If anyone is inclined to think Racine is a tedious author they cannot do better than read _Bérénice_. It is the model of what a tragedy should be. The drama is simple and arises naturally and inevitably from the facts of the case, which are all contained in one sentence of Suetonius: “Titus Reginam Berenicen, cui etiam nuptias pollicitus ferebatur, statim ab urbe dimisit invitus invitam.” That is to say, Titus loved Bérénice and, it was believed, had promised her marriage. He sent her away from Rome, against his own will as well as against hers, as soon as he came to the throne.
It is the eternal conflict between public duty and personal inclination.
“With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part, My very dear, Our solace is the sad road lies so clear; Go thou to East, I West.”
Coventry Patmore’s Ode sums up the whole tragedy. The sentiments the characters express are what any characters would have said in such a situation now or a thousand years ago, and would be just as appropriate and true if the protagonists of the drama belonged to Belgravia or to the Mile End Road. The verse is exquisite.
Antiochus, who loved Bérénice in vain, says to her as he leaves her:
“Que vous dirai-je enfin? je fuis des yeux distraits, Qui me voyant toujours ne me voyaient jamais.”
The tragedy is full of musical lines, sad and suggestive and softly reverberating, with muted endings such as:
“Dans l’Orient désert quel devint mon ennui? Je demeurai longtemps errant dans Césarée, Lieux charmants, où mon cœur vous avait adorée,”
and some of the most poignant words of farewell ever uttered:
“Pour jamais! Ah Seigneur! songez-vous en vous-même Combien ce mot cruel est affreux quand on aime? Dans un mois, dans un an, comment souffrirons nous, Seigneur, que tant de mers me séparent de vous? Que le jour recommence et que le jour finisse, Sans que jamais Titus puisse voir Bérénice.”
The Prince of Wales passed through Paris and stayed there a night that winter and dined at the Embassy, and we had to wear special coats and be careful they had the right number of buttons on them.
I got to know a good many French people, and some of those who had been famous in the days of the Second Empire: Madame de Galliffet and Madame de Pourtalès. Madame de Pourtalès had grey hair, but time, which had taken away much from her and stamped her with his pitiless seal, had not taken, and was destined never to take, away the undefinable authority that alone great beauty possesses, and never loses, nor her radiant smile, which would suddenly make her look young.