centuries, and to determine, not merely the language and complexion,
but also the form of French verse during the whole of that
time. Accidentally, or as a matter of logical consequence (it
would not be proper here to attempt to decide the question),
poetry became almost synonymous with drama. It is true,
as we shall have to point out, that there were, in the early part
of the 17th century at least, poets, properly so called, of no contemptible
merit. But their merit, in itself respectable, sank in
comparison with the far greater merit of their dramatic rivals.
Théophile de Viau and Racan, Voiture and Saint-Amant cannot
for a moment be mentioned in the same rank with Corneille.
It is certainly curious, if it is not something more than curious,
that this decline in poetry proper should have coincided with the
so-called reforms of Malherbe. The tradition of respect for this
elder and more gifted Boileau was at one time all-powerful in
France, and, notwithstanding the Romantic movement, is still
strong. In rejecting a large number of the importations of the
Ronsardists, he certainly did good service. But it is difficult to
avoid ascribing in great measure to his influence the origin of
the chief faults of modern French poetry, and modern French
in general, as compared with the older language. He pronounced
against “poetic diction” as such, forbade the overlapping
(enjambement) of verse, insisted that the middle pause should be
of sense as well as sound, and that rhyme must satisfy eye as
well as ear. Like Pope, he sacrificed everything to “correctness,”
and, unluckily for French, the sacrifice was made at a time when
no writer of an absolutely supreme order had yet appeared in the
language. With Shakespeare and Milton, not to mention scores
of writers only inferior to them, safely garnered, Pope and his
followers could do us little harm. Corneille and Molière unfortunately
came after Malherbe. Yet it would be unfair to this writer,
however badly we may think of his influence, to deny him talent,
and even a certain amount of poetical inspiration. He had not
felt his own influence, and the very influences which he despised
and proscribed produced in him much tolerable and some admirable
verse, though he is not to be named as a poet with Regnier,
who had the courage, the sense and the good taste to oppose
and ridicule his innovations. Of Malherbe’s school, Honorat de
Bueil, marquis de Racan (1589–1670), and François de Maynard
(1582–1646) were the most remarkable. The former was a true
poet, though not a very strong one. Like his master, he is best
when he follows the models whom that master contemned.
Perhaps more than any other poet, he set the example of the
classical alexandrine, the smooth and melodious but monotonous
and rather effeminate measure which Racine was to bring to the
highest perfection, and which his successors, while they could not
improve its smoothness, were to make more and more monotonous
until the genius of Victor Hugo once more broke up its facile
polish, supplied its stiff uniformity, and introduced vigour,
variety, colour and distinctness in the place of its feeble sameness
and its pale indecision. But the vigour, not to say the licence,
of the 16th century could not thus die all at once. In Théophile
de Viau (1591–1626) the early years of the 17th century had their
Villon. The later poet was almost as unfortunate as the earlier,
and almost as disreputable, but he had a great share of poetical
and not a small one of critical power. The étoile enragée under
which he complains that he was born was at least kind to him
in this respect; and his readers, after he had been forgotten for
two centuries, have once more done him justice. Racan and
Théophile were followed in the second quarter of the century
by two schools which sufficiently well represented the tendencies
of each. The first was that of Vincent Voiture (1598–1648),
Isaac de Benserade (1612–1691), and other poets such as Claude
de Maleville (1597–1647), author of La Belle Matineuse, who were
connected more or less with the famous literary coterie of the
Hôtel de Rambouillet. Théophile was less worthily succeeded by
a class, it can hardly be called a school of poets, some of whom,
like Gérard Saint-Amant (1594–1660), wrote drinking songs
of merit and other light pieces; others, like Paul Scarron (1610–1660)
and Sarrasin (1603? 4? 5?-1654), devoted themselves
rather to burlesque of serious verse. Most of the great dramatic
authors of the time also wrote miscellaneous poetry, and there
