Racine, Jean (Vol. 113)
Jean Racine 1639-1699
French dramatist, poet, librettist, and historiographer.
The following entry presents criticism of Racine's works from 1996 to 2004. For earlier discussions of Racine's career, see LC, Volume 28.
Often called the “French Shakespeare,” Racine is considered a giant of French literature, although his fame rests on only ten plays. His more renowned plays, including Bajazet (1672), Mithridate (1673), Iphigénie (1674), and Phèdre (1677), are all verse tragedies that rework themes from classical Greek models. As with Greek tragedy, each of Racine's plays emphasizes the exposition of character and spiritual conflict, eliminating nearly everything not essential to the central theme. His style has been described as simple yet polished, smooth yet with undercurrents of complexity. Most of his dramas are still regularly performed, and in France the dramatist is regarded with a respect bordering on piety. There is a vast body of criticism on Racine's writings, and areas of discussion among scholars of his works include the playwright's unique use of dramatic irony, his psychological acuity, his conception of history, his complex moral vision, the theme of power, the treatment of gender, the portrayal of the tragic hero, and the use of Christian themes.
Born the son of an attorney in La Ferté-Milon near Soissons, Racine was orphaned as an infant. He was raised by his paternal grandparents in the fervently Jansenist city of Port-Royal, where his education afforded him a wide knowledge of Greek and Latin literature as well as Jansenist doctrine. (The Jansenists, named after Bishop Cornelius Jansen of Ypres, were a sect within the Roman Catholic Church who emphasized the perversity of the human will and believed that sin is overcome only by divine grace.) Having written several odes to country scenes near Port-Royal by his late teens, Racine was admitted to the College D'Harcourt in the University of Paris. Several years later, after entering into friendships with Molière, Jean de La Fontaine, and Nicolas Boileau, Racine began writing for the Parisian stage, with the neoclassical theorist Boileau being an especially strong influence on him. In 1664 Racine's La Thébaïde (The Thebans) was produced by Molière, who also mounted the young dramatist's second play, Alexandre le Grande (Alexander the Great), the next year. Both these works brought their author much acclaim. But when Alexandre opened, Racine acted upon the first of several key decisions that brought him strained relations with friends throughout his career. Immediately dissatisfied by Molière's production of Alexandre at the Palais-Royal, he mounted a rival production at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, deeply offending Molière and ending their friendship. At about the same time, due to a misunderstanding, Racine publicly broke with the Jansenist Catholics of Port-Royal by publishing an open letter—which he later regretted—filled with mean-spirited caricatures and anecdotes about key Jansenist figures.
Having split with the Jansenists and now considered a rising rival of the important dramatist Pierre Corneille, Racine embraced the worldliness of the Parisian dramatic world, taking actresses for mistresses and actively competing in dramatic popularity with the elder writer. In the drama Britannicus (1669), he not only ventured into political drama, at the time considered Corneille's exclusive domain, he also attacked Corneille himself (though not by name) in his introduction, believing that a cabal led by Corneille had sought to undermine his success as a playwright. In 1674, having distinguished himself as a playwright, Racine was elected to the Academie Française, becoming its youngest member. Then suddenly, at the height of his career, he retired from the professional theater, married, became the devoted father of seven children, and accepted the post of Royal Historiographer, a position he shared with Boileau. For two decades Racine enjoyed access to the most influential political and literary circles; he and Boileau also traveled with Louis XIV on military campaigns, recording the Sun King's exploits. In 1689, at the request of the king's wife, Madame de Maintenon, Racine produced a new play, Esther (1689), based on the biblical story, which was performed at a religious school in Saint-Cyr. Praised by the king himself, this play was so well received that Racine wrote another biblical drama, Athalie (1691), which was performed at Saint-Cyr two years later. During his remaining years, he wrote four spiritual hymns (Cantiques spirituels, 1694) and a history of Port-Royal (Abrege de l'histoire de Port-Royal; published 1742). Racine died in 1699 after a long illness.
Racine's first published work was an ode for the new queen of France, Marie-Thérèse, entitled La Nymphe de la Seine à la Reyne (1660; The Nymph of the Seine to the Queen), which he wrote to launch his literary career. When the poem did not attract the attention he had hoped, Racine turned to writing plays. His first two efforts, now lost, were rejected by two different theaters in Paris. In 1663 Racine wrote and published two more odes, one on the occasion of Louis XIV's recovery from the measles—Ode sur la convalescence du Roi (Ode upon the King's Recovery)—and another to thank the king for having responded favorably to the first—La Renommée aux Muses (Fame to the Muses). The reward for the two works, approved in 1663 and granted in August 1664, was an annual pension from the French government of six hundred livres, which placed Racine on the list of officially recognized French writers, albeit at the bottom.
Now with financial backing from the state, Racine renewed his efforts as a playwright. His first surviving play, the tragedy La Thébaïde, which premiered in June of 1664, is the story of the violent death of Oedipus's three children. It enjoyed moderate success, enough to encourage Racine to continue writing for the stage. The following year's Alexandre le Grande, about the Greek conqueror's conflict with King Porus during his campaign in India, presents Alexander as a young, brilliant, and magnanimous monarch, equally irresistible in his conquest of kingdoms and of women—a transparent image of the rising Louis XIV. The play, dedicated to the monarch, was well received and also brought a rise in Racine's monthly stipend. Andromaque (Andromache) performed before the court in November, 1667 before being presented to the public, was Racine's first great success. It is the story of Hector's widow, who after the Trojan defeat in the Trojan War, is held captive together with her son, Astyanax, at the court of Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles. With this play Racine's reputation and income rose dramatically, as did attacks against him by rivals in the theater, including those who were loyal to his former friend Molière.
In 1668 Racine premiered his only comedy, Les Plaideurs (The Litigants), a farce based in part on Aristophanes' The Wasps. It mocks the passion for litigation and the trappings of the legal system. It did not fare particularly well, and thereafter Racine wrote only tragedies. His next two works, both based on Roman history, were Britannicus, centering around Nero's murder of his half brother, and Bérénice (1670), the tale of Titus's accession as Roman emperor and of his resulting forced separation from Bérénice, the woman he loves. These were followed by the playwright's most admired works: Bajazet, a passionate drama based on recent events at the Ottoman court in Constantinople; Mithridate, based on a well-known episode of the Roman colonial wars and written from the perspective of the defeated kingdoms of the eastern Mediterranean; Iphigénie, about the planned sacrifice of Agamemnon's daughter, Iphigenia, in order to placate the gods and allow the marooned Greek invasion fleet to sail toward Troy; and Phèdre, Racine's best-known play, about the overwhelming and eventually murderous love of Phèdre for her stepson, Hippolyte.
Despite his enormous success as a playwright and growing financial rewards for his accomplishments from the crown, Racine's professional life grew difficult. His rivals were jealous of his stage successes as well as his appointment by the king as the court's official historiographer. Perhaps because of this or because of a religious conversion, he ceased writing for the stage, although he produced a few commissioned works, including occasional verse and librettos for operas and ballets. Then, twelve years after Phèdre, he composed, on royal invitation, his play Esther, based on the biblical Queen Esther who saves the Jewish people from being massacred by the Persians. Another royal invitation resulted in Racine's final play, Athalie, which tells the story of the restoration to the throne of Judah of the last descendant of David, and of the defeat and death of the usurper Athaliah, the villainous daughter of Ahab and Jezebel. Both Racine's biblical plays were performed for a religious school and were not seen by the public in his day. Before his death he composed four poems published together under the title Cantiques spirituels and worked on a history of Port-Royal, which was published after his death. He also continued to revise his writings for republication in collections of his complete works.
