It goes on to describe the peace and prosperity enjoyed by the Sainte Chapelle at Paris[89]:—

Discord witnesses their repose with indignation:—

But, finding that the chapter of the Holy Chapel is impervious to her influence, her anger is roused; and, taking the form of an old chanter, she visits the treasurer, a bishop, resolved to excite him to strife. The description of the prelate, who, supported by a breakfast, dozed till dinner, is full of wit:—

Discord enters, and addresses herself to the work of mischief:—

This exhortation has its full effect: the prelate rises, full of wrath and resolution, and even talks of assembling the chapter before dinner. Gilotin, his faithful almoner, remonstrates successfully against this piece of heroism:—

The chapter is afterwards assembled; the bishop, in tears, complains of the presumption of the chanter; when Sidrac, the Nestor of the chapter, suggests a means of humbling him; and a description of the famous reading-desk is introduced:—

The last couplet contains a compliment to the bishop of Aleth, who dedicated his life to the instruction and improvement of the people of his diocese. We are a little astonished at the freedom with which Boileau rallies the clergy. At this period, when the quarrels of the jesuits and jansenists were dividing and convulsing the French church, the sarcasms of Boileau must have had a deep, perhaps a salutary, effect. The priesthood was enraged, and denounced the "Lutrin" as blasphemous; but the whole laity, with the king at their head, enjoyed the wit, and acknowledged its appositeness.

To return to the story of the poem. The advice of Sidrac is eagerly adopted. They draw lots, and three are thus selected for the task. Brontin comes first; then L'Amour, a hairdresser, a new Adonis with a blond wig, only care of Anne his wife, so haughty of mien that he is the terror of his neighbourhood; lastly, the name of Boirude, the sacristan, is drawn. This choice satisfies the chapter, and the first canto ends with the notice, that

The second book commences with a description of Renown, imitated from Virgil's Fame, who reveals the wigmaker's purpose to his wife, and a scene of remonstrance ensues and reproach, parodied on the parting of Æneas and Dido. The portions of the poem which are parodies on the ancient epics are full of wit; but they are less amusing than those passages already cited, in which the poet gives scope to his fancy, unshackled by imitation of what indeed is inimitable. We are, therefore, less amused by the quarrel of the wigmaker and his wife than with the conclusion of the second book; when Discord marks the progress of the three adventurers towards the tower where the Lutrin is hid, and shout forth so joyously as to awaken Indolence. The description of Indolence contains, perhaps, the best verses that Boileau ever wrote:—

Night enters, and frightens her still more with the recital of how, on the morrow, the Lutrin was to appear in the Sainte Chapelle, and excite mutiny and war. Indolence, troubled by this account, lets fall a tear, and, opening an eye, complains in a feeble and interrupted voice:—

This passage is remarkable as being the cause of Boileau's first appearance at court, of which further mention will be made. This episode is the jewel of the whole poem. Burlesque becomes tiresome when long drawn: though there are verses interspersed throughout full of sarcasm the most pointed, and ridicule the most happy, we are fatigued by a sort of monotony of tone, and the unvarying spirit of parody or irony that reigns throughout. The third canto is taken up by the enterprise of the three, who enter the sacristy to seize upon the Lutrin. Night has brought an owl, and hid it in the desk, whose sudden appearance terrifies the heroes, who are about to fly, till Discord rallies them, and they pursue the adventure, carry the desk in triumph, and place it in its ancient place before the seat of the chanter. The book concludes with an address to the latter, apostrophising the grief that will seize him when, on the morrow, the insult will be revealed. The fourth book contains the discovery—the rage of the chanter—his resolution to destroy the desk—the assembling of the chapter—their indignation—and it concludes with the destruction of the Lutrin, and its being carried off piecemeal. At first the poem consisted only of these four books. Boileau announced, that "reasons of great importance prevented his publishing the whole;" but the fact was, that only four books were at that time written. The fifth book describes the meeting of the inimical parties, and a battle that ensued. Both prelate and chanter, rushing to the chapelle, encounter each other, near the shop of Barbin, a bookseller: they eye each other with fury, till a partisan of the chanter, unable to suppress his rage, seizes a ponderous volume—the "Great Cyrus" of mademoiselle Scuderi—hurls it at Boirude, who avoids the blow, and the vast mass assails poor Sidrac: the old man, "accablé de l'horrible Artamène," falls, breathless, at the feet of the bishop. This is a signal for a general attack: they rush into the shop, disfurnish the shelves, and hurl the volumes at one another. In naming the books thus used, Boileau indulges in satirical allusions to contemporary authors, and exclaims:—

