Books and Characters, French & English — Inside the Classic

The Racine–Shakespeare Divide

In the opening essay, Strachey uses the anecdote of Ingres's painting to frame a question that recurs throughout the volume: why do national tastes in literature diverge so sharply? He notes that Mr. John Bailey, in 'The Claims of French Poetry,' placed Racine 'among the second rank of writers' with contumely. Strachey does not defend Racine outright but instead examines the assumptions behind such judgments. He observes that French readers find Shakespeare 'tolerated' while Racine is 'adored,' and English readers reverse the hierarchy. The essay does not resolve this puzzle; rather, it dwells on the perplexity itself, using the contrast to illuminate the qualities each culture values—Racine's formal restraint versus Shakespeare's expansive vitality.

Voltaire and Frederick: A Correspondence of Unequals

Strachey's essay on Voltaire and Frederick the Great draws on the published correspondence from the Berlin Archives. He notes that the early letters, begun in 1736 when Voltaire was forty-two and Frederick a prince of twenty-four, are 'extremely tedious' to modern readers because they lack personal flavour. The master-pupil dynamic is evident: Frederick writes odes and disquisitions on free will, while Voltaire corrects his French metre and orthography. Yet Strachey detects faint signs of character beneath the elaborate compliments. Frederick's avowal that he has 'peu de mérite et peu de savoir' but 'beaucoup de bonne volonté' reads oddly in light of future events. The essay focuses on the tension between the formal correspondence and the real personalities it half-conceals.

The Structure of Literary Judgment

Throughout the collection, Strachey is less concerned with evaluating authors than with examining how literary judgments are formed. In the Racine essay, he questions the assumption that national differences imply inferiority: 'If, as in the good old days, I could boldly believe a Frenchman to be an inferior creature, while he, as simply, wrote me down a savage, there would be an easy end of the matter.' But such simplicity is no longer possible. Strachey's method is to present evidence—a painting, a correspondence, a critical essay—and then step back to consider what it reveals about the critic's own biases. The essays are thus as much about the act of reading as about the works themselves.

Readers approaching this collection should attend to Strachey's use of anecdote and quotation as evidence of cultural friction rather than as definitive judgments. The essays reward those who read for the play of perspective: how does a French critic's view of Shakespeare differ from an English critic's view of Racine? Strachey's own voice, urbane and slightly ironic, invites the reader to share in the perplexity rather than resolve it.

Reading Strachey’s musings on classical restraint stirred a memory of my grandmother’s quiet shelves, where I first met Authors and Friends — Background and Themes. That book felt like sitting beside someone who knew the writers personally, much like Strachey’s gentle dissections, yet softer—more like a letter than a lecture. Both leave a lingering sense of having eavesdropped on private conversations.