Racine attained great critical and popular success during his lifetime, and his reputation has never waned. He had detractors during his day, many from rival theater companies, who complained that his plays displayed a crude realism and focused too heavily on passion. Some modern critics have also faulted Racine for his conventional views on virtue and morality, since most of his plays betray his view that humans are irredeemably fallen creatures who are doomed to damnation unless saved by divine grace. In the frequent comparisons of Racine to Shakespeare, it is pointed out that he is inferior to the English writer in the narrowness of his range, abstention from speculation, and reluctance to depict the complexity of human life. However, most assessments of Racine have been positive, focusing on his psychological genius, his ability to powerfully depict a world of violent and passionate emotions, and his delicate and precise use of language. Racine is also considered a writer who observed the neo-classical dramatic unities of time, space, and action with the greatest ease and success. His plays take an emotional situation at the very moment it is about to explode and then focus narrowly and precisely on a single theme or several interconnected ones, using no extraneous characters, no gratuitous turns in the narrative, and no subplots. They use, too, a deliberately limited, conventional vocabulary of less than 2,000 words to produce what critics regard as extraordinary poetic effects, although it is said that because of this that Racine's works lose a great deal in translation. It is also generally agreed that no playwright has depicted sexual aggression and jealousy with greater accuracy and force than he has.
If anything, Racine's reputation has suffered from his works being too greatly respected as monuments, and his plays have not invited experimentation in the way that Shakespeare's have to keep them fresh and relevant. However, many critics have noted his almost modern vision of humanity as unable to control or escape its destiny and doomed to destruction in an absurd universe in which the only sign of the gods is their remorseless cruelty. Scholars have also pointed out that his female roles are unusually complex and offer some of the best acting parts for women in the whole classical repertory. Critical commentary on Racine, concentrating on his tragedies, continues to grow, with topics of particular interest being the playwright's mastery of psychology, his complex views of history, his depiction of female characters, his handling of the themes of power and authority, and his political and Christian beliefs. Racine's greatest strengths, scholars concur, are his firm focusing of the plot, the concentration of his vision, his unity of aesthetic creation, and his constant attention to the emotions immediately under analysis. These traits, combined with his striking use of language, produce works that display a clarity and precision—some even say perfection—that, most commentators agree, have never been surpassed or even equaled in French theater.
La Nymphe de la Seine à la Reyne [The Nymph of the Seine to the Queen] (poetry) 1660
Ode sur la convalescence du Roi [Ode upon the King's Recovery] (poetry) 1663
La Renommée aux Muses [Fame to the Muses] (poetry) 1663
La Thébaïde; ou, Les Freres ennemis [The Thebans; or The Enemy Brothers] (play) 1664
Alexandre le Grande [Alexander the Great] (play) 1665
Andromaque [Andromache] (play) 1667
Les Plaideurs [The Litigants] [adaptor; from the play The Wasps by Aristophanes] (play) 1668
Britannicus (play) 1669
Bérénice (play) 1670
Bajazet (play) 1672
Mithridate (play) 1673
Iphigénie (play) 1674
Phèdre [Phaedra] (play) 1677
L'Idylle de la paix [Idyll on Peace] [librettist; music by Jean-Baptiste Lully] (opera) 1685
Esther (play) 1689
Athalie (play) 1691
Cantiques spirituels (hymns) 1694
Campagne de Louis XIV [with Nicolas Boileau] (history) 1730; published as Eloge historique du Roi, Louis XIV [Historical Eulogy of King Louis XIV], 1784...
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SOURCE: Todd, Bonnie E. “Racine's Use of Typology in Athalie.” CLA Journal 40, no. 1 (September 1996): 72-81.
[In the following essay, Todd analyzes the various components of Athalie from a typological point of view, that is, by looking at the use of figurative elements, in order to reveal Racine's unique use of dramatic irony.]
Racine's critics have generally divided themselves into two camps in their interpretations of his Biblical play Athalie. Some of the best-known critics, Jean Orcibal for one and Raymond Picard for another, have interpreted the play through citing its topical allusions. In his critique on Athalie, Picard indicates parallels between the characters in the play and members of the court of Louis XIV.1 Picard makes a good case for his interpretation, yet it does little to explain the immense appeal that the play held for its patron, Madame de Maintenon, the actresses and audience (that is, the girls of Saint-Cyr and the court), and for succeeding generations, including our own. Nor does this revelation of topical allusions reveal anything about Racine's dramatic genius, in particular about his gift for dramatic irony.
Racine's contemporaries, as well as the critics of the last three centuries, have all noted the obvious influence of Christianity, of Port-Royal in particular, on both Biblical plays, on Esther as well as...
