It was further enacted that to promote these objects the Academy should compose a dictionary, a grammar, a treatise on rhetoric, and another on poetry. We may say at once that neither the grammar, poetry, nor rhetoric were ever written. Nor would it have been possible to tie down by rules eloquence and poetry, which, to be anything, must spring free and unfettered from heaven-born genius.

The dictionary was commenced, however, and forms the most important and useful of the Academy's labours.

Of course, when we speak of the Academy's labours, we mean that which it accomplished as a collective body. To speak of what individual members have done would be out of place and impossible, as since its foundation it has counted amongst its members, with very few exceptions, all those who have held a place in the world of letters, and the history of their productions would be the history of French literature.

As early as the year 1635 M. Chapelain was begged to draw up a plan for the dictionary.1 He and several other members were afterwards formed into a committee for this purpose, but the work seems to have gone on but slowly, so much so, indeed, that some witty person gave them the name of the "Académie des fainéants (the Academy of do-nothing). Vaugelas took an important part in this work. He was appointed head of the committee chosen

to prepare the notes of the dictionary, which were read at each sitting of the Academy.

Vaugelas worked with unwearied diligence for more than ten years, until his death, which took place at the end of 1649 or beginning of 1650, and during his life some progress was made; but after his death the work languished.

It was that he might devote all his time to the dictionary that Richelieu obtained for him the renewal of a pension 2 which he previously enjoyed, but which had been stopped. When he went to thank the Cardinal, the following anecdote is related: "The Cardinal advanced to meet him with a gentle and smiling majesty, and said, 'Well, M. Vaugelas, at least you will not forget the word pension in the dictionary.' Vaugelas replied, with a profound bow, 'No, your Eminence, and still less the word gratitude.' It is said that Colbert, himself an Academician, disappointed at the want of ardour which the committee displayed, and, as an eminently practical man, thinking that when there was work to do it should be done at once, went one day to surprise them. He found them busily working at the word ami, and after listening to their discussions, and perceiving the time, thought, and labour necessary for the definition of one word, confessed that the affair was much more complicated than he could have supposed, and went away without having administered the rebuke which he intended.

Unfortunately it was discovered that the first parts, which were written before the language was thoroughly settled, were in such antiquated French that it was necessary to revise, or rather rewrite, a great part of the work. This took another twenty years; so that the dictionary was not published until 1694, more than fifty years after its commencement. Several new editions were published at different periods of the eighteenth century. Another appeared in 1835; and the latest, the seventh edition, a few years ago, in 1877. "From the time of its publication it became, and has ever continued to be, the standard of the French language; and any word not to be found in its pages has no right officially to exist!" --although Goncourt declares that, as "the French language is the poorest, and contains fewer words than any other modern language,' he has no hesitation in adopting any word that expressed his meaning, even "though it should not have ridden in the Academy's carriages!" 1

To finish the subject of the dictionary, we may remark that the present Academy contemplated compiling a new and most comprehensive dictionary; that the work was even commenced, but as it was found that many generations would have passed away

It was also enacted that each Academician should in turn, in order to further the development of the language, deliver a weekly oration in presence of the whole Academy. This custom was soon discontinued; but another, which has existed from the earliest times, is still in full force-we mean the speeches delivered at the reception of new members. At first the sittings were strictly private ; but as Perrault, the famous author of the fairy tales, relates, the speech he made on his reception was very eloquent and greatly appreciated, and he regretted that it had only been heard by so small. an audience, so he proposed that in future the receptions should be public. His request was agreed to. Even at the present day, great is the interest and excitement when a new member is to be received at the French Acad

emy. The fair sex especially are eager for admission; and many intrigues are carried on in the drawing-rooms for weeks beforehand, so as to secure the muchdesired ticket. Nor is the pleasure a small one; for, now as ever, these speeches are generally masterpieces of eloquence, and the splendid language of Rénan and the wit of Pailleron are as much appreciated as in the old days, when the glowing words of Bossuet, or the eloquent language of Racine, enchanted their hearers. The speech of the newly elected member is always in praise of the defunct Academician whose place

he has taken; and one of the most eloquent of the illustrious body is generally chosen to give the answering discourse.

Very soon after the foundation of the French Academy, and during the protectorate of Richelieu, happened what is known as "the affair of The Cid."" In 1636, this, the masterpiece of Corneille, was acted for the first time. It' was received with great applause, and brought to the young poet a complete triumph. Richelieu, however, did not like the piece, and expressed his disapproval strongly. This dislike was probably caused by the fact that the Cardinal had tried by every means to put down duelling, then so prevalent in France, and the great interest in the tragedy depends on a duel.1

M. Scudéry, also an author, partly through jealousy and partly to gain favour with the Cardinal, criticised the work most severely. Richelieu desired that it should be judged by the French Academy. As individual members, most of them approved of 'The Cid.' When the Abbé de Cerisy was asked what he thought of it, he replied, "I only wish it was I who had written it."2 At the same time they knew that Richelieu demanded, not an opinion, but a condemnation; and as they did not wish to offend him to whom they owed so much, they tried by every means to avoid examining the work, saying, "that by the statutes of the Academy they were prohibited from judging any

work, except with the permission and on the demand of the author."

But Richelieu was resolute, and would take no excuse. He sent Bois-Robert to Corneille, and a reluctant consent was wrung from him, he saying at last, "The gentlemen of the Academy can do as they like; and as you tell me that his Eminence would be glad to have their opinion, and that it would amuse him, I have nothing more to say.'

