ºr ºf , ºº . ſº sº.º.º. * * * * * * ºw re- - ... º.º.º.º.º. ● *::: * ~ *. * - … . . . *-*. a. * * * ºf vº-: * ， ！ , ！ º ſº！！！ º' -ſ ， ， ， ， ， !-·， ， ， ， ， ，·- ·|-aer-º-： \ºvº， šºſ， ‘w’， ：’， ， ， ，：-· - Ķw （， ， ， ， ， ， ， ， ，--| w waeſ （* * * * * · *í º ： （ ）(） ∞ √°.، ： ſae sº, ºs·; :：- º ： * ， ， ， ， , ，： ： : ： * * * · ·:{ ！ ！！ !!º º'， wiış : * ， ， ， ， , ， * * * º º ： º : '', ſ. ºg º ， ， ， „“, º sº Sºº-ºº-ºº:*…** . ！„ “，ſãº, -ae, --·ſº º xº » ：∞ √° A√∞ √°.- - --· · -， ！·---· ··-ſº, º dº º výſºſ， ſº ſe º： º, º. º.º.“ ſº; ***,*）".***… ！·--- -·- ·į į ſººſººſ ſºſº;*）$', ！ , ！ n t + ' * *·-·-· ----· ·w > * *, *: *）（.*; $ $'）;';' +·· ·--|-- ·-· -！!!! § ¶ …”…” -,-* ， ，·- · º----·--* ſae * , º.s. r.- -·--∞∞∞ “… e º ſº, º jºyſ ».-- --· · · ·.-- ∞Łº, ºº ： · ** „º-· * * *--|-· -------- №， ， ， ， ， ， ，· -···-·· ,º.“,'',''，• Lº, º.º.| _ • ）- -·- ·· ·· - -· ·· -· ·-º ，· • №. !! ！！ ！！ *• ºº ： * .* - *- -- -- -··-º „ “---· ， ， ，···-·- § ' + ſºſ tº ºr cº- * * * * * ~;***Cº* ''， ș （< -;, º „º.*; *** -: ： : ： : ºr r * : * 's p as . . º º, º , ºf sº-º: • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * F ， , ， + · ·：·--··º º ·-·----• • ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► - $'， ）， ， ！--º :- ·Œ Œ œ • ¡ ¿ № r ; *- * * : * * * § ¶√∞.', •'.'， ， （* *** ：ſae `ae * * ººi ·*（?:%.* √∞ √°.'， ſº， º aeº, *）（.*… • ، { # 4.} ſă| € ± § 3 ∞ ſå 6– +-s~ ~~ “Great Ulriters.” EDITED BY PROFESSOR ERIC S. ROBERTSON, M.A. AAFE OF VICTOR H UGO. LIFE OF X º f-7 "..." ‘.…" VICTOR HUGO BY FRANK T. MARZIALS LONDON WALTER SCOTT 24 WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW I888 (All rights reserved) CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Battle field of Victor IIugo's liſe and work; his birth at Besançon, February 26, 1802, his parents; ancestral pretensions; his delicacy in Inſancy; nunsed in the lap of war; at Paris in 1805; Colonel Hugo appointed Governor of Avellino ; his wife and children Journey thither, October, 1807; brigands hung along the road ; life at Avellino ; Colonel Hugo follows King Joseph to Spain, June, 1808; the family return to Paris, happy days, the family John General Hugo in Spain, 181 I ; adventules by the way; schooldays at Madrid; the family again returns to Pauls, 1812; Victor's education, political and religious; M. Larivière ; General and Madame IIugo separate ; Victor sent to the Pension Cordler et Decotte , he leaves school, August, 1818 & © tº e ſº * • II CHAPTER II. Fust exhibitions of genius; schoolboy versification ; competes for the Academy prize for French poetry; honounably mentioned, 1817; lesolves to devote himself to literature; General Hugo cuts off supplies; Victor resides with his mother ; awarded medals for two odes at the “Floral Games * of Toulouse, 1819 ; writes for Conservateur Littéraire, December, 1819, to March, 1821; early allegiance to the classic school of poetry; “Odes et Poésies Diverses” published June, 1822 . ſº tº • 35 CHAPTER III. PAGE Death of Madame Hugo, June, 1821; her opinion of Victor; Victor desolate ; fights a duel; love affairs; receives pension from Louis XVIII., September, 1822; marries in October ; a glimpse of the future; Madame Drouet; hard work ; “Han d’Islande” published, February, 1823; pension doubled ; domestic sorrow; more odes; contrl- butes to the Muse Française; Victor Hugo’s “ideal novel”; Scott “prosaic’”; “Nouvelles Odes,” March, 1824; Charles X. adds the Cross of the Legion of Honour to the pension, April, 1825, gradual conversion of Victor Hugo to Romanticism, 1825–7. ſº O © º • 47 CHAPTER IV. Romanticism in Germany; England; France ; the movement In France ; Chateaubriand, Madame de Stael, André Chénier, Lamartine, Alfred de Vigny; Victol Hugo takes the field with his third volume of Odes, October, 1826; storms the classical position in the preface to “Crom well,” 1827; Victor Hugo's ideal drama; “Cromwell” not a great play; “Chasse du Burgrave” and “Pas d’Almes du Roi Jean,” 1828; “Orientales,” 1829 ; a superb book; its music; metre ; glowing colour; Victor IIugo “Master” of the French Romantic School its members; the Cénacle . ſº Q & e ſº . 63 ^. CHAPTER V. Influence of Shakespeale on French stage; Charles Kemble and Edmund Kean in Paris, 1827-8; Hugo's Romantic drama, “Marion de Lolme,” prohibited by the Govern- ment, July, 1829; “Helnani,” Autumn, 1829; difficul tles attending its production ; the Romantic youth ; first performance, February 25, 1830; fierce struggle ; victory; the Romantic drama triumphant ; a wold for the Classicists; “Marion de Lorme” produced, August, 1831; “Le Roi s'amuse,” November, 1832; “Lucrèce * Borgia” and “Marie Tudor,” 1833; “Angelo Tynan de Padoue,” April, 1835; “Ruy Blas,” November, 1838; “Les Burgraves,” March, 1843; Victor Hugo's ambition as a dramatist; his social philosophy; history; characters; his plays written for the stage; plots, chal acters, and dialogue; verbal music; Rachel . i. ſº . . 78 COAVTEAV7 S. 7 CIHAPTER VI. PAGT Novels since “Han d’Islande ’’; “Bug Jaigal,” January, 1826; a nigger hero; “Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné,” February, 1829 ; capital punishment; Victor Hugo's sympathies on the subject; “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” February 13, 1831 ; “Nôtre Dame * and “Quentin Durward” compared ; the world of “Nôtre Dame "; a living, terrible book; Victor Hugo an artist in prose as well as verse; holds first place in European literature after 1832; Goethe and “Nôtre Dame '’. G º • IOO CHAPTER VII. ~ Victor Hugo as he appeared in 1831 ; a period of sadness; “Les Feuilles d’Automne,” 1831 ; the poet of childhood; prose work, 1831–1848; “Littérature et Philosophie Mélées,” collected papers, 1834; “Claude Gueux,” 1834; “Le Rhin,” 1842; “Les Chants du Crépuscule,” 1835; “Les Voix Intérieures,” 1837; “Les Rayons et les Ombres,” 1840; varied character and high quality of verse; elected an Academician, 1841 ; motives for seeking election; created a peer, April 13, 1845; his apartments and life in the Place Royale; his hospitality, grace, and courtesy in private life . ſº ſº e º g * tº ... IIS CHAPTER VIII. Politics; his royalist tendencies soon wane ; approves of the Revolution of 1830; an “opportunist” republican in 1848; the Revolution ; elected to the Assemblée Con- stutuante June 4th ; his views at the time; Louis Napoleon elected President ; Victor Hugo elected member of the Assemblée Législative, June, 1849; becomes an extieme Radical ; glittering but violent speeches; a prison scene; the Coup d’Etat, December 2, 1851 ; Hugo takes a promi- nent part in opposing it ; he is driven into exile; arrives in Brussels, December 14, 1851 . tº tº g * • I 3O CHAPTER IX. Hugo's apartment in the Grande Place, Brussels; he writes “Histoire d'un Crime”; publishes ‘‘Napoléon le Petit’” In summer of 1852; 1ts style; the book causes his ex- pulsion from Blussels; he goes to Jersey; his house in Marine tellace, St. IIeller; the family liſe there; “Les CO/WTEAVTS. t-A 3 * $ 14 Châtiments,” 1853; its castigation of Napoleon, anti- Imperialist works; the Queen's visit to Napoleon III. ; the exiles attack the Queen in “L’Homme”; the Hugos are ºlled from Jersey; they leave for Guernsey, October 31, I 55 º tº º ſº & wº O g e ſº $ CHAPTER X. Hauteville House; Victor Hugo's life there; his sons Charles and François; “Les Contemplations”; Léopo dine Hugo drowned in 1843; “La Légende des Siècles”; character of the book; “Les Misérables”; episodes; the story; resemblance between Marius and Victor Hugo him Self; “William Shakespeare’”; “Les Chansons des Rues et des Bois”; “Les Travailleurs de la Mer”; “L’Homme qui lit.”; an impossible book; family life at Hauteville IIouse . * & * º º e * > * tº CHAPTER XI, Fall of the Empire; Victor Hugo returns to France, Sep tember 5, 1870; addresses fruitless appeal to the Germans; remains in Paris during the siege; elected to the Assembly at Bordeaux, February, 1871; resigns his seat; death of Challes Hugo ; half sympathies with the Commune, again expelled fiom Belgium; “L’Année Terrible "; “Quatre- vingt Treize”; character of the book; “Actes et Paroles”, second series of “La Légende des Siècles”; several books of verse; grandchildren Georges and Jeanne; hale old age; death on May 22, 1885, public funeral . e e z 2 & CHAPTER XII. Victor Hugo's own claim to universal respect ; to what extent admissible; some element of theatricality in his character must be admitted; his political and social philosophy; must be pronounced obsolete; value of his work not affected thereby ; genius as a novelist ; as a dramatist; as a poet; future of his work . ſº e gº º tº INDEX º * tº tº g O O ſº ſº º PAGE I46 I90 208 2I9 NOTE. –0-0–- HE reader would thank me very little for enume- rating here all the books and periodicals consulted during the composition of this short biography. My sheaf, comparatively small as 1t is, has been gleaned from many fields. Two debts, however, I feel in honour bound to acknowledge, one to Madame Hugo’s “Victor Hugo raconté par un Témoin de sa vie,” and the other to M. Biré’s “Victor Hugo avant 1830.” F. T. M. LIFE OF VICTOR HUGO. CHAPTER I. HERE are some men round whose name and fame and work it would almost seem as if human opinion were destined to rage in never-ending strife. Such a man was Victor Hugo. Fol upwards of sixty years he 1emained conspicuous among his contemporaries, an object of passionate admilation, and almost equally passionate dislike. During the earlier portion of that pellod he stood in the forefiont of the great battle be- tween the Romantic and Classical schools in French literature. To his followers he was the man of men, the “Impeccable master,” the genius of his age, a kind of Sun-god dispelling the drear darkness of poetic routine and ancient night. To his adversaries he was a mele Savage, a monster, rudely violating his mother tongue, and setting all Sane traditions at defiance. Then, when that battle had in a measure fought itself out, came even fiercer warfare in the world of politics. The Revolution of 1848, fitful, sudden, erratic, drove Louis Philippe from the throne of France. A short-lived Republic followed. But in the Republic was soon visible what some halled as the dawn, and others cursed as the coming night of 12 A./FE OF Imperialism. Among those who cursed was Victor Hugo, and his talents in that kind were simply nagnifi- cent. What winged words, tipped with venom and flame, did he not discharge at Napoleon III. And how cordially the Imperialists hated him in return But even when the Empire had been swept into the dust-heap of human failures — even then, amid the shouts that halled the poet as the laureate of French democracy, discordant voices might still be heard. Not yet had unanimity been reached. A new literary school arose professing to be neither classical nor romantic, but “naturalist.” Facts, realism, science, such were, and are, the watchwords of M. Zola and his Comus rout. Weighed in a balance that takes no account of what is Ideal, or beautiful, or sublime, no wonder If Victor Hugo's work is found lighter than vanity 1tself. He is arraigned for artificiality, for preferring an epic grandeur to the actual proportions of life, and ridiculed for his mediaeval “bric-à-brac,” his empty, sonorous rhetoric. “He never followed after truth,” such is M. Zola's conclusion; “he was never the man of his age.” And if this be the verdict of the last coarse school in French literature, how does his reputation stand among daintier critics of an approved Atticism, like M. Scherer and Mr. Matthew Arnold P. The latter praises Sainte-Beuve for having early “seized the weak side of Victor Hugo's poetry,” its “emptiness,” “theatricality,” “violence,” and quotes, as “a description never to be forgotten of Victor Hugo as a poet,” the statement of Sainte-Beuve that he was a “Frank, energetic and subtle, who had mastered to perfection the technical and rhetorical resources of V/CTOR AUGO. 13 the Latin literature of the decadence.” After this, if one has been watching the battle-field at all impartially, one is glad to see a bold, or 1t may be even a _rash, diversion in the poet's favour; one is glad to see Tº Mr. Swinburne swinging down upon the enemy in full charge, and to hear him shouting his mighty war-cry in praise of the “great master whose name is the crowning glory of the nineteenth century,” of the “greatest writer whom the world has seen since Shakespeare,” “the greatest Frenchman of all time" | Thus for upwards of sixty years has the strife of tongues raged round Victor Hugo. And it is a strife in which whosoever speaks of him at all 1s almost con- strained to take a part. The man was pre-eminently a fighter. How Is it possible to avoid controversy in dis cussing his life and works? So with every desire, as fal as in me lies, to live peaceably with all men, I cannot but feel that before faring very far forward, I too shall be drawn into the conflict; and, standing as it were upon the battle's brink, I almost hesitate. “This century of ours was two years old, the Sparta of the Republic was giving place to the Rome of the Empire, and Bonaparte the First Consul developing into Napoleon the Emperor, . . . when, at Besançon, . . . there came into the world a child of mingled Breton and Lor- raine blood, who was colourless, Sightless, voiceless, and so poor a weakling that all despaired of him except his mother. . . . That child, whose name Life appeared to be erasing from its book, and whose short day of existence seemed destined to pass into night with never a morrow— 14 LIFE OF that child am I.” Thus, in lines which most Frenchmen know pretty well by heart, has Victor Hugo related the incidents of his birth. To put the matter more prosaically, he was born at Besançon, in the extreme east of France, on February 26, 1802. His father, Joseph Léopold Sigisbert Hugo, was an officer in the French army, and aged some twenty-nine years at the time of Victor's birth. Under what cucum- stances he had become a soldier is not quite clear. His own memoirs—for he too wielded the pen, and has left memoirs — are somewhat reticent on the point. The family record suggests that he first embraced the career of arms in 1788 as a “cadet.” My own impression is that he entercd the ranks quite humbly as one of the numerous volunteers who, at the approach of the Revo- lution, came forward to do its work and defend the country. Be that as it may, in 1793-4 we find him already a captain—for among good republicans promo- tion was rapid in those days—and actively engaged in the war against the royalists of La Vendée. He has changed his name to “Brutus,” which is a sign of the times, and helps to memorialise the Convention in denunciation of the Girondists, and in praise of “the sublime Constitution” of 1793, and he “swears,” in common with his co-signatories, to “shed the very last drop of his blood to crush all tyrants, fanatics, royalists, and federalists.” He is also somewhat busily engaged as secretary to the military commissions which are con- demning the unhappy royalists to death, or purveying victims for the infamous Carrier's revolutionary tribunal at Nantes. Dirty work at best, and there seems no 17/CTOR HUGO. 15 reason to doubt that he hates it, and does what in him lies—as he claims for himself, and Madame Hugo claims for him—to mitigate the horrors of that fratricidal war. Thence, the rising in La Vendée being crushed, he is transferred to Paris, and employed for some two years 1n semi-military semi-legal work at the War Office; and thence again passes to the Army of the Rhine, under Moreau, and is attached to the personal staff of that great general, who for a time almost seems to be the pre- destined rival of the rising young Napoleon. Such is Victor Hugo's father, who, after a creditable, and one may almost say distinguished military career, is Com- manding his battalion at Besançon in 1802. As to the boy's mother, she had had, if we may trust a passage in the preface to “Les Feuilles d’Automne,” a troubled childhood; had been a brigande, as the insurgent royalists were called, “like Madame de Bonchamp and Madame de Larochejaquelein,” and had been compelled to “fly,” she, “a poor girl of fifteen,” across the ensanguined fields of “the Bocage.” But here, I think, some little allowance must be made for poetic licence. M. Trébuchet, the father of this young lady, was a shipowner at Nantes; and we are told, on the excellent authority of his granddaughter," that he was “one of those honest citizens who never travel beyond the confines of their own city, and of their once settled * The reference here, and throughout, when I quote from Madame Hugo, is to her “Victor Hugo raconté par un témon de sa vie,” which was clearly written under Victor Hugo's own eye, and may almost be treated as his autobiography. It is re published in the complete edition of his works. I6 AAFE OF opinion.” Clearly not the man to go careering about the Bocage with his three motherless daughters, or to allow one of them to take what the French call “the key of the fields” on her own account. Moreover, I think we may regard It as pretty certain that Madame Hugo, with her skill in selecting the picturesque points in the family history, would not have neglected so striking an episode, unless it had lain beyond the confines of fact, and in the cloudland of legend or Imagination. Still, though Mademoiselle Trébuchet may never have borne arms in her own person, she was a royalist, and the daughter of a royalist; and there must have been many obstacles to the wooing of the handsome young republican officer, who, in his frequent visits to Nantes, hovered about the dovecote of the worthy ship owner. “Love,” however, here again, was “lord of all,” as in the far-off days when the English lady “would marry the Scottish knight.” Sigisbert Hugo, for the now obsolete “Brutus” had been dropped, held to his suit. Sophie Trébuchet was nothing loath. Her father suffered him- self to be persuaded, consented even to leave Nantes for a time, and take his daughter to Paris, where the bride- groom elect was, for the nonce, driving the clerkly quill at the War Office. So all went well. The marriage took place in 1796. A first-born son, Abel, came into the world, at Paris, on the 15th November, 1798; a second, Eugène, was born at Nancy on the 16th of September, 18oo; and Victor followed on the 26th of February, 1802. Having thus spoken of the poet's father and mother, perhaps a word may fittingly be said of his ancestry. Whereupon I enter at once into the strife of tongues, * vºczor HUGo. 17 According to Madame Hugo, to Victor Hugo himself, to M. Barbou, Victor Hugo's enthusiastic biographer, the Hugos were a noble family, “illustrious both in literature and in arms,” and Madame Hugo half apologizes for not carrying their genealogy further back than 1532, saying that all earlier records had perished at the pillage of Nancy, In 1670. Now that there was a noble family of Hugos is indisputable. Unfortunately there is nothing to show that our Hugos were in any way connected with them. M. Biré, who has gone into this matter with great care and minuteness, establishes the point pretty con- clusively. Victor's father was a soldier who had entered the army as a volunteer at the outset of the Revolu- tion. He speaks of his own people as hommétes gens, which may be regarded as the equivalent of worthy and respectable. As a matter of fact they belonged to thc upper artisan class. The poet's grandfather was a car- penter. Three of his aunts were sempstresses, one was married to a baker; another to a hair-dresser. It is scarcely possible, as Madame Hugo asserts, that five of his uncles should have fallen in battle at Weissenbourg, for there were but five altogether, and three lived till long after the date of that engagement, Nor, I repeat, is there anything whatever to connect all these worthy people with the knights and esquires, privy counsellors, and bishops of the - I was going to say other branch, but it should rather be other tree of the Hugos. There is evidence, on the contrary, to show that no connection existed. And here, perhaps, the judicious reader may be tempted to ask, “What can all this possibly matter? Grant that the poet's origin was more humble than has 2 18 IIFE OF hitherto been supposed, and that, Instead of coming from a class which even its admirers would admit to have become somewhat effete at the end of the eighteenth century, he sprang from a race of sturdy and energetic artisans— grant all this, and how can it affect him injuriously P. In default of ancestral honour may not a man like Victor Hugo claim the greater honour of being himself an ancestor, and rooting, as it were, a mighty and perdurable name?” True, most true. But not quite the point here at issue. If the poet had said nothing about his family, no one else would have said anything about it either. But he did say something, and that something was neither accurate in statement nor suggestion ; and, unfortunately, inaccuracles of a similar kind exist throughout his works. Here is the crux. Here is the question which the biographer cannot blink—a question similar in kind to that which has to be faced by the admirers of Chateaubriand and Shelley and Goethe, and various other great men. Did Victor Hugo know- Ingly palter with fact P Did he advisedly, and in full knowledge of what he was doing, present it in a light that was not the light of truth? Genius is quite compatible with charlatanism, else were we led to the conclusion, too evidently absurd, that the great Napoleon was no genius. Are we compelled by the verities of criticism to believe that there was a baser alloy of quackery mingled with the fine gold of the genius of Victor Hugo? Such is the problem ; and before I have done I shall have to endeavour to find some solution to it. But that must be further on in our story, and when we have collected additional materials V/CTOR HUGO. 19 on which to found a sane and equitable judgment. Meanwhile it will be fitting to return to the birth-place and birth-time of the little weakling child, whose future Career was to suggest these delicate ethical questions. We left him at Besançon on the 26th of February, 1802, the doctor declaring that he could not live, the mother fully determined that he should live, and pre- vailing. Not thus, in what Hood, the unrivalled punster, called “Babbicome Bay ” and “Port Natal,” was the argosy that carried the child's superb fortunes to be wrecked—not thus, prematurely, was to close a caleer destined to be 1emarkable for its magnificent vitality. “Victor Marie,” so was the boy christened ; and the name proved of happy augury. In his first fight he came off victor over death. Within six weeks he had so far gained strength as to be able to bear removal to Marseilles; and thence, though still very delicate, he was taken about to Corsica and Elba, from station to station, in the wake of a wandering military father. “Blood and Iron’ſ Prince Bismarck himself might have been satisfied if he had lived during the first fifteen years of this century; for the times were certainly of iron, and blood ran without stint. As we think of the great battle-field that Europe then was, and listen to the echoes that history brings to us, we almost seem to hear again the roar of the old cannon, and the tramp of armed men, and the wall of those who mourn for their dead. And if such be the impression which Napoleon's campaigns still produce on us, who live in these later days, and have heard the rumour of other armies marching and counter-marching, and the crash of other empires in 20, AZFE OF their fall—what must have been the impression made on an ardent, imaginative boy, himself partly nurtured in the camp, and whose father was daily staking his life in the great war game P The poet has told us, and with some pomp and circumstance, in one of his earlier odes, how his cradle had oft been rested on a drum, and water from the brook brought to his childish lips in a soldier's helmet, and how the glorious tatters of some worn-out flag had been wrapped round him in his sleep. Without accepting this quite literally, we may yet, I think, easily picture to ourselves how the boy was influenced by the valled experiences, Journeyings, and anxieties of his earlier years. Surely the fierce war-goddess, then crying havoc over the ravaged fields of Europe, was, in her strange wild way, no unfit “nurse for a poetic child.” Memory plays strange pranks with us all, and often hoards with a miser-like tenacity some worthless odd and end, while she squanders real treasure like a prodigal. Victor's first recollection comes strangely, and yet with a sort of “touch of nature,” among the stirring incidents of his boyhood. His father had gone off, in 1805, to join the army in Italy under Masséna. His mother had brought her little brood to Paris. And here he remem- bered—it was the first dawn-streak on the horizon of his mind—how he used to go to school with his brother, and how, being a very tiny and very frail scholar, he would mostly be taken, on arrival at school in the early morning, to the bedroom of Mademoiselle Rose, the schoolmaster's daughter, and how, perched up on her bed, he would watch her at her toilet. But soon matters of graver import began to find a place in his memory. WICTOR HUGO. 21 His father, after doing good service under Masséna, had passed into the army of Joseph Bonaparte, then King of Naples; had tracked and captured Fra Diavolo, the famous brigand chief, tracked