of Aphrodite. Being thus absolved from moral responsibility, she is likewise saved from moral obliquity. Racine seldom allows himself thus to adopt a Greek myth, and it is hardly necessary to show how enormously the complex idea of the interference of the gods increases the difficulty of giving an idea of the character to a modern audience; for, although a woman in her weakness and her sin, Phèdre must be almost divine in her sorrow and her love. And it was from this point of view that Rachel so immeasurably surpassed all other actresses. Sarah Bernhardt, who in this role has most nearly approached her, is weak, unequal, passionate. We see all the viciousness of Phèdre, and none of her grandeur. She breaks herself to pieces against the huge difficulties of the conception, and does not succeed in moving us. In the second scene, where Phèdre, thinking her husband is dead, confesses her incestuous passion to the object of it, Sarah Bernhardt never rises above the level of an Aventurière or a Frou-Frou. Rachel was the mouth-piece of the gods; no longer a free agent, she poured forth every epithet of adoration that Aphrodite could suggest, clambering up higher and higher in the intensity of her emotion, whilst her audience hung breathless, riveted on every word, and only dared to burst forth in thunders of applause after she had vanished from their sight.
When Racine was blamed by Arnauld for departing from the simplicity of the ancient Greek fable by introducing the character of Aricie, he is said to have replied, "Mais qu'auraient dit nos petits-maîtres?" An interesting comparison might be made between the drama as understood by Racine and the drama as understood by Euripides, typifying thereby the dif-
