[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 translates as pouvoir or puissance. The difference between such synonyms is extremely difficult to give in the abstract. The two words are often used interchangeably and as a result they share a grey area of meaning. Their contiguity is evident when we consider that the subjunctive of pouvoir is puisse and its related adjective is puissant. However, one must note that often the two terms are not reciprocal. Both words are derived from the Latin verb posse, but in French they have acquired distinctive nuances. Pouvoir is very much a factual notion in that it relates principally to ability. If someone has pouvoir they have the ability to have their will carried out, they can force others to obey. Puissance on the other hand is on a higher plane. It has come to be associated more with official, legitimate power, corresponding in many respects to the English notion of authority.² In the seventeenth century there seems to have been a similar ambiguity regarding these terms. Pierre Richelet, for example, in his Nouveau Dictionaire Français of 1694, defines pouvoir as puissance, autorité, crédit, and in turn defines puissance as pouvoir, autorité, crédit, as if the terms were synonymous.³ However, the examples he cites clearly indicate that while puissance does contain elements of pouvoir in the sense of capability, its meaning transcends the corporeal to embrace a more abstract notion of right or legitimacy.

Richelet first defines pouvoir as force, then as être en état de, and finally as puissance, crédit, autorité. Significantly, however, the examples he uses only demonstrate the first two definitions and illustrate nothing of this final one: “Je puis ce ce je veux et tout ce que je veux ne va qu'à passer le temps en honnête homme […]; il est en pouvoir de faire du bien à ses amis […]; s'emploier de tout son pouvoir à servir un ami.” With puissance, on the other hand, we find a genuine overlap in meaning. In the first instance Richelet defines puissance as pouvoir, autorité, crédit and cites the following example to illustrate its use: “On dit en termes de Palais qu'une femme est en puissance de mari, et qu'un fils est sous la puissance paternelle.” Clearly this conveys both the sense of physical force inherent in pouvoir and the idea of exercising legitimate power that we have come to associate with puissance. His second definition of puissance, “Celui qui a l'autorité souveraine. Celui qui a un fort grand crédit,” is supported by the following quote from Patru: “Le Saint Siége, du contentement du Roi, peut changer le gouvernement d'une Eglise, mais il faut que les deux puissances concourent à cet ouvrage.”⁴ The important point here is the nature of the power being exercised. The Saint Siége and the Roi are both described as puissances for they exercise a power that is perceived as all-encompassing in the sense that it is backed both by force and authority. Moreover, although in this example we find puissance applied to temporal and sacred power alike, it is interesting to note that the term toute-puissance is reserved for God (“la toute-puissance de Dieu” is the only example Richelet gives for this term) implying a distinction between worldly and celestial power.

We can see from the examples given by Richelet that there is no simple division between pouvoir and puissance, between capacity and force on the one hand and right and authority on the other. Yet equally pouvoir and puissance are clearly not as interchangeable as his initial definitions suggest. The succession of examples after the definitions of each term reveals differences in the nature of the power being exercised which effectively distinguish pouvoir from puissance. Moreover, the implied separation of terrestrial and divine power intimated by the example used to illustrate toute-puissance seems to suggest a hierarchy of power that inevitably questions the extent of human power. Racine is alert to these issues. He exploits the ambiguity of words of power in such a way that we are forced to question where pouvoir ends and puissance begins and to try to distinguish between the two. We shall see that he deliberately places pouvoir and puissance in certain contexts to reveal the nature and limits of power.⁵

The problem with an analysis of Racine's use of the word pouvoir is that it is a relatively common verb and noun.⁶ Even pouvoir meaning possibility is expressive of power, for the possibility would not exist if the power were not initially invested in the individual. This is clear for example from Pylade's description of Pyrrhus:

Il peut, seigneur, il peut dans ce désordre extrême,
Epouser ce qu'il hait, et perdre ce qu'il aime.