him almost literally like a hare ; and had been rewarded with the command of a regiment and the governorship of the province of Avellino. Peace, or something like peace, reigned in Southern Italy; and Madame Hugo set off, at the end of October, 1807, to rejoin her husband. So little Victor journeyed, in the dear, tedious, lumbering old diligences of those days, across a rain-soddened France, and then— In a sledge for the nonce—through the snows of the Mont Cenis Pass, and then, in duligences again, by Parma, and Florence, and Rome the Imperial City, and Naples with her peerless bay, and so on to Avellino. Alexandre Dumas, the great Alexandre, most charming of narrators, has devoted several chapters of those light bright memoirs of his to the history of Victor Hugo's childhood and youth, and he bears witness, from conversations held forty years afterwards, to the singular faithfulness of the 1m- pressions left on the child's mind by that Italian Journey On one point we scalcely need his assurances or those of Madame Hugo. Both tell us how much the little travel ler was affected by the dismal spectacle of the bodies of executed brigands, hanging from the trees at pretty frequent Intervals along the road. All through life every form of capital punishment—gibbet or guillotine—re- tained for him a kind of morbid fascination. There is, in his house at Guernsey, a picture grisly and horrible, executed by himself, showing a poor human body, the body of John Brown, the negro liberationist, “hanged 22 J./FE OF by the neck ’’ till it seems reduced by time and the weather's indignities to mere shreds and tatters of what once was man. Among the most powerful passages in “L’Homme qul rit”—indeed I think the most powerful —is the description of the Corpse hanging in chains on the top of Portland Bill, and terrifying poor little Gwyn- plaine by the execution of a hideous dance to the wintry plpings of the wind. At Avellino life went very pleasantly. As governor of the province, Col. Hugo occupied a marble palace, all fissured, it is true, by a recent earthquake, but not the less enchanting on that account to the eyes and fancy of childhood. Then there was a deep wooded ravine in close proximity, and there were nuts to heart's desire, and—charm of charms to the natural boy —no lessons, nothing to dim the cloudless blue of perfect Idle- ness. So the three little Hugos enjoyed halcyon days with their kind father in the sunny South, amid the mountains and gorges of Avellino ; but days all too short, and flitting almost with the rapidity of the hal- cyon's wing. Kings were “on promotion ” at that time. Joseph Bonaparte, after reigning over Naples till June, 1808, was placed by his imperious no less than Imperial brother upon the Spanish throne, which had just been Iniquitously wrested from the reigning Bourbons. Col. Hugo stood high in Joseph's favour. When the latter moved to Madrid, Col. Hugo received an honourable and pressing Invitation to follow. Such a proposal was by no means to be refused. As a known adherent of the disgraced Moreau, or for other reasons which have been variously explained, the Colonel had little to expect WICTOR Aſ UGO. 23 from Napoleon, and 1t was clearly his policy to re- main attached to the Bonaparte, who appreciated his services. But Spain, with her national pride excited to blood-heat, was as yet no place for the education of three French boys, or the residence of a French lady. Again did it become necessary for father and children to part. So sorrow reigned on either side, and the lads turned their faces towards Paris very sadly. Madame Hugo, the elder, if we may credit her daughter-in-law's testimony, entertained no great admira- tion for the beauties of nature, and had watched the Alps and the Apennunes with some indifference. But she liked a garden; and attached to the house which she took shortly after her return to Paris, was a garden that was more than a garden, that was a park, a wood, a piece of the country dropped into the midst of the great city, a place of enchantment, a very Brocellande, where magicians might weave their spells, and monsters lurk in secret places, and knights and ladies wander at will, and everything unforeseen and unexpected happen quite naturally. In this place of delight, which had belonged In pre-revolution days to the convent of the Feuillantines, the three boys were as happy as the exigencies of educa- tion would allow. Abel, the eldest, was now old enough to go as a boarder to the Lycée, or public school; and Eugène and Victor were sent to a somewhat humble day- school not far from their home, and kept by a certain Larivière, -a worthy pedagogue, formerly a priest, whom the Reign of Terror had unfrocked and frightened into marriage. But in play-time, and especially on Sundays, when Abel had his weekly holiday, what pleasures did 24 J.IFE OF the garden not offer | Thither too would come not un- frequently, taking her gentler part in the boys' rougher games, the little lady whom the poet afterwards married. No wonder that the sunshine of the old place lived so bright in his memory. And besides the tenants with which the imagination of these blight children peopled the dainty wilderness and the ruined ecclesiastical buildings of the Feuillan- tunes, there was a tenant in flesh and blood to whom attached an interest quite as romantic. This was General Lahorle, Victor's godfather. For General Lahorle, an old friend and companion in arms of General Hugo, lay here in hiding. He was one of the officers implicated in Moreau's conspiracy against Napoleon, and had been condemned to death,” as we are told—but I think that extreme penalty must have been Commuted—and then tracked from one place of refuge to another, till at last Madame Hugo had gene- rously afforded him sanctuary in a luined chapel in her garden. Here he appears to have remained some eighteen months, and was to the boys the pleasantest of Com- panions. He would tell them numberless stories, “true stories,” doubtless, of adventure and peril “1” the Immi- nent deadly breach,” stolies calculated to fire their young blood, and make them long for the time when they too should be old enough to handle sword or musket. He would also go over their lessons in the evening, and read Tacitus with little Victor, now a progressing and very advanced young scholar of nine or ten. Ought we * Condemned in his absence, as is possible according to French law. IVICTOR A. UGO, 25 also to believe that he first lit in that young gentleman's mind the bright pure flame of democratic republicanism —a flame destined to smoulder there for a time, and after- wards to burst forth as a beacon to the nations P. We ought to believe this, or something like It, for Victor Hugo tells us so, and represents the general, In a very striking passage, as saying “fit things” on liberty, and on Napoleon as liberticide, while overhead the illuminations of some imperial fête were bravely flaring. But, alas, that critics should be so troublesome Why can they not, according to Lord Melbourne's recommendation, “let it alone” P M. Biré, I fear, makes it very difficult for us to give full credence to this pretty story. Whether or not General Lahorle held the antithetical conversation reported by his godson, Celta1n 1t is that the days went pleasantly by in the house and garden of the Feuillantines. And beating as it were round the happy shores of childhood, adding a kind of zest to the bright- ness and mirth, were the ceaseless wild surges of battle Wars and rumours of wars, these sent their voices con tinually into that joyous home. Now the boys would be listening to such bulletins of the imperial campaigns as the Government vouchsafed to impart to its lieges— bulletins that spoke of successes very often, and of reverses never at all, and were not altogether quite in- genuous perhaps. Then would come the visit of a colonel uncle, all resplendent in gold lace, and producing on his little nephews, so Victor tells us, the effect of Michael the archangel, as seen in glory. He too might have tales to tell of even newer combats than those described by General Lahorle. There would also be 20 J.A.E OF letters at fairly frequent intervals from General Hugo, now higher than ever in Joseph's favour, and busily- engaged, among other battlings, in tracking the guerilla chief, El Empecinado, as he had before tracked Fra Diavolo in Italy. And presently the children were to be taken into closer contact with war. For towards the end of 18 Io, or thereabouts, 1t occurred to King Joseph that appear- ances, the royal prestige, demanded the presence at his court of the families of his generals and high digni- talles. His government was crumbling under the hatred of the Spanish people. He wished by all means in his power to give it a look of stability and permanence. So General Hugo, now enrolled as a count or marquis among the nobles of Spain, and a governor of provinces, received a gentle hunt that Madame Hugo might ‘advantageously take up her residence in the Peninsula. She started for Madrid, with her three boys, in the ensuing Spring. As far as Bayonne nothing very noteworthy happened. The journey was a nine days' diligence drive and no mole. But from Bayonne onwards adventures might be expected. At that point the travellers would enter a hostile Country, all Swarming with insurgent patriots and brigands. To proceed alone, and without an escort, would have been madness. Madame Hugo waited at Bayonne for about a month, and then attached herself to the mill- tary convoy which was to take to Madrid the periodical subsidy of the French Government. It was a notable procession. First came a small body of troops—cavalry, Infantry, and artillery, with two cannon. In the midst V/CTOR Aſ UGO. 27 the waggons containing the “treasure.” Then the anti- quated, huge, travelling carriage of Madame Hugo, who, as the wife of a governor, had successfully contested pre- cedence with a duchess of Spain. Then an interminable line—more than two miles long, we are told—of vehicles of every form and description—all green and gold for the most part, those being the Imperial colours—and creaking, groaning, Jingling on their way, with much Clacking of whips and Swearing in every tongue, and an intolerable cloud of dust. On either side of the line were more soldiers, and, forming the rear-guard, more soldiers still, and a couple of cannon. Upwards of two thousand men : such was the force required to convoy money across Spain in the days when Joseph was king. Nor does it appear that there was a man too many. Scal cely a month pleviously another convoy had been robbed and massacred at Salinas. No such evil chance befel the cavalcade of which the Hugos formed part. Does not the boat that conveys the fortunes of Caesar at all times enjoy special immunities P Yet were adventures, and even perils, not altogether wanting. Near Salinas again there was an attack on the part of the Guerillas, but badly planned, and resulting Only in some Smart sharp-shooting—sharp shooting, however, carried on at sufficiently close quarters to allow of a brace of bullets being lodged in the family coach. A little faither on the road, that same coach as nearly as possible fell over into a precipice, and was only saved, with its occupants, by the prompt arms and hands of a company of Dutch soldiers, whose good-will Madame Hugo had secuted by benevolences of food. Further on 28 AE/FE OF an axle-tree broke, and the little party were almost left behind to the tender mercies of the Guerillas. Every- where too there was evidence of the hatred of the inhabitants. The houses in which Madame Hugo and her children were quartered seemed deserted, and offered the most Sinister hospitality to the travellers. All was done to make them feel that they were the guests of fear and harsh necessity. Over the months of Victor's sojourn in Spain it is not my purpose to linger. He reached Madrid in June, 1811, and was shortly after placed, with his brother Eugène, in a great dreary aristocratic school kept by the monks. Here the lads were far from happy among schoolfellows of a hostile nation, and relatively much less advanced in learning. Winged words hurtled in the air pretty con- stantly, and blows followed, and, on One occasion at least, the use of Spanish steel. Often must the two younger brothers have cast envious glances—such glances as the Caterpillar may be supposed to cast at the butterfly— when looking at Abel Hugo, now promoted to the dignity of page in the royal household, and gaily resplen- dent in his uniform of blue, silver, and gold. But deliverance from this Spanish dungeon was at hand. The plot had begun to thicken in the Peninsula. The tide of conquest was turning. In January, 1812, Ciudad Rodrigo fell into Wellington's hands. Three months later he took the commanding position of Badajoz. In July came the victory of Salamanca. Events either accomplished or looming rendered Spain a quite unfit sojourn for French women and children at the beginning of that year. Their presence could scarcely act, even in VICTOR ANUGO. 29 appearance, as a kind of flying buttress to the tottering French monarchy. Ere March had blustered itself into April, Madame Hugo and her two younger boys were on their way back to the garden of the Feuillantines. Abel remained behind to take his boy-Soldier's part in the conclusion of a war disastrous to the French arms The disproportion between the ages of the boys and their advancement in learning rendered it difficult to place Eugène and Victor in a public school. M. Larivière was accordingly engaged to teach them their humanities. And as regards this worthy pedagogue, as indeed with regard to the whole tendency of the young Hugos' early educa- tion, there are several observations which ought to be made, and may fittingly here find a place. Victor Hugo's first works, as we shall presently see, were the outcome of very strong monarchical and legitimist convictions, and animated throughout by the spirit of Roman Catholic Christianity. His later works, the works of the last thirty years of his life, were, on the contrary, fiercely demo- cratic and anti-clerical. Whereas he had in his youth execrated the Revolution, and blessed kings and priests, he came afterwards to speak of the Revolution in terms of rapture, and to regard kings and priests as the twin pests that afflict mankind. Of this change in his con- victions he was very proud. He reverts to the subject again, and yet again, in verse and prose. If Murat, he asks, is to be praised and honoured because, “having been born a stable-boy, he became a king,” should not that man be honoured more who has achieved the rare and difficult ascent from error to truth, and, having been “born an aristocrat and a royalist, has become a 30 I./FE OF democrat " ? As to M. Larivière, whom he calls, ap- parently for the purpose of intensifying his clerical and aristocratic character, the “Abbé de la Rivière,” that poor, mild old gentleman's instructions are used by his pupil to point the most terrible moral. He stands forth as the type of the priest-teacher, “inoculating young Intelligences with the old age of prejudice,” “taking from childhood its dawn and substituting night,” “making crooked that which nature has made straight,” and, as a last “terrible chef d’aeuvre,” “manufacturing deformed souls like that of Torquemada, and producing unintelligent intelligences like that of Joseph de Maistre.” “To this perilous teaching ”—perilous Indeed—“were subjected”. Eugène and Victor Hugo. No wonder that the latter was proud of having come through such an ordeal, if not unscathed at the time, yet at least with powers of ultimate recuperation. Now, as regards all this, 1t is quite clear that great allowance must again be made for the poetic tempelament. Victor Hugo's ancestry was not, by any means, as aristo- cratic as he seems to have supposed. “Blutus ” Hugo, the son of a carpenter, had been an ardent republican ; was probably a republican still, though of a less advanced type, at the time of Moreau's conspiracy; seems never to have been a very enthusiastic Imperialist, and was no more than a perfunctory royalist when Louis XVIII. again sat on the throne of France. In religion we are told that he was, “like most of the soldiers of the empire, an anti- clerical.” Madame Hugo unquestionably was a royalist. Here indeed a sinister influence must be admitted. Her politics were, as seen from her son's ultimate standpoint, WICTOR HUGO. 31 very bad. But her religion ? She had none. She was as freethinking a countrywoman of Voltaire as need be. When Eugène and Victor were at the school at Madrid, the fathers wanted them to serve the mass like the other pupils. She refused ; and, when the fathers insisted, declared that her sons were Protestants. “She was,” says her daughter-in-law, “in favour of an entire freedom of education, . . . and interfered no more with the intellects of her children than with their consciences,” allowing them to read indiscriminately Rousseau, Vol- taire, Diderot, and even the most unsavoury novels of the last century. Whatever may have been the faults of such a system of training, it can scarcely be accused of a tendency to superstition. While as to poor old M. Larivièle, the priest who had abandoned his orders, and married his cook—with whom he lived in homellest fashion,-sulely the faith of the most Orthodox agnostic would have had nothing to fear from his teaching. In truth, Victor Hugo loved antithesis over much. It filled his memory unduly with glooms and gleams. There was not that difference which he imagined between his later creed and the influences that had surrounded his childhood." In 1813, “municipal improvement * cast a covetous eye on the beautiful wilderness of the Feuillantines. New streets were to be built there ; and Madame Hugo, on the last day of the year, moved to a house in the Rue Cherche-Midi, near to some old friends, the Fouchers, * M. Lesclide, who has published a volume of Victor Hugo's Table Talk, says, “We all know what a thoroughly monal chical and Christian education he had received.” This was evidently the Im pression which Victor Hugo's conversation left on those about him —plobably the impression in his own mind. 32 A.IFE OF whom we shall meet again in the course of this narrative. The new year, of which this 31st of December was the eve, proved to be an eventful one in the annals of the Hugo family, no less than in the annals of Europe. On the 9th of January, 1814, General Hugo, who had per- force left Spain after the defeat of the French arms at Vittoria in the preceding June, received orders to assume command at Thionville, on the Eastern frontier, and to defend the place against the approaching allies. In April Napoleon abdicated, and Louis XVIII. re entered Paris, to the gratification of all good royalists, Madame Hugo's enthusiasm flaring so high that it does not seem even to have been damped by the quartering upon her of a Prussian colonel and fifty Prussian soldiers. Shortly afterwards she went to Thionville, to “settle some important family matters ” with her husband, as her daughter-in law tells us. Speaking more particularly, she went, as would appear from M. Barbou's life of the poet, to arrange the terms of a separation by mutual con- sent. How had this come about P Was political incom- patibility at the bottom of it, as M. Barbou would have us believe P I trow not. General Hugo's principles were scarcely of that inflexible character ; and there are rumours of other reasons. Anyhow, General Hugo seems at about this time to have determined that his two younger sons should be sent to school," and educated in * According to M. Barbou, and others, it was after the second restoration of the Bourbons, in 1815, that General IIugo determined to send the boys to school. But this does not agree with Madame IIugo's narrative, and 11 is difficult to leconcile some of the Incidents which she relates with the view that the boys were not at school before the second entry of the allies into Paris. The question, how- ever, is of no particular importance, § l/ICTOR HUGO. 33 view of the École Polytechnique, which is the recognized avenue in France to various kinds of government em- ployment, and in particular to admission into the corps of military engineers. To school the two boys went accordingly, to a certain Pension Cordier et Decotte, where they speedily pushed themselves into a position of some prominence. The future king of men—for such Victor Hugo unquestionably became—began by being a king of boys. He and his brother led rival parties among their school companions, and exercised most despotic rule. That some of this ascendency was attributable to the fact that they occupied the aristocratic position of parlour-boarders, is possible. Native force of character and Intellect must, however, have had something to do with it besides. For the rest, if we try to picture to ourselves what Victor was as a schoolboy, we shall, I think, have the image of a fine manly intelligent lad, fast developing into a fine manly young fellow. Though he was already rhyming apace, and to excellent effect, as we shall presently see, yet had he none of the poetic sensitiveness that shrinks and shivers at the rude contact of school life. He was no Shelley to make himself prematurely miserable over the want of harmony in his little world. Rather did he drink delight of battle with his peers, as occasion pre- sented. He seems, too, to have studied zealously— reserving a large place in his thoughts, no doubt, for Chateaubriand, who was the 1dol of young France at that time—but still applying himself honestly and well to the * Cordier, by the by, was another unfrocked priest, an intense admirer of Rousseau. 