And then follows the names of many now so entirely forgotten, that the point of his sarcasms escapes us. The party of the chanter is on the point of being victorious, till the bishop, by a happy stratagem, contrives to escape the danger:—

Nothing can be more humorous than this description. The bishop conferring his blessing in a spirit of vengeance, and his angry enemies forced, unwillingly, to be blessed, is truly ludicrous. Yet here Boileau laid himself open to attack. In the remainder of the poem, while ridiculing the clergy, no word escaped him that treated sacred things jocosely, and he was too pious indeed not to have shrunk from so doing. This joke made of a bishop's blessing intrenched on this rule: priests, who hitherto had remained silent, now ventured to raise the cry of blasphemy. However, it was innocuous: the excellent character and real piety of Boileau sheltered him from the attacks so levelled. The sixth book recounts the arrival of Piety, and Faith, and Grace, who awaken Aristus (the First President Lamoignon, to whom, he having died in the interval between the publishing the commencement of the poem and its conclusion, Boileau paid this tribute of respect), and, through his mediation, peace is restored.

We have given this detail of the "Lutrin," as being at once the best and the most successful of Boileau's poems. We now return to the author. We have alluded to his presentation at court, occasioned by the eulogy of Louis XIV., which the poet puts in the mouth of Indolence. Madame de Thianges, sister of madame de Montespan, was so struck by this passage, that, while the poem was still in manuscript, she read it to the king; and he, flattered and pleased, desired that the poet should be presented to him. Boileau accordingly appeared at court. The king conversed with him, and asked him what passage in his poems he himself esteemed the best. It so happened that the prince of Condé had found fault with the conclusion of his epistle to the king. It had ended with the fable of the two men quarrelling about an oyster they had found, and referred their dispute to a judge, who swallowed the cause of it in a moment. The prince considered this story, however well told, not in harmony with the elevated tone of the epistle; and Boileau, yielding to the criticism, wrote a different conclusion. When asked by the king for his favourite passage, the little tact he had as a courtier, joined to an author's natural partiality for his latest production, made him cite the lines, of which these are the concluding ones:—

The king was naturally touched by this forcible and eloquent praise: the tears came into his eyes, and he exclaimed, "This is, indeed, beautiful; and I would praise you more had you praised me less." And at once he bestowed a pension on the poet. Such applause and such tribute, from a monarch then adored by his subjects, might have elated a weak man. Boileau afterwards related that, on returning home, his first emotion was sadness: he feared that he had bartered his liberty, and he regretted its loss.

1677.
Ætat.
41.

Racine was already received at court, and a favourite. The intimate and tender friendship between him and Boileau caused them often to be together, and together they conceived many literary plans. One of these was the institution of an academy composed of a very small number of persons, who were selected for the purpose of writing a short explanation beneath every medal struck by Louis XIV. to celebrate the great events of his reign. These scanty notices were necessarily incomplete, and madame de Montespan originated the project of a regular history being compiled. "Flattery was the motive," writes madame de Caylus, in her memoirs; "but it must be allowed that it was not the idea of a common-place woman." Madame de Maintenon proposed that the king should name Boileau and Racine his joint historiographers, and the appointment accordingly took place.

The poets, gratified by the distinction, were eager to render themselves competent to the task. It must be remembered, that, though their inutility and subsequent loss have thrown Louis's conquests into the shade, they were then the object of all men's admiration, and were the influential events of the time; while the rapidity and brilliancy of his victories dazzled his subjects, and intimidated all other nations. The two friends renounced poetry, and betook themselves to the studies appertaining to their future work. They applied themselves to the past history of their country, and to the memoirs and letters concerning the then present time, which, at the command of the king, were placed in their hands. Louis was at war with Holland, Spain, and the German empire. Turenne was dead; but many great generals, formed under him and the great Condé, remained. Louvois, as minister of war, facilitated every undertaking by the admirable order which he established in his department The king joined the armies in person in the spring, and town after town fell into his hands. 1677.
Ætat.
41. On his return from these rapid conquests, he asked his historiographers how it was that they had not had the curiosity to witness a siege—"The distance was so slight," he said. "Very true," replied Racine, "but our tailors were too slow: we ordered clothes for the journey, but, before they came home, all the towns besieged by your majesty were taken." The compliment pleased Louis, who bade them prepare by times for the next campaign, as they ought to witness the events which, as historians, they were destined to relate.

