vigne in her box, where
I found Mesdames de Villars, de Coulanges and de La Fayette, escorted by
the little Abbe de Villars and de Grignau the _Frondeur_. You may imagine
what treatment Britannicus received in that box. Madame de Sevigne said
the other day at Madame de Villarceau's that 'Le Racine passerait comme le
cafe.' This speech made every one laugh; all agreed that it was as just as
it was good. What I most like is the presumption of this tragedy student,
who undertakes to make Romans talk for us after our great, our sublime
Corneille; but some people think that they can do any thing. I never saw
the Hotel de Bourgogne so brilliant. Such a fashionable audience deserved
a better piece. The people in the pit yawned, and those in the boxes went
to sleep. Vilandry was snoring away in the box of the Commandeur de
Louvre. Since he dines at that table, the best kept in Paris, he goes to
the theatre to digest _haciendo la siesta_, wakes up when all is over, and
pronounces the play detestable. I cannot understand what pleasure the
brave and witty Commandeur can take in the society of a man who never
opens his mouth but to eat. Despreaux, (Boileau,) beside whom I was
sitting, was furious at the coldness of the pit. He protested that it was
Racine's chef d'oeuvre; that the ancients had never written any thing
finer; that neither Tacitus nor Corneille had ever produced any thing more
forcible. He had like to have quarrelled with Subligny, because in the
scene where Nero hides behind a curtain to listen to Junia, he could not
restrain a burst of laughter, which was echoed all over the house. Perhaps
this bad play will furnish him with the materials for another 'Folle
Querelle,'[3] which will make us laugh as much as the first. Ninon and the
Prince sided with Despreaux. They defended the ground inch by inch, but
without being able to cover the retreat of Britannicus. I am curious to
know how the little rival of the great Corneille will take this failure,
for it certainly is one. The worst of the business for him is, that every
one remarked some very clear and very audacious allusions. The King said
nothing about them; but yesterday at his levee, he countermanded a ballet
in which he was to have danced at St. Germain. This may put our poet
somewhat out of favor at court; but what the devil have poets to do there?

[3] Parody of 'Andromache:' RACINE'S first tragedy of any note.

'Floridor was sublime. You would have sworn tha