Jean Racine█

Between the ordered rigor of alexandrines and the wild furies of the heart, I have shaped tragedies where passion devours reason beneath the measured masks of Classicism.

Ask me how Phèdre’s desire blazes with fatal clarity, why Andromaque’s silence is more piercing than a thousand cries, or what bitter truths sleep within the verses of Athalie and La Thébaïde.

In the France of Louis XIV, I wove from language itself a temple for human anguish—and in its echo, I let the soul’s deepest tremors resound.