1678.
Ætat.
42.

The following year, accordingly, the two authors accompanied the king to the siege of Gand. The fact of two poets following the army to be present at sieges and battles was the source of a number of pleasantries at court. Their more warlike friends, in good-humoured raillery, laid a thousand traps for their ignorance: they often fell in; and when they did not they got the credit of so doing, as the king was to be diverted by their mistakes. The poets seem to have been singularly ignorant of everything appertaining to a journey, and to have shown the most amusing credulity. Racine was told that he must take care to have his horse shod by a bargain of forfeit. "Do you imagine," said his adviser, M. de Cavoie, "that an army always finds blacksmiths ready on their march? Before you leave Paris, a bargain is made with a smith, who warrants, on penalty of a forfeit, that your horse's shoes shall remain on for six months." "I never heard of that before," said Racine; "Boileau did not tell me; but I do not wonder—he never thinks of anything." He hastened to his friend to reproach him for this neglect; Boileau confessed his ignorance; and they hurried out to seek the blacksmith most in use for this sort of bargain. The king was duly informed of their perplexity, and, by his raillery in the evening, undeceived them. One day, after a long march, Boileau, whose health was weak, being much fatigued, threw himself on his bed, supperless, on arriving. M. de Cavoie, hearing this, went to him, after the king's supper, and said, with an appearance of great uneasiness, that he had bad news. "The king," he said, "is displeased with you. He remarked a very blameable act of which you were guilty to-day." "What was it?" asked Boileau in alarm. "I cannot bring myself to tell you," replied his tormentor; "I cannot make up my mind to afflict my friends." Then, after teazing him for some time, he said, "Well, if I must confess it, the king remarked that you were sitting awry on your horse." "If that is all," said Boileau, "let me go to sleep." On one occasion, during this campaign, Louis having so exposed himself that a cannon ball passed within perilous vicinity, Boileau addressed him, saying, "I beg, sire, in the character of your historian, that you will not bring your history to so abrupt a conclusion."

Boileau's health prevented him from following any other campaign; but Racine accompanied the king in several, and wrote long narrations to his brother historian. It has been asserted that, though named historiographers, they did not employ themselves in fulfilling the duties of their office; and a fragment of Racine's, on the siege of Namur, is the only relic that remains of their employment. Louis Racine, however, assures us that they were continually occupied on it. On their death, their joint labours fell into the hands of M. de Valincour, their successor, and were consumed when his house at Saint-Cloud was burned down.

That such was the case seems certain, from the fact that they were in the habit, when they had written any detail of interest, of reading it to the king. These readings took place in the apartments of madame de Montespan. Both had the entree there at the hour of the king's visit, and madame de Maintenon was also present. Racine was the favourite of the latter lady, Boileau of the former; but the friends were wholly devoid of jealousy; and Boileau's free spirit led him to set little real store by court favour. In these royal interviews, the poets could mark the increasing influence of madame de Maintenon, and the decreasing favour of her rival. At one time, however, madame de Montespan contrived to get her friend excluded from the readings, much to the mortification of the historians. This did not last long. One day, the king being indisposed, and keeping his bed, they were summoned, with an order to bring some newly-written portion of their history with them. They were surprised to find madame de Maintenon sitting in an arm-chair near the king's bed, in familiar conversation with him. They were about to commence reading when madame de Montespan entered. Her uneasy manner and exaggerated civilities showed her vacillating position; till the king, to put an end to her various demonstrations of annoyance, told her to sit down and listen, as it was not just that a work, commenced under her directions, should be read in her absence.

