oquent effusion, and requested him to give her his observations in
writing, assuring him they should not go out of her hand. She was reading
his memoir when the king entered her apartment; he took it up, and, after
having looked over a few pages, he inquired with great quickness who was
the author. She replied it was a secret; but the king was peremptory, and
the author was named. The king asked with great dissatisfaction, "Is it
because he writes the most perfect verses, that he thinks that he is able
to become a statesman?"

Madame de Maintenon told the poet all that had passed, and declined to
receive his visits for the present. Racine was shortly after attacked with
violent fever. In the languor of recovery he addressed Madame de Maintenon
to petition to have his pension freed from some new tax; and he added an
apology for his presumption in suggesting the cause of the miseries of the
people, with an humiliation that betrays the alarms that existed in his
mind. The letter is too long to transcribe, but it is a singular instance
how genius can degrade itself when it has placed all its felicity on the
varying smiles of those we call the great. Well might his friend Boileau,
who had nothing of his sensibility nor imagination, exclaim, with his good
sense, of the court:--

Quel sejour etranger, et pour vous et pour moi!

Racine afterwards saw Madame de Maintenon walking in the gardens of
Versailles; she drew aside into a retired allee to meet him; she exhorted
him to exert his patience and fortitude, and told him that all would end
well. "No, madam," he replied, "never!" "Do you then doubt," she said,
"either my heart, or my influence?" He replied, "I acknowledge your
influence, and know your goodness to me; but I have an aunt who loves me
in quite a different manner. That pious woman every day implores God to
bestow on me disgrace, humiliation, and occasions for penitence, and she
has more influence than you." As he said these words, the sound of a
carriage was heard; "The king is coming!" said Madame de Maintenon; "hide
yourself!"

To this last point of misery and degradation was this great genius
reduced. Shortly after he died, and was buried at the feet of his master
in the chapel of the studious and religious society of Port-Royal.

The sacred dramas of _Esther_ and _Athaliah_ were among the latter
productions of Racine. The fate of _Athaliah_, his masterpiece, was
remarkable. The public imagined that it was