3 34 AZFE OF VICTOR AUGO. school curriculum, and following assiduously the courses of lectures at the Collége Louis le Grand. For mathe- matics especially he appears to have shown great aptitude; and, in the general annual competition of all French scholars for the University prizes of 1818, he obtained the fifth place for physics. This was the last year of his school life. In August, 1818, being then sixteen years of age, he left the Pen: ston Cordier et Decotte, fully determined for his own part that he would not try to obtain admission to the École Polytechnique, or be a soldier. He had, in fact, made up his mind to pursue a quite different career. CHAPTER II. N the lives of the great majority of men theie 1s a clearly marked boundary line, a kind of natural frontier as it were, between the years of preparation and the years of performance. At a certain point education ends, and ends definitely. The man has gone through his School or college course, and then, his training being Over and done with, he addresses himself to maturer tasks and duties. But in Victor Hugo's life theie is no such break. Though, with the arbitrariness of the bio- grapher, I have used the conclusion of his school course to mark the end of a chapter, yet in truth the severance of his connection with the Pension Cordler was by no means an epoch-making event in his career. Long before he left that establishment he had commenced what was to be his life work. Already had he earned a reputation as a poet, and shown his facility and aptitude as a writer. Deliverance from lessons and lectures merely meant, in his case, greater freedom to pursue the avoca- tions which he was already pursuing. In order, therefore, to take up his literary life from 1ts commencement, it is necessary to go some little way back. Verse, verse, and yet again verse—such had been the 36 IIFE OF boy's delight almost from the time when he first went to school. Genius was his unquestionably. Boon nature had given him that priceless gift without stint or measure; and the circumstances of his childhood had been such as to develop and foster the gift, and favour its early manifes- tation. We have seen what a panorama of moving sights had already passed before his eyes—Italy in her beauty, Spain in her picturesqueness, war in its grandeur and pomp, its misery and haggard horror. Young as he was, he had seen many men and cities. He must have known, boyishly no doubt, but still very really, the poignant emotions of France as news came to her, however fitfully, of defeat in Spain, of the melting away of the Grand Army into the snows of Russia, and of the culminating disaster of Waterloo. All this had found a place in his mind, had vivified thought and feeling, and given him something whereof to sing. So he piped his boyish songs without cessation. “During the three years which he spent at the Pension Decotte,” says Madame Hugo, “he wrote verses of every possible kind : odes, satures, epistles, poems, tragedles, elegies, idyls, imitations of Ossian, translations of Virgil, of Lucan, of Ausonius, of Martial ; songs, fables, tales, epigrams, madrigals, logo- griphs, acrostics, charades, rebuses, impromptus. He even wrote a comic opera.” It was Théophile Gautler, if I remember right, who declared that a poet ought to exercise his plentice hand on at least fifty thousand lines of verse before writing anything for publication. Victor Hugo must have fulfilled this hard saying almost to the the letter. And soon his verse was to receive public recognition. VICTOR HUGO. 37 The French Academy, that august body, had proposed as the subject for the prize of French poetry, to be awarded in 1817, “The happiness that study can pro- cure in every situation of life.” Scarcely a very fit theme on which to poetise, as we should now con- sider. What composer was 1t, Grétry or Méhul, who gave it as his opinion that the words of a song or opera mattered not at all, and that there would be no difficulty in setting to music The Gazette of Aolland? And similarly 1t would almost seem as 1ſ the Academicians of the commencement of this century held that any proposition, however prosaic, could be “set" to verse. “Happiness procured by study in every situa- tion of life”—what dreary didacticism do the words sug- gest Nevertheless, young Victor applied himself to the task bravely. With the readiness of pen which he already possessed, to write the requisite number of lines, even on such an untoward subject, was comparatively easy. But how should he get the poem, when written, to the Aca- demy P Schoolmaster Decotte was his rival as a poet, and not at all likely to help him. Fortunately a friendly usher, in whom he had confided, turned the difficulty by a clever ruse—took the boys for a walk in the direction of the Institute, set them looking at the fountains before that abode of learning, and, while they were thus em- ployed, scampered off with Victor, and deposited the precious manuscript in the secretary's office. With what anxiety the result was expected need not here be told. Is there one of us who has not gone through similar experiences P. The Academy delivered judgment on the 25th of August, 1817, divided the prize between a 38 I./FE OF M. Lebrun and Saintine,—afterwards well known as the writer of “Picciola,” the story of the prison flower, and then gave an honourable mention, ninth in order, to Victor Hugo's lines. The boy had taken occasion in the poem to refer to his age, and this, contrary to the accepted tradition, seems to have stood him in good stead with the venerable Academicians. An honourable mention from the Academy, even with no higher place than the ninth, was a title to distinction for a lad of fifteen. Victor, who a year before, on the Ioth of July, 1816, had written in one of his copy books, “I will be Chateaubriand or nothing,” must have felt that he had placed his foot on the first rung of the ladder of fame. Complimentary verse flowed in upon him. His elewhile rival, M. Decotte, abandoned the poetical field, beaten. The boy became a boy of mark in his little world, and was not even quite unknown, as a sort of poetic prodigy, in the great world outside the school pre- cincts : So there was much more versifying as may be supposed, and a considerable amount of plose writing too." Abel, the eldest of the three brothers, had abandoned the military plofession after the fall of Joseph Bonaparte, and was apparently devoting himself to business of some Solt, and living the pleasant life of young bachelorhood in Palls. Among his numerous filends wele sevelal who had a turn for lettels. He himself possessed stiong literany tastes, and was soon to devote himself entirely to * M. Barbou seems to assign to this date the famous epithet of “sublime child,” which Chateaubi land, or somebody else, did, or did not, apply to Victor Hugo. Madame Hugo assigns to it a later date. The whole mattel, much discussed as it has been, seems scarcely worth discussion. WWCTOR HUGO. 39 literature, and become a voluminous writer and compiler. With all these author-aspirants Eugène and Victor were on the best of terms. As schoolboys they must have been under comparative restraint ; but still they were able to join with their elders in periodical cheap dinners, at which the readings and recitations, though doubtless 1m- mature, were doubtless also better than the fare. So no wonder if the École Polytechnique, and the military engi- neering beyond it, receded gradually into the background. To besiege and carry Parnassus, if I may use a well worn Image which would have occurred quite naturally to any writer of the time—to besiege and carry that high em- battled hull of Poesy, soon seemed to young Victor the only strategic operation worth pursuing This was not a view calculated to commend itself to a military father. General Hugo probably thought that literature and loafing were synonymous terms, does not seem to have been mollified by the fact that Victor had Inscribed his name as a law student ; and, in fine, adopted the particularly stern form of parental algument which consists in cutting off the supplies. Accordingly, when the two boys left school in the August of 1818, they went to live with their mother, and, as would appear, at her changes. She had no objection to literature as a profession, and possibly knew of no particular reason why her estranged husband should enjoy the luxury of having his own way. Perhaps, with the prescience of love and motherhood, she even folesaw that, in the case of one of her sons at least, letters would plove to be the path of glory. On the 3rd of May, 1818, Eugène had obtained a 40 ZAFE OF marigold as a prize for an ode sent to the competition of the “Floral Games' of Toulouse. Victor, not to be behindhand, sent three odes to the competition of 1819. For one of these he obtained an honourable mention only ; but the other two were more successful, and won 1espectively a golden lily and a golden amaranth. Prize poems are but questionable products of human industry at the best. These two, however, certainly possessed ex- ceptional merit, and, as the work of a boy of seventeen, are very remarkable. One was on the Virgins of Ver. dun, who, preferring death to dishonour, had been in- famously put to death, by the revolutionary tribunal, for giving money and help to some emigrant nobles ; the other was on the re-erection of the statue of Henry IV., Overthrown during the Revolution, and now, in these happier Restoration days, replaced on its pedestal with a burst of popular enthusiasm. Both poems were repub- lished three years afterwards, in June, 1822, in the volume of “Odes,” and form part of the collected works. Nor need I say more of them here. Neither must I linger, as I am tempted to do, over the performances of the next year or so, the further competitions at Toulouse and the Academy, the poems, political or satirical, which the boy published or wrote. But, hurrying as I am, I cannot for- bear to stop one moment to catch a glimpse of young Victor through the eyes of an older poet, Soumet, who, coming from Toulouse at the beginning of 1820, thus described him to a friend : “This child has a very remarkable head, really a study for Lavater. I asked him what he intended to be, and if he purposed devoting him- self entirely to literature. He answered that he hoped VICTOR HUGO, 41 one day to become a peer of France, . . . and he will succeed.” So we catch sight of him in the first dawn-flush of his fame and young ambition, a noticeable lad who means ere his day of life has worn to evening to win a victor's palm. Meanwhile he and his brother Abel have started a paper. It is to be published twice a month, and the first number has appeared in December, 1819. The title is the Conservateur Zaſtęraire, or Ztterary Conserva- tive—a title that rather raises a smile as one thinks how very soon the younger of the two editors is to become the most ardent of Innovaters in matters literary, and how ultimately he will become the fiercest of Radicals in matters political. As to the causes that have led to the estab- lishment of the periodical—these are not far to seek. Madame Hugo and her sons were anything but rich. Some effort at remunerative work had evidently to be made. According to a friendly article in the political Conservateur, Chateaubriand’s paper, the literary Conser- wateur was started by the young Hugos with the pious object of repaying to their mother the debt of gratitude which they owed for their education. They wished to add to the graces of her life. “Happy youths,” said the article, “to have had a mother who has appreciated the value of education | Happy mother, to see her efforts on their behalf so crowned ” I Into the work of writing for the Conservateur Zuttéraire, Victor entered with characteristic industry. The duties of editor he appears to have shared with his brother Abel ; and there were several other writers, of whom, so far as I know the names, one only, Alfred de Vigny, 42 I./FE OF can be said to have made a permanent mark in literature. But the most prolific contributor, without any comparison at all, was Victor himself. Poetry, history, politics, the story of Bug Jargal in 1ts earliest form, literary criticism in profusion, art criticism, dramatic criticism, the boy flamed out his thoughts with the lavish prodigality of a young prince. The periodical lasted from Decem- ber, 1819, to March, 1821, and folms three volumes. Of these he is said to have written at least two Later, In 1834, when he began to feel the necessity of giving some account of the changes in his opinions, he made a selection from his earlier writings of this period, and pub- lished it as a “Journal of the 1deas, opinions, and studies of a young Jacobite in 1819.” ” But this selection, which 1s made without any direct 1eference to the Conservateur, is fragmentary only. The exhibited specimens give but a faint idea of the wealth of the mine from which they are drawn. This however is to be noted : young as he was, and I shall have to make the same remark presently In speaking of his earlier verse, he had already acquired a singular mastery over his pen. If his style did not yet possess the Individuality, the brilliant colour and music which it acquired ten years afterwards,- If, in a word, it was still a classical and not a romantic style, yet 1t was a very good style of its kind. As Carlyle in his first essays was to show that the writer of “Sartor Resartus” might, If so minded, have written his mother tongue excel- lently in the ordinary way; as Turner in his earlier draw- * So Mr. Biré says. The Conservaleur Latté, are is now a biblio- graphical rarity, a black Swan among books. * It forms part of the “Littérature et Philosophie Mélées.” VICTOR HUGO. 43 ings was to demonstrate that the most imaginative and splendid of colourists had 1n him the stuff of a minute and patient draughtsman—so, in these prentice papers, did Victor Hugo prove how well he could have walked in the old paths of literature, and that it was not because these were closed to him that he boldly hewed out for himself paths new and untiod. But the days of Innovation were not yet. The Con- servateur Zaffératre was conservative in reality as well as title. The great poetical event of the year 1819, an event marking a very important date in the history of French poetry, was the publication of the posthumous poems of André Chénier. Victor Hugo, reviewing the volume, speaks, as a matter of course, of the writer's royalism, of his martyrdom on the revolutionary scaffold, and pays a tribute too, it must be admitted, to the power of the verse. But then what reserve in the praise, what almost admissions that Chénier's “style Is Incorrect and sometimes barbarous,” his “ideas vague and incoherent,” his “imagination effervescent,” his “sentences mutilated,” his “familiarity” with the “language” “wanting.” And, while treating Chénier thus half-heartedly—Chénier, who was the real herald of the romantic movement in French poetry, the young reviewer has words of gracious re- cognition for the Abbé Delille, the almost last withered twig upon the classic tree. He speaks of the “elegance and harmony of Delille's style,” and praises his “pretty poem " on the “Departure from Eden,”—praising Delille especially for “having changed into a tender commise- ration the savage anger which Adam, in Milton's work, had testified against Eve,” and for having proved, “by 44 IIFE OF this happy inspiration,” “how well he knew the deli- cacies of the French Muse.” Victor Hugo praising Delille at the expense of Milton, this is indeed a Saul among the classic prophets. But it is as nothing to his praising Corneille and Racine at the expense of Shake- Speare. “We have never understood,” says he, “the distinction which people seek to establish between the classic style and the romantic style. The plays of Shakespeare and Schiller only differ from the plays of Corneille and Racine in that they are more faulty. That is the reason why, in the former, recourse must be had to greater scenic pomp. French tragedy despises such accessories because it goes straight to the heart, and the heart hates whatever disturbs its Interest.” We are very far here from the spirit which was soon to animate the young romantic school, and to induce Petrus Borel to declare that if he could have met the deceased Racine in a theatre of to-day, he would have horsewhipped him before the public | As regards the poetry which Victor wrote at this time and published in June, 1822, under the title “Odes et Poésies Diverses,” the same criticism holds good. It is emphatically classical, not romantic poetry. There are the stock classical apostrophes, to “unhappy Vendée ; ” to the “light spectres,” which had been in life the virgins of Verdun ; to the dead Duke of Berry, assassinated in 1820; to the new-born Duke of Bordeaux; to the river Jordan, which had supplied water for that young prince's baptism; to the “peoples” who had wrongly made a hero of “Buonaparte,” the “formidable inheritor of the spirit of Nimrod.” There is here and there also an “O thou!” which sounds distinctly like an echo from the emphatic VICTOR HUGO. 45 eighteenth century. And a rhetorical periphrasis too often takes the place of an immediate direct word. Nor are those final notes of exclamation wanting which, according to Coleridge's splenetic remark, might be used by French poets as a kind of hieroglyphics to draw attention to their own cleverness. All these objections are fairly charge- able against the odes ; and there is in them besides only too much of that which has so often been the bane of French poetry, eloquence. We English escape that danger with greater ease, for in our mother tongue the distinction between the language of public speech and the language of verse is sharp and clear. Whole classes of words cannot be used indifferently in either. But French is a more homogeneous tongue, and though there is in 1t a real distinction of a similar kind, that distinction is far less obviously marked. And here, moreover, the young poet's very subjects, and the sp111t in which he addressed himself to them, were such as to tempt him into eloquent prose. “There arc,” said he, in his original preface, “two intentions in the publication of this work, a political intention, and a literary Intention ; but in the author's thought the first of these is a conse quence of the latter, for the history of men affords no material for poetry, unless that history be regalded in the light of monarchical ideas and religious faith.” Here we seem well in the regions of rhetoric, But if the Odes are formed on older models, and have the faults of an obsolete school, they are excellent samples of the achievements of that school. They possess lithe force and fervour, an eloquence most real if misplaced, a power of compelling language into metre without re- 46 LIFE OF VICTOR HUGO. course to the obvious inversions which French verse, and English verse also for that matter, tolerated all too long. “Madre del oro" was the name given by Sir Walter Raleigh to I know not what wonderful yellow metal, sup- posed in nature's alchemy to be the generator of the gold he went forth to seek, “Madre del oro !”—if we have not in these first verses of Victor Hugo the fine gold of a renovated French poetry, we have, at least, the matrix from which it would emerge. CHAPTER III. HE first collection of the “Odes” was published In June, 1822; and though the book produced much less sensation than had been produced two years before by Lamartine’s “Méditations,” yet it clearly “numbered good Intellects.” But that highest pleasure which a first great success can bring was denied to the young poet : his mother had died on the 27th of June, 182 r. Of her a word may fittingly here be said. She was evidently a woman of strong character, trained in habits of independent action by her husband's long absences, Thus she had been led to assume towards her sons, and especially towards the two younger, a position of double parentage. Loving them with a mother's love and entire devotion, she at the same time ruled them with a father's firm hand. Of Victor's capacity she entertained, and with more than abundant cause, a very exalted opinion “She looked forward,” M. Asseline says, “with the greatest confidence to the future of her son, holding that he might, with even greater justice than Fouquet,” Louis XIV.'s overweening “surintendant, adopt as his device the words quo non ascendam / ‘to what may I not rise?’” 48 LIFE OF That to such a mother Victor should, on his side, have been entirely devoted, was but natural. That her death would leave a terrible blank in his life was clear. It must also have made a considerable difference in his circum- stances. The father married again, and under somewhat peculiar conditions, on the 20th of July, 1821, within a month of his first wife's demise. He seems to have given his son at this time neither material nor moral support. So the youth of nineteen, left to his own devices, went very sadly on his own way; lived as he could, “and thereto soberly,” as Chaucer has it—lived, in fact, as he after- wards represented Marius to have lived in the “Misér- ables,” on almost nothing ,-worked very hard; and, being out of sorts and quarrelsome, fought a duel with a soldier, who ran him through the arm. “Here am I alone,” he wrote to a friend on the 14th of August, “and I have a whole long life to live through, unless” . . . . “Unless l’"–what does the word point to ? Suicide, or the possibility of some presence that would make life no longer a solitude P Scarcely the former ; for here Love takes in hand the web of Victor Hugo's story, and weaves it with threads of purest gold and silk of daintiest dye; and the fabric so woven is, as I think, altogether beautiful. But, to tell this love-tale aright, I must go a good way back—go back indeed to a time anterior to Victor's birth, to the days when his father was doing War Office work in Paris. For among Major Hugo's civilian colleagues at the War Office was a certain Pierre Foucher, a man of cul- ture and ability, with whom the Major entertained very VICTOR HUGO. 49 amicable relations. Both were married at about the same time; and Major Hugo, acting as best man to his friend, lifted up his glass at the wedding dinner, and gave utterance to this wish, “May you have a daughter, and I a son, and we will arrange a marriage between them. I drink to their joint health and prosperity.” A pro- phetic toast truly. Major Hugo did have a son : he had three ; and M. Foucher had a daughter, Adèle, of whom we have already caught a glimpse in the garden of the Feuillantines—a little trotting creature, just made to be tossed in a swing, or laughingly charioted in a wheel- barrow. Later, in 1814, we catch a glimpse of her again, going arm in arm with Victor, for the two families had remained on the friendliest terms, to see some royal procession of the restored Bourbons. Later yet, in the winter of 1819–20, we see a small party of friends, almost a family party, meeting night after night at M. Foucher's private apartments in the War Office. He is there, of course, and his wife and son—and Miss Adèle too, we may be sure, and with them are Madame Hugo and her two sons. It is the quietest of quiet parties, for M. Foucher is some- what of an invalid, and save when he and Madame Hugo take a pinch of snuff together, little is said. But there are other pleasures than those of speech ; and as Victor sits in the half-light watching that dark handsome girl at her needle, he thinks that never did hours pass so happily. And when winter comes again, he shows his pleasure in a manner at once imprudent and obvious. Madame Hugo reads his love glances. M. Foucher observes that “Miss Adèle" sees them too—the expression is her own —“without displeasure.” Parents are so unreasonable ! 4. 50 I./FE OF Victor is penniless. Miss Foucher has nothing. Both are too young to think of marriage. Tears and separa- tion—what other issue is possible P But not thus was Victor Hugo to be baffled and beaten ; not thus was his first love to pass out of his life and heart. Sighs and the languors of passion, day dreams and the en- chanted reveries of youthful hope, all to which the poetic temperament turns so naturally for Comfort, he thrust resolutely to one side. With the tenacity and strength of will that characterized him through life, he set himself to overcome every obstacle. If industry and strenuous effort could make the marriage possible, Adèle Foucher should be his wife. In simple truth, and with no em- bellishment of rhetoric or Imagination, did he vow to himself, in Lord Tennyson's words, “To love one malden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds Until he won her.” Of course there were occasional meetings. After Madame Hugo's death the two lovers seem to have come together for one sad interview. Then there is a little confusion of dates. But in July, 1822, as I gather, the opposition of the Fouchers was finally overcome. They had gone to Dreux, taking their daughter with them. Victor followed, as the sunflower turns towards the sun. M. Foucher says: “While I thought him quietly In Palls, the young poet had followed us on foot to Dreux, where we had gone to spend a few days. We discovered him roaming round the house, and I was compelled to come to Some understanding with him. VZCZTOA” Aſ UGO. 51 At our interview he displayed an unalterable resolve.” What was to be done in the face of such perseverance 2 Everything pleaded for the lovers—Adèle's tears and Victor's energy and confidence in the future. “For ourselves,” says M. Foucher again, “that to which we attached special importance was the uprightness of his character, and the 1nnocence of his tastes.” So they were engaged, and the “moments” doubtless “ran them- selves in golden sands” at Dreux, and afterwards in Paris when the lovers returned thither. Prudence, of course, still counselled delay. But the first edition of the “Odes” realized a profit of 7oo francs. In Sep- tember Louis XVIII., most opportunely, gave the poet a pension of I, ooo francs from his privy purse." Then the young couple were to be spared the expense of house-keeping, for they were to live with the Fouchers. And was not Victor full of work, and already nearly famous? In brief, the marriage took place on the 12th of October, 1822. Does this love-tale, so beautiful in 15s beginning— beautiful with strong tender passion, and energy, and high resolve—does it continue beautiful to the end ? There is, to quote Lord Tennyson again, a fielce light that beats against a throne; and of both Victor Hugo and Madame Hugo it may be said that they sat enthroned among their fellow men, and that the fierce light did not spale them. When I think of the episodes of this courtship and marriage, of the glow, as of early Summer, which this time reflected upon the poet's * He had already sent Victor Hugo 500 francs some months before for the ode on the assassination of the Duc de Berry. 52 LIFE OF verse, I confess that there also comes back to my mind an autumn picture—“autumn in everything,” as Mr. Browning sings—that has been sketched for us by M. Asseline, Madame Hugo's cousin. We are at Guernsey, at Hauteville House, during the days of the poet's exile. Some forty-three years or so have passed since his marriage. Madame Hugo—but why not tell the tale in M. Asseline's own words, which are wanting neither in skill nor pathos ? “There are,” he says, “centain hours of life that sorrow marks for her own. I went one autumn day into Madame Victor Hugo's diawing room at Hauteville, and ſound her alone, sunk in sad thoughts, and lying back seemingly exhausted. Her eyes had already grown very weak, and she could not see how painfully I was impressed at finding her so poorly. - “You are not to dine with me to day,” she said. “And why?’ ‘Our gentlemen have organized a little merry making at Madame Drouet's, and they are expecting you.” “But I prefer to dine with you ; I shall certainly not leave you alone.’ ‘No, I shall dine with my sister ; and really I should take it ill if you stayed. I insist on your going to Madame Drouet's. It will please my husband. There are few opportunities of pleasure making here. I repeat that you are expected. Go, you will laugh, and the time will pass gally.” I looked at my cousin as she sat in the shadow of the great curtains with their heavy folds. Her forehead was of marble, her lips without colour, her eyes almost lifeless. Then I diew my almohair nearer to hers, and we lost our- selves in endless talk. . . . The day was waning. We exchanged no thoughts that were not of sadness. “Go, go,' she said at last; “you would only make me cry 1' I took a few steps towards the door. She called me back : ‘You will write down for me that fine passage of verse you were quoting a moment ago:— “‘Time, the old god, invests all things with honour, And makes them white.” And now be quick and Join your cousins; don't keep them waiting.” One can almost see her as she sits there in the TV/CTOR HUGO. 53 gloaming of her life, thronged by shadows from the past. And who was the Madame Drouet to whose house her husband and sons had gone for merriment? She was an actress, and long years before had won the poet's good-will by taking the somewhat inferior part of the Princess Negroni in his play of “Lucrèce Borgia;” and she had too figured as Lady Jane Grey in “Marie Tudor.” She had also been, if we may believe his assertion, the most beautiful woman of this century; but then the statement seems to have been made in her presence, which would excuse a little flattery, and Victor Hugo, moreover, never stood in sufficient awe of a superlative. The very fairest among the many million daughters of Eve born into this world of ours between the years 1800 and 1875, or thereabouts | That were indeed a proud position. One rather ventures to doubt whether Madame Drouet, even in the noon of her beauty, can have been quite so beautiful as that. Super- latives apart, however, there can be no question of her real graces of face and form. Are we not told that the record of them remains, modelled into Pradler's colossal statue of the town of Lille, on the Place de la Concorde, at Paris P This lady had helped Victor Hugo to escape from Paris in the bad days of December, 1851, after the Coup d'Átat. She had followed him to Brussels and Guernsey. She was, I am quoting M. Asseline again, “the veiled witness of his labours,” “the discreet confidant of his genius,” his “muse,” his “very soul,” his “Beatrice.” Much of his verse was inspired by her. During later years she was his constant daily companion. Nor, especially as seen 54 AAA’E OF in the beautiful still starlight of age, can she be regarded as aught save a gracious and dignified figure. There was something queenly, we are told, in her crown of Silver hair, with its sheen of palest gold. “I do not think,” says M. Asseline, “that any one ever possessed more tact. In a delicate position she evinced a perfect dignity, and an irreproachable delicacy of conduct. Her tendemness” for Victor Hugo “had with years melted into veneration. A kind of august effluence seemed to pass from one to the other.” Dante's wife, who bore his children, and finds no place in his verse—I have often wondered what she thought of Beatrice. And Beatrice was, after all, but an ideal, and as a vision of one dead and seen in glory. Madame Drouet was no vision. She was a woman of very real flesh and blood, whose influence on the poet was persistent and diurnal. Such a Beatrice might well be among the shadows that collected round Madame Hugo as she sat all alone that autumn evening in the gloom of the old oak and tapestry of Hauteville House. But, after all, I have no wish to exaggerate, or weigh upon this matter unduly. There are many shadows that will haunt age and ill-health, even when there is no Madame Drouet in the case; and to endeavour to find the truth in the obscure heart-relations of two human beings is mostly groping and guess work. Through what vicissi- tudes of love the poet and his wife had passed, who shall tell? “L’Homme qul rit” is the latest but one of his novels, and in 1: there is a passage which would seem to have been suggested rather by his feeling for her than for his silver-halled Beatrice : JWICTOR HUGO. 55 “The heart,” he says, “grows saturated with love, as with some divine salt which keeps it from decay. Hence the incorruptible adherence of those who have loved one another from the dawn of life, and the freshness of an old love that is prolonged. There exists an embalmment of love. It is of Daphnis and Chloe that are made Philemon and Baucis. In such cases old age is like youth, as evening is like morning.” As to Madame Hugo, within a year of her death, and almost blind, she writes: “My husband is leaving Brussels the day after to-morrow. He is young, and of exceptional strength; he is happy and covered with glory, which is my greatest joy.” And so, by a natural transition, we go back to the year 1822, when life and love were in their morning glow together, and the young poet was looking forward gaily, confidently, to his new life and its responsi- bilities. Money was of the scarcest ; work was a necessity; and from work Victor Hugo never shrank. Within a couple of months of his marriage he had written two more odes—one, of considerable beauty, on Louis XVII., the poor little captive king. A second edition of the odes appeared before the end of the year. And moreover he was busy with a novel begun in May, 1821, set aside for a time after his mother's death, and to be soon published anonymously in February, 1823. This novel is “Han d’Islande,” and may not unfanly be described as a very juvenile work, which would long Since have faded into the night of oblivion if it wele not for the reflected light of “Nôtre Dame de Paris” and the “Misérables.” Victor Hugo himself, writing in 1833, calls it the production “of a young man, of a very young man; ” savs that it was written “dullng an attack of 56 AAFE OF fever;” declares that only the love passages have any basis of reality; and concludes that if it “be worth classing at all, it can only be classed as a fantastic novel.” After so frank an admission, the critic is, of course, half disarmed. He can do no more than put the arrows of his satire back into the quiver. So I shall not dwell unduly on the character and habits of Han, the hero, though these can scarcely be accepted quite seriously. For Han is a kind of “man-beast of bound- less savagery,” who, living his baleful life in the Norway of 1699, Indulges cannibalistic propensities, tears his human prey with long claw-like nails, and assuages his grief for the death of his son by cutting that young man's skull in two, and using the upper half as a drinking cup. An eccentric way of showing honour to the deceased, no doubt, but not more eccentric than the beverage quaffed out of this amazing vessel. Han’s “particular vanities,” as Mr. Stiggins would have said—and by the by he re- sembled that worthy in the character of his gloves, which were very large and worn constantly, so as to hide his talons,—his particular vanities were the blood of men and the waters of the seas. Pah ] how nauseous and Improbable Of human blood I say nothing, and for sufficient reasons; but sea water | Even when put into the plural, and set before an ogre, I defy him to drink it out of anything but bravado. Canning, speaking in the dark ages of gastronomy, declared that if any one said he preferred dry champagne to sweet, he told a lie. I am bold to make the same assertion with regard to Han, if he alleged any real liking for his “waters of the seas.” It will be gathered from the above that “Han d’Islande” WICTOR HUGO. 57 is a book in which the horrible plays a considerable part. And this is so. With such a protagonist as Han, murder and bloodshed are not likely to be wanting. Part of the scene is laid in the dead-house at Dronthelm ; and the keeper of the dead-house, a fantastic pedant of the name of Spiagudry, is a not unimportant actol in the story. Among the other dramatis persona are an old noble, Schumacher, kept in prison by the In- trigues of his enemies; his sweet and lovely daughter Ethel ; and the son of one of Schumacher's chief enemies, a young officer, called Ordener, who, for love of Ethel, dares Han in his lair, to get possession of a casket containing the proofs of Schumacher's innocence. Among the Incidents are a revolt of miners, and a terrible massacre of soldiers, after which “certain poor goatherds” see “In the gloaming” a “beast with a human face, drinking blood, and sitting upon heaps of the slain.” There is finally a good deal of “business” of one kind and another. Han delivers himself up to Justice fol no vely obvious reason, and sets fire to his prison and the contiguous barracks, perishing in the Con- flagration. Schumacher's enemies receive the reward of their misdeeds. He is released and reinstated in royal favour; and Ordener and Ethel are married and live happy ever aſter. A book of an obsolete type, of a type which seems to have been popular at the beginning of this century, when Maturin and “Monk” Lewis were wilters of renown, but now altogether of the past. Think what inextinguishable laughter would play like sheet lightning round such a book if published in this year of grace 58 IIFE OF 1888. And yet it may be safely affirmed that of the novels published in 1888, not one in a hundred will be equally well written, or show such in-born power of clear and effective narration. Smile as we may at Han and his blood and bones, the man who at twenty could write this book had a great future before him. “Han d’Islande” was criticised pretty freely, especi- ally by the liberal journalists; but it won the favour of Charles Nodier, himself a novelist of no mean renown, a critic, a bibliophile, and also incidentally a graceful poet. He, a much older man than Victor Hugo, took the latter into his affectionate regard, and introduced him to his own wide circle of friends. Nor was this the only piece of good fortune that the book brought with it. The publication took place in the first part of February, 1823, and before the month had run its course, the king increased the poet's pension by 2,000 francs, and thus enabled him, in the following month, to leave M. Foucher's hospitable dwelling, and set up housekeeping for himself. But joy and Sorrow, such are the alternations of human life. As the rapture of the young couple's marriage-day had been broken in upon by the suddenly-declared insanity of Victor's brother Eugène, so now did a sad bereavement come to marthenap- piness of the first months of their wedded life. A son was born to them in August, and in October the baby died. That the poet worked hard at this time was almost a matter of course. In this very year 1823 he seems to have written upwards of twenty Odes. In May, 1823, after some squabble with his publishers, he brought out a second edition of “Han d’Islande.” In July there IZICTOR AUGO. 59 appeared the first number of a periodical, the Muse Aºrançaise, that lasted Just a year, and to which he con- tributed two odes and five prose articles. These last were afterwards reproduced, but with certain alterations, In the “Littérature et Philosophie Mêlées.” They in- clude a not very remarkable paper on Byron, then Just deceased, and one, of greater importance, on “Quentin Durward.” The latter has a special Interest as showing what was the ideal of a novel formed, even at this early date, by the future author of “Nôtre Dame de Paris” and the “Misérables.” “The novel as written by Walter Scott,” he says, “1s picturesque but prosaic. There is another novel that remains to be created, a novel more beautiful, to our thinking, and more complete. That novel will be at once a drama and an epic, 1t will be picturesque but poetical, real and also 16eal, true and at the same time great. It will graft Walter Scott into Homer.” Sir Walter prosaic—that may well seem a hard saying. Nor can one quite avoid a smile at reading, among the suppressed passages of the article, a paragraph in which the loyal and patriotic Victor falls foul of “that Scotchman.” for selecting Louis XI. from among the roll of French kings as one of the characters of his novel “None but a foreigner,” he says, Indignantly, “would have thought of such a thing. Well may we recognize in this an inspiration of the English muse !” Little can the poet have foreseen, when he shot this shaft at perfi- dious Albion, what a part the same Louis XI. would play In his own novel of “Nôtre Dame.” " * The pleface to the “Littérature et Philosophie Mêlées” implies, not quite Ingenuously, that the various papers had been reprinted without alteration. 60 IAFE OF A second volume of odes, under the title of “Nou- velles Odes,” appeared in March, 1824. The preface is an important document, as showing how little, even yet, the poet was prepared to step forward as the leader of the Romantic movement. He declares that, “for his part, he is profoundly ignorant of what the Romantic style and the Classic style may happen to be ; ” deplores the division of contemporary literature into two hostile camps; is anxious to be a messenger of peace between the con- tending parties; is anxious, above all, to guard against all “suspicion of heresy in the quarrel”; is full of “respect” for the “great name of Boileau,” who, as he says, “shares with our Racine the great honour of having fixed the French language, a fact which in 1tself would suffice to prove that he too had a creative genius.” And In a long letter to the Journal des Débats, dated the 26th of July, 1824, he takes up the same points, and 1s at great pains to prove that he had in no way Innovated in his use of language, and that writers recognized as classic had employed expressions and Images analogous to those for which he had been censured. * The preface moreover contains one or two eloquent passages of what may be described as “throne and altar.” literature ; and the same spil it breathes in the odes themselves. But for detailed analysis I have unfortu- nately no space. What has been said of the first volume of the odes must do duty for criticism on the second. Both deal with the same class of subjects, and in much.' the same way. That treating so often of the matter of politics, the verse has a tendency to eloquence rather than poetry, is true. Yet can one not help admiring VICTOR HUGO. 61 the virility of the themes selected. There was some- thing of manhood in a lyre that vibrated so readily to any large national Interest or feeling. And as the poet went on striking the strings, he decidedly acquired greater skill as a musician. The poetic quality of the verse in the second volume 1s better than in the first. Louis XVIII. was a gentleman of the old school, who loved his ease and his Horace, and possessed a full share of the old French courtly esprit. Though he certainly read the young poet's .# may be doubted whether their fervour was quite to his taste. But neither he nor his successor, Charles X., could afford to overlook a writer of such unmistakable power and so eminently “well-thinking.” The most popular poet of the time was without doubt Béranger, whose songs, borne on the wings of music, were finding their way into every hamlet of France. And Béranger was not “well thinking” at all. As he explained in some of the wittlest and most deftly turned of his ringing couplets, the king could not be counted among his friends. His verses, now half wrapt in oblivion, were then as pebbles from the brook, thrown by some master-slinger and whistling round the monarchy and the accepted faith. They were a distinct political power. All the more did it behove the Government to en- courage writers who were good royalists and good Catho- lics. Accordingly, some very acceptable rewards in money had been bestowed on Victor Hugo by Louis XVIII. Charles X., who succeeded his brother on the 16th of September, 1824, added to these a coveted distinction. On the 29th of April, 1825, Victor Hugo, and his brother- poet and friend, Lamartine, were made knights of the 62 A./FE OF VICTOR AEI UGO. Legion of Honour. Madame Hugo tells how her hus- band and herself, and their infant daughter Léopoldine, born in the previous year, were just starting in the dult- gence for Blois, on a visit to General Hugo, when the letter announcing Victor's nomination was placed in his hands. A pleasant surprise for the father, when they reached their destination, as may be supposed. He detached the piece of red ribbon from his own button- hole, and transferred the honourable badge to the coat of his son. As a further mark of royal favour, the poet received, while at Blois, an invitation to the king's coronation at Reims, on the 29th of May. He went. But the ode in which the event is commemorated is scarcely one of his happiest efforts. This same year 1825 marks the point at which Victor Hugo's genius, which had hitherto been flowing on in a fairly smooth and even bed, suddenly takes the decisive leap in 1ts rush towards Romanticism. So far he had not given in his adherence to the new school. He seemed unaccountably to be hesitating, temporising, hanging back. Henceforward there will be no doubt as to his position. In the poems written during this year, especially the ballads, there is a marked advance. In the preface to the third volumes of the odes published in the October of the following year, 1826, there is an entire difference of tone. As Madame Hugo says, he there “resolutely unfulls the standard of liberty in literature.” In 1827 he was rallying to that standard the flower of the Intellectual youth of France, and boldly standing forward as their acknowledged chief. CHAPTER IV. HE nineteenth century dawns sooner, I think, in Germany than in either of the other two great intellectual countries of Europe. Possibly the admirers of the eighteenth century would account for this by saying that there is some slight haze, as of early morning, in the German genius, and that our own age is nebulous, and lacks definiteness and clear precision. I would rather suggest, as one of many explanations, that Ger- many had no great classic literature from which to eman- cipate herself. It was not till the eighteenth century had passed its meridian that she could boast of writers who, as artists in language, rank with the great poets and prose-men of England and France. Her literature, being young, was untrammelled by the past, and, like Chaucer's monk— “lette old thunges pace, And held after the newe world the tiace.” Accepting this explanation for what it is worth, of the fact 1:self there can, I think, be no question. Take a piece of literary criticism by Dr. Johnson, or of art criticism by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and compare it with a piece of criticism by Lessing, and the great relative modernness 64 LIFE OF of the latter is at once apparent. It is the criticism of intuition and imagination as opposed to the old criticism of plain common sense. So too in poetry, Schiller, and even Olympian and semi-classic Goethe, were precursors. Close after the Germans came our own great poets of the last decade of the eighteenth, and the begin- ning of this century. And here the task was in some ways harder. A strong current had to be stemmed, an effort towards emancipation to be made. Pope and even Dryden were still a living influence, when Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, Shelley, Keats, and Byron undertook, each after his several kind, to renew the language of poetry, break up the mould in which verse had so long and so mechanically been cast, and give to words and rhythm their full music, and freedom, and varied charm. To shake off the trammels of an immediate past was the first work which these great poets had to do. But in doing it, what help did they not receive from a still earlier past? If their own practice and theories were called in question, could they not appeal to such precedent and authority as few Englishmen at least were likely to gain- say? What names had the “classic” school in English poetry to put beside the names of Shakespeare and Milton P Was there any classicist, however hide-bound, however full of reserves and doubts, who could boldly refuse to admit the greatness of Chaucer, and Spenser, and of the dramatists of the days of Elizabeth and James I. P France stood in a different position from either Ger- many or England. Unlike Germany, she already possessed V/C7'O/8 A/UGO G5 a body of literature universally recognized as of Supreme importance and high artistic merit. Unlike England, the body of literature which she possessed was, on the poetical Side at least, almost wholly classical, No one certainly would desire to diminish in aught the lustre that lingers round the names of Villon, the poet thief, and Charles d'Orléans, the poet prince, or to deny the wit and vigour of Clément Marot, and the grace of Ronsard. But to put these names in Juxtaposition with those of Shake- speare or Milton, were to court ridicule. None but an enthusiast would even put them beside the names of Racine and Corneille, of Molière and Lafontaine Sainte- Beuve did not venture to do it even in the full ardour of his romantic time. The later men, in truth, were SO great that they dwarfed and hid the earlier. The French Romantic movement had to fight its own way against the opposition of Racine, and with no such pioneer as Shakespeare. And so it came tardily. Victor Hugo did not de- Clsively and openly take up the standard till 1826; and In 1826, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Scott had long executed then best work, and Keats, Shelley, and Byron were dead. Yes, the movement came tardily ; and, did space allow, there would be an Interest in marking 1ts course, Chateaubriand helped it forward unquestionably by his eloquent insistence on the picturesque beauty of the Christian faith as seen in history, and by his largely- executed pictures of natue. Madame de Stael helped it too by giving to the French mind a glimpse, and more than a glimpse, of Germany. England assisted likewise, 5 66 AAFE OF through the influence of Byron, whose fame, unlike that of his poet contemporaries, overleapt the narlow seas, and became European,—and also through the influence of Scott. In 1819 came the publication of the frag- ments left by André Chénier, who had been done to death by the Revolutionary Tribunal but a day or two before the fall of Robespierre in 1793. Poor André Chénier –legend, which in 1ts way 1s often truer than history, speaks of him as striking his forehead just before the fall of the fatal axe, and exclaiming, “There was something there /* Yes, there was some- thing there, no doubt, something no less important than a renovation of the poetics of France. Half a Greek in blood more than half a Greek in spirit, with a knowledge of Greek and Roman antiquity to which Keats made no pretension, and a command over language—a verbal brush-power, if I may use the expression—scarcely in- ferior to Keats' own—he was distinctly the greatest force that had appeared in French poetry since the setting of the Grand Stěcle of Louis XIV. Chénier's poems were first published in 1819. In 1820 appeared Lamartine’s “Méditations,” and the Romantic movement though not in an aggressive way, was definitely started. The latter book at once took the world by storm. There was something of novelty and delight in verse of such exceeding harmony. It seemed to flow like a wide and beautiful river, large and limpid, and mirroring of preference in its waters the far heavens above—and reflecting the banks too, but these last some- what less definitely, and with no strong precision of out- line. At the same time there was a young officer in the VICTOR AUGO. 67 king's guards, Alfred de Vigny by name, who was writing what the world will not willingly let die. He wrote little, whether then or afterwards. The poems which he pub- lished during his life, though he lived long, fill a slender volume only ; and an equally slender volume, “Les Destinées,” appeared after his death. But among the earlier poems are “Eloa,” the story of the angel born of one of Christ's tears, and “Madame de Soubise,” a story of St. Bartholomew, and “Dolorida,” and “La Frégate la Sérieuse”; and pervading the later verse there is a somble stoicism of Singular individuality and power Judging by quality, as a poet should be Judged, Alfred de Vigny keeps the pride of place which he won for him- self in the years following 1820. Victor Hugo, as we have seen, had hesitated some- what before openly giving his adherence to the movement. When he did do so, he leaped almost at once into the position of Its acknowledged chief. Of the men who might, perhaps, have contested his chieftaincy, Lamar- tine, though equally copious, never had his fire and ovelmastering energy, and De Vigny wrote little, wrote fastidiously, and was in no sense a leader of men. The third volume of the odes (together with certain ballads) appeared in Octobel, 1826, with a preface more ad- vanced in tone than any he had yet published. The verse itself was in every sense newer, especially in the ballads. These were not our modern-antique friends, of which we have had so many lately, the ballades with an e—one of those complicated exotic forms of verse from which the real essence of poetry seems somehow to evaporate with such ease. They were ballads with a 68 IIFE OF story in them, or some fantastic, light, tripping, aerial description of the legendary creatures, sylph or fany, peri or gnome, that haunted the Middle Age or Eastern Imagination. There was a Devil's fiolic, and a giant's monologue—things which would have been an abomi- nation to the plain eighteenth century—and there were love-stanzas to a mediaeval Madeleine. The whole is full of grace and music. At the same time Victor Hugo was writing a very serious drama Whether this play was originally planned for actual performance, 1s a moot point. In France, as we all know, there is not the same practical divorce that there 1s in England between literature and the stage. Nearly every French writer of power in verse or fiction feels drawn, sooner or later, into the glare of the foot-lights. There is no inhelent improbability therefore, but rather the reverse, in Madame Hugo's statement that her husband thus early felt the general attraction, and wrote his drama with a view to 1ts performance by the great actor Talma. M. Biré, howevel, doubts the story, and gives cogent reasons for his doubts. I shall