Such scenes seem scarcely to enter into a narration of Boileau's life; but, he being present at them, they form a portion, and cannot be passed over. It is essential to his character to show, that, though admitted to a court, the cynosure of all men's aspirations, the focus of glory, he was neither dazzled nor fettered by its influence. As a courtier he maintained a free and manly bearing, while his absence of mind even caused him to fall into mistakes which shocked his more careful friend Racine. Being in conversation one day with madame de Maintenon on the subject of literature, Boileau exclaimed against the vulgar burlesque poetry which had formerly been in fashion, and it escaped him to say, "Happily this vile taste has passed away, and Scarron is no longer read even in the provinces." Racine reproached him afterwards:—"Why name Scarron before her?" he said; "are you ignorant of their near connection."—"Alas! no," replied Boileau; "but it is the first thing I forget when I am in her company." He even forgot himself so far, on occasions, as to mention Scarron before the king. Racine was still more scandalised on this:—"I will not accompany you to court," he said, "if you are so imprudent." "I am ashamed," replied Boileau; "but what man is exempt from saying foolish things?" and he excused himself by alleging the example of M. Arnaud, who was even more absent. Nor did he limit his want of pliancy to mere manner. He did not disguise more important differences of opinion. The king and court espoused the cause of the jesuits: to be a jansenist often caused the entire loss of court favour; but Boileau did not conceal his adherence to that party, and his partiality to its chief, M. Arnaud; and as he grew older, instead of growing more servile, he emancipated himself yet more entirely from court influence; and his "Epistle on Ambiguity" is a proof of an independence of spirit that commands our warmest esteem.

His courage in thus openly espousing the opinions of jansenism surprised Racine. "You enjoy," he said to him, "a privilege I cannot obtain. You say things I dare not say. You have praised persons in your poems whom I do not venture to mention. You are the person that ought to be accused of jansenism; yet I am much more attacked. What can be the reason?" "It is an obvious one," replied Boileau; "you go to mass every day; I only go on Sundays and festivals."

The honour of belonging to the academy was in those days eagerly sought after. Boileau aspired to a seat, but never solicited it, and was passed over. It has been related in the life of La Fontaine how displeased the king was with this omission, and how he refused to confirm La Fontaine's election till Boileau was also chosen. His speech on taking possession of his chair, in which it was the fashion for the new member to humiliate himself, and exalt the academy with ridiculous exaggerations, was dignified, but modest. He alluded to the attacks he had made on authors who were members of the academy as "many reasons that shut its doors against him." His after career as member was rather stormy. Surrounded by writers whom he had satirised, and who conceived themselves injured, he had to contend with a numerous party. His chief antagonist was a M. Charpentier, on whom he often spent the treasures of his wit, and discomfited by his raillery, though he had a host of members on his side. One day, however, he gained his point. "It is surprising," he said: "everybody sided with me, and yet I was in the right."

His life, meanwhile, was easy and agreeable. Undisturbed by passion, yet of warm and affectionate feelings, with a mind ever active, and a temper unruffled, the society and pleasures of Paris, the favour of the great, and love of his friends, filled and varied his days. The slight annuity he had purchased with his inheritance was seasonably increased by the pension which the king had bestowed on him, and his salary as historiographer. He was careful and economical, but the reverse of grasping or avaricious. He had an ill-founded scruple as to an author's profiting by his writings, as if he had not a legitimate claim on the price which the public were eager to pay to acquire his productions. He carried this so far as to infect Racine with the same notion. In his own case there might be some ground; since, when he first published, his works consisted of satires, and a delicate, feeling man might shrink from profiting by the attacks he made on others. Another instance is given of his scrupulousness in money matters. He enjoyed for some years an income arising from a benefice. His venerated friend, M. de Lamoignon, represented to him that he could not conscientiously, as a layman, enjoy the revenues of the church; and he not only gave up his benefice, but, calculating how much he had received during the years that he enjoyed it, he distributed that sum among the poor of the place. Another anecdote is told of his generosity. M. Patin was esteemed one of the cleverest men of the times, as well as one the most excellent and virtuous. His passion for literature was such, that he neglected his profession as advocate for its sake, and fell into indigence. He was forced to sell his library: Boileau bought it, and then begged his friend to keep possession of it as long as he lived. He was, indeed, generally kind-hearted and generous to authors, unchecked by any ill conduct on their part. Often he lent money to a miserable writer, Linière, who would go and spend it at alehouses, and write a song against his creditor. The economy that allowed him to be thus generous was indeed praiseworthy, and did not arise from love of money, but a spirit of independence, and the power of self-denial in matters of luxury.

1687.
Ætat.
51.