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SOURCE: Campbell, John. “Tragedy and Time in Racine's Mithridate.” Modern Language Review 92, no. 3 (July 1997): 590-98.
[In the following essay, Campbell considers to what extent Mithridate can be called a tragedy.]
Even admirers of Racine's tragedies have hesitated with Mithridate. For François Mauriac it was ‘le moindre de ses chefs-d'œuvre’, and for Raymond Picard ‘la tragédie la moins tragique de Racine’, while for Marcel Gutwirth the play ‘n'est tragique que par le sous-titre’, and for Jean Rohou it is ‘plus héroïco-galant que tragique’.1 Common to many reactions is the idea that as a tragic drama it is structurally flawed. Unfavourable comparisons are made with the plotting techniques of the mature plays that precede it: there is a hint of regret that ‘it cannot be dismissed as an early effort’.2 Whereas in Bérénice love's shipwreck intervenes only at the very end of a sustained, agonizing progression in dramatic tension, in Mithridate the main source of conflict seems to be removed in Act IV with the reconciliation of father and son: ‘Racine has deprived the action of its force once the power relations between the two active individuals are reversed in Act IV.’3 There is an even greater difference with the plots of Andromaque, Britannicus, and Bajazet. These are intricate...
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SOURCE: Forman, Edward. “Spirit, Will, and Autonomy in Racine's Later Tragedies.” In L'Esprit en France au XVIIe siècle, edited by François Lagarde, pp. 273-81. Tübingen, Germany: Biblio 17: Papers on Seventeenth-Century Literature, 1997.
[In the following essay, Forman examines the concept of esprit and the related issues of individuality, autonomy, and will in Racine's later plays, commenting on their ethical implications.]
The word esprit has proved problematic for English translators of Racine. A sample of four separate lines—which will be analysed in detail in a moment—threw up no fewer than ten alternative English equivalents in published translations1: in no case were the translators unanimous as to the most appropriate English word to use, and no translator used the same English word in all four contexts. In the light of Cotgrave's treatment of the word esprit, we may have some sympathy with their dilemma, but this initial observation does clarify the nature of our investigation. The question: “What contribution does the notion of esprit make to Racine's portrayal of human consciousness?” is a question not about anthropology, still less about biochemistry: it is a question about language, and it is hard to think of a better example with which to illustrate the Lacanian notion that the development of language consists not of finding words to...
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SOURCE: Gearhart, Suzanne. “Racine's Politics: The Subject/Subversion of Power in Britannicus.” L'Esprit Créateur 38, no. 2 (summer 1998): 34-48.
[In the following essay, Gearhart discusses the politics of Britannicus and uses the play to show that psychoanalytic theory has a significant role to play in the critique of the subject.]
For some time numerous forms of literary and cultural analysis have been shaped by a multi-faceted critique or questioning of the subject. As many would agree, one of the most prominent of these has come to be known as the new historicism. In contrast to older forms of historicism that sought to write the history of a fundamentally unchanging human subjectivity as it manifests itself in the literary and cultural productions of various ages, the new historicism has argued that the human subject is, as Stephen Greenblatt puts it, “the ideological product of the relations of power in a particular society.”1 Unlike those who have assumed the universality and naturalness of subjectivity, Greenblatt and other new historicists have asserted that it is essentially a construct of impersonal historical forces and more specifically of power relations in a given historical period. Both implicitly and explicitly, new historicists have thus tended to assimilate the critique of the subject with the interests of new historicism.
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SOURCE: Longino, Michèle. “Bajazet à la lettre.” L'Esprit Créateur 38, no. 2 (summer 1998): 49-59.
[In the following essay, Longino considers the theme of communication in Bajazet.]
What happens to Bajazet when the play is taken literally?1 Reading literally brings together two discourses, one of history, and the other of literature. The one privileges fact, the other fiction. When considering them together, distinctions between the two discourses tend to blur, since behind them both looms a greater force: the condition of all discourse, that is, communication.2 My modest ambition is to offer a suggestive reading of some key points concerning this major condition, represented in both the news of the day (the literal) and the play (the fiction) that mirrored and assigned structure to that news.
From first preface to final act, the play relays the problem of communication like a mirror game into regressive infinity, deferring and ultimately defying resolution, ending abruptly yet inexorably where communication stops, at death's door as Zaïre strains to follow her mistress Atalide across that threshold. I will consider the issue of communication in Bajazet in some of its specific thematic forms: the issue of honesty—the formulation and directing of messages; of efficacy—the transmission of messages; the privileged concrete form of the...
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SOURCE: Stone, Harriet. “Marking Time: Memorializing History in Athalie.” L'Esprit Créateur 38, no. 2 (summer 1998): 95-104.
[In the following essay, Stone examines the use and treatment of memory in Athalie.]
Athalie marks the limit of Racine's theatrical career. The play commemorates the historic end point of his dramatic efforts, the moment of rupture that catapults him into posterity as the distinguished author of a corpus now closed, a corpus forever identified by precisely twelve works. In Athalie, moreover, all of Racine's earlier plays continue to echo. Like Astyanax, Joas survives thanks to the efforts of those who revere what has come before. The son's inheritance of the father's place reflects society's respect for the law of succession as it ties son to father, present to past, the tensions of the here and now to a glorious heritage embraced by divine providence. Society conserves these children through its fidelity to an order of things so indelibly etched in time and tradition as to survive the enmity of families and nations. Joined together in this way, generations of Racine's characters transcend the specificities of Greek myth, Roman history, Orientalism, and the Bible that identify his individual plays.1
As represented on Racine's stage, however, the cycle of memory dulls but does not silence the curse of Athalie, Phèdre,...
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SOURCE: Goodkin, Richard E. “Gender Reversal in Racine's Historical and Mythological Tragedies.” Dalhousie French Studies 49 (winter 1999): 15-27.
[In the following essay, Goodkin argues that, in his plays based on mythological sources in particular, Racine inverts sexual dynamics and portrays female characters as heroic and powerful and male characters as hesitant and passive.]
[L]a sexualité racinienne … est de situation plus que de nature. Dans Racine, le sexe lui-même est soumis à la situation fondamentale des figures tragiques entre elles, qui est une relation de force … La division du monde racinien en forts et en faibles, en tyrans et en captifs, est en quelque sorte extensive au partage des sexes; c'est leur situation dans le rapport de force qui verse les uns dans la virilité et les autres dans la féminité, sans égard à leur sexe biologique. Il y a des femmes viriloïdes (il suffit qu'elles participent au Pouvoir: Axiane, Agrippine, Roxane, Athalie). Il y a des hommes féminoïdes, non par caractère, mais par situation.
Roland Barthes' observation in Sur Racine about the unorthodox distribution of sexual roles in Racine's tragedy helps to account for the radical instability of gender in tragedies that, three hundred years after their author's death, continue to upset our equilibrium...
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SOURCE: Reilly, M. “Racinian Words of Power.” AUMLA: Journal of the Australasian Universities Language and Literature Association 91 (May 1999): 13-25.
[In the following essay, Reilly explores the language of power in Racine's tragedies, focusing on the two key words for power that he uses: pouvoir and puissance.]
What is the nature of power in Racinian tragedy? Few questions have engendered so many conflicting interpretations. Yet while many studies have approached the theme of power in Racinian theatre, few have done justice to the depth and complexity of the language of power.1 Racine's words of power dramatise areas of tension inherent in the very concept of power itself and thereby give an insight into the complexity and ambivalence of its nature and operation. Without wishing either to impose twentieth-century definitions on seventeenth-century texts or to presume the sophistication of modern dictionaries, this paper takes as its starting point the ambiguous distinction between the two key words of power, pouvoir and puissance. Racine establishes a linguistic hierarchy which accentuates the limits of human power but then confounds traditional assumptions about words of power by diminishing their political connotations in favour of the erotic.
The word power in English has acquired a huge semantic content. In French power either...
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SOURCE: Wygant, Amy. “Medea, Poison, and the Epistemology of Error in Phèdre.” Modern Language Review 95, no. 1 (January 2000): 62-71.
[In the following essay, Wygant offers a Freudian interpretation of Phèdre, suggesting that the title character is the figure of tragedy whose suicide represents Racine's professional suicide and his contrition to his Jansenist fathers.]