not venture to decide between the two. What is certain is that Talma died at about this time, and that “Cromwell,” for such was the subject of the piece, soon acquired such gigantic proportions as effectually relegated it to the position of a drama “for the closet.” But if the play was for the closet, the preface was for the battle-field. As Cardinal Newman tells us he has ever dated the beginning of the Tractarian movement from the pleaching of Keble's Assize sermon at Oxford, so might many an ardent Romanticist date the origin C. VICTOR AUGO. 69 of the Romantic movement from the publication of the “Préface de Cromwell” in October, 1827. “It shone in our eyes like the Tables of the Law on Mount Sinal,” says Théophile Gautler, “its arguments seemed to us irrefutable.” Never did some sixty pages of eloquent prose come into the world with more aggres- sive opportuneness. “The plesent geneiation,” I am quoting Théophile Gautler again, “must have some difficulty in conceiving the state of effer vescence in peoples' minds at that time A movement similar to the Renaissance was in progress The sap of a new life flowed everywhere impetuously. All things were simultaneously germl nating, quickening, burgeoning, busting into leaf and blossom The flowels exhaled a passionate perfume, the vely air was an Intoxicant ; we were mad with lyric ardour and art. We seemed to ourselves to have discovered the great lost secret—and so we had, the lost secret of poesy.” º * It was among minds just ripening for this state of ecstasy that the celebrated “Préface” came like a summons to arms and conquest. Nor did the trumpet now give an uncertain sound. There was no halting, no hesitation any longer, no doubt as to what the difference between the Classic and Romantic schools might happen to be. Boldly, perhaps even rashly, did the writer declare that there had been three ages of poetry, each answering to a given state of society, the ode for primitive times, the epic for antiquity, the drama for to day. “The ode,” so the writer declares, “sings of eternity, the epic Solemnizes history, the drama paints life.” But to paint life, the drama must often be prepared to set the beautiful to one side. Nay, it is a law of the highest art that the beautiful itself will be enhanced by the juxtaposition of what is ugly. Thus 70 M.I.F.E OF the grotesque comes into being. As to the “unities,” they are naught. As to Racine, he is a “ divine poet,” 1f you like, but not a dramatist, not, above all, to be accepted as the typical writer of French verse. And in a brilliant passage the writer describes his ideal of what a dramatic style should be. “Dramatic verse,” he cries, “should be free, frank, direct, suffi clently outspoken to say everything without prudery or affectation; able to pass by natural transition fiom the comic to the tragic, from the sublime to the grotesque ; by turns matter of fact and poetical, at once altistic and inspired, profound and full of surpluses, large and true; to vary the pauses in the line so as to bleak the mono tony of the alexandline; lather prone to run a sentence from one Ine to another than to imbroil it by inversion of the words out of their ordinary sequence; faithful to the rhyme, that queen slave, that supreme grace of our poetry, that generating power of our verse, incxhaustible in variety; too subtle for analysis in 1ts elegance and technical qualities; able, like Proteus, to take a thousand shapes without changing its real type and character; Sober of declamatoly speech, playful in the dialogue; faithful to the character of the pelson lepresented ; mindful to keep its due place, and only beautiful as 1t were fortuitously, in spite of 1tself, and unconsciously; by turns lyric, epic, dramatic ; able to run over the whole poetic scale, and go from the bottom to the top, flom the highest to the most vulgal thoughts, ſrom the most broadly comic to the most grave, from the most concrete to the most abstract, and yet never passing outside the limits of a spoken scene.” Racine not a dramatist Shakespeare the “highest poetic altitude of modern times” O evil days, O perversion of public taste cried the outraged classicists. O dawn of a new and splendid era ! answered their Romantic opponents. But Victor Hugo was mindful of the fact that an artist's theories must be proved by his practice, not his reasoning. As Shelley says, VICTO/ø A/UGO. 71 “It is a dangelous invasion When poets criticise Their station Is to delight, not pose.” So together with the “Préface de Cromwell ” came “Cromwell” itself. Unfortunately the edifice is, I think, scarcely as striking as the portico. The play is hardly one of the poet's great plays. The whole action turns on Cromwell's desile to be crowned king, and the plot, In so far as it can be called a plot, consists in the exhibition of the various forces opposed to the realiza- tion of his wishes—the last words being Cromwell's half-musing aside, “When then shall I be a king P” But even so we scarcely reach a very striking or effective dramatic climax. The first act, I confess, always seems to me better adapted to the libretto of an opera than to a serious historical drama. For there are degrees of admissible improbability even on the stage. We allow a larger latitude to poetry than to prose, and to music than to either. And so it seems to want a cholus of male voices to give even an air of probability to this meeting of Roundheads and Cavallers, for the most part quite unknown to each othel, who have come together in a public tavern-room to declaim treason and conspire against the Protector. How is secrecy 1magin- able in such conditions without basses and tenors, and a full orchestra P But lest this criticism should be taxed with frivolity, I hasten to add—what Indeed scarcely any one would now think of denying, that with “Cromwell” the language of the poetical drama in France made an immense stride. And at the same time Victor Hugo 'ſ 4 Al Z /* /. Of" was lenovating the language of poetry generally, was reviving ancient and forgotten metres, inventing new metres, and pouring a new and Sparkling wine into the old bottles of French velse. The “Chasse du Bur- grave,” with 1ts echoing rhymes, and the “Pas d'Armes du Roi Jean,” are dated lespectively January and June, 1828; and in January, 1829, again heralded by a waſ 11or-pleface, came out the first edition of the “O11entales.” A brilliant, a superb book. It opens with a descrip- tion of the cloud from the Lord that broke in fire on Sodom and Gomorrah ; and 1t almost closes with a kind of dreamily expressed desile that the mists on the French hollzon should suddenly bleak, and disclose a Moolish town sending up, like a rocket, through the evening sky, 1ts minarets of gold. But why tantalise the reader thus P. An English book is for English leaders; else might I here quote fleely. And translated verse? A translation that renders the music and colour of the olignal—that is at once really a translation and really poetry—such a tianslation is far rarer than a good poem. I am too obviously no Rossetti nor Fitzgerald, and have no intention of counting run by an attempt to emulate their renderings of the poetry of early Italy and of Omar's “Eastein lay.” Not for me is it to “English" Victor Hugo's masterpieces. I must ask my readers, therefore, if so be that French is unknown to them, to imagine the indolent swaying music to which “Sara the Bather ” swings to and fro in her ham- mock over the waters of the fountain; and the Superb march movement of the “Djinns,” those Eastern imps, VICTOR HUGO. 73 who, as the verse swells in syllables and power, seem hurrying from some distance beyond distance till we hear round us the roar of their wings and the tumult of their onset, Sounds that gradually die away as, baffled and beaten, they retreat into the silence from whence they came. I must ask my readers too to take my word for the light that palpitates through it all, and the brilliant colour, and the great variety of tone,—the energy of the ode to Napoleon, the light grace of “Sultan Achmet's* offer of love to the beauty of Grenada, the tragic directness of swift vengeance in the story of the maiden done to death by her brothers because her veil has been uplifted. That these “Orientales” are of a doubtful Orientalism has been whispered by the erudite. But what can that possibly matter? Byron’s “Bride of Abydos,” “ Glaour,” and “Lara,” Moore’s “Lalla Rookh,” these “Orientales” themselves, must be Judged as poems, as pieces of art whose “motive” is of the Morning-land, and not merely from the standpoint of the traveller and the historian And whatever be the velduct on Byron and Moore, there can be no doubt that as pieces of art these poems of Victor Hugo are superb. The workmanship is of the ſinest quality. This is scarcely the time and place for a discussion on the technicalities of French verse, else might one here descant learnedly on “rich * rhymes, and “sup- porting consonants,” and the “caesura,” and the relations of the sentence to the line. Suffice it to say that judged by the highest standard in such matters, neither the “Orientales,” nor any of the other verse of Victor Hugo's matuity, can be found wanting. Does this state- 74 JL/FE OF ment coming from an English clitic seem to leguire support P. We may accept the testimony of Théophile Gautler and M. de Banville freely; for if Gautler and M. de Banville are not artists in words, they are nothing; and their reverence for Victor Hugo's technique amounts almost to a superstition. As to metre, he seemed to play with 1t. Sainte- Beuve gave him at about this time an old copy of Ronsard, inscribing it to the “greatest lyrical inventor French poetry has known since Ronsard ; ” and the praise had been fairly won. I shall take but one example from the “Orientales’—the Djinns, to which I have already referred. The first verse is in lines of two syllables, the second verse in lines of three, and so on till the central verse, where ten syllables are reached,—after which the verses decline, in the same way, till the last verse, which consists of lines of two syllables again. A mere feat of verbal Juggling the reader will say, and no more to be ranked as poetry than an acrostic. Not at all. The poem is poetry, and poetry of a high order, and the lines of varying length are so used as to emphasize the idea, and give it its fullest force. I know no finer crescendo and dimanuendo in verbal music. No wonder that poetry of this freshness and beauty, on its first blossoming into that ardent young world, acted as a kind of lyrical Intoxicant, No wonder that the youth of the time halled the writer as their helo, their demi god. M. Amauly-Duval, wilting of days just anterior to these, and of the joyous Simple dances in Nodler's rooms at the Library of the Arsenal, says: VICTOR Aſ UGO. 75 “The attitude of the poet in society was quiet and almost grave, and contrasted with a beardless face full of sweetness and charm. He did not take part, like Alfred de Musset” and the rest, 1n our youthful amusements; but the serious side was not really, I think, the most important side of his character. Did he consider it necessary to affect gravity in view of his high mission? If so, he was taking unnecessary trouble : his works alone, and his genius would have sufficed to awe us into respect and admiration.” And Théophile Gautler, writing of the subsequent days of 1830, when the great battle of “Hernani” had been fought and won, tells us of the inward tremors with which he first sought an audience with the “Master,”— of his going three times up the stairs before he mustered courage to ring the bell,—and then, half whimsically, compares his actual entry to that of Esther into the presence of Ahasuerus. So between 1826 and 1830 was the “Master” held in reverence by the young Romantic school. They gathered 1ound him as round their natural leader. And what brilliant names did the band contain Sainte-Beuve was one of them. He first made the poet’s acquaintance in Janualy, 1827. They were brought together in this way: Sainte Beuve had witten two perfectly independent but sympathetic articles, on the “Odes et Ballades,” for the Globe newspaper, a very distinguished organ of that time. Victor Hugo called to thank him for the articles He returned the call, and there resulted a very close intimacy and friendship, destined too soon to pass into Indifference and a very armed neutrality. The whole story of their relations is cullous. I shall not, however, attempt to write * Who has left so charming a memento of these evenings in the “Réponse à M. Charles Nodier,” dated August, 1843. 76 A./FE OF it here. Suffice it to say, that while the friendship lasted either poet was not without influence on the other, and the flame of mutual admiration flared high. Sainte- Beuve afterwards asserted, in one of his interesting autobiographical notes, written long after this date, that the only time in his life when his singularly fluid nature had been really fixed and congealed was “In Victor Hugo's world,” adding, however, that it was “then only by the effect of a charm.” And at the time he sang his friend's praises fortissimo. As to Victor Hugo, he, as we know, always had a tendency to superlatives. There is one of his odes, written in December, 1827, and ad- dressed “To my friend S. B.,”—who can be none othel than Sainte-Beuve, in which he addresses that young gentleman as an “eagle,” a “giant,” a “star,” and exhorts him to make the acquaintance of the lightning, and to roll through the realms of thought like a “royal meteor " with trailing locks. We, who chiefly know a later Sainte- Beuve, can scarcely recognise him in the character of a comet ; and, even then, he himself, for he was always very reasonable, must sometimes have smiled at these grandiose epithets Sitting somewhat apart in the shadow, and 1 hyming a Sonnet to a white cap, or an eye of jet— this is how he lives in Alfred de Musset's leminiscences, and I take it the sketch is truer to nature. Alfred de Musset—he too was one of the band that pressed round the “Master.” Ah, charming and admir- able poet, whose verse, to use his own poignant image, always trailed after it a drop of blood—whose life was ruined all the mole irretrievably because he had glimpses of a better heaven than that sky of Paris that lowered VICTOR HUGO. 77 above his head—poor “Enfant du Siècle,” child of this age of ours which gave its offspring no better refuge against the Sorrows of our human lot than drink—surely as a kind of epitaph over his career might fittingly be used those lines of Wordsworth, “We poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.” And there is another of Victor Hugo's followers to whom these words would equally apply: poor Gérard de Nerval, who, after leading hither and thither a strange Incoherent existence, hanged himself, in a hideous nook of Old Paris, in January, 1855. But these are pitiful memories. I must not incongruously forget that we are looking at the generation of 1830 in 1ts spring. There was no thought of the distant days of winter and death when Sainte-Beuve, and Musset, and Gérard de Nerval, and the two Deschamps, and De Vigny, and the exu- berant, inexhaustible Dumas, and Delacroix, “the Hugo of paint,”—when all these and many mole, poets, writers, artists, used to meet in the brave days of the Romantic movement, and recognized Victor Hugo as their chief." * They called their brotherhood the Cénacle, from the upper room in which our Lord had partaken of the Last Supper with IIIs disciples. CHAPTER V. EANWHILE was no effort to be made towards rescuing the French stage from the thraldom of Classicism P Was the “Préface de Cromwell’ to remain a barren manifesto, an empty trumpet blast preceding no advance of conquering arms ? Was the author of “Crom- well" to rest content with a mere literary triumph, while the theatre could still boast itself unassailed and unwon P Not thus did Victor Hugo understand his duties as leader of the Romantic movement. And here this England of ours did yeoman's service, and pioneered the attack most effectually. In July and August, 1822, a Company of English actors had en- deavoured to perform the plays of Shakespeare for the benefit of the Parisian public, but had been met with an organized opposition, and cries of “Speak French,” “Down with Shakespeare, he is one of Wellington's aide-de camps,” and other popular amenities of a similar kind. In the latter part of the summer of 1827, the attempt was renewed. The great John Kemble's lessel brother Charles came over flom London, in some trepidation, as his daughter Frances tells us — and with him other English actors and actresses, among J.IFE OF VICTOR HUGO. 79 whom was a certain Irish girl called Miss Smithson. They took the fickle Parisians by storm. Since 1822 the Romantic movement had waxed and grown strong. Shakespeare became the lage. That young France in the least understood his language can very safely be denied. But the situations were new and striking, and the whole thing unconventional, and in accord with the whim of the hour. Miss Smithson especially achieved a real triumph, “received a rather disproportionate share of admiration,” is the form in which Frances Kemble puts it. And that fair critic speaks also somewhat slight- Ingly of Miss Smithson’s “figure and face of Hubernian beauty,” and of her “ Irish accent.” As to the niceties of the blogue, they were, no doubt, as Frances Kemble says, lost upon French ears, which would know no dis- tinction between the English of Dublin and the English of London. But as for the “Hubernian beauty,” most of us, I think, would be inclined to say that the term is Scarcely one of reproach, and that Erin's daughters are not among the ill-favoured of the earth. Anyhow, Miss Smithson, brogue, beauty, and all, was for the hour the 1dol of the French public;-and one Frenchman of genius, Bellioz the composer, the Hugo of music, con- ceived for hel a passion which has become historical, and married hel five years afterwards, when her hour of popularity had passed, and she was ruined, and possibly a cripple for life. The Romanticists, it will thus be seen, carried romance beyond the sphere of their art. Charles Kemble's visit to Paris took place in September, 1827. In October is dated the “Préface de Cromwell.” And in the following May, Edmund Kean made a flitting 80 A/FE OF appearance on the French boards. He was drunk, according to the French tradition, when he came on the stage to play Richard III., and having kept the andlence waiting for a very long time, was badly received ; but as he warmed to his work, his genius carried all before him. There was no resisting it. And his performance of Shylock, two or three days afterwards, made a lasting im- pression. I seem to remember, not so very many years ago, a dramatic feuilleton of Jules Janin, the famous critic, in which he spoke of the thrill of horror that went through the house at the deadly realism with which the Jew sharpened his knife upon his sleeve. So with Shakespeare the romantic drama, in its right 1oyal English dress, first found a place upon the Parisian stage. But obviously that was not enough. To really move a nation's heart, 1t 1s imperative to use that nation's speech. A foreign play is for the cultivated few only. It was for the French writers to “dale to follow,” now that Shakespeare had “cleared the way.” Accordingly, rn the early part of 1829, Alexandre Dumas rushed for- ward with his play of Henry III., which came upon the public as something young, fresh, and full of exuberant life; and, on the 24th of June, Victor Hugo had finished “Marion de LOrme.” The Théâtre Français, the Porte-Saint-Martin, and the Odéon all competed for the play ; and the Théâtre Français, as first in the field, was preparing to put it on the stage. But here the Government intel vened. There is one of the acts, the fourth, in which Louis XIII. shows pitiably, and as a mere tool in the hands of his imperious minister, Caldinal Richelieu. Now VICTOR AUGO. 81 in July, 1829, the monarchy of the elder branch of the Bourbons was tottering to 15s fall. The attacks made upon it flom all sides were Incessant and most bitter. The king especially was accused of being under priestly government. M. de Martignac, the Home Minister, may therefore be forgiven if he thought the moment Inoppol- tune for the production of a play which might easily be used politically as a weapon of offence. Naturally Victor Hugo took a different view. He appealed from the minister to the king. The king granted him a private audience on the 7th of August; received him with the greatest affability and kindness; but, on reflec- tion, did not see that it would be safe to yield. He, however, as some Indemnity, offered the poet an in- crease of 2000 francs to his existing pensions. This Victor Hugo thought it right to refuse, but in most loyal, and one may almost say humble, terms ; whereupon he became more popular than ever, and the opposition journals talked of his incorruptibility. But, as Madame Hugo rightly says, “Victor Hugo was not one of those men who are discouraged by a check.” He at once set to work, began “Hernani’ on the 29th of August, and, on the 1st of October, read it to the Committee of the Théâtre Français, Then there ensued, as before, a great battle, a series of skirmishes, excursions and alarums, affairs of outposts. On the 18th of December Victor Hugo wrote to a friend: “You know that I am overwhelmed, overburdened, crushed, throttled. The Comédie Française, “Hernani,” the rehearsals, the green room rivalries of actors and actresses, the Intrigues of the newspapers and the police ; and, on the other hand, my private affairs, which are much embroiled, my father's inheritance not yet 6 82 JL/APE OF settled, our property in Spain of which Ferdinand VII, has taken possession, the compensation due to us in Saint Domingo and kept back by Boyer, our sands at Sologne which have been on sale for the last twenty three months, our houses in Blois which our step mother is trying to keep away from us, consequently nothing, or next to nothing, to be saved out of the wreck of a considerable for- tune. Such is my life.” Not a very happy picture, certainly. But our im- mediate Interest is with those special troubles that thickened round the production of “Hernani.” To begin with, the performers were hostile. Mdlle. Mars, the great tragic actress, on whom had naturally devolved the chief part of Doña Sol, was a woman of fifty, and had little sympathy, as may be supposed, with novelties. Alexandre Dumas relates, in his sparkling way, how she would Interrupt the rehearsals again and again, and worry the poor author with poetical suggestions It was not till he threatened to take the part from her that she was brought to reason. Her frigidity froze the other actors ; and the bitterness of a terrible winter tended to freeze them still more. Meanwhile the press was not idle. Scraps and detached passages of the play leaked out, and were travestied and ridiculed. One Scene was burlesqued upon the stage. The censor- ship also “made its 1eserves,” contested the admissibility of certain passages, insisted upon changes in various lines, had to be reasoned with, bullied, cajoled. Finally the claque, the paid applauders who in a French theatre direct the popular enthusiasm, turned mutinous. Their loyalty could not be depended upon. They might even desert in the hour of battle, and go over to the enemy. But against all forms of opposition, whether open and WICZ OR HUGO. 83 angry, or occult and insidious, Victor Hugo showed a most admirable tenacity and courage. “We should not, perhaps, be able fully to understand the essentially militant character of his political and literary life,” says Madame Hugo, “if we did not know from what a soldier family he sprang.” And here he showed himself a born fighter. If the claque, those hired mercenaries, would not sup- port his cause, he would rely on the enthusiasm of volunteers. Word went forth among the students of the “Quartier Latin,” the younger journalists, the artists going through their apprenticeship in the various “ateliers,” that the future of the French diama, nay, of French poetry itself, was at stake. Théophile Gautler has told how Gérard de Nerval acted as recruiting sergeant, and went round distributing tickets for the first performance, and with what a passion of joy he, Gautier, received six orders, in solemn trust, with an adjuration to bling none but sure hands. Each ticket bore inscribed upon it the Spanish word, hierro, “Iron.” And what a strange young generation they were to whom this call was addressed Together with a genuine enthusiasm for everything relating to art, using the word In 1ts most extended sense, how much of folly and wilful eccentricity Eccentlicity, Indeed, was their goddess. They hated with an undying hate the peaceful “bourgeois” who paid his debts, lived cleanly, foleswole sack, and cultivated only the plose of life. Such a man, according to one of these cannibalistic young gentlemen, was only fit to be eaten. To “asphyxiate’ him “with the smell of punch, patchouli, and cigals” seemed a desirable object. * The expression is that of Gavarni the great caricaturist, who, however, came into vogue a little later. 