"Yes; I think I translated that once somewhere, in the _De Viris._" "Then you will remember that the heat of the fire melted the gold, silver and brass, which ran down the streets in streams. Now, the mingling of these three, the most valuable of all metals, made one single metal; and they gave to this metal the name of Corinthian bronze. Well, then, the man who will be endowed with the genius to do for comedy, tragedy and the drama that which Mummius, in his ignorance, in his vandalism, in his barbarity, did for gold, silver and brass, who will smelt by aid of the fire of inspiration, and who will melt into one single mould Æschylus, Shakespeare and Molière, he, my dear friend, will have discovered a bronze as precious as the bronze of Corinth." I pondered for a moment over what Lassagne had said to me. "What you say sounds very beautiful, monsieur," I replied; "and, because it is beautiful, it ought to be true." "Are you acquainted with Æschylus?" "No." "Do you know Shakespeare?" "No." "Have you read Molière?" "Hardly at all." "Well, read all that those three men have written. When you have read them, re-read them; when you have re-read them, learn them by heart." "And next?" "Oh! next?... You will pass from them to those who preceded them--from Æschylus to Sophocles, from Sophocles to Euripides, from Euripides to Seneca, from Seneca to Racine, from Racine to Voltaire, and from Voltaire to Chénier, in the realms of tragedy. Thus you will understand the transformation that altered a race of eagles into a race of parroquets." "And from Shakespeare to whom shall I turn?" "From Shakespeare to Schiller." "And from Schiller?" "To no one." "But Ducis?" "Oh, don't confound Schiller with Ducis. Schiller is inspired, Ducis imitates; Schiller remains original, Ducis became a copyist, and a poor copyist." "And what about Molière?" "As to Molière, if you want to study something that is worth taking trouble over, you must ascend, not descend." "From Molière to whom?" "From Molière to Terence, from Terence to Plautus, from Plautus to Aristophanes." "But it seems to me you are forgetting Corneille?" "I am not forgetting him: I have put him on one side." "Why?" "Because he is neither an ancient Greek nor an old Roman." "What is Corneille, then?" "He is a Cordouan, like Lucan; you will see, when you compare them, that his verse has striking resemblance to the metre of the _Pharsalia_." "May I write down all you have told me?" "What for?" "To act as a guide to my studies." "You need not trouble, seeing you have me at hand." "But perhaps I shall not always have you." "If you have not me, you will have someone else." "But he might not perhaps know what you do?" Lassagne shrugged his shoulders. "My dear lad," he said, "I only know what all the world knows; I only tell you what the first person you met might tell you." "Then I must be ignorant indeed!" I murmured, letting my head fall into my hands.