The critical effort to understand the death of Racine's Phèdre as an allegory of the end of his production of profane theatre has by now a certain history. Most notably, in a study that originally appeared in 1980, Marc Fumaroli claimed that Phèdre signifies in two registers that reflect upon one another: she is the heroine of the tragedy, and she is the tragic muse in action, a character ‘en abîme’ of a tragedy both of her own destiny and that of tragedy itself.1 Fumaroli understood this self-reflexivity in genre-historical terms. That is, the tragedy of what he called ‘le principe de plaisir’ (p. 501), born in Corneille's first tragedy, his Médée, exhausts its logic, betrays the succession of bargains it had struck with morality, and is here put to death. For Fumaroli, Phèdre is an exercise in truth, indeed an ‘orage de vérité’ (p. 516), an act of contrition, and a symbolic suicide (p. 517). A broadly and historically Oedipal plot is thus sketched out by Fumaroli for...
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SOURCE: Desnain, Véronique. “Les Faux Miroirs: The Good Woman/Bad Woman Dichotomy in Racine's Tragedies.” Modern Language Review 96, no. 1 (January 2001): 38-46.
[In the following essay, Desnain contends that Racine's plays clearly portray the importance of gender roles and promote certain rules of behavior for women, arguing too that the playwright's misogynistic depiction of women often uses the “virgin/whore” stereotype.]
To ascribe didactic intentions to a dramatist such as Racine is always dangerous: although he claims such a purpose in the ‘Préface’ to Phèdre, for example, his motivations are open to question: the ‘Préface’ clearly states his desire to ‘réconcilier la tragédie avec quantité de personnes célèbres par leur piété et par leur doctrine, qui l'ont condannée ces derniers temps.’ The Querelle des Imaginaires is undoubtedly still fresh in his mind and his moral stance could be seen as an attempt to defend and to legitimize his art. Nonetheless it has long been acknowledged that no literary work is free from ideological considerations and that authors inevitably project in their work, even when this work is critical, the dominant values of their time. I will therefore examine a recurrent feature of Racine's tragedies in the light of gender theory to show that, whatever Racine's conscious intentions may have been, his plays clearly portray...
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SOURCE: Delehanty, Ann T. “God's Hand in History: Racine's Athalie as the End of Salvation Historiography.” Papers on French Seventeenth-Century Literature 28, no. 54 (2001): 155-66.
[In the following essay, Delehanty maintains that in his biblical drama Athalie, Racine presents two opposing models of historiography: salvation history and teleological history.]
Generally, when we speak of a contemporary historical account, we mean a narrative text that describes, in a logically cohesive fashion, events that took place entirely in the past. The narrator of the account, the historian, must balance conveying the truth of what happened with creating a compelling narrative. In his discussion of the modern, narrative form of history, in The Content of the Form, Hayden White identifies the sign that a historical account may have gone too far in the service of a compelling narrative as “the embarrassment of plot” (21). In other words, reality is presumed to be without a plot or central theme; modern historical representations of reality ring false when too neatly ordered.1 Prior to the Enlightenment, however, the notion of a plot to history would not have been quite so embarrassing. In fact, in the western Christian tradition, it was generally acknowledged that history had some sort of a plot, in the form of a telos or purpose, which it was meant to follow. Old...
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SOURCE: Forestier, Georges. “The Racinian Hero and the Classical Theory of Characterization.” In Racine: The Power and the Pleasure, edited by Edric Calidcott and Derval Conroy, pp. 14-26. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2001.
[In the following essay, Forestier discusses Racine's conception of characterization for the stage, focusing on his innovative contribution to the portrayal of tragic heroes.]
It is evident from a reading of Subligny's La Folle querelle ou la Critique d'Andromaque (1668) that the debate surrounding Andromaque immediately provoked contention regarding whether or not Racine was worthy of being considered Corneille's equal.1 As far as is known, it was never seriously considered that Quinault, despite his success, should even be compared to Corneille. In the case of Racine, however, the public genuinely felt that the young author had opened up a new path between Cornelian tragedy and la tragédie galante. Racine's new form, based on the tragedy of passionate love, was superior to la tragédie galante and could reasonably be compared to Cornelian tragedy. It is this aspect of passionate love that the first part of the preface to Andromaque (the extract from the Aeneid) set out to defend, and it does so by evoking the highest authority, Virgil. However, the second part of the preface, i.e. the preface proper, written by...