The only thing that seems to have unpleasantly disturbed his easy yet busy life was a delicate state of health, and he grew more ailing as he grew older. At one time an affection of the chest caused him to lose his voice, and he was ordered to drink the waters of the baths of Bourbon as a means of regaining it. His correspondence with Racine on this occasion is published. Boileau's letters are the best, the most witty, easy, and amusing. Racine relates how each day the king inquired after his health, and was eager for his return to court; while Boileau laments over his continued indisposition. There was a dispute among the physicians, as to his bathing in the waters as well as drinking them: some of the learned declaring such an act fatal, while others recommended it as a mode of cure. Racine related to the king, while at dinner, the perplexity of his friend between these contradictory counsels. "For my part," said the princess de Conti, who was sitting near Louis, "I would rather be mute for thirty years, than risk my life to regain my voice." Boileau replied, "I am not surprised at the princess of Conti's sentiment. If she lost her speech, she would still retain a million other charms to compensate to her for her loss, and she would still be the most perfect creature that for a long time nature has produced; but a wretch like me needs his voice to be endured by men, and to dispute with M. Charpentier. If it were only on the latter account one ought to risk something; and life is not of such value, but that one may hazard it for the sake of being able to interrupt such a speaker." These letters are very entertaining; they display the style of the times, and the vivacity and amiableness of Boileau's disposition, in very pleasing colours. His vivacity was of the head, and of temper. He was exempt from vehemence of feeling; and did not suffer the internal struggles to which those are subject whose souls are impregnated with passion; nor was he satirical in conversation: as madame de Sévigné said of him, he was cruel only in verse; and Lord Rochester's expression was applied to him—

Without pride, also, and without pretension, he could turn his own fame and labours into a jest. Going one day to present the order for his pension, which said that it was granted "on account of the satisfaction which the king derived from his works," the clerk asked him what sort of works his were. "Masonry," he replied: "I am an architect." At another time, when, passing Easter at a friend's house in the country, and being exact in fulfilling his religious duties, he made his confession to a country curate, to whom he was unknown, the confessor asked him what his usual occupations were? "Writing verses," replied the penitent. "So much the worse," said the curate; "and what sort of verses?" "Satires." "Still worse—and against whom?" "Against those who write bad verses, against the vices of the times, against pernicious books, romances, and operas." "Ah!" cried the curate, "that is not so bad, and I have nothing to say against it."

1687.
Ætat.
51.

His spirit of intolerance for "those who wrote bad verses," or approved them, was excited to its height by Perrault's[92] "Siècle de Louis Quatorze." This poem was the origin of the famous dispute as to the ancients and moderns, which "Swift's Battle of the Books" made known in this country. Perrault, with little Latin, and no Greek, undertook to depreciate Homer; and he had Fontenelle for his ally, who, with more learning and less taste, declared that, if the Greek bucolic writers had now first produced their pastorals, they would be scouted as wretched. Perrault did not content himself with the exposition of his opinion in his poem; he wrote a "Parallel between the Ancients and Moderns," in which he not only praised the good writers of the day, but even Chapelain, Quinault, Cotin, and others on whom Boileau had set the seal of his irony. 1692.
Ætat.
56. The satirist could neither brook this rebellion against his fiat, nor the sort of blasphemy indulged in against those great masters of the art whom he was aware he but feebly imitated. He wrote several bitter epigrams against Perrault; and then, finding that by no explanation or translation could he make a mere French reader understand the sublimity of Pindar, he sought to imitate this poet in his ode on the taking of Namur. This was a bold undertaking, and it cannot be said that he succeeded; for the French language was then far less capable than now of expressing the sublime; and Boileau's talent was not of that elevated and daring kind which could invent new modes of expression, and force his language to embody the ideal and bold images that constitute the sublime. Still we must honour the attempt for the sake of its motive. "The following ode," he says, in his preface, "was written on occasion of those strange dialogues, lately published, in which all the great writers of antiquity are treated as authors to be compared with the Chapelains and Cotins; and in which, while it is sought to do honour to our age, it is really vilified by the fact that there exist men capable of writing such nonsense. Pindar is the worst treated." He goes on to say that, as it was exceedingly difficult to explain the beauties of Pindar to those who did not understand Greek, he attempted to write a French ode in imitation of his style, as the best mode of conveying an idea of it. This war went on for some time; and various attacks, replies, and rejoinders appeared on both sides. At last a personal reconciliation took place between Boileau and Perrault; neither yielded his opinion, but they ceased to write against each other.

1659.
Ætat.
56.

