And, another

 

And, there's another. Obviously, a set--same covers, same dust covers, just plain the same except subject. This one contains at least some of the plays of Jean Racine, another 17th century French playwright. Racine's first published play was performed by a cast who ordinarily was thought of as Moliere's own dramatic troupe. Just as this book is related to the Moliere book--same material (plays of Racine, plays of Moliere), both have my great-grandfather's name written in the same hand

 

I'm guessing that he bought them together in Franeker, where he went to school. 

Although their backgrounds and literary work were different, both wrote and produced theater that was seen by some, at least, as worldly and of questionable moral value. 

Jean Racine, (baptized Dec. 22, 1639, La Ferté-Milon, France—died April 21, 1699, Paris), French playwright. Orphaned at an early age, he was educated in a Jansenist convent, and he chose drama in defiance of his upbringing. His first play was produced by Molière in 1664. Their friendship ended when Racine took his next play, Alexander the Great (1665), to a competing theatre and seduced Molière’s mistress and leading actress, Thérèse du Parc. She starred in Racine’s successful Andromaque (1667), which explored his theme of the tragic folly of passionate love. His only comedy, The Litigants (1668), was followed by his great tragedies Britannicus (1669), Bérénice (1670), and Bajazet (1672). After writing his masterpiece, Phèdre (1677), a tragedy drawn from Greek mythology, he retired to become official historian to Louis XIV. His final plays, Esther (1689) and Athalie (1691), were commissioned by the king’s wife, Mme. de Maintenon.

While Moliere plays a role in Racine's early success as a playwright, the story goes that their relationship died an almost violent death when Racine hustled and won the affections of Moliere's leading lady. There was nothing monk-ish about the life of a theater groupie, writer or actor, in Paris in the era of Moliere and Racine, whether or not the subject matter was "the tragic folly of passionate love." Needless to say, there was little that seemed "calvinistic."

What I'm saying is that I was blown over to find these books among what remains of Professor Hemkes's library, almost like finding a stack of Playboys beneath last months old newspapers.

But, the fact is, I know no more about my great-grandfather than I do of either of these Parisian theatrical hot shots. I know he preached in a church in Friesland, MI, when first he emigrated, and I know he was the second professor named to a position in the institution that would become Calvin University.

Maybe it's time I look.