Nothing could be seen but ambition, blood, thirst for power, and Fury, cup-bearer to the God of Vengeance. There was no more love-passion, the manly passions ramped upon the stage like lions, and, with few exceptions, all, male and female, were monsters of the Will. Long years passed before anything but the Will was heard of. After a long reign the "monsters" disappeared. But they have reappeared in the literature of our century. The worship of the Will, which originated with Corneille, was recently revived by Nietzsche, whose famous "Sur-homme" bears a very strong family resemblance to the Cornélien heroes. "Life," said Nietzsche, "is that which ought always to surpass and to exceed itself." Corneille's personages kept all the springs of their will well in hand. They intended to succeed, to surpass, and to get ahead of themselves if the thing was to be done; and when they were convinced that to surpass themselves was impossible their future looked very dark, and they sold their lives at cut prices,--or threw them in for nothing--letting them go to any one who would carry them away. In the fifth act of the play Horace became very anxious to die because, as he expressed it, he feared that, after what he had done, he should be unable to "surpass himself." "Votre Majesté, Sire, à vu mes trois combats; Il est bien malaisé qu'un pareil les seconde, Qu'une autre occasion à celle-ci réponde, Et que tout mon courage, après de si grands coups, Parvienne à des succès qui n'aillent au dessous; Si bien que pour laisser une illustre mémoire, La mort seule aujourd'hui peut conserver ma gloire." The analogy between the "Sur-homme" and the Cornélien heroes does not end here; logic would not permit that; nothing weakens and enslaves the firm and exalted will as effectually as the sentiment of pity, and both Corneille and Nietzsche enfranchised their ideal humanity. Corneille makes some one assure Horace that there is no great merit in exposing himself to death, but that concession to weakness is of an early period; the advanced man--the man out of the common order--is easily recognised by the fact that he does not hesitate to bring the greatest sufferings upon the beings who are dearest to him. Combattre un ennemi pour le salut de tous, Et contre un inconnu s'exposer seul aux coups, D'une simple vertu c'est l'effet ordinaire ... Mais vouloir au public immoler ce qu' on aime, S'attacher au combat contre un autre soi-même ... Une telle vertu n'appartenait qu' à nous. The lines which follow were written by Nietzsche, and they seem a paraphrase of the discourse of Horace: To know how to suffer is nothing; feeble women, even slaves, may be past masters in this art. But to stand firm against the assaults of the pain of doubt, to withstand the weakness of remorse when we inflict torment,--this is to be a hero; this is the height of courage; in this lies the first condition of all grandeur.