At this time also he wrote other satires:—one on women, which rather consists of portraits of various faulty individuals than a satire against the sex in general. It is by no means one of the best of his works. We may say otherwise, however, of the spirit that reigns in the satire addressed to Ambiguity, and which, from the boldness with which it attacks the jesuits, is at once one of the most useful of his works, and displays the independence of his soul. He wrote his epistle also on the Love of God, another jansenist production. At this time he again awoke to the pleasures of composition, at the same time that he showed such a love for his works that he emptied his portfolios of every scrap of verse he had ever written, and placed them in the hands of the booksellers.[93] As he grew older he became more recluse in his habits, without losing any of the pleasure he always felt in the society of his intimate friends. The turn he had for personal enjoyment, which had shown itself in youth, in a love for social and convivial pleasures, became a sort of happy indolence, enlivened by the pleasures of friendship. His correspondence with Racine displays an affectionate disposition, an easy carelessness as to money, and a quiet sort of wit, which turned to pleasantry the ordinary routine of life, and bespeaks a mind at ease, and a well-balanced disposition. The expenses of his wars caused Louis XIV. to reduce the pensions he had granted, and those of Boileau and Racine suffered with the rest. Racine was then at court; and he wrote to his friend to inform him, that their salaries as historiographers were fixed at 4000 livres a year for himself and 2000 for Boileau; the health of the latter not permitting him to follow the army being the cause of his receiving the smaller sum. Racine adds, "You see everything is arranged as you yourself wished, yet I am truly annoyed that I appear to receive more than you; but, besides the fatigue of the journeys, which I am glad that you are spared, I know that you are so noble and friendly that I feel sure you will rejoice at my being the best paid." Boileau replied, "Are you mad with your compliments? Do you not know that I myself prescribed the mode in which this affair should be settled; and can you doubt but that I am satisfied with an arrangement by which I receive all I asked?" His friendship for Racine seems to have been the warmest feeling of his heart; and growing deaf as he grew old, and leading a more and more retired life, the tragedian, his family, and a few others, formed all his society. There is something simple and touching in the mention Racine makes of their visits in his letters to his eldest son. The bitter satirist adapting his talk to the younger children of his friend, while he was so deaf that he could not hear their replies, and his eager endeavours to amuse them, gives zest to Racine's exclamation, "He is the best man in the world!" Sometimes the spirit of composition revived in him, but it quickly grew cold again[94]; yet, while it lasted, it furnished occupation and amusement. He did not live wholly at Paris. He had saved 8000 livres, and with this sum he purchased a country house at Auteuil. Charmed with his acquisition, he at first spent a good deal on it; he embellished the grounds, and delighted to assemble his friends together. Racine often retired there to repose from his attendance at court, and from his fatigues in following the army in various campaigns. Boileau, fastidious in all things, knew well how to choose his company. The conversations were either enlivened by sallies of wit, or rendered interesting by his sagacity and good taste. He had long renounced his more equivocal modes of amusing, such as mimicry, as unworthy. In the heyday of youth sallies of this sort are indulged in under the influence of high animal spirits; and it is whimsical to remark how the slothful spirit of age gravely denounces that as wrong which it is no longer capable of achieving. Boileau, however, had many other resources. His guests delighted to gather his opinions, and hung upon his maxims. He criticised the works of the day, and the favourite authors. He admired La Bruyère, though he called him obscure, and justly remarked that he spared himself the most difficult part of a work when he omitted the transitions and links of one portion with another. No one dared praise St. Evremond before him, though he had become the fashionable author of the day. He detested low pleasantry. "Racine," he said, "is sometimes silly enough to laugh over Scarron's travestie of Virgil, but he hides this from me."

1698.
Ætat.
62.

Thus tranquil and esteemed, surrounded by friends, and without a care, he lived long, notwithstanding the weakness of his constitution and bad health. A few days after the death of Racine, he appeared at court to take the king's commands with regard to the task of historiographer, which had now devolved entirely on himself. He spoke to the king of the intrepidity with which his friend viewed the approaches of death. "I am aware of this," replied Louis, "and somewhat surprised, for he feared death greatly; and I remember that at the siege of Gand you were the more courageous of the two." The king afterwards added, "Remember, I have always an hour in the week to give you when you like to come." Boileau, however, never went to court again. His friends often entreated him to appear from time to time, but he answered, "What should I do there? I cannot flatter." No doubt he felt admiration for all Louis's great qualities, and gratitude for the kindness shown to himself; but he was too penetrating an observer, and too impartial a judge, not to be aware that the court paid to a king, amounting in those days almost to idolatry, renders him a factitious personage, and only fit to be approached by those who, either through long habit, or by having some point to gain, accommodate themselves to that sort of watchful deference and self-immolation which is intolerable to persons accustomed to utter spontaneously what they think, and to enjoy society so far as they are unshackled by fears of offending a master.

