Menteur_,
founded on a comedy by Lope de Vega, has a curious attraction of its
own, half-fantastic as it is, and half-realistic; yet it has shared
the fate of all continuations, and could not attain the popularity
of its predecessor. It lacks gaiety; the liar has sunk into a rascal,
and we can hardly lend credence to the amendment in his mendacious
habit when he applies the art of dissimulation to generous purposes.

[Footnote 2: _Polyeucte_ may possibly be as early as 1641.]

These are the masterpieces of Corneille. Already in _Pompee_,
although its date is that of _Po