(Andromaque 121-22)⁷

However, while some lines are not necessarily significant, it would seem that others are capable of yielding valuable insights into the intricacies of Racine's portrayal of power.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of Racine's words of power is the astonishingly negative undertones which haunt the term pouvoir in his tragedies. It occurs most often as a verb and is frequently in the negative or interrogative. When not employed negatively or interrogatively it is likely to be in the form peut-être or juxtaposed with the conditional si, underpinning an inherent sense of uncertainty in the very concept of power itself. In Britannicus for example, the threats to Néron's power posed by Agrippine and Britannicus are subtly conveyed by the ostensibly innocuous peut-être. Agrippine boasts, “Mon nom peut-être aura plus de poids qu'il ne pense” (260); Narcisse warns of the danger of Britannicus, “Mais peut-être il fera ce que vous n'osez faire” (1408). In both statements peut-être reveals that imperial power is on shaky foundations. The interrogative form exacerbates this uncertainty still further by creating confusion over where effective power actually lies. Burrhus's interpid question to Agrippine, “N'est-il de son pouvoir que le dépositaire?” (1235), emphasises a recurrent intimation in the play that Néron is a puppet emperor who dances as others pull the strings.⁸

The presentation of pouvoir in Bérénice is equally equivocal. In Act I we hear our heroine proclaim, “Titus peut tout: il n'a plus qu'à parler” (298). Yet throughout the play power founded on speech is repeatedly undermined by placing the verb pouvoir in the negative and interrogative: “je ne lui puis dire rien” (624), “que ne puis-je point dire” (672), “Pourrai-je dire enfin: Je ne veux plus vous voir?” (998), “quel mot puis-je lui dire?” (1239). In this way the initial statement of toute-puissance is systematically denied and Titus's power to act consistently undermined.

We find a similarly subversive use of language in Bajazet. The question posed in the opening scene, “Amurat jouit-il d'un pouvoir absolu?” (32), immediately conveys the instability of power by inviting us to question where power lies. Some sixty lines later we hear the vizir rage against his own “pouvoir inutile,” begging the question what is a pouvoir that is described as inutile? The oxymoron is provocative for it suggests a void behind a power structure which itself appears to be built upon precarious foundations.

In La Thébaïde, the apparently inoffensive si in reality conceals a volatile situation which effectively diminishes the characters' power to act. Jocaste's repeated solicitations for peace are significant in that in each one the verb pouvoir is juxtaposed with si stressing the equivocation inherent in human power: “Arrêter, s'il se peut, leur parricide bras' (38), ‘Ma fille, s'il se peut, retenez votre frère” (504), “Surpassez, s'il se peut, les crimes de vos pères” (1183).⁹ Pharnace and Monime tell Mithridate, “Vous pouvez tout” (247, 567), but his power is shown to be equally tenuous. His power to act is repeatedly questioned. The confidence of his Marchons, Attaquons, Noyons, Brûlons, Détruisons (831-39) is negated by his ultimate defeat. His supercilious belief in his own supremacy is thrown into doubt by a question which is intended to be rhetorical but which ultimately forecasts his destruction, “Leurs femmes, leurs enfants, pourront-ils m'arrêter?” (830). Only our willing suspension of disbelief can delay the answer.

It would therefore seem that by placing pouvoir in certain ambiguous contexts, human power is questioned and challenged at every turn. The above examples illustrate the way in which Racine employs the language of power, even in its simplest form, to convey a power structure vexed and beleaguered by doubt and instability. Pharnace's anguished plea, “Ne pourrions-nous prendre une plus sûre voie?” (903), seems to reverberate throughout Racinian tragedy.

The word puissance, however, is different. It is certainly not used as often as pouvoir and seems less tangible, more difficult to pin down to a precise definition.¹⁰ As the associated vocabulary suggests, it is ostensibly presented as an absolute, the quintessential form of power: suprême, absolue, entière, toute, vaste, pleine.¹¹ Together with its plural puissances and its related adjective puissant(s), it is often used by Racine to express some form of transcendental power. Indeed, it is most regularly associated with the gods or destiny suggesting it is something beyond mere mortals. Thésée talks of the “puissance immortelle” of the god Neptune, (Phèdre 1070); Aman tells Esther, “J'atteste du ciel la puissance suprême” (Esther 1144); Oenone, Esther and Athalie acknowledge the supremacy of the “Dieux puissants” (Phèdre 157, Esther 635, Athalie 1601); Xipharès urges Monime to “Attestez … les puissances céléstes” (Mithridate 172); Josabeth implores the “Puissant maître des cieux” (Athalie 1669); Osmin puts his faith in “un destin plus puissant” (Bajazet 63).¹²

Similarly the term tout-puissant is afforded an ethereal, indeed sacred quality in that again we find it is most frequently used in reference to God. Elise for example condemns those who would “blasphémer le nom du Tout-Puissant” (Esther 756), while in Athalie we listen as characters beseech and admire the wonders brought about by the “Dieu tout-puissant” (1188, 1748). However, when applied to mere mortals, this term indicates hubris rather than supreme power. Britannicus provides the best example. Néron is described in the exposition by Burrhus as César tout-puissant (214), yet as the context reveals it is a description empty of any real meaning:

Qu'importe que César continue à nous croire,
Pourvu que nos conseils ne tendent qu'à sa gloire;
Pourvu que, dans le cours d'un régime florissant
Rome soit toujours libre et César tout-puissant?

(211-14)

The force of tout-puissant is crushed by the interrogative, the two subjunctives, and the repetition of the qualifying conjunction pourvu que. Clearly, the implication here is that if certain conditions are withdrawn, Néron's so-called toute-puissance would disintegrate, thus begging the question what is toute-puissance that is built upon such shaky foundations. It would therefore seem that puissance is linked to an image of power based on vanity rather than any “real” domination.

Indeed, the image of power Néron wants to project becomes a determining factor in the progression of the action in Britannicus. He is offered opposing visions of his reign by Burrhus and Narcisse which pivot on his fixation with his identity in the eyes of the world:

BURRHUS:
Quel plaisir de penser et de dire en vous-même:
“Partout, en ce moment, on me bénit, on m'aime”.

(1359-60)

NARCISSE:
Quoi donc! ignorez-vous tout ce qu'ils osent dire?
“Néron, s'ils en sont crus, n'est point né pour l'Empire;
Il ne dit, il ne fait que ce qu'on lui préscrit:
Burrhus conduit son cour, Sénèque son esprit”.

(1467-70)

The question which ultimately determines Néron's course of action is the all-important, “de tout l'univers quel sera le langage?” (1427). Néron wants to be seen as all-powerful, even if the dream is mercilessly routed by reality. The illusion of toute-puissance fostered by Narcisse's question, “qui vous arrête?” (460), is shattered conclusively by Néron's reply:

                              Tout. Octavie, Agrippine, Burrhus,
Sénèque, Rome entière, et trois ans de vertus.

(461-62)

Puissance therefore signals vanity and pride together with an image of supreme power that clearly fails to reflect the reality of power.

Similarly, as she laments her loss of power, Agrippine recalls her previous role proclaiming, “J'étais de ce grand corps l'âme toute-puissante” (96). The word âme is highly significant here for it again lends puissante a spiritual, mystical dimension reinforced by its direct juxtaposition with the tangible, contrasting image of corps. In the immediately preceding line Agrippine describes herself as invisible et présente, stressing the godlike role she has carved out for herself and reinforcing the divine connotations underlying puissance. But we must not forget that Agrippine has been dethroned, the aspiring spirit demeaningly shackled to a secular search for worldly domination. Even she seems to recognise the finite nature of her power when she concedes that Néron's aim is to show the world that, “Agrippine promet par delà son pouvoir” (250). Her rule, far from being transcendental, has been built upon “exils, assassinats, / Poison même …” (853-54). Her power is therefore founded on brute force, and expresses nothing of the authority necessary for puissance. Moreover, we noted above that puissance is often used with the adjectives pleine, suprême, toute, entière, yet in this play these are subtly and consistently emptied of significance for puissance is either abaissée (1464) or in decline (1603).

In Bajazet we find a similar distortion and downgrading of the word puissance. Roxane boldly declares the extent of her power:

je tiens sous ma puissance
Cette foule de chefs, d'esclaves et de muets …

(434-35)

Clearly “dans mon pouvoir” would be more appropriate than “sous ma puissance” for Roxane's power is not based on any legal right to rule which puissance implies. The “pouvoir absolu” (104) left to her in Amurat's absence is far from legitimate. Her very right to the title Sultane is implicitly questioned in the first scene of the play. The Sultane's power, we are told, is traditionally dependent on the birth of a son (298), but here Roxane's title is unjustified, unfounded:

Et même il a voulu que l'heureuse Roxane,
Avant qu'elle eût un fils, prît le nom de Sultane.

(101-2)

Her power, like Agrippine's, is founded on threats and violence. Her apparent godlike puissance lies in the fact that she has the power of life and death over Bajazet. She repeatedly reminds him that his life is in her hands, and there are strikingly persistent references to the fact that his life is on the line (535, 536, 544, 557, 593, 609, 687, 689, 694, 721, 1142, 1267, 1293, 1326, 1368, 1387, 1448, 1456).

Yet just as with Néron, a question mark hangs over the locus of “real” power. We must not lose sight of the fact that Roxane's power is by proxy. In the midst of her declarations of toute-puissance, Racine invariably indicates to us that this power is derived from a power greater than hers and hints at its real source. Acomat, for instance, talks of “L'ordre dont elle seule était dépositaire” (154), but the might bestowed on her by the emphatic elle seule is immediately tempered for the order is clearly not hers. She is merely the dépositaire of Amurat's order to kill Bajazet. Roxane's own unequivocal statements of power ironically betray the reality of her powerlessness: “Et des jours de son frère il me laissa l'arbitre”; “Du pouvoir qu'Amurat me donna sur sa vie.”¹³ Even her final command, the notorious “Sortez” which seals Bajazet's fate and could be seen as the sublime expression of her supremacy, is not hers as Bajazet reminds her, “Aux ordres d'Amurat hâtez-vous d'obéir.”¹⁴ Roxane, like Néron and Agrippine, only ever has an illusion of puissance. The real source of power lies elsewhere and the bellowing imperatives which stretch from the exposition to the denouement are no more than a voice vaulting a chasm, a resounding expression of hubris.

Antiochus's use of the term puissance is equally inappropriate. He talks of Bérénice's “haut degré de gloire et de puissance” (187), and yet she is despised and exiled by the Roman people precisely because she would taint the authority upon which imperial rule is founded. Paulin likewise refers to Bérénice's puissance, but he confuses it with titles and honours:

Hé quoi? Seigneur, hé quoi? cette magnificence
Qui va jusqu'à l'Euphrate étendre sa puissance,
Tant d'honneurs, dont l'excès a surpris le sénat,
Vous laissent-ils encor craindre le nom d'ingrat?
Sur cent peuples nouveaux Bérénice commande.

(523-27)

Splendour, honours, titles, all contain connotations of glib superficiality and mere outward polish, but clearly do not constitute the essence of puissance. Indeed in Bajazet, Roxane insinuates the distinction when she tells us, “J'en reçus la puissance aussi bien que le titre” (301), thereby implying that the two are quite distinct. In Britannicus we hear Agrippine scorn the “vain titre” (883) of Octavie and disparage the vacuum behind her own distinctions, “Je vois mes honneurs croître, et tomber mon crédit” (90). Aman's accolade to Assuérus in Esther reveals a confusion similar to that of Paulin (600-10). Here puissance is juxtaposed with terms which manifestly denote worldly power: poupre, diadème, pompeusement orné, gloire, magnificence, richesse, habits magnifiques. There is nothing here of the mystique of puissance, no moral, otherworldly quality. Nothing is concealed from the human gaze. The emphasis is on the material and the visible as the word mortel and phrases such as aux yeux de vos sujets and les places publiques accentuate. Again, we are being invited to contrast the superficial with the real, power with its mere pageant. The erroneous equation ironically focuses our attention all the more keenly on the distinction between the worldly pouvoir and the sublime puissance. This irony is a prime example of Racine exploiting the apparent contiguity of the terms in order to uncover the difference between them.

It would therefore seem that Racine's sovereigns seek a kingdom which is not of this world. These heroic figures strive after a power which is ostensibly beyond the reach of mortal men and which, if achieved, would afford them quasi-divine status. Ultimately, however, puissance remains something they strive to affermir (Britannicus 1192, Bajazet 41) or établir (Athalie 318, Britannicus 897), but it repeatedly proves to be an elusive grail. Those who claim to have puissance are shown not to. Each time it is applied to mortals the term is devalued.

Furthermore, the inherently positive aspects of puissance disappear in the hands of mere mortals. It becomes synonymous with death and destruction. This is evident from the very first tragedy as we listen to Etéocle defending his own right to rule by condemning the kind of power exercised by his brother:

Thèbes doit-elle moins redouter sa puissance
Après avoir six mois senti la violence?
Voudrait-elle obéir à ce prince inhumain,
Qui vient d'armer contre elle le fer et la faim?

(La Thébaïde 95-98)

It seems that Racine has deliberately set some red herrings here, but we must not be misled. While the verbs redouter, obéir and devoir could well be associated with the noble puissance, the rhyme of this term with violence seems to draw a correlation between the two thus linking it to physical, human power. Similarly the word inhumain does not indicate any godlike power, but rather stresses the brutality of the violence. There are no winds parting the seas here, no mysterious oracles or visions to suggest that the puissances céléstes are at work. The power is human as the weapons fer and faim which sustain it imply. What is more, there is no suggestion of a power founded on rights and authority, a fact reinforced by the use of the verb vouloir in relation to obéir instead of devoir, the verb we would expect if we were dealing with legitimate power.

We find similar red herrings in Alexandre. Taxile's proposal for peace as he relates it to Porus highlights that even Alexandre's puissance is called into question:

C'est un torrent qui passe, et dont la violence
Sur tout ce qui l'arrête exerce sa puissance;
Qui, grossi du débris de cent peuples divers,
Veut du bruit de son cours remplit tout l'univers.

(Alexandre 189-93)

Given that this power seems invincible and its influence extensive, it would initially appear that that we are in the ethereal realm of puissance. However, again the equation of puissance with violence alerts us to the earthly nature of this power and creates an image of destruction which is reinforced by words like débris and bruit. Moreover, this puissance is devoid of any political or moral legitimacy as Taxile's plan reveals: “Rendons-lui des devoirs qui ne coûtent rien” (196). The devoirs like the puissance are hollow.

Bajazet's description of Soliman follows the pattern:

Soliman jouissait d'une pleine puissance:
L'Egypte ramenée à son obéissance,
Rhodes, des Ottomans ce redoutable écueil,
De tous ses defenseurs devenu le cercueil,
Du Danube asservi les rives désolées,
De l'empire persan les bornes reculées,
Dans leurs climats brûlants les Africains domptés,
Faisaient taire les lois devant ses volontés.

(Bajazet 473-80)

Through the concrete images of écueil, cercueil, rives désolées, Racine reveals to us that Soliman's puissance is no more than the power to destroy. The rhyme puissance/obéissance highlights that this power is all about physical subjugation, a fact emphasised by amenée, asservi, domptés. In each play the rhyme of puissance with violence or obéissance functions in a way that diminishes puissance in favour of pouvoir by fixing power irrevocably in a context of fear and bloodshed.¹⁵ To yield to fear or force is an act of necessity not of will, and there is certainly no sense of moral duty involved. The duty of obedience is only to power with authority. Significantly, as though to further undermine the use of puissance to define Soliman's power, Racine implicitly conveys the difference between legitimate and illegitimate power through the stark opposition of lois and volontés (480). It is a contrast which ultimately spotlights the distinction between arbitrary power, based on whim, and legitimate power built on moral foundations. It is pouvoir we see in operation, not puissance.

Hence Racine systematically undermines those mortals who lay claim to puissance by highlighting the lack of authority in their power which is ultimately defined only by the brute force aspect of pouvoir. Given that the plays clearly reveal an awareness of the distinction between pouvoir and puissance, it would appear that Racine deliberately misuses the term puissance in order to subvert those who claim to possess it and seek to play God for other men.

It is probably in Athalie that we find the best example of the misuse and consequent blurring of the distinction between pouvoir and puissance. This “superbe reine” (739) insists on the supremacy of her power from the start boasting a “puissance établie” (471), and, like so many Racinian rulers before her, presenting her power as absolute: “Je puis quand je voudrai parler en souveraine” (592). Yet even in the exposition, questions are asked which alert us to the limited and secular nature of Athalie's power. Her initial portrayal as “une reine jalouse” (31) immediately makes us wary of her claim to monolithic power: if her puissance is établie, why the need for jealousy? Jealousy necessarily implies rivalry, and the rival is revealed by Abner who tells how he saw her “Lancer sur le lieu saint des regards furieux” (54). Clearly her puissance is challenged and undermined by that of God. As the play progresses and the tragic action unfolds, we discover that what Athalie calls puissance is simply pouvoir. Despite her hubristic pretensions to puissance, this sublime power lies only with God. It is He who inspires his followers to outwit the doomed queen. Her threats of force, “songez méchants, songez, / Que mes armes encor vous tiennent assiégés” (1741-42), are swamped by the superior powers of the Dieu tout-puissant:

Tes yeux cherchent en vain, tu ne peux échapper,
Et Dieu de toutes parts a su t'envelopper.

(1733-34)

The mortal assiégés is overwhelmed by the divine envelopper which captures the sense of a power that is all-encompassing, indeed suprême. It is not until immediately before her fall, when the realisation dawns that her power is not without limits, that Athalie is forced to make the distinction between the “suprêmes puissances” (1708) and her own “pouvoir” (1711). If any doubt remained over the dichotomy between Athalie's pouvoir and God's puissance, Joad's final words to Joas stress the distinction with startling candour:

Apprenez […] et n'oubliez jamais
Que les rois dans le ciel ont un juge sévère.

(1814-15)

In the closing lines we even question the efficacy of Athalie's pouvoir with her own recognition, “Impitoyable Dieu, toi seul as tout conduit” (1774).¹⁶

If the context within which pouvoir and puissance appear has so far implied the abstract or ethical limits of human power, this mocking depreciation of characters' claims to puissance is further underscored by the way in which Racine subtly demarcates the physical boundaries of power. For example, in the notorious spy scene in Britannicus, the very scene where we witness the cruel enactment of Néron's power, Junie's warning to Britannicus implicitly unveils the restricted area of the emperor's sovereignty:

Vous êtes en ces lieux tout pleins de sa puissance.
Ces murs mêmes, Seigneur, peuvent avoir des yeux;
Et jamais l'Empereur n'est absent de ces lieux.

(712-14)

The word lieux here clearly signifies a place of power; it almost seems to personify Néron's physical power to entrap his victims. Yet ironically, by defining the confines of power, by depicting a closed world, the use of the word lieux tacitly suggests limits, a world outside his power.¹⁷ We also see the restricting effect of locus in Bajazet as Roxane defines herself as “Maîtresse du Sérail'; in Mithridate as Xipharès reassures the aging king, “Vous avez dans ces lieux une entière puissance” (164); in Athalie as she arrogantly declares that she is “en ces lieux souveraine maîtresse” (483). Claims to toute-puissance are thus further deflated by implicitly fixing power to specific confines.

Hence in Racinian theatre, pouvoir and puissance, generally perceived as interrelated, are presented as stark antitheses. It is testimony to Racine's skill at manipulating language that he can use words of power in a way that paradoxically betrays the limits of that power. Such words of power are, however, often used to reveal not only the limits of the political but also the extent of the erotic, that is, the dark, mystical power of sexuality. Significantly, “real” power is often allocated to parts of the body—main, bras, coeur, corps, les yeux—or to a connected synonym such as un regard,¹⁸ or to physical attributes in general, for example, charmes: Cléone tells Hermione that Oreste “a trop bien senti le pouvoir de [ses] charmes”; Antigone invites the doomed Hémon to “[voir] le pouvoir que l'amour a sur [elle]”; Taxile incites Cléofile to exploit the “pouvoir de [ses] charmes,” while Ephestion concedes to her that he is “vaincu du pouvoir de [ses] charmes.”¹⁹

Significantly, in the realm of the erotic, puissance seems to retain its intrinsic notion of supremacy. Titus talks of the “noeuds plus puissants” (541), of the love that will forever bind him to Bérénice and ensure that his reign is a living death (1102). Antigone likewise recognises the terrifyingly assimilating power of love, “j'avais sur son coeur une entière puissance” (368). We noted above how Bajazet covets Soliman's power, that is, his capacity to act on his volontés, “Soliman jouissait d'une pleine puissance” (473), but we must be aware that this puissance refers not simply to political but also to sexual licence. Soliman's real power consists in the freedom to choose his partner:

Soliman n'avait point ce prétexte odieux;
Son esclave trouva grâce devant ses yeux;
Et sans subir le joug d'un hymen nécessaire,
Il lui fit de son coeur un présent volontaire.

(603-6)

Terms such as subir, joug and hymen nécessaire stress how Bajazet perceives his own lack of power to act freely and contrast sharply with the simple volontaire. By juxtaposing the language of desire with the language of power and with puissance in particular, Racine lends a sensual dimension to power and elevates sexuality to an ethereal level that defies human comprehension—be it the ‘charmes tout-puissants’ of Andromaque (351), or the ‘puissants attraits’ of Esther (671, 1232). Even if it does not retain the notion of authority, puissance in the realm of the erotic is suprême in the sense of being an all-encompassing, mystical force which ensnares and assimilates its victims. Hence it would seem that puissance only retains its enigmatic force in the realm of the erotic.

What, then, is the nature of power in Racine? It has been possible to readdress this traditionally problematic area through close scrutiny of the two key words of power. Clearly the term pouvoir most often denotes human or worldly power and far from seeing how it could work in a productive way, we find that this term concentrates our attention on its negative associations with repressive politics. The consistent placing of pouvoir in the negative and interrogative, together with its juxtaposition with si and peut-être, does much more than simply build up suspense by fostering an atmosphere of uncertainty. More importantly it indicates with what little confidence we can predict the outcome of human endeavours and thus heightens our awareness of the transcience of human power.

The contrast of the limited and worldly pouvoir with the all-encompassing and ostensibly transcendental puissance undermines human power still further by re-establishing the limits of power and subtly challenging those mortals who are tempted to play God for other men. The downgrading of puissance when applied to mere mortals seems to suggest that Racine believed man incapable of exercising the kind of godlike power we expect from an absolute ruler. Puissance implies a balance between might and right which Racine's sovereigns fail to attain. Their claims to toute-puissance allow him to explore the relationship between real and imagined power, between supreme power and mere hubristic pretensions. On the other hand, when we turn to the way in which Racine sexualises the language of power, we may be forgiven for believing that we are well and truly in the realm of the physical and worldly. Yet the persistent application of the adjective puissant to parts of the body indicates that Racine has elevated the erotic to the ethereal, the earthly to the unearthly. If political power remains anchored to the terrestrial, sexual power seems to take on all the force of destiny. It would therefore seem that infatuation with the simplicity of Racine's language has masked a complex manipulation of terminology. Racine's words of power uncover an astonishingly negative vision of man's will to power and the impossibility of his attaining it.

Notes

1. Marcelle Blum's analysis of the language of power in Le Thème Symbolique (Paris: Nizet, 1965) proves to be very disappointing in that ultimately it consists of little more than pointing out that the rhyme ancelence is related to the theme of power, thus again leaving much unsaid about the nature and operation of power itself.

2. For an explanation of the origin and development of both words, see Dictionnaire historique de la langue française, vol. 2 (Paris: Robert, 1992). Surprisingly, however, little is said about the use of these terms in the seventeenth century.

3. Pierre Richelet, Nouveau Dictionaire Français, (Paris: Gaillard, 1694).

4. The error of accent appears in the original text.

5. For a discussion of the distinction between power and authority in England at this time, see Richard Tuck, “Power and Authority in Seventeenth-Century England,” The Historical Journal 17 (1974), 43-61, and James Daly, “The Idea of Absolute Monarchy in Seventeenth-Century England,” The Historical Journal 21 (1978), 227-250.

6. The first person singular of the present tense is not even listed in full in B. C. Freeman and A. Batson's Concordance du Théâtre et des Poésies de Jean Racine, 2 vols (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1968).

7. Quotations are taken from Jean Racine, Oeuvres, ed. P. Mesnard, 8 vols (Paris: Hachette, 1865-73). Any italics in verse quotations are my own.

8. See lines 45-46, 149-50, 198, 1234, 35, 1241-42.

9. See also lines 558, 961, 964.

10. The noun puissance(s) and the related adjective puissant(e)(s) occur 96 times in Racine's theatre, while the noun pouvoir the verb pouvoir in all its forms occur 1227 times. Calculations do not include variations.

11. suprême: La Thébaïde 228, Iphigénie 1449, Esther 1144, Athalie 1708; absolue: La Thébaïde 184; entière: La Thébaïde 368, Mithridate 164; toute: La Thébaïde 568; vaste: Esther 590; pleine: Bajazet 473.

12. See also Bérénice 591, Esther 1201, Athalie 228, 318, 1664, 1669, 1708.

13. Bajazet 302, 314.

14. Bajazet 1564, 1559.

15. See also Alexandre 189-90; Andromaque 605-06; Britannicus 1191-92, 1243-44; Bajazet 1185-87; Mithridate 163-64.

16. For a full discussion of the role of God in the play see, John Campbell, “The God of Athalie”, French Studies 43 (1989), 385-404.

17. See also lines 851, 1243, 1296 of Britannicus.

18. See for example Alexandre 900; Andromaque 534, 560, 892, 1292.

19. Andromaque 402; La Thébaïde 1230, Alexandre 57, 409. See also Andromaque 450, 534-35.