It is certain, that if the author had not striven to make Cornelia witty, he would not have been guilty of the faults which, after being so long applauded, are now perceived. The actresses can scarcely longer palliate them, by a studied loftiness of demeanor and an imposing elevation of voice. The better to feel how much mere wit is below natural sentiment, let us compare Cornelia with herself, where, in the same tirade, she says things quite opposite: _Je dois toutefois rendre grâce aux dieux_ _De ce qu'en arrivant je trouve en ces lieux,_ _Que César y commande, et non pas Ptolemée._ _Hélas! et sous quel astre, ó ciel, m'as-tu formée,_ _Si je leur dois des vœux, de ce qu'ils ont permis,_ _Que je recontre ici mes plus grands ennemis,_ _Et tombe entre leurs mains, plutôt qu'aux mains d'un prince_ _Qui doit à mon époux son trône et sa province._--ID. Yet have I cause to thank the gracious gods, That Cæsar here commands--not Ptolemy. Alas! beneath what planet was I formed, If I owe thanks for being thus permitted Here to encounter my worst enemies And fall into their hands, rather than those Of him who to my husband owes his throne? Let us overlook the slight defects of style, and consider how mournful and becoming is this speech; it goes to the heart: all the rest dazzles for a moment, and then disgusts. The following natural lines charm all readers: _O vous! à ma douleur objet terrible et tendre,_ _Éternel entretien de haine et de pitié,_ _Restes de grand Pompée, écoutez sa moitié, etc._ O dreadful, tender object of my grief, Eternal source of pity and of hate, Ye relics of great Pompey, hear me now-- Hear his yet living half. It is by such comparisons that our taste is formed, and that we learn to admire nothing but truth in its proper place. In the same tragedy, Cleopatra thus expresses herself to her confidante, Charmion: _Apprends qu'une princesse aimant sa renommée,_ _Quand elle dit qu'elle aime, est sure d'être aimée;_ _Et que les plus beaux feux dont son cœur soit épris_ _N'oseraient l'exposer aux hontes d'un mépris._ --Act ii, sc. 1. Know, that a princess jealous of her fame, When she owns love, is sure of a return; And that the noblest flame her heart can feel, Dares not expose her to rejection's shame. Charmion might answer: Madam, I know not what the noble flame of a princess is, which dares not expose her to shame; and as for princesses who never say they are in love, but when they are sure of being loved--I always enact the part of confidante at the play: and at least twenty princesses have confessed their noble flames to me, without being at all sure of the matter, and especially the infanta in "The Cid." Nay, we may go further: Cæsar--Cæsar himself--addresses Cleopatra, only to show off double-refined wit: