[Illustration:  Peter Corneille——­334]

Peter Corneille, born at Rouen on the 6th of June, 1606, in a family of lawyers, had been destined for the bar from his infancy; he was a briefless barrister; his father had purchased him two government posts, but his heart was otherwise set than “on jurisprudence;” in 1635, when he quietly renounced the honor of writing for the cardinal, Corneille had already had several comedies played.  He himself said of the first, Melite, which he wrote at three and twenty, “It was my first attempt, and it has no pretence of being according to the rules, for I did not know then that there were any.  I had for guide nothing but a little common sense, together with the models of the late Hardy, whose vein was rather fertile than polished.”  “The comedies of Corneille had met with success; praised as he was by his competitors in the career of the theatre, he was as yet, in their eyes, but one of the supports of that literary glory which was common to them all.  Tranquil in their possession of bad taste, they were far from foreseeing the revolution which was about to overthrow its sway and their own.” [Corneille et son Temps, by M. Guizot.]

Corneille made his first appearance in tragedy, in 1633, with a Medee.  “Here are verses which proclaim Corneille,” said Voltaire:—­

          “After so many boons, to leave me can he bear? 
          After so many sins, to leave me can he dare?”

They proclaimed tragedy; it had appeared at last to Corneille; its features, roughly sketched, were nevertheless recognizable.  He was already studying Spanish with an old friend of his family, and was working at the Cid, when he brought out his Illusion Comique, a mediocre piece, Corneille’s last sacrifice to the taste of his day.  Towards the end of the year 1636, the Cid was played for the first time at Paris.  There was a burst of enthusiasm forthwith.  “I wish you were here,” wrote the celebrated comedian Mondory to Balzac, on the 18th of January, 1637, “to enjoy amongst other pleasures that of the beautiful comedies that are being played, and especially a Cid who has charmed all Paris.  So beautiful is he that he has smitten with love all the most virtuous ladies, whose passion has many times blazed out in the public theatre.  Seated in a body on the benches of the boxes have been seen those who are commonly seen only in gilded chamber and on the seat with the fleurs-de-lis.  So great has been the throng at our doors, and our place has turned out so small, that the corners of the theatre, which served at other times as niches for the pageboys, have been given as a favor to blue ribbons, and the scene has been embellished, ordinarily, with the crosses of knights of the order.”  “It is difficult,” says Pellisson, “to imagine with what approbation this piece was received by court and people.”  It was impossible to tire of seeing it, nothing else