was even an epic school of the most singular kind, in ridiculing
and discrediting which Boileau for once did undoubtedly good
service. The Pucelle of Jean Chapelain (1595–1674), the unfortunate
author who was deliberately trained and educated for a
poet, who enjoyed for some time a sort of dictatorship in French
literature on the strength of his forthcoming work, and at whom
from the day of its publication every critic of French literature
has agreed to laugh, was the most famous and perhaps the worst
of these. But Georges de Scudéry (1601–1667) wrote an Alaric,
the Père le Moyne (1602–1671) a Saint Louis, Jean Desmarets
de Saint-Sorlin (1595–1676), a dramatist and critic of some note,
a Clovis, and Saint-Amant a Moïse, which were not much better,
though Théophile Gautier in his Grotesques has valiantly defended
these and other contemporary versifiers. And indeed it cannot
be denied that even the epics, especially Saint Louis, contain
flashes of finer poetry than France was to produce for more than
a century outside of the drama. Some of the lighter poets and
classes of poetry just alluded to also produced some remarkable
verse. The Précieuses of the Hôtel Rambouillet, with all their
absurdities, encouraged if they did not produce good literary
work. In their society there is no doubt that a great reformation
of manners took place, if not of morals, and that the tendency
to literature elegant and polished, yet not destitute of vigour,
which marks the 17th century, was largely developed side by
side with much scandal-mongering and anecdotage. Many of the
authors whom these influences inspired, such as Voiture, Saint-Évremond
and others, have been or will be noticed. But even
such poets and wits as Antoine Baudouin de Sénecé (1643–1737),
Jean de Segrais (1624–1701), Charles Faulure de Ris, sieur de
Charleval (1612–1693), Antoine Godeau (1605–1672), Jean Ogier
de Gombaud (1590–1666), are not without interest in the history
of literature; while if Charles Cotin (1604–1682) sinks below this
level and deserves Molière’s caricature of him as Trissotin in
Les Femmes savantes, Gilles de Ménage (1630–1692) certainly
rises above it, notwithstanding the companion satire of Vadius.
Ménage’s name naturally suggests the Ana which arose at this
time and were long fashionable, stores of endless gossip, sometimes
providing instruction and often amusement. The Guirlande
de Julie, in which most of the poets of the time celebrated
Julie d’Angennes, daughter of the marquise de Rambouillet, is
perhaps the best of all such albums, and Voiture, the typical poet
of the coterie, was certainly the best writer of vers de société
who is known to us. The poetical war which arose between the
Uranistes, the followers of Voiture, and the Jobistes, those of
Benserade, produced reams of sonnets, epigrams and similar
verses. This habit of occasional versification continued long.
It led as a less important consequence to the rhymed Gazettes of
Jean Loret (d. 1665), which recount in octosyllabic verse of a
light and lively kind the festivals and court events of the early
years of Louis XIV. It led also to perhaps the most remarkable
non-dramatic poetry of the century, the Contes and Fables of
Jean de la Fontaine (1621–1695). No French writer is better
known than la Fontaine, and there is no need to dilate on his
merits. It has been well said that he completes Molière, and that
the two together give something to French literature which no
other literature possesses. Yet la Fontaine is after all only a
writer of fabliaux, in the language and with the manners of his
own century.
All the writers we have mentioned belong more or less to the first half of the century, and so do Valentin Conrart (1603–1675), Antoine Furetière (1626–1688), Chapelle (Claude Emmanuel) l’Huillier (1626–1686), and others not worth special mention. The latter half of the century is far less productive, and the poetical quality of its production is even lower than the quantity. In it Boileau (1636–1711) is the chief poetical figure. Next to him can only be mentioned Madame Deshoulières (1638–1694), Guillaume de Brébeuf (1618–1661), the translator of Lucan, Philippe Quinault (1635–1688), the composer of opera libretti. Boileau’s satire, where it has much merit, is usually borrowed direct from Horace. He had a certain faculty as a critic of the slashing order, and might have profitably used it if he had written in prose. But of his poetry it must be said, not so much that it is