Boileau survived Racine several years: this period was spent in retirement, and his health grew weaker and weaker. He lived either at Paris or Auteuil. There Louis Racine, the son of the poet, from whom we gather these details, often visited him. He was a youth at that time; he and Boileau played at skittles together; the poet was a good player, and often knocked down all nine at one bowling. "It must be confessed," he said, "that I possess two talents equally useful to my country; I play well at nine-pins, and write verses." Louis Racine was then at school at Beauvais. He wrote an elegy on a dog; and his mother, a good but narrow-minded woman, took it to Boileau, and begged him to dissuade her son from following the career of a poet. The youth went trembling to hear his fiat; and Boileau, who saw no eminent talent in the production of his young friend, told him that he was very bold, with the name he bore, to attempt poetry. "Perhaps," he said, "you might one day write well; but I am incredulous as to extraordinary events, and I never heard of the son of a great poet turning out a great poet. The younger Corneille has merit, but he will always be a minor Corneille; take care that the same thing does not happen to you." Thus it is that in age we look back on the career we boldly enter on in youth; and aware of the dangers we ran, and forgetting the enthusiasm and passion that then raised us above fear, and promised us success, we endeavour to impart to our juniors the prudence and experience we have gained. In vain. Life would be far other than it is, did the young, at the dictum of the old, divest themselves of errors and passions, desires and anticipations, and see as plainly as those advanced in life the nothingness of the objects of their wishes. It is the scheme of the Creator, for some unknown purpose, that each new generation should go over the same course; and each, reaching the same point of rest, should wonder what the impulse is that drives successors over the same dangerous ground.

To return to Boileau: not long before his death he somewhat changed his habits. Though not in want of money, he was induced, by the solicitations of a friend, to sell him his house at Auteuil, it being promised that a room should always be reserved for him, and that he should continue as much its master as when he actually possessed it. Fifteen days after the sale he visited the place, and, going into the garden, looked about for a little grove, beneath whose shade he was accustomed to saunter and indulge in reverie; it was no longer there: he called for the gardener, and heard that, by order of the new proprietor, his favourite trees had been cut down: he paused for a moment, and then went back to his carriage, saying, "Since I am no longer master, what business have I here?" He returned instantly to Paris, and never revisited Auteuil.

Boileau was a pious man; he fulfilled strictly his religious duties. It is told of him that, dining with the duke of Orleans on a fast-day, nothing but flesh being served at table, Boileau confined himself to bread: the duke, perceiving this, said, "The fish has been forgotten, so you must be content to forego the fast as we do." "Yet," said Boileau, "if you were but to strike the ground with your foot, fish would rise from the earth." A witty and happy adaptation of Pompey's boast. In his latter years he congratulated himself on the purity of his poems. "It is a great consolation," he said, "to a poet about to die, to feel that he has never written any thing injurious to virtue."

His last days were employed in correcting a complete edition of his works. This was to include his "Dialogue on the Romances," which so pleasantly ridicules the language which mademoiselle Scuderi puts in the mouths of Cyrus, Horatius Codes, and Clelia. Out of respect for the authoress he had hitherto refrained from printing it; but it had been read in private: the marquis de Sévigné had written it down from recollection; and it had been printed in a pirated edition of the works of St. Evremond. Mademoiselle Scuderi being dead, Boileau resolved on publishing it. But the chief addition to his edition was his "Epistle to Ambiguity." Already was the publication in progress when the jesuits took alarm. They gave it in charge to père le Tellier, the king's confessor, to speak to Louis, and to induce him to stop the publication. The monarch was docile to the voice of his confessor: he not only forbade Boileau to publish the satire, but ordered him to give up the original into his hands, informing him, at the same time, that with this omission his edition might appear. But Boileau, feeling himself about to die, disdained to temporise, and preferred suppressing the whole edition rather than truckle to the jesuits.

1711.
Ætat.
75.

His death was Christian and catholic, yet not so strictly devout as that of Racine. To the last he maintained his literary tastes, and was alive to critical remark. A friend thought to amuse him during his last illness by reading a new and popular tragedy: "Ah! my friend," he cried, "am I not dying in time? the Pradons, whom we laughed at in our youth, were suns in comparison with these authors." When he was asked how he felt, he replied by a verse from Malherbe: