Conquered and chained, worn out by vain desire, Scorched by more flames than I have ever lighted.... Alas! my cruelty ne'er equalled yours! --if Orestes had been continually saying that the "Scythians are less cruel than Hermione," these two personages would excite no emotion at all; it would be perceived that true passion rarely occupies itself with such comparisons; and that there is some disproportion between the real flames by which Troy was consumed and the flames of Pyrrhus' love--between the Scythians immolating men, and Hermione not loving Orestes. Cinna says, speaking of Pompey: _Le ciel choisit sa mort, pour servir dignement_ _D'une marque éternelle à ce grand changement;_ _Et devait cette gloire aux manes d'un tel homme,_ _D'emporter avec eux la liberté de Rome._ Heaven chose the death of such a man, to be Th' eternal landmark of this mighty change. His manes called for no less offering Than Roman liberty. This thought is very brilliant; there is much wit in it, as also an air of imposing grandeur. I am sure that these lines, pronounced with all the enthusiasm and art of a great actor, will be applauded; but I am also sure that the play of "Cinna," had it been written entirely in this taste, would never have been long played. Why, indeed, was heaven bound to do Pompey the honor of making the Romans slaves after his death? The contrary would be truer: the manes of Pompey should rather have obtained from heaven the everlasting maintenance of that liberty for which he is supposed to have fought and died. What, then, would any work be which should be full of such far-fetched and questionable thoughts? How much superior to all these brilliant ideas are those simple and natural lines: _Cinna, tu t'en souviens, et veux m'assassiner!_ --CINNA, act v, scene i. Thou dost remember, Cinna, yet wouldst kill me! _Soyons amis, Cinna; c'est moi qui t'en convie._ --ID., act v, scene iii. Let us be friends, Cinna; 'tis I who ask it. True beauty consists, not in what is called wit, but in sublimity and simplicity. Let Antiochus, in "Rodogune," say of his mistress, who quits him, after disgracefully proposing to him to kill his mother: _Elle fuit, mais en Parthe, en nous perçant le cœur._ She flies, but, like the Parthian, flying, wounds. Antiochus has wit; he makes an epigram against Rodogune; he ingeniously likens her last words in going away, to the arrows which the Parthians used to discharge in their flight. But it is not because his mistress goes away, that the proposal to kill his mother is revolting: whether she goes or stays, the heart of Antiochus is equally wounded. The epigram, therefore, is false; and if Rodogune did not go away, this bad epigram could not be retained.