(The entire section is 5657 words.)
SOURCE: Biet, Christian. “Women and Power in Britannicus and Bérénice: The Battle of Blood and Tears.” In Racine: The Power and the Pleasure, edited by Edric Calidcott and Derval Conroy, pp. 39-54. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2001.
[In the following essay, Biet explores the aesthetic, anthropological, and ideological aspects of the motif of tears in Britannicus and Bérénice, focusing on the tears of the characters Junie and Bérénice.]
In a previous study on Racine, with a focus on the ‘passion of tears’,1 I was struck by the fact that the dramaturgical and emotional principle of tears was of primary importance in the majority of the Racinian tragedies, particularly in Britannicus, Bérénice, and Andromaque. Similarly, theatrical effects and their ideological consequences were connected in such a way that the tears of women, heroes and kings, and also the tears provoked by tyrants, constituted not only a significant issue but were also polysemic signs linking all Racine's plots. Although tears were initially characterized by an aspect galant, intended to attract a particular public, they rapidly outstripped this professional concern and came to signal ways of acting, of writing and thinking the body, of naming the passions, even of proposing access, albeit uncertain, to the divine. In this chapter, I want to...
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SOURCE: Conroy, Derval. “Gender, Power and Authority in Alexandre le Grand and Athalie.” In Racine: The Power and the Pleasure, edited by Edric Calidcott and Derval Conroy, pp. 55-74. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2001.
[In the following essay, Conroy examines the dynamic between gender, power, and sovereign authority in Alexandre le Grand and Athalie.]
Attitudes towards women in power and women in authority permeate all forms of seventeenth-century discourse. While the debate concerning female sovereignty and female regency was at its most heated in the latter half of the sixteenth century, the reality of women in public government was kept very alive throughout the grand siècle both by the regencies of Marie de Médicis (1610-31) and Anne d'Autriche (1643-61),1 and by the reign of the neighbouring Christine de Suède (1632-54). Furthermore the issue of female governance was continually fuelled by the ongoing querelle des femmes, in which writers reflected on female ‘nature’ and capabilities, in order to support the idea of the superiority or inferiority of women, or the equality of the sexes. Parallel to this debate regarding women in authority, and their capacity to rule, a second discourse, separate from the first, although linked, concerned the exercise of power by women, or le pouvoir au féminin.2 Clearly many...
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SOURCE: Conroy, Jane. “Constructions of Identity: Mirrors of the ‘Other’ in Racine's Theatre.” In Racine: The Power and the Pleasure, edited by Edric Calidcott and Derval Conroy, pp. 75-99. Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2001.
[In the following essay, Conroy explores the quest for identity and notions of “self” and “Other” in Racine's plays, looking at collective ethnic groups and individual strangers in various works before focusing on the depiction of the “Oriental” in Bajazet.]
Julian Huxley has provided us with a negative formulation of the relationship between the Other and the creation of collective self-identity: ‘A nation is a society united by a common error as to its origin and a common aversion to its neighbours.’ However, in considering Racine's plays as cultural narratives, I should prefer to adopt two more positive lines of thought from Paul Ricœur which are not, of course, exclusively his. Firstly, the notion of narrative identity: the belief that we create a sense of self through our narratives of our own life experience, that this is a shifting ‘récit’ which perforce requires another to be the hearer. And, of course, that on the macro level this shifting narrative is part of the process of definition of collective identity.1 One can view the characters in tragedy as performing in front of us this act of narrative identity construction....
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SOURCE: Racevskis, Roland. “Subjective Dispersion in Iphigénie or the Unbearable Fullness of Being.” French Forum 27, no. 2 (spring 2002): 13-27.
[In the following essay, Racevskis contends that Iphigénie is a tragedy about the universal human predicament of being caught on the threshold between self and others, present and future, duty and desire, knowledge and ignorance, immanence and transcendence.]
Racine's Iphigénie (1674) is a drama of anticipation in excess. With the gods' all-powerful yet undisclosed will hanging over them, this tragedy's characters stumble in the dark, interrogating their destinies in a present moment overfilled with potential, on the cusp of the future. In typically Racinian fashion, they find their circumstances unbearable, so filled are they with a strong yet vague sense of what is to come. As tensions mount, the waiting leads to confusion, to experiential saturation, and eventually to the dispersion of identities. Among Racine's secular tragedies, Iphigénie evokes most poignantly the human predicament of being caught between knowledge and ignorance, between awareness of the weight of the gods' wishes and obliviousness to what will become of the situation at hand.
The Greek fleet, ready to embark on the war against Troy, is held in check by an inert sea and sky. An oracular pronouncement has informed the Greek nation and...
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SOURCE: Critchley, Simon. “I Want to Die, I Hate My Life—Phaedra's Malaise.”1New Literary History 34 (2003): 17-40.
[In the following essay, Critchley discusses the title character of Phèdre, considers the nature of her melancholy, and characterizes the play as an antipolitical Christian tragedy.]
Faced with the ever-enlarging incoherence of the present, characterised by war without end, the increasingly frantic shoring up of the imperium, the deepening contagion of ethnic, religious, and civil conflict, and the fatuous theologization of political life with the categories of good and evil, I would like to turn to seventeenth-century neoclassical French drama, in particular the case of Jean Racine's 1677 tragedy, Phèdre, “the masterpiece of the human mind,” as Voltaire declared. I must confess at the outset that the reasons for this choice are not entirely clear to me and this essay is not intended as allegory. But I cannot deny that it was written with an eye to the present. I will let the reader make of this what he or she will and turn in detail to the play and its fascinating philosophical implications.
My focus is on the character of Phaedra and the nature of her malaise. I begin by trying to elicit the dramatic pattern of Phaedra's confessions of her desire, a desire that produces a guilty subjectivity that I illustrate with reference to...
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SOURCE: McClure, Ellen. “Sovereign Love and Atomism in Racine's Bérénice.” Philosophy and Literature 27 (2003): 304-17.
[In the following essay, McClure asserts that Bérénice reflects the influence of Epicureanism, Cartesianism, and contemporary controversies concerning the material nature of the universe, particularly in the portrayal of the character Antiochus.]
Although critics have noted links between the new science of the seventeenth century and the works of La Fontaine and Molière,1 a similar influence of Epicureanism or even Cartesianism upon French classical tragedy is harder to trace. No two areas of seventeenth-century cultural life would seem farther apart than the emerging science, with its rejection of Aristotelian categories as inadequate to experienced reality, and classical French tragedy, with its antimaterialism and claims to universal truth often bolstered by references to none other than Aristotle himself. Yet René Pintard reminds us that the 1660s and 1670s—the period when many of the tragedies we regard as “classical” were written—saw a strong renewal of interest in the philosophies articulated in the first half of the century.2 So widespread was this interest that Pierre Gassendi's friend and follower Bernier was able to publish an edition and translation of the philosopher's works in 1674-1675 which proved to be a resounding...
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Brereton, Geoffrey. Jean Racine: A Critical Biography. London: Cassell, 1951, 362 p.
Widely regarded to be the best biography of Racine in English.
Abraham, Claude. Jean Racine. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1977, 180 p.
General study of Racine and his plays for the nonspecialist; includes chapters on individual plays and an annotated bibliography of secondary sources.
Auchincloss, Louis. La Gloire: The Roman Empire of Corneille and Racine. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1996, 90 p.
Compares the Roman plays of Racine with those of his older theatrical rival, Pierre Corneille.
Barnwell, H. T. The Tragic Drama of Corneille and Racine: An Old Parallel Revisited. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982, 275 p.
Comparative study that considers Corneille's and Racine's attitudes toward tragedy and history and contrasts their dramatic techniques.
Cloonan, William. Racine's Theatre: The Politics of Love. University, Miss.: Romance Monographs, 1978, 149 p.
Concentrates on the themes of gloire and love in Racine's plays.
Dalhousie French Studies 49 (winter 1999).
Compendium of 25 essays in honor of the...
(The entire section is 629 words.)