Madame de Maintenon, one day in conversation with the poet, alluded to the misery of the people.  Racine observed it was the usual consequence of long wars:  the subject was animating, and he entered into it with all that enthusiasm peculiar to himself.  Madame de Maintenon was charmed with his eloquent effusion, and requested him to give her his observations in writing, assuring him they should not go out of her hand.  She was reading his memoir when the king entered her apartment; he took it up, and, after having looked over a few pages, he inquired with great quickness who was the author.  She replied it was a secret; but the king was peremptory, and the author was named.  The king asked with great dissatisfaction, “Is it because he writes the most perfect verses, that he thinks that he is able to become a statesman?”

Madame de Maintenon told the poet all that had passed, and declined to receive his visits for the present.  Racine was shortly after attacked with violent fever.  In the languor of recovery he addressed Madame de Maintenon to petition to have his pension freed from some new tax; and he added an apology for his presumption in suggesting the cause of the miseries of the people, with an humiliation that betrays the alarms that existed in his mind.  The letter is too long to transcribe, but it is a singular instance how genius can degrade itself when it has placed all its felicity on the varying smiles of those we call the great.  Well might his friend Boileau, who had nothing of his sensibility nor imagination, exclaim, with his good sense, of the court:—­

  Quel sejour etranger, et pour vous et pour moi!

Racine afterwards saw Madame de Maintenon walking in the gardens of Versailles; she drew aside into a retired allee to meet him; she exhorted him to exert his patience and fortitude, and told him that all would end well.  “No, madam,” he replied, “never!” “Do you then doubt,” she said, “either my heart, or my influence?” He replied, “I acknowledge your influence, and know your goodness to me; but I have an aunt who loves me in quite a different manner.  That pious woman every day implores God to bestow on me disgrace, humiliation, and occasions for penitence, and she has more influence than you.”  As he said these words, the sound of a carriage was heard; “The king is coming!” said Madame de Maintenon; “hide yourself!”

To this last point of misery and degradation was this great genius reduced.  Shortly after he died, and was buried at the feet of his master in the chapel of the studious and religious society of Port-Royal.

The sacred dramas of Esther and Athaliah were among the latter productions of Racine.  The fate of Athaliah, his masterpiece, was remarkable.  The public imagined that it was a piece written only for children, as it was performed by the young scholars of St. Cyr, and received it so coldly that Racine was astonished and disgusted.[A] He earnestly requested Boileau’s opinion, who maintained it was his capital work.  “I understand these things,” said he, “and the public y reviendra.”  The prediction was a true one, but it was accomplished too late, long after the death of the author; it was never appreciated till it was publicly performed.