lyeucte_, while the great dramatist
is present throughout, he is not always present at his best. It should
not surprise us that Corneille preferred Lucan to Virgil. Something
of the over-emphasis of the _Pharsalia_, his original, has entered
into the play; but the pomp of the verse is no vulgar pomp. A graver
fault is the want of a dramatic centre for the action, which tends
too much towards the epic. Pompey is the presiding power of the
tragedy; his spirit dominates the lesser characters; but he does not
appear in person. The political interest develops somewhat to the
subordination of the personal interest. Corneille's unhappy theory
of later years, that love is unworthy of a place in high tragedy,
save as an episode, is here exemplified in the passion of Caesar for
Cleopatra; but, in truth, love is too sovereign a power to admit of
its being tagged to tragedy as an ornament.

Until 1636 Corneille was seeking his way. From 1636 to 1644 his genius
soared on steady pinions. During the eight years that followed he
triumphed, but he also faltered. _Rodogune_ (1644), which he
preferred to all his other plays, is certainly, by virtue of the
enormity of the characters, the violence of the passions, the vastness
of its crimes, the most romantic of his tragedies; it is constructed
with the most skilful industry; from scene to scene the emotion is
intensified and heightened until the great fifth act is reached; but
if by incomparable audacity the dramatist attains the ideal, it is
an ideal of horror. _Theodore_, a second play of martyrdom, fell far
below _Polyeucte_. _Heraclius_ is obscure through the complication
of its intrigue. _Don Sanche d'Aragon_, a romantic tragi-comedy, is
less admirable as a whole than in the more brilliant scenes. In the
historical drama _Nicomede_ (1651), side by side with tragic
solemnities appears matter of a familiar kind. It was the last great
effort of its author's genius. The failure of _Pertharite_, in 1652,
led to the withdrawal of Corneille from the theatre during seven years.
He completed during his seclusion a rendering into verse of the
_Imitation of Jesus Christ_. When he returned to the stage it was
with enfeebled powers, which were overstrained by the effort of his
will; yet he could still write noble lines, and in the tragedy-ballet
of _Psyche_, in which Quinault and Moliere were his collaborators,
the most charming verses are those of Corneille. His young rival
Racine spoke to the h