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    Polyeucte
    Polyeucte
    Polyeucte
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    Polyeucte

    By Thomas Constable and Pierre Corneille

    3.5/5

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 1, 1949
    Polyeucte

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    • 4/5
      Malgré le calembour que chacun sait, une excellente tragédie. Le monologue de Polyeucte est peut-être ce que Corneille a écrit de meilleur, un bijou de recherche formelle et d'excellence poétique qui laisse Racine loin derrière.

    Book preview

    Polyeucte - Thomas Constable

    The Project Gutenberg EBook of Polyeucte, by Pierre Corneille

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

    almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

    re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

    with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

    Title: Polyeucte

    Author: Pierre Corneille

    Translator: Thomas Constable

    Release Date: April 3, 2006 [EBook #2543]

    Last Updated: January 26, 2013

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLYEUCTE ***

    Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger

    POLYEUCTE

    By Pierre Corneille

    Translated by Thomas Constable

    Contents

    INTRODUCTORY NOTE

    Pierre Corneille was born in Rouen in 1606, the son of an official; was educated by the Jesuits, and practised unsuccessfully as a lawyer. His dramatic career began with the comedy of Melite, but it was by his Medee that he first proved his tragic genius. The Cid appeared in 1636, and a series of masterpieces followed—Horace, Cinna, Polyeucte, Le Menteur. After a failure in Pertharite he retired from the stage, deeply hurt by the disapproval of his audience. Six years later he resumed play writing with OEdipe and continued till 1674, producing in all some thirty plays. Though he earned a great reputation, he was poorly paid; and a proud and sensitive nature laid him open to considerable suffering. He died in 1684.

    The works of Corneille represent most fully the ideal of French so-called classical tragedy. The laws to which this type of tragedy sought to conform were not so much truth to nature as the principles which the critics had derived from a somewhat inadequate interpretation of Aristotle and of the practise of the Greek tragedians. These principles concentrated the interest of the play upon a single central situation, in order to emphasize which, subordinate characters and complicating under-plots were avoided as much as possible. There was little or no action upon the stage, and the events of the plot were narrated by messengers, or by the main characters in conversation with confidantes. Further, the dramatic unities of time and place, as well as of action, were held to be binding.

    One result of these rules was to give an extraordinary importance to the speeches; and it is in the eloquence of these, in the grandeur and dignity of the versification, and in the lofty moral elevation of the characters, that Corneille excels. All of these qualities are admirably exemplified in Polyeucte; and in the conduct of the leading personages one may perceive the most persistent trait of this dramatist's treatment of heroic character—the conquest of the passions by the reason and the will. Among the masterpieces of Corneille, says Paul de Saint-Victor, 'Polyeucte' is assuredly the greatest; and nothing in all his dramas equals the extraordinary beauty of the character of 'Pauline.'

    POLYEUCTE

    CHARACTERS

         FELIX, Governor of Armenia.

         POLYEUCTE, an Armenian noble, son-in-law to FELIX.

         SEVERUS, a Roman Knight, favourite of the Emperor Decius.

         NEARCHUS, an Armenian noble, friend to Polyeucte.

         PAULINE, daughter to Felix, wife to Polyeucte.

         STRATONICE, companion to Pauline.

         ALBIN, friend to FELIX.

         FABIAN, servant to Severus.

         CLEON, friend to FELIX.

         Three Guards.

    The Scene is at Melitena, capital of Armenia. The action takes place in the Palace of Felix.

    ACT I—POLYEUCTE. NEARCHUS

         NEARCHUS.

         Shall woman's dream of terror hurl the dart?

         Oh, feeble weapon 'gainst so great a heart!

         Must courage proved a thousand times in arms

         Bow to a peril forged by vain alarms?

         POLY.

         I know that dreams are born to fade away,

         And melt in air before the light of day;

         I know that misty vapours of the night

         Dissolve and fly before the morning bright.

         The dream is naught—but the dear dreamer—all!

         She has my soul, Nearchus, fast in thrall;

         Who holds the marriage torch—august, divine,

         Bids me to her sweet voice my will resign.

         She fears my death—tho' baseless this her fright,

         Pauline is wrung with fear—by day—by night;

         My road to duty hampered by her fears,

         How can I go when all undried her tears?

         Her terror I disown—and all alarms,

         Yet pity holds me in her loving arms:

         No bolts or bars imprison,—yet her sighs

         My fetters are—my conquerors, her eyes!

         Say, kind Nearchus, is the cause you press

         Such as to make me deaf to her distress?

         The bonds I slacken I would not unloose

         Nothing I yield—yet grant a timely truce.

         NEAR.

         How grant you know not what? Are you assured

         Of constancy?—as one who has endured?

         God claims your soul for Him!—Now! Now! To-day!

         The fruit to-morrow yields—oh, who shall say?

         Our God is just, but do His grace and power

         Descend on recreants with equal shower?

         On darkened souls His flame of light He turns,

         Yet flame neglected soon but faintly burns,

         And dying embers fade to ashes cold

         If we the heart His spirit wooes withhold.

         Great Heaven retains the fire no longer sought,

         While ashes turn to dust, and dust to naught.

         His holy baptism He bids thee seek,

         Neglect the call, and the desire grows weak.

         Ah! whilst from woman's breast thou heedst the sighs,

         The flame first flickers, then, untended—dies!

         POLY.

         You know me ill,—'tis mine, that holy fire,

         Fed, not extinguished, by unslaked desire

         Her tears—I view them with a lover's eye;

         And yet your Christ is mine—a Christian I!

         The healing, cleansing flood o'er me shall flow,

         I would efface the stain from birth I owe;

         I would be pure—my sealed eyes would see!

         The birthright Adam lost restored to me

         This, this, the unfading crown! For this I yearn,

         For that exhaustless fount I thirst, I burn.

         Then, since my heart is true, Nearchus, say—

         Shall I not grant to pity

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