And now the Academy was obliged to set to work; but six months elapsed before the judgment was pronounced. Chapelain, as in all other circumstances, took an important part-in fact it was he who drew up the memoir which was sent to the Cardinal for inspection. In these notes a great part of 'The Cid' was condemned, and the rest "damned with faint praise.”3

This judgment was given wholly with the view of pleasing the Cardinal, as many of the Academicians, and even Chapelain himself, express in their private letters admiration for Corneille's tragedy.1 This memoir was afterwards published under the title of 'Sentiments of the Academy on "The Cid."' A history of the Academy that did not notice this "affair of 'The Cid"" would be incomplete, as from the beginning it has been made use of by the enemies of the institution as a proof of the want of independence of the body, and of the spirit of submission, not to say servility, which was shown to

2 Fabre.

R

the protector, whether king or minister. Chapelain seems to have been one of the most prudent and time-serving amongst them. His letters to Richelieu on this and other occasions are filled with what we should call the grossest flattery, and we wonder that men of real talent should condescend to stoop so low. But let us not be too harsh in our judgments. After all, they were but human; and at that time literature and literary men were held in small consideration, and their protector was allpowerful.

In any case, the French Academy soon became a real power in the State, and by its influence a love of learning was rapidly diffused among the aristocracy; and the high place which the institution then won has never been lost, and France is foremost amongst the countries where genius and talent have, as is their due, the highest place.

After the death of Cardinal Richelieu, which happened in 1642, the Chancellor Séguier, who was already a member, was invited to become protector of the Academy. He accepted, but gave his demission as Academician, that there might be no inequality among them.

And now for the first time the Academy found a home. From its foundation the assemblies had been held in the house of one or other of the members, but the arrangement naturally involved many changes; and Séguier offered his own palace, where from that time for more than thirty years the meetings were held. Séguier was less to be feared than the

great Cardinal; and although he was treated with great deference, and his opinion accepted in case the votes were divided, yet it is said, "The Chancellor never interfered with the liberties of the Academy." At his death in 1672 the society had already become famous, and counted amongst its members many celebrated men. 'Louis XIV., who was then in all the glory of his youth and power, let it be known that he desired to become protector. The society accepted this signal honour with joy, and the Academy went in a body to thank the king for the favour he had done them.

Louis received them with the greatest urbanity; and perceiving Colbert, his celebrated Minister, who was in his place as an Academician, he requested him to present every member who was not personally known to him. Afterwards, taking him aside, he said, "You must tell me what I can do to be agreeable to these gentlemen." 2

In fact, Colbert used all his influence in favour of literature and art, and was always a munificent patron of learning.

The king, too, treated the Academy royally, and gave them a royal residence, for he ordained that from that time the assemblies should be held in what was formerly the council-chamber in the palace of the Louvre. Even in little things the king showed consideration. From the beginning the director of the Academy was the only one who had an armchair; the others had only small chairs, "which were very uncomfortable," adds the old chronicle.

The Cardinal d'Estrées, who was old and infirm, wrote to the king as protector to allow him to have an arm-chair, "otherwise he could not attend the sittings." Louis not only granted his request, but sent from the palace forty arm-chairs, so as to excite no jealousy among the members. From this comes the expression, "Les quarante fauteuils" (the forty arm-chairs), by which the French Academy is so often described.

Richelieu had made the French Academy a power in the State, but Louis XIV., who said, "L'état, c'est moi" ("the State, it is I"), raised the Academy up to himself. He ordained that at every State ceremony and Court festival six members should represent the society; in fact, favours of all kinds were shown to what he termed "my Academy.”

It is said that Louis XIV. loved eloquence and poetry; but, adds the historian, "he loved them still more when they were employed for him."

It seems, indeed, that at this moment the object which had been in view at the foundation of the Academy was no longer the same, and that all its orators were not too many to proclaim the triumphs of the king, nor had its poets other occupation than to sing his praises.

This adulation, this almost worship, seems to us not only incredible but ridiculous, and leaves a kind of stain on this noble institution. We can only say that the Academy was carried away by the feeling which prevailed everywhere, for Louis XIV. was adored almost as a god by all classes, from the highest

to the lowest; and we may judge to what a point this enthusiasm was carried when Racine, great poet as he was, is said to have died of grief because "the king cast on him a severe look."1

The warm rays cast by the "Sun-King" (Roi Soleil), as Louis XIV. was called, seem to have had a vivifying effect, for this was certainly the Augustan age of French literature. And had the Academy already accomplished its great work-the advancement of the French language? Certain it is that in the thirty-five years which had elapsed since the foundation of the society, the language had made immense progress-we may almost say, had attained its full development and beauty; for the magnificent orations of Bossuet, the classic eloquence of Racine's tragedies, have never been surpassed, rarely equalled.

At this period a reviving breath passed over France, and its literature, as by a magic touch, awoke. A number of talented men sprang up on every side, and gave to the world productions that will last for ever.

Within the walls of the Academy were to be found Corneille and Racine, Boileau, La Bruyère and Fénélon, and perhaps greatest of all, Bossuet.

It was indeed the great century ("Le grand siècle"), not only because of the victories gained by Louis XIV., but still more because of the galaxy of great men who rendered it glorious.

Colbert was the first who gave any remuneration to the Academicians.

When Richelieu founded the