84 A.A.A. O.F To adopt a name that could by no means be mistaken for his commonplace name was a clear duty. Thus, if the Romantic aspirant had been christened “Jean,” he added a mediaeval h, and called himself “Jehan; ” if his name were plain “Pierre,” he called himself “Petrus.” Or else he gave a kind of pseudo-foreign air to his cogno- men, and “Auguste Maquet " became “Augustus McKeat,” and “Théophile Dondey" became “Philothée O'Neddy.” There was one daring spirit who even ventured to designate himself as “Napoleon Tom.” Napoleon Tom I declare there is a touch of genius in the combination. When one thinks of It, when one con- siders the absurdity of these outlandish designations, even the inexplicable seems streaked with a dawn of ex- planation, and one almost ceases to wonder whence Victor Hugo derived the amazing English names in “L’Homme qui rit.” Even “Govicum,” the pot-boy, and “Lord Tom Jim Jack,” seem to have prototypes. Nor were outward and visible signs of eccentricity wanting in the youthful band that crowded round the door of the pit of the Théâtre Français on the memor- able 25th of February, 1830, when “Helnani ’’ was to be first presented to the public. They have been often described. According to Madame Hugo they were “strange, uncouth, bearded, long-haired, dressed in every manner except according to the existing fashion, in loose Jerkins, in Spanish cloaks, in Robespierre waistcoats, in Henry III. bonnets, having every century and every countly upon their shoulders and heads.” No wonder that the peaceful burgesses were “stupefied and in- dignant.” Théophile Gautier especially “insulted their 1//CTOR Aſ UGO. 85 eyes.” His locks, like those of Albert Durer, flowed far over his shoulders, and he wore a scallet satin waist- Coat of mediaeval cut, a black coat with broad velvet facings, trousers of a pale sea green seamed with black velvet, and an ample grey overcoat lined with green satin. Well might he speak enthusiastically, in after years, of the “phantasy of Individual taste” that had “regulated” the “costumes” of the “champions of the ideal” who waited outside the Théâtre Français. His en- comiums on their “just sense of colour” one feels inclined, in view of the sea-green trousers, to accept more doubt- fully. As to the Scarlet waistcoat, it has a place in history It flames in the forefront of the Romantic battle like the white plume of King Henry of Navarre at Ivry. Our young friends were admitted into the theatre at two, and the public were not to enter till seven. What was to be done meanwhile in the great ghostly unlit place? Talk offered a resource, and cat calls, and end- less songs, which the Government papers of the following day described as “Implous,” and the opposition Journals as “obscene.” The mole prudent of the band had pro- vided themselves with sausages, ham, chocolate, and bread ; and an improvised pic-nic made the time pass pleasantly. When the audience began to assemble, they were greeted by a fine smell of garlic. O abomination of desolation . This is the holy of holies of the diama, in the “House of Molière’ſ Malle. Mars was furious. She had acted, she declared to Victor Hugo, before every kind of public; it was to him, to him that she must owe the Indignity of acting before such a public as £hat ſ 86 I/FE OF However at last the performance began, and began coldly. But, as it proceeded, the admirable vigour of the verse, and, one may add, the stage effectiveness of the Situations, began to produce their due effect. At the second act, where Hernani and Don Carlos, rivals in their love for Doña Sol, exchange wolds of hate and de- fiance, the clapping of the author's followers found an echo in a few boxes. This temporary success was, how- ever, jeopardised by the scene in which Don Ruy Gomez too lengthily catalogues his pictured ancestry on the wall; though, in the end, his refusal to violate his ideal of hospitality at Don Carlos’ bidding, “blought down the house.” Strangely enough, Charles V.'s long monologue before the tomb of Charlemagne first really clinched success and made victory certain. Poetry went for Something in those days, and undramatic as that soliloquy may be, each line, as it flashed upon the audience, woke in them a glowing enthusiasm. Before the applause had died down, an unknown publisher accosted the author, and offered six thousand francs for the right to publish the play, saying that at the end of the second act he had intended to propose two thousand francs, at the end of the third four, and that he should gleatly plefel to close the bargain there and then, as at the end of the performance he might be tempted to give ten thousand. Victor Hugo, whose whole possessions happened at the moment to consist of fifty francs, Ol 262, laughingly concluded the bargain. The fifth act was a triumph. Malle. Mars acted it superbly. In her love duet with Helnani—that duet which vaguely reminds one of the duet between Juliet |V/CTO/P HUGO. 87 and Romeo, her voice rendered admirably the music of the verse, and thrilled to 1s emotions. When Ruy Gomez, having first sounded his fatal horn, came to claim Hernani's life, she sprang up with an energy which was new even to her admirers, like a tiger in defence of her whelps.-And we too have seen that act not inadequately performed. We too have heard a silvery voice descant- 1ng sweetest love-music with Hernani ; have watched the dawning horror on the face as the meaning of Ruy Gomez’ visit became apparent ; have seen the frail shape dilate in fierce defiance, and then sunk down in passionate appeal for mercy; have noted how, amid the gathering darkness of death, love still flickeled on in look and specch. So does Sarah Bernhardt act the part of Doña Sol; and to those who have seen the play thus acted it will scarcely seem strange that the first performance of “Hernani ’’ came to a successful close. But how about the second performance, when the appeal would be to the general public, not the cultured few P. The first performance had been like Ligny ol Quatre Blas before Waterloo. The great battle had still to be fought. And fielcely did it lage. Verse after verse, as the play went on, was assailed with Homeric laughter. Victor Hugo's filends leplied with volley on volley of applause. And so again the tollsonne evening wore through. Nol was this yet in any wise the end. After the third performance, the author had only one hundred tickets at his disposal; and the enemy were more eager than ever in the attack. * “Then Indeed,” says Madame Hugo, “did the real struggle begin. Each performance became an indescribable tumult The 88 JLIFE OF boxes sneered and tuttered; the stalls whistled ; it became a fashion- able pastime to go ‘and laugh at “Helman, "' Every one protested after his own mannel, and according to his individual nature. Some, as not being able to bear to look at such a piece, turned their backs to the performels; others declared aloud that they could stand it no longer, and went out in the middle of the acts, and banged the doors of their boxes as they went. The mole peaceable . . . . Ostentatiously spread out and read their newspapers.” For five and forty nights did the actors and Victor Hugo's volunteers stand in the breach and carry per- formance after performance to the end ; and it was not till June 18, 1830, when Mdlle. Mars required a holiday, that the piece was withdrawn. Thus was fought and won the great battle, or rather campaign, of “Hernani.” Romantic drama had made good its position on the French stage. And shall we throw up our caps at the victory, and Cly huzza with the “hirsute generation ” of 1830 P Yes and no, I think. Dante, as it has always seemed to me, and I say it revelently, strikes a false note when he tells how— “Cimabue thought To lord it over painting's field, but halk | The cly's Giotto's, and his name eclipsed;” for the success of an artist in no sense detracts from the merits of his predecessors. And so, though quite pre- pared to admit that the French stage stood in need of a revival at the beginning of this century, and that the classical drama was senile and dying, yet am I not prepared to say that the French classical drama, in 1ts first vigour and freshness, was anything but a superb * M. Zola's expression, “la race chevelue.” VICTOR HUGO. 89 product. Of course we must judge it by standards iifferent from those which we are in the habit of apply- ing. Taking Shakespeare as our great exemplar, what we look for, what delights us, in the higher drama, is an nfinite play of life, a large variety of character, the levidence, in Conception and language, of unrestrained power—power braving all danger, heedless of difficulty, and grandly daring if, by any means, it can enlarge the scope of art. The ideals of the French dramatists of the great period, Racine, Corneille, Molière, were quite other. What they aimed at was rather to circumscribe than to enlarge, rather to select, simplify, and concentrate than to hold the mirror up to nature, and show life in all its complexity. Shakespeare, having to paint a lover and jealous husband in Othello, gives to the love and ealousy, all important as they are, only a relative in- fluence in the man's portrait. Othello—the soldier so - essentially a soldier that he regards even the peaceful ime.9f his courtship as “wasted,”—has a being and > ºlity apart from his relations with Desdemona. pured to amuse us with matters which he, justly or regarded as of secondary interest. Not love ut love and jealousy apart from all such nd in their most concentrated form—such, 90 JL/AFAE O/7 according to his conception, would have been the proper matter of a drama. A false conception, the English reader is at once tempted to exclaim. And yet I don't know. It seems to me at least a perfectly admissible conception. Granting at once, and of course, that Shakespeare's art is unapproachable, yet it does not* follow that there is no room in the world for art of another kind. And if we once allow this, then can we certainly not withhold our meed of admiration from those whose art of that other kind was perfect. Nay, as re- - gards Shakespeare himself, is the advantage in artistic method so invariably on his side P Does he always profit by giving full rein to the power that is in him P. º Take Timon of Athens and compare him with Alceste, the misanthrope of Molière. Timon, in his hatred for his fellows, almost casts away his humanity, and lowers him.". self to the level of one of Swift's yahoos. Alceste, so º far from dropping his humanity, remains a gentleman. Here we have, on the one side, unbridled power, and . . . . . the other, measure, restraint, reasonableness, tact $. art in which these qualities attained their highest; as they did in the work of the French poets of the # teenth century, is, of its own kind, great art. However, though the subject is alluring, I must tempted to dwell on the beauties of Racine, Co Molière, and of Lafontaine whose verse is as th daintiest goldsmith's work in human language. mediate purpose will be sufficiently answered if : made it clear that the Classical party had someth; - say for itself when opposing “Hernani.” That play was first produced on the # VICTOR HUGO. 91 February, 1830. It was followed on the 11th of August, 1831, by “Marion de Lorme,” which had been previously prohibited by the Government of Challes X. This was followed in turn, on the 22nd of November, 1832, by “Le Roi s'amuse,” which seems to have been made the occasion of a political manifesto, and was prohibited by the Government of Louis Philippe. Then came “Lucrèce Borgia,” In the beginning of 1833, “Malle Tudor,” on the 6th of November 1n the same year; “Angelo Tyran de Padoue,” on the 28th of April, 1835; “Ruy Blas,” on the 8th of Novembel, 1838; and, finally, “Les Burgraves,” on the 8th of Malch, 1843 The last-named failed to secure such success as to tempt Victor Hugo to work any more for the stage. It was only performed some thirty times, and met with great Opposition. And of the plays which Victor Hugo thus composed in view of the footlights, what shall we say P Clearly in Composing them he was animated by the vely highest literary ambition. It is difficult to read the “ Préface de Cromwell,” and the plefaces to each of the plays, without Conning to the conclusion that he had blaced himself to no less a task than taking the diama where Shakespeale left it, and carrying it to greater heights of historical accuracy and social and philosophic truth.) A magnificent 1deal without doubt; and to the honour due to those who fall in the greatest attempts, he is unquestionably entitled. For failure to reach such high altitude, there obviously Is. Of Victor Hugo's social philosophy I shall have occasion to speak hereafter. Suffice it to say here that one gan scarcely think without a smile of the light 92 A./FE OF in which it would have appeared to Shakespeare's pre- eminently large and equitable spirit. Nor can the his- torical pretensions be taken very seriously. This 1s a point on which Victor Hugo seems clearly to have been in the habit of deceiving himself In his view, it was part of his mission as a playwright to “explain history;” and in a note to “Marie Tudor ’’ he says: “So that the reader may be in a position, once fol all, to appre ciate the more or less of historical certainty contained in the author's works, as also the quantity and quality of histolical research under- taken by hum in view of each of his dramas, he thinks 1 his duty to print here, as a specimen, the list of the books and documents consulted in writing ‘Malie Tudor.” He could publish a similar catalogue as regards each of his other pieces.” The list thus announced with some little pomp is only calculated to Inspire a moderate amount of con- fidence. It contains more than one obvious misnomer, and opens with a history of Henry VII. by “Franc Baronum,” who cannot well be any other than our old acquaintance Francis Bacon. But, to let such trifles pass, what is of Infinitely greater importance, the charac- ter of Queen Mary, as presented in the drama, is quite unhistorical and false. Poor Bloody Mary, we know her story very well. It has been told for us, with even more than his customary picturesqueness and skill, by Mr. Froude. It has been dramatised for us by Lord Tennyson. “Mother of God, Thou knowest never woman meant so well, And fared so ill in this disastrous world. My people hate me and desire my death. tº tº . My hard father hated me; My brother rather hated me than loved ; My sister cowers and hates me. . . . My husband hates me and desires my death.” VICTOR HUGO. 93 Poor virtuous Mary, with the bigot-creed and the narrow Intellect, who worked such ruin even to the cause she loved, who having the lion spirit of her race, yet did such jackal's work, and all the time hungered so in her woman's heart for the child that never came and the love that never was hers—surely there is scarce a more pathetic figure in history. The Mary of Victor Hugo is the paramour of I know not what Italian adventurer, and prepared at any moment to cry her shame to the whole court, to her future husband's ambassador, to anybody who will listen. No one, however great he may be, has a right to play such fantastic tricks with a real character —still less to call the bespattering, history. But if Victor Hugo has failed to improve on Shake- speare's social philosophy or history, has he at least equalled him in peopling the stage with living, acting, feeling, thinking men and women—human creatures of intensest vitality, but whose characters will yet bear the most minute dissection ? No, no, the later poet, great as he is, has not done this. I am far from agreeing with those critics, as M. Zola for Instance, who hold that all his dramatis personae are mere marionettes, tricked out in doublet and trunk-hose, ruff and farthingale, all the frippery of any particular time, and with wood, wire, and bran where flesh, nerves, and blood should be. But 1f this is malevolent exaggeration, yet is it unfortunately true that in many of his characters, and those often the most important, a certain mechanical something is too obvious. Explaining the genesis of Triboulet, in “Le Roi s'amuse,” and Lucrèce Borgia, in the play of the same name, the author tells us— 94 AAFE OF ‘‘Take the most hideous, repulsive, complete physical deformity; place it where it will be most striking—at the lowest, meanest, most despised stage of the social edifice; light up that miserable creature from all sides with the sinistel light of contrast; and then throw Into him a soul, and put into that soul the purest feeling given to man, the feeling of fatherhood. What will happen? Why that sub lime feeling, heated according to certain conditions, will trans- form before your eyes the degraded cleature; the being that was small will become great ; the being that was deformed will become beautiful. In 16s essence this Is “Le Ro1 s'amuse.’ Well, and it Is also “Lucrèce Bougia.’ Take the most hideous, repulsive, complete moral deformity; place it where it will be most striking, in a woman’s heart, with all such adjuncts of physical beauty and royal grandeur as may give plominence to crime, and now mungle with all this deformity a pule feeling, the purest feeling that a woman can experience, the feeling of motherhood ; In your monster place a mothel's heart; and the monster will become Interesting ; and the monster will make you weep ; and that creature that inspired only terror, will excite pity, and that deformed soul will become almost beautiful in your eyes Thus fatherhood sanctifying physical defolmity—that is what we have in “Le Rol s'amuse; ' motherhood sanctifying monal deformity—that is what we have in “Lucrèce Borgia.’” To me, I confess, in all this there is something mechanical and forced. Human characters are not com- pact of such tremendous contrasts. Certainly a monster like Triboulet—for in moral repulsiveness he is pretty nearly the fellow of Lucrèce—may love his offspring. I,ove is a flower that will grow almost anywhere. But it 1s scarcely a flower that will give out its fullest, purest perfume when growing out of so polluted a soil. And the attempt to excite interest by dwelling on the difference between soil and product can only lead to exaggeration and falsehood. Or take again the character of Marion de Lorme. Marion de Lorme is a noted courtesan. VICTOR AſOGO. 95 Her life is a byword. Scarce a noble about the Court but can boast of her favours. Yet she becomes again all dainty-pure, as in her maldenhood, through her love for Didier. In other words, she abandons the world of realities, and becomes an antithesis. ~~~~ Nor 1s it possible to place such lover - heroes as Hernani, Didier, and Ruy Blas beside Shakespeare's real men. They belong, all three of them, to a distinctly obsolete Byronic type, and talk too gloomily and too much of the fates, and destiny, and evil stars, and such other moody and uncomfortable matters. As to Ruy Blas, I go even further, and express disbelief in him altogether. What here is a poet of fine Intellect and noblest sentiments, though wearing, for the sake of con- trast, a lackey's coat; he is in love with the queen, he is left behind at Court by his master, for wicked purposes, In a position of power, and displays in that position the highest qualities of a statesman and a patriot: and yet, when his master comes back—a step which even Imbecility might have anticipated—and declares an intention of dishonouring the queen, he, the poet and man of action, can find nothing better to do than whine like a whipped cur —no mole effective way of defending his love than praying In churches and wandering about the streets | Bah any man with a spark of manhood—having such advantages on his side too—would have made short work of Don Salluste de Bazan. Ruy Blas does not hold together as a man, a poet, a statesman, or a lackey. The best criticism on his character and Conduct lemains that of the spectators in the gallery when the play was first pro- duced. They, we ale told, used to cry out in their 96 AAFE OF jargon, as he stooped down to pick up his master's handkerchief, “Don’t pick it up, you fool ; have him run in.” A second Shakespeare? Hardly. Superb as are Victor Hugo's gifts, he is unable to sustain that comparison. But still, without being a Shakespeare, it is possible to be a very powerful dramatist; and Victor Hugo's plays possess merits of the highest kind. Of course, in judging them, we must always bear in mind that they were written directly in view of the stage. They are not, like Mr. Browning's dramas, for example, literature and literature alone. They are intended, and rightly, to show life according to theatrical conditions and as seen through an atmosphere of stage illusion. And when so regarded their strong points are not to be gainsaid. Each is constructed on lines so large and easily intelligible as not to disconcert the average spectator. The Introduction is in every case deftly managed : we are placed at once, without long and tedious explanations, in the centre of the subject. The plot is skilfully combined for the purpose of ex- citing curiosity and retaining interest. If the incidents are too often those of a melodrama, and are caused rather by what may be called accident than development of character, yet no one can deny their stage effective- ness, and the opportunities they afford to the actor. Doña Sol (in “Hernani ’’), Marion de Lorme, the Queen (in “Ruy Blas”), have each the most excellent parts. So has Triboulet, whatever we may think, on reflection, of his truth to nature. No one who has seen M. Coquelin as Don César, that roystering, brave, black- 1//C7 OR HUGO. 97 guard cavalier, can have any doubt of the author's power to produce a strongly vitalised character, at least for the stage. And to these gifts we must add a singular power in the management of dialogue. This, however, is praise which must be mainly restricted to the dramas in verse. For, by a singular phenomenon, the personages in Victor Hugo's stage-world speak far less naturally and forcibly when speaking in prose than when speaking to the cadence of metre. The difficulties of rhyme seem to nerve the dramatist to greater efforts, Just as a minor poet will often succeed better in a sonnet than a simple ballad. So here the dialogue when in verse is almost Invariably natural, alert, incisive, quick in thrust and parry as a rapier, now flashing with the brightest gems of imagination, now trembling with passion or sorrow. Yet there are critics ready enough to tell us that, even from the stage point of view, Victor Hugo's “theatre” “threatens ruin,” nay, that it lies in ruins already. Such critics hold that his art has permanently lost its power to charm and electrify an audience, and can never again possess more than an interest of literary Curiosity. But this surely 1s altogether an exaggeration. I am prepaled to give over to the tormentors the plays in prose, “Angelo,” “Marie Tudor,” “Lucrèce Borgia”, for Victor Hugo, when writing these dramas in prose, became as one who throws away his arms in the hour of battle, and courts defeat. I am ready to allow that “Les Burgraves,” notwithstanding the great power of the verse, is constructed on lines too large and epic for the modern stage, that Barbarossa waking white- haired at his country's need from his immemorial 7 98 A. IFE OF slumber, and the other old Rhineland demigods, with their hatreds that endure threescore years and ten, are fitter for the twilight of imagination than the comparative reality of the theatre. Even stage illu- Sion cannot raise mele flesh and blood to such heroic proportions. But “Hernani,” and “Marion de Lorme” and “Ruy Blas”? Time has told on them no doubt. Fashions change in fifty years. Yet to the criticism that holds them to be moribund or dead, one may fitly answer that there is in each a soul of poetry that will for ever keep it alive. Grant that in certain respects they are rather melodramas than dramas, yet ale they melodramas set to incomparable velse. Music will make them immortal, a kind of superb verbal orchestra- tion that for variety and power, for “Sonority” and brilliance of effect, has no equal in French dramatic verse. Even if they had no other excellences, they would live, as an opera may live though the libretto Is naught. Never, I think, will the time come when such stage music will altogether fall of its appeal. Was the “name” of “Cimabue " so entirely “eclipsed” when Giotto arose over the horizon P Did Racine and classic tragedy entirely suffer defeat in the great battle of “Helnani” P Between 1830 and 1838, “Hernani,” “Marion de Lorme,” “Le Roi s'amuse,” “Lucrèce Borgia,” “Marie Tudor,” “Angelo,” and “Ruy Blas” strutted bravely on the boards. But in those same years there was “a certain sorry little scrub,” who “went up and down" Paris, “none" much “caring how,” and that “little scrub”—a lean slip of a girl, with intense dark Jew eyes, who bore the name of Rachel,- VICTOR AUGC) 99 ploved to have power enough, when once her genius had declared 1:self, to stem the onset of Romanticism, and in her turn to take the world by storm with the old classic drama. Not as Doña Sol, Mallon de Lolme, nor the Queen of Spain, did the incomparable actress' achieve her triumphs. Fine as these parts are, she felt that in such characters as Racine's Phèdre there is a deeper, more poignant life; that through all changes of dramatic follm the heart-strings of humanity are more passionately a quiver in the older plays. And so once again Racine's beautiful old word-music, which is, as one may say, so purely of the strings, plevailed on the Flench stage. But Victor Hugo's more varied orchestra of words and effects has in turn had its revivals, and that three at least of his plays will live, and live for the stage, I make no question. * Victor Hugo, characteristically, thought little of Rachel. CHAPTER VI. {{ ICTOR in drama” with “Hernani,” Victor in poetry with “Les Orientales,” 1t remains for us now to consider Hugo as “Victor in romance” with “Nôtre Dame de Paris.” But in order to do this, I must retrace my steps somewhat. His last play, “Les Burgraves,” was produced in 1843; and to take up the thread of the novels it is necessary to go back some twenty years, to 1823, when “Han d’Islande” was first published. Of that book I have already spoken ; nor is it neces- sary to say more about it here. It is in every sense a juvenile production, and only interesting as the start- point of a great career. Three years afterwards, in January, 1826, appeared “Bug Jargal.” That short novel had indeed seen the light already in an earlier, simpler, and shorter form. It had been first written, according to the preface of 1832, in 1818, when the author was sixteen years old—written for a wager in fifteen days, and published in the Conservateur Zitté. raire. But in 1826 it reappeared in 1ts present shape, greatly altered, and, in fact, rewritten. It must there- * See first line of Lord Tennyson's Sonnet to Victor Hugo : “Victor in drama, Victor in romance.” AAFE OF VICTOR H UGO. 101 fore be regarded as the author's first step, or rather stride forward in novel-writing, after “Han d’Islande.” “Bug Jargal” is a story of the rising of the slaves in St. Domingo. The author supposes that in 1793, or thereabouts, a number of French officers determine to relate their adventures for the purpose of begulling the tedium of the long evenings by the camp fire. When Captain Léopold d'Auverney's turn comes round, he first declares that there has been nothing in his career worthy of fixing their attention. But then, being pressed, he tells his tale. Though not born In St. Domingo he had been brought up there, and was living with his uncle, and betrothed to Marie his beautiful cousin. One of the slaves, a neglo prince in his native Africa, also entertains for Marie a passionate attachment. This slave, Bug Jargal by name, 1s as generous as he is brave, fulfilled with every noble sentiment, a hero of romance. Jealousy against his white rival finds no lasting home in his breast. He tramples it under foot, and swears eternal friendship and brotherhood. On the very night of D'Auverney's marriage the insurrection breaks out. Murder, Incen- diarism, outrage, stalk through the Island. The bride and bridegroom have been separated by an untoward chance. Bug Jargal saves the former, and, afterwards, when D'Auverney is taken prisoner, and is about to be tortured to death, saves him too. He himself is shot by a lamentable accident. As to Marie she soon dies; and D'Auverney also, shortly afterwards, finds an end to his sorrows, for within a few days of the telling of his tale, he falls on the field of battle. 102 AAPA, OF Such in bare brief outline is the story of Bug Jargal ; and it is told with unmistakable power and Interest. That the hero's character is altogether life-like I will not affirm. Negroes, or even white men, of his stamp are rare. But in the world of art there is room for more than the prose of our every-day experience; and though Callyle would certainly have objected to recognise the possibility of “the hero as nigger,” we need scarcely be so exclu- sive. Decidedly the culminating point of the story is the description of the struggle between D'Auverney and a hideous, powerful hunchback, Habibrab, on the brink of a yawning gulf in a cavern. The prentice hand that wrought that scene was rapidly becoming the master hand that would produce the scene in which Claude Frollo falls from the topmost tower of Nôtre Dame Victor Hugo's next venture in fiction was “Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné,” the “last day of a man con- demned to death.” This book appeared anonymously In February, 1829, just three years after “Bug Jargal,” and a month, it may be remembered, after the “ Örien- tales.” It appeared therefore when the author was in the plenitude of his powers, and a remarkable poignant book it distinctly Is. A story P No, not exactly a story. Rather a psychological study, an endeavour to sound, with the plummet of Imagination, the dark places In the soul of a man who has forfeited his life to human Justice, and is about to be launched into etelnity. The book is autobiographical in folm, and the supposed writer describes the ghostly malch of his own emotions through * In the third edition, however, also dated 1829, and now before me, Victor Hugo's name is given on the title page. VICTOR H UGO. 103 the horror of great darkness by which he is surrounded. He is evidently an educated man, a man not at all vitiated by a career of crime, but blameless except in respect of the one act that has brought him to this ex- tremity. His kindlier better feelings are unimpaired. He thinks of his mother, his wife, his child—“a little girl of three years old, gentle, rosy, fraul, with large black eyes and long auburn locks.” The shame that will splash up to them from his spilt life tortures him. In the midst of the ghastly nightmare of his waking and sleeping existence come visions of his childhood—of a garden— (Ah poet, was not that a reminiscence of the Feuillan- tunes and thine own child-love?)—in which he was wont to play with a little dark eyed Spanish girl, till one day, as they read a book together, like Paolo and Francesca in the “Inferno,” their lips met, and “On that day they read no more therein.” Then he tries to look death in the face, but it daunts him. Anon he rages like some trapped animal; and so he passes to his hideous end. Victor Hugo describes the man's torture well. The writer who afterwards pictured so vividly the storm of guilty love that raged in the healt of Claude Frollo the priest, and the fierce battle of rectitude against self- preservation in the brain of Jean Valjean, was not likely to fall when dealing with such a theme. Nor does it at all impair the altistic mel it of the book, viewed as a psychological story, that the evil deed by which the con demned man has brought himself within the clutches of the law should be kept so entirely out of sight. Ac- cepting the author's first description of his work as that of a “dreamer,” a “philosopher,” a “poet,” bent on 104 AZFE OF “observing nature for the benefit of art,” then have we comparatively little concern with the specific murder committed. Our interest is properly concentrated on the criminal, not the victim, Directly, however, the author changes his front, as he did after the 1ssue of the first few editions, and asks us to regard his book mainly as a serious argument in favour of the abolition of capital punishment, then one has a right to ask what crime had this amiable murderer committed. Doubtless it was a hard thing that he should be made to walk through the valley of the shadow of death prematurely, and in this particularly horrible manner. Yet, after all, the act for which he suffered was his own. But his victim, how had he deserved death? The light of the sun was as pleasant to him as to his murderer. Life smiled with equal kindliness on both. If it were repugnant to the one to be executed, it must have been far from agreeable to the other to be poisoned, throttled, or shot. And he had no choice in the matter. He was but a passive agent; while the poor criminal, with whose pains we are called upon to sympathise, might have kept his life out of Jeopardy by simply observing the most ordinary rules of moral conduct. Surely the sufferings of the murderer constitute in this matter no argument at all. To dwell upon them eloquently, passionately, and to keep the sufferings of the victim out of sight, is to appeal to emotion and prejudice, not reason. Viewed as a pamph- let in favour of the abolition of capital punishment, the “Dernier Jour” is singularly inconclusive. Unfortunately a similar weakness luns through nearly * VICTOR HUGO. 105 all Victor Hugo's polemics on the question. It was Alphonse Karr, if I remember right, who wittily ob- served that he saw no objection to the abolition of capital punishment, but thought “Messieurs the assas- sins” ought first to show the way. Victor Hugo saw no necessity for that preliminary step on the assassins' part. Of course it was wrong to commit murder, very wrong, but the wrong was not of such a nature as to make the murderer liable to forfeit his own life in return. No wrong could be heinous enough for that. Judging on dº priori grounds, he held strongly that society does not possess the right, even in self-defence, to cut short the existence of any of Its members. Into the question whether that particular form of punishment was best cal- culated to act as a preventive for that particular class of crime, he seldom entered. Nor can it be denied that something morbid mingled at last with Victor Hugo's genuine sympathy for any man Condemned to death. In October, 1853, a murder was committed in Guernsey. The murderer, a sort of Govern- ment clerk called Tapner, belonged essentially to the class of human vermin. He was drunken ; he was de- bauched. He lived with two sisters, of whom one was his wife, and the other his mistress. He had committed his crime with premeditation, and under circumstances of peculiar atrocity, first killing and robbing his victim—a woman—and then setting fire to her house to obliterate all traces of his deed. He was more than suspected of having done the same thing before. Of his guilt there could be no manner of question; and the law sentenced him to its extreme penalty. Whereupon Victor Hugo 106 A./FE OF moved heaven and earth to save the man ; and from his point of view was, of course, quite justified in so doing. But when the law had taken its course, and no mark of Interest or sympathy could be of further practical avail, he made a kind of pilgrimage to the scenes—hal- lowed, I was going to say, by Tapner's presence. He visited the dead man's cell, followed his course to the place of execution, moralised on the view to be seen from the spot, hunted up and examined the gibbet in an out-house where it had been deposited, purchased for three francs a posthumous cast of the deceased's head, and finally dis- covered the place of interment, and gathered a bunch of grass from the grave. After this, I think Victor Hugo is a little hard upon the 1nhabitants of Guernsey for their eagerness to possess small pieces of the rope as relics. But if the description of this pilgrimage, in the author’s “Choses Vues,” rings a little false, it would be unjust not to recognise that the passionate zeal with which he strove to give effect to his convictions respecting the abolition of capital punishment were worthy of all praise. The cause was dear to his heart, and to the hearts of his sons. The latter suffered Imprisonment for 1f 1n 1851. He himself gave it time and energy without stint—was instant in 16s advocacy, in season and out of season. Never did he omit an oppor- tunity of urging with tongue and pen that the Cxisting laws should be changed ;-never did he forbear to plead for the life of any one condemned to death whose case came under his notice. From John Brown, the martyr of negro emancipation, down to wretches like Tapner, the large mantle of his clemency would have been thrown VICTOR Aſ UGO. 107 * over all without distinction. And that his zeal to save even the most criminal life came of a strong humanity, there can be no doubt, But all this has led us a little away from the series of his earlier novels—which is our Immediate subject. The “Dernier Jour” was published in 1829. In February to June, 1830, came the battle of “Hernani ’’ In July, 1830, the monarchy of the elder branch of the Bourbons passed away, and Louis Philippe was made King of the French. And In the autumn and winter of the same year, Victor Hugo was hard at work on a novel of greater scale than he had yet attempted. He had, Some little time before, incautiously entered into an en- gagement with a publisher to write the book by a given time. That time had passed. Something had angered the publisher. Law proceedings were threatened. Haste was imperative. The poet, as Madame Hugo tells us, “purchased a bottle of Ink, and a great grey knitted woollen wiapper that covered him from his neck to his toes; locked up all his clothing so that he might have no temptation to go out ; and entered into his novel as 1ſ it had been a prison. . . . Thencefolwald he never left his desk save to eat and sleep. His only relaxation was an hour's aftel-dinner chat with a few friends, to whom he sometimes lead the pages written during the day.” “He had been,” Madame Hugo adds, “very melancholy ’’ when his incarceration began. But “with the first few chapters, his melancholy departed ; his creation seized hold of him ; he felt neither weariness nor the winter's cold; in December he worked with his win- dows open.” And well might an Inner fire of enthu- 10S LIFE OF slasm give heat to that almost monastic seclusion of five months’ duration. The poet-novelist was at work upon a master-piece. On the 13th of February, 1831, appeared “Nôtre Dame de Paris.” A great book, a magnificent book most unquestionably, a book before which the critic may fitly throw down all his small artillery of Carpings and quibblings, and stand disarmed and reverent. That Victor Hugo had realised his ambition of crowning with poetry the prose of Sir Walter Scott, I shall not affirm. But then it scarcely seems as if any such crowning were needed, or possible; for the good Sir Walter's faults lay neither in lack of Imagination, nor lack of fervour, nor an absence of elevation of tone, nor, in short, In a deficiency of aught that goes to the making of poetry. “Quentin Durward ” deals with the same period as “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” and if one places the two books side by side in one's thoughts, such differences as there are will hardly seem to be differences in degree of poetical inspiration. Our own great novelist's work is fresher, healthier per- haps, more of the open air. A spirit of hopefulness and youth and high courage seems to cliculate through his pages—a sort of pervading trust that the good things of this world come to those who deserve them, that merit has 1ts prizes, and unworthiness its punishments. There is blood enough and to spare in the book, and a good deal of hanging and much villany. But our feelings are not greatly harrowed thereby. We need not weep unless so minded. If a good tall fellow is lopped down here and there, like the wolthy Gascon whom Dunols strikes through the unvisored face—the tragedy comes before VICTOR AUGO. 109 we have known the man long enough to grow greatly Interested in him. We are only affected as by the death of a very casual acquaintance.’ And such sufferers as the Wild Boar of the Ardennes deserve their fate too thoroughly to cause us the most passing pang. So does Scott, in his genial kindliness, temper for us the horrors of the Middle Ages. He does not blink them, as M. Taine erroneously seems to hold. He presents them, with consummate art, so that they shall not cause un- necessary pain. Victor Hugo, in “Nôtre Dame,” was animated by a quite other spirit. After the manner of his nation—for French fiction tolerates an amount of un- merited misery to which the English reader would never submit—he looks upon life far more gloomily. Claude Frollo may perhaps deserve even the appalling agony of those eternal moments during which he hangs sus- pended from the leaden gutter at the top of the tower of Nôtre Dame, and has a hideous foretaste of his imml- nent death. Quasimodo is at best but an animal with a turn for bell-ringing, and, apart from his deformity and deafness, not entitled to much sympathy But Esme- ralda, poor Esmeralda, who through the deep mire of her surroundings has kept a soul so maldenly and pure, who is full of tender pity for all suffering, and possesses a heart that beats with such true woman's love—what had she done that Victor Hugo should bestow the treasure of that love upon the worthless alchel-covcomb, Phoebus de Chateaupers, that he should make her fall harmless pretty life, a life of tortune, and cause hel to die literally In the hangman's grasp? Was it worth while that * The murder of the Bishop of Liège is, I admit, an exception, 110 AAA’E OF Esmeralda's mothel, Paquerette la Chantefleurie, should find her child again, after long years of anguish, only to lelinquish her, aſtel one blief moment of rapture, for that tellible end ? Quentin's courage and practical Sagacity are crowned with success. he saves the woman he loves. But by what irony of fate does it happen that Quasi- modo's heroic efforts to defend Esmeralda have for only lesult to injure those who are trying to save her, and the hastening of her doom P Gloom, gloom, a horrol of darkness and evil deeds, of human ineptitude and wrong, such is the background of “Nótle Dame.” If Scott gives us a poetry of sun- shine and high emprise, Victor Hugo gives us, and here with a more than equal pulssance, the poetry of cloud— wrack and ungovelnable passion. There is no piece of character-painting in “Quentin Dulward ” that, for tragic lurid power and Insight, can be placed beside the portrait of Claude Frollo." Lucid and animated as are such scenes as the sacking of the bishop's palace, and the attack on Liège, they are not executed with such striking effects of light and shade as the com- panion scene in “Nôtre Dame,” the attack of the beggars on the cathedral. Scott's landscape is bright, pleasant, the leflection of a world seen by a healthy Imagination and clear in the sunlight of a particularly sane nature. Victor Hugo's world in “Nôtre Dame * is as a world seen in fever-vision, or suddenly illumined by great flashes of lightning. The mediaeval city is before us * Brian de Bois Guilbert is the corresponding character in Scott, —a character equally passionate, but not, I think, analysed so power- fully. V/CTOA' HUGO. 111 In all its picturesque huddle of irregular buildings. We are in It ; we see it : the narrow streets with their glooms and gleams, their Rembrandt effects of shadow and light; the qualnt overhanging houses each of which seems to have a face of its own ; the churches and convents flinging up to the sky their towers and spires, and high above all, the city's very soul, the majestic cathedral. And what a motley medley of human creatures throng the place | Here Is the great guild of beggal-thieves even more tatterdemalion and shamelessly grotesque than when Callot painted them for us two centuries later. Here is Gringoire, the out-at-elbows unsuccessful rhymer of the time. Anon Esmeralda passes accom- panied by her goat. She lays down hel little mat, and dances lightly, gracefully to her tambourine. See how the gossips whisper of witchcraft as the goat plays 1ts pletty tricks. And who is that grave pliest, lean from the long vigils of study, who stands watching the girl's every motion with an eye of sombre flame P Close behind, in attendance on the pliest, is a figure Scarcely human, deformed, hideous, having but one Cyclops eye—also fastened on the girl. Among the bystanders may be seen the priest's brother, Jehan, the Paris student of the town-sparrow type that has existed from the days of Villon even until now Before the dancer has collected her spare harvest of small coins, a soldier troop rides roughly by, hustling the crowd, and in the captain the poor child recognises the man who has saved her from violence some days before—the man to whom, alas, she has given her heart. In such a group as this what elements of tragedy lie 112 A.I.FE OF lurking and ready to out-leap P That priest in his guilty passion will foreswear his priestly vows, stab the soldier, and, failing to compass his guilty ends, give over the poor child-dancer to torture and death. The deformed Cyclops, seeing the priest's fiendish laughter as they both stand on the top of Nôtre Dame tower, watching the girl's execution, will guess that he is the cause of her doom, and hurl him over the parapet. And the student too will be entangled in the tragic chains by which these human creatules are bound together. His shattered carcase will lie hanging flom one of the sculptured ornaments on the front of the Cathedral. Living, living, yes, the book 1s unmistakably palpi- tatingly alive. It does not live, perhaps, with the life of prose and every-day experience. But it lives the better life of Imagination. The novelist, by force of genius, compels our acceptance of the world he has created. Esmeralda, like Oliver Twist, and even more than Oliver Twist, 1s an improbable, almost impossible being. No one, we conceive, writing nowadays, with Darwinism in the air, would ventule to disregard the laws of inherited tendency so far as to evoke such a character from the cloud-land of fancy. If he did, Mr. Francis Galton would laugh him to scorn. The girl's mother—one does not want to press heavily upon the poor #eature, and it must therefore suffice to say that she was far from being a model to her sex. The father was anybody you like. Flom such palentage of vice and chance what superior virtue was to be expected P And, failing birth-gifts, had there been any- thing in education or surroundings to account for so VICTOR HUGO. 113 dainty a product? Far from it. The girl from her infancy had been dragged through the ditches that lie along the broad highway of life, and 1s dwelling, when we came across her, in one of the foulest dens of the foul old city. She is almost as impossible as Eugène Sue's Fleur de Marie in the “Mysteries of Paris.” And yet, impossible as she may be, we still believe in her. She is a real person in a real world. That Paris of gloom and gleam may never have existed in history exactly as Victor Hugo paints it for us. It exists for all time notwithstanding. And Claude Frollo exists too, and Jehan, and Gringoire, and Coppenole, the Jolly Flemish burgher, and Phoebus, and the beggars, all the personages of this old-world drama. I should myself as soon think of doubting the truth of the pitiful story told by Damoiselle Mahuette, of how poor Paquerette loved and lost her little child, as I should think of doubting that Portia did, in actual fact, visit Venice, disguised as a learned judge from Padua, and, after escaping her husband's recognition, confound Shylock by her superior Interpretation of the law. In the “Orientales’ and “Hernani,” Victor Hugo had shown himself a magnificent artist in verse. In “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” he showed himself a magnificent artist In prose. The writing throughout is superb. Scene after scene is depicted with a graphic force of language, a power, as it were, of concentrating and flashing light, that all e beyond promise. Some of the word-pictures are in- delibly bitten into the memory as when an etcher has bitten into copper with his acid. Henceforward there could be no question as to the place which the author 8 114 AAFE OF VICTOR H UGO. of the three works just named was entitled to take in the world of literature. Byron was dead, and Scott dying. Chateaubriand had ceased to be a living pro- ducing force. Goethe's long day of life was drawing to its serene close. Failing these, Victor Hugo stepped into the first place in European literature, and that place he occupied till his death.* And what light did Olympian Goethe, the star that was setting, throw upon “Nôtre Dame de Paris”? A light not altogether benignant, nor, if one may venture to say so In all humility and reverence, altogether just. “Victor Hugo has a fine talent,” he said in one of his conversa tions with Eckelmann, “but he is imbued with the disastrous romantic tendencies of his time. This is why he is led astray, and places beside what is beautiful that which is most unbearable and hideous I have been reading ‘Nôtre Dame de Paris' these last few days, and it required no small dose of patience to endule the torments which that perusal cost me. It is the most detestable book ever wiitten . . . What shall we think of a time that not only pro duces such books, but enjoys them P” Whereupon one sighs to think that even the gods sitting on Olympus are in some slight sort subject to the Infirmities of age, and lose the power of looking with an equally large equity upon the present and future, as well as upon the past. * I am not here, of course, arguing any question as to the relative greatness of Byron as compaled with Woldsworth or Coleridge, who were then still alive. But neither Wordsworth nor Coleridge had, like Byron, a European name. CHAPTER VII. ITH the year 1831, and the publication of “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” we have reached, as it were, a high tableland in the career of Victor Hugo. He has achieved the most honourable, one may even say the most splendid distinction. He possesses a band of enthusias- tic admirers and disciples. If his fame is still contested, It is with such clamour as in 1tself implies homage, for none but the very great excite in their opponents that kind of anger. He is happy in his children, Léopoldine, Charles, François Victor. He is still young, moreover, not yet thirty, in the first full flower of his manhood. As we scan the portrait, somewhat idealized, perhaps, that Théophile Gautier has left of him at this time, we cer- tainly see a man well dowered with life's best gifts. “What most struck one at first sight in Victor Hugo was a truly monumental brow that rose like a white marble entablature over his quietly earnest face. . . . The beauty and vastness of that fore- head were in truth well nigh superhuman. It seemed to afford room for the greatest thoughts. Crowns of gold or laurel would fitly have found a place there, as on the brow of a Caesar or a god. . . . It was set in a frame of light, long, auburn hair. But though the hair was somewhat long, the poet wore neither beald, moustachios, whiskers, nor imperial, the face being most carefully shaven, and of a particular kind of paleness, burnt through, as it 116 A/FE OF were, and illumined by two eyes of bronze gold, like the eyes of an eagle. The drawing of the mouth was firm and decided, with lips curved and bent down at the corners, lips that, when parted by a smile, displayed teeth of dazzling whiteness. His dress consisted of a black frock coat, grey trousers, a little turned-down collar, a “get up of absolute respectability and correctness. No one would have suspected that this perfect gentleman could be the chief of those bearded and dishevelled hordes who were the terror of the smooth chunned citizen. Such Victor Hugo appeared to us when filst we met ; and the image has never faded from our memory. We cherish with pious care that poltrait of him as he was, young, handsome, smiling, radiant with genius, and shedding round him a sort of phosphorescence of glory.” Surely the man of whom such a portrait could at all truthfully be drawn ought not to have found the waters of life bitter. Surely he can have had no quarrel with fate. And yet, by a strange irony, the volume of poems which Victor Hugo published in the latter part of this same year, 1831, bears the sad-sounding title of “Feuilles d’Automne” (“Autumn Leaves”), and is, in 1tspervading tone, melancholy with the rustle of dead hopes. Yes, even at thirty, youth and so many of its illusions had flown—even to this pre-eminently successful man success seemed to mean so little. So he sings of his sorrows in delightful verse, sings of the child that he had once been, and in whose presence the man that he now is “almost blushes"—sings of that child's earliest memories, his mother's love, his boyish aspirations, his glimpses of the great Napoleon—sings a dirge over the “best time of life flown without hope of return.” And mingled with all this “pathetic minor,” come some few love-verses—for what poet, however tearful, ever forbore for any long time to sound love's tremulous string? and verses also VICTOR HUGO. 117 that seem set to the music of children's voices and laughter. Here the poet was striking a congenial chord, and with a master's hand. What child-poetry will compare with his P. As in the days of old, “out of the strong came forth sweetness,” so from this poet of storm and battle, this cloud-compeller, whose words often boom and reverberate like thunder, so from him, when child- hood was his theme, have come some of the gentlest, most graceful, most delicate, most tender of human words He never seems to think of the little folk without a mental caress. His thought smiles to them. His fancy seems to make 1:self a child in their company. His sympathies are keenly wrung by their sorrows. “Le livre des Mères” + (the “Mother's book”), such has been the title given to a selection from his poems on childhood and 1nfancy, and no title could be mole appropriate. Throughout his life, In his extreme age as in his early manhood, he loved the little ones with almost a mother's heart. If one comes to ask why at this palticular moment in Victor Hugo's career, and even for some time afterwards, the prevailing tone in his verse should have been a tone of sadness and disenchantment, the reply can only be given vaguely, and as a matter of guess work. There may have been nothing more in the feeling which here finds expression than the melancholy often accompany- Ing the first approach of middle age. Youth's battle is Over; success has been achieved, the heights breasted and won; and now, when the ardour of onset has cooled, the result seems poor and unprofitable—the tableland of life, bleak, barren, and cold. Was it * “Les Enfants, le livie des Mères.” 118 AAFE OF worth while storming the ascent for this? Could but youth and its illusions, and the old delight of battle, come back once more | Such, consciously or unconsciously, may have been the state of Victor Hugo's mind at this period. Whether he had other causes of sadness, self-dissatisfaction, or what not, is unrevealed. On this, as on many other questions re- lating to his real inner life, we are much in the dark. There are but few men whose inmost nature it is more difficult to reach. In inaccessibility, as in so many other things, he bears no small resemblance to a king. Even his verse, like the state and pageantry surrounding a monarch, seems in one sense rather to hide than really to reveal him. No doubt the feelings and thoughts to which it gives expression are for the most part entirely genuine. The poet had had such feelings and thoughts. But in showing them to the world, in clothing them in their art dress, they necessarily underwent a transforma- tion into “something rich and strange,” or at any late something not quite the same. What was the real actual Hugo behind them P This it is very far from easy always to discover. Possibly, as time goes on, the pub- lication of his correspondence will throw light on some obscure points. Meanwhile it must remain to some extent a problem, that the man who was afterwards to front with undaunted serenity, exile, old age, the death of those he most loved, should now, amid the full leafage of his June, have faltered and talked of autumn and its falling leaves. In the tremendous trials, public and private, of his later life, he “bated no jot of heart or hope,” but “still kept up and steered right onward,” thereby giving to mankind VICTOR HUGO. 119 an example of fortitude and high courage. Why do the volumes of verse dated respectively 1831 and 1835 bear titles so suggestive of sadness as “Autumn Leaves,” and “Songs of the Twilight”? Of the succession of plays produced in the middle period of Victor Hugo's career, I have already spoken ; nor need I criticise them again here, and lunger over the incidents attendant on their production, and the lawsuits to which they gave rise. The only real importance of the latter in the poet's career is the evidence they afforded of his power as an orator, for he spoke in his own defence, and spoke well,—whereof, as Carlyle would have said, might Corne much. Of his prose it is necessary to speak at greater length. Considering what a brilliant success he had achieved with “Nôtre Dame,” one cannot but wonder, even when all explanations have been given, that he did not almost immediately turn to fiction again, Instead of resolutely putting 1t to one side for thirty long years. His first prose-work after “Nôtre Dame’’ was entitled “Littérature et Philosophie Mélées" (“Literature and Philosophy Commingled ”), and appeared in the early part of 1834. There is a preface, of course. Victor Hugo, in the good old days, never sent out a book on its embassage without a herald-preface, duly attired in the cloth of gold and biocade of rhetoric, to announce its qualities and purpose. So here he explains why he has unearthed from the Conservateur Zuttératre, which he does not name by-the-bye, the articles that had slumbered there since 1819, and placed them in Juxtaposition with the jottings of 1830 and various papers of later date, 120 AAFE OF and, notably, one on Mirabeau, written in 1834. A conscientious desire to study the development of his own mind has been the determinant cause. That was the point from which he started. This is the point he has reached. And every stage of the progress, as he declares—protesting therein perhaps a little too much— has been presided over by “uprightness, honour, a real conviction, and disinterestedness.” Of the somewhat miscellaneous contents of the book, the paper on Mirabeau is decidedly the finest and most striking. It may be read advantageously with what Carlyle has written on the same subject. To this Same year, 1834, belongs a powerful apologue entitled “Claude Gueux,” which appeared in the Revue de Aaris. It is the story of a workman, not over-1dealized but with fine elements in his character, who, acting Judiciously according to his lights, kills the governor of the prison in which he is confined. Moralizing whereon, the author proceeds to plead eloquently the cause of the poor and Ignorant, the cause of education, and, what seems strange, yet shows the state of Victor Hugo's opinions at this time, the cause of religion and the gospel. “Sow the villages with the gospel !” he cries. “Let there be a Bible in every hut ' " “Jesus had better lore to teach than Voltaire.” Next in order of publication comes a voluminous work issued in the beginning of 1842, and entitled “Le Rhin" (“The Rhine”). It purports to consist of a series of letters written to a friend in Paris, and giving a traveller's experiences amid the beauties * Greatly added to in later editions. WICTOR HUGO, 121 and picturesquenesses of the glorious old Rhine- land. Here, as in the volume entitled “Choses Vues” (“Things Seen"), which has appeared within the last few months, the author shows himself, for the most part, without his prophet's robe, and describes simply what happened simply, and graphicly what lent itself to Imaginative picturing. On the perfect accuracy of the erudition displayed, I will offer no opinion. I am willing to take it on trust. But no special trustfulness is re- quired to accept for truth the “Legend of the Handsome Pécopin and the Beautiful Bauldour,” and their sad separation of a hundred years. “Dull would he be of soul” who refused to accompany the poet into the “fairy- land forlorn" of their sorrows, and to follow the superb tramplings and hurryings of Pécopin's wild ride through the enchanted forest. Contemporaneously with these volumes of prose, Victor Hugo published three volumes of verse. “Les Chants du Crépuscule” (“Songs of the Twilight”), issued in 1835; “Les Voix Intérieures” (“Voices Within "), in 1837; and “Les Rayons et les Ombies” (“The Rays and the Shadows’), in 1840, These volumes are full of good things, but how shall I characterize them P How try to photograph into poor prose the evanescences of a great singer's verse 2 We have here again memories of the poet's childhood, of “what took place at the Feuillantines in 1813.” We have recollections of former events in his career, of his interview with Charles X. On the 7th of August, 1829, when the performance of “Marion de Lorme” was in question. We have hymns of praise and thanksgiving 122 IIFE OF over the Revolution of 1830; and also, in more than one piece, strains drear and melancholy with the recurring troubles and uncertainties of the time. Napoleon comes in for a good deal of adulation; for are we not in the days just anterior 'to the bringing back of the great dead from St. Helena, and his second interment beneath the dome of the Invalides P And the contrast between the condition of the rich and the poor is vigorously shown. One piece of invective, against the man who had betrayed the Duchesse de Berry, foreshadows the tremendous denun- ciations of the Second Empire in the “Châtiments.” Love poems, too, again we have, and some few songs. And throughout, if the general tone no longer possesses the gladness of youth, yet has it distinctly less of the melancholy of age than in the “Feuilles d’Automne.” “Olympio”—for under that name the poet seems here to 1aealize himself—Olymplo is attacked, mis-Said, reviled; storms gloom, and lightnings flicker and flash round him, as they did of old round the hoar mount whose name he has borrowed ; and in his less prophetic and more human character he visits again the places hallowed by the memories of love, and mourns in memorable verse, as Lamartine had mourned before, as nearly all poets have mourned, over the mutability of things and nature's impassiveness. But, after all, Olympio is not uncomforted. He looks from this lower world to the world which is invisible, and determines to keep his soul's tranquillity unruffled, as a mountain keeps eternal and unmoved its coronet of snow. At which the reader may perhaps feel a little inclined to smile. But if he does he should balk the wish. For, in point of fact, life's VICTOR HUGO. 123 storms beat their hardest round Olympio's head, and he did bear 1t above the clouds to the end. That there was a strong eiement of theatricality in his nature cannot be denied. Are we not told that Shakespeare himself had killed beeves “with a flourish ’P But behind the theatricality was a man, and a great man. And now he was aspiring to be a member of the Academy, which somewhat fluttered the thirty-nine Im- mortals “seated,” as Mr. Browning irreverently puts it, “by gout and glory,” in their thirty-nine arm-chairs. Of Course, looking at his genius and literary position, he ought to have been elected at once, and without demur. But academies are conservative, and by their very nature seldom malch in the van of any literary or artistic move- ment. So he knocked at the door thrice before he gained admittance ; was rejected in 1836 in favour of a M. Dupaty, who has left no great name of any kind; was lejected in 1839 in favour of M. Molé, whose name, or so much of 1 as remains, 1s philosophico-political rather than literaly; was rejected in 1840 in favour of a scientific M. Flourens; and, finally, was elected in 1841. Certain persons there were at the time, and Alexandre Dumas and Alphonse Karr were among them, who blamed the poet for wishing to be an Academician ; and Mr. Cappon, in his recent clever book on Victor Hugo, echoes the thought, and asks, “If a green border on his vest- ment, and a fauteuil, even in that weighty assembly, could add any real distinction to the author of ‘Hernani and the ‘Voix Intérieures’”? Perhaps not, and yet the feeling that here finds utterance seems to me, I confess, somewhat ovelstrained. Doubtless very great men: Balzac, 124 Z/FE OF André Chénier, Rousseau, Pascal, Molière, Beaumarchais, Dumas himself, have sat in that forty-first arm-chair of which M. Arsène Houssaye has wittily written the history—that imaginary forty-first arm-chair which has been occupied by those who ought to have belonged to the Academy, and yet never found admittance there. But the forty-first arm-chair is one only, and the others are forty, and, strength for strength, the forty are stronger than the one. The French Academy is a body that no writer, however great, can afford to despise. Nor, look- Ing at the matter in a larger, less personal aspect, 1s it fitting that a writer who is really great, should arrogantly refuse to contribute his share of lustre to a body so linked with all the nation's past. Therefore it seems to me that Madame Hugo's apology for her husband 1s scarcely needed. He wished to take an active part in politics, she tells us ; and to do this a peerage was necessary, and to be eligible for a peerage he must be an Academiclan. Hence his candidature. Be It so. But Madame de Girardin, who, under the pseudonym of Vicomte de Launay, acted as the chroni- cler of the time, has left an account of his reception on the 3rd of June, 1841, and tells us that he by no means seemed to regard the ceremony as a thing of naught, and took his position as an Academician very seriously. She tells us, too, how it had been expected that he would, in his speech, riddle with sarcasm his “classical” oppo- nents. But those who anticipated mischief were dis- appointed. Victor Hugo's address soared out of petty personal regions, dealt largely with Napoleon, whose praise was, for the nonce on everybody's tongue, and VICTOR HUGO. 125 Somewhat, generally, with the high mission of the thinker and the writer. Nor did the same amenity fall him on the two subsequent occasions when it fell to his lot to speak at the Academy. On the 16th of January, and again on the 27th of February, 1845, he had to reply to the reception speeches of Saint-Marc Girardin and Sainte-Beuve. With neither writer can he have been in any sympathy. Girardin, in his lectures on dramatic art, had spoken of Victor Hugo's works with perfect courtesy, for when did a discourteous word proceed from those refined and Attic lips ?—but still critically and without enthu- siasm, and was essentially a classic ; while with Sainte- Beuve, Victor Hugo was now on that curious footing of reticent hostility which each maintained towards the other to the end. But, In addressing both, his words were those of entire good taste; and his critical account of Sainte-Beuve's works was more than Just ; 1t was generous and kindly. And did the Academy prove a stepping-stone to the peerage as Victor Hugo had hoped P. Most certainly it did. With Louis Philippe he had for some time been on the best terms. His unique literary position more than justified his elevation. There was nothing in his views, as expressed so far, to make it probable that he would be a factious opponent to Guizot's Ministry, by which the King's Government was then conducted, or to the Government itself. And accordingly, on the 13th of April, 1845, he was made a peer. But of his doings in that capacity, and of his politics generally, I purpose to speak in another chapter. Before doing so, however, it may be as well to say a 126 AIFE OF few wolds about the poet's residence in the Place Royale, which he occupied from the autumn of 1832 till nearly the time when the Coup d'Atat drove him from Paris." The house, we are told, I don't know how truly, had long, long years before been occupied by Marion de Lorme. It has been several times described. I quote M. Barbou's description, rather than M. de Banville's, because, though less poetical, it is perhaps more precise. “The suite of apartments,” he says, “ was on the second floor, and apploached by a wide and handsome staircase. A door opened into the dining room, which was adolined with some fine tapestry, representing scenes in the ‘Romaunt of the Rose' . . . The study was a room full of quaint pieces of furniture, and ovel looking an 1nnel courtyard. The ceiling was decorated with a painting by Auguste de Châtillon, called Le Molne Rouge, ‘the red monk,’ a strange production, . . . Its subject being a priest robed in red, lying at full length, and reading a Bible held up by a nude female figure . . . The salon might almost be described as a pictule gallery, so numerous were the altists . . . who had sought the honoun of being allowed to contribute to 1s decoration. At one end was a high mantelpiece, fashioned according to the poet's taste, covered with drapely, and suppolting some fine chuna vases. On the left was a solt of dais . . . on which it has been alleged that Victor Hugo, in his vanity, used to Slt on a throne, . . . beneath a canopy, and extend his hand to be kissed by his admirers, who would mount the steps upon their knees . . . Some arm chairs of the time of Louis XV., made of gilt wood, and covered with tapestry, completed the furniture of the reception room. . . . Opposite the dals were three large windows reaching to the ground, and opening on to a balcony that ran the whole length of the salon, and overlooked the Square * The picture is of a luxuriously artistic dwelling, and * The house which he then occupied was in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. It has been described by Théophile Gautier. IVICTOR HUGO. 127 eminds us, in some of the details, of the interior decora- ion of Hauteville House, Guernsey, where the poet's aste in such matters was hereafter to find such full xpression. The story of the dals and canopy, and the emi religious function connected therewith, we might, think, at once laugh away, even without M. Barbou's ndignant disclaimer. Victor Hugo was, no doubt, In- :lined to pontificate on public occasions, and, in later rears, spoke only too often urbu et on be, to the city of Paris ind to the world. But in private life, all evidence goes o prove that he was pleasant, genial, Simple, a charming lost, and fulfilled with an old-world charm of manner ind courtliness. Forster, for Instance, tells us with what “infinite courtesy and grace” he received Dickens and imself; and after descanting on the “noble corner louse,” the “gorgeous tapestries, the painted ceilings, he wonderful carvings, and old golden furniture,” goes in to say: “He was himself, however, the best thing we saw ; and I find it 1fficult to associate the attitudes and aspect in which the world has ately wondered at him, with the sober grace and self possessed ulet gravity of that night of twenty five years ago. Just then ..ours Philippe had ennobled him, but the man's nature was written oble. Rather under the middle size, of compact close buttoned up gure, with ample dank hair falling loosely over his close shaven face, never saw upon features so keenly Intellectual such a soft and sweet enlality, and certainly never heard the French language spoken with the picturesque distinctness given to it by Victor Hugo. He alked of his childhood in Spain, and of his father having been overnor of the Tagus in Napoleon's wars; spoke warmly of the 2nglish people and their literature; declared his preference for melody and simplicity over the music then fashionable at the Con 128 £IFAE OF servatoire; * referred kindly to Ponsard,” laughed at the actors who had murdered his (Ponsard’s) tragedy at the Odéon, and sympathized with the dramatic venture of Dumas. To Dickens he addressed very charming flattery in the best taste; and my friend long remem bered the enjoyment of that evening.” But all testimony is to the same effect. M. Legouvé, the Academician, having to describe an interview with the great man, says, “he showed himself, on this occasion, what in private life he invariably was, unaffected, amusing, full of anecdote and pleasantry.” M. Lesclide, his private secretary in later years, speaks to similar effect, and insists on “the charm of his conversation, which was easy, simple, yet full of colour, and, when he was animated, of an ardent enthusiasm " M. de Banville, who mentions the throne-and-dals story as an invention of the small paragraphists of the press, says he “had indeed other tigers to comb”—a dignified foreign equivalent for “other fish to fry,”—than “to play at royalty. He was then, as we have ever seen him, affable, full of welcome, thinking of every one, forgetful of himself, and retaining no trace of his aristocratic breeding save an exquisite politeness and familiar courtesy. When in his house, you felt at home, free, happy, at ease, and warmed by a pleasant atmosphere of affec- tion and tenderness. It was hospitality of the real right kind—that which you will find in a king's palace, and a woodcutter's hut.” Nor would it be right to forget the part which Madame Hugo contributed to the charm of this delightful hos- pitality. M. de Banville not only speaks enthusiastically * Like many great verbal melodists, he had no ear or real liking for music. * Whom the classical party had set up as his rival. WICTOR HUGO. 129 of her dark beauty, calling her “the Muse of Romanti- cism,” but also speaks of “the sovereign grace” with which she “did the honours” of her salon, and helped to make it a place where “all the men of that time who had achieved fame" delighted to congregate. •r- CHAPTER VIII. HE Revolution of July, 1830, which drove Charles X. from the throne of France, was a mistake, but an excusable mistake. The Revolution of February, 1848, which cut short the reign of Louis Philippe, was a mis- take without an excuse. No doubt the Citizen King's government had committed errors, as what govern- ment has not? The suffrage was too restricted, the number of place-men in Parliament excessive. And that Guizot, the minister who in himself personified the policy of the last years of the reign, thought overmuch of the opinion of the Chambers, and over little of the opinion of the country, cannot be denied. But such reasons, how- ever valid for the overturning of a ministry, were cer- tainly not adequate reasons for upsetting a government, and casting a great nation adrift to the chances of revo- lution, anarchy, and imperialism. Nor does it seem that at the time Victor Hugo would have repudiated this view. In order, however, to understand the part he took in politics during the stormy days from 1848 to 1851, it is necessary to go back, and to follow the course of his opinions from an earlier date. AAFE OF VICTOR AUGO. 131 Long years before, when he and the Government of the Restoration were young together, he had been an ardent royalist. His royalism, no doubt, cooled a good deal before the great three days of July, 1830, which sent Charles X. into exile; but still there is no strong evidence anywhere, that up to that time he went very fiercely into opposition. Madame Hugo makes much of the “Ode à la Colonne” (the “Ode to the Column "), published in 1827, under the follow- ing circumstances. The Austrian ambassador had asked a certain number of French marshals to an enter- tainment, they came, and were announced with their names shorn of the titles won in battