distinct and palpable, in all the vigour of life. The presentment, it is
true, is not a detailed one; the accidents of character are not shown
us--only its essentials; the human spirit comes before us shorn of its
particulars, naked and intense. Nor is it--as might, perhaps, have been
expected--in the portrayal of intellectual characters that Racine
particularly excels; it is in the portrayal of passionate ones. His
supreme mastery is over the human heart--the subtleties, the
profundities, the agonies, the triumphs, of love. His gallery of lovers
is a long one, and the greatest portraits in it are of women. There is
the jealous, terrific Hermione; the delicate, melancholy Junie; the
noble, exquisite, and fascinating Bérénice; there is Roxane with her
voluptuous ruthlessness, and Monime with her purity and her courage; and
there is the dark, incomparable splendour of Phèdre.

Perhaps the play in which Racine's wonderful discrimination in the
drawing of passionate character may be seen in its most striking light
is _Andromaque_. Here there are four characters--two men and two
women--all under the dominion of intense feeling, and each absolutely
distinct. Andromaque, the still youthful widow of Hector, cares for only
two things in the world with passionate devotion--her young son
Astyanax, and the memory of her husband. Both are the captives of
Pyrrhus, the conqueror of Troy, a straightforward, chivalrous, but
somewhat barbarous prince, who, though he is affianced to Hermione, is
desperately in love with Andromaque. Hermione is a splendid tigress
consumed by her desire for Pyrrhus; and Oreste is a melancholy, almost
morbid man, whose passion for Hermione is the dominating principle of
his life. These are the ingredients of the tragedy, ready to explode
like gunpowder with the slightest spark. The spark is lighted when
Pyrrhus declares to Andromaque that if she will not marry him he will
execute her son. Andromaque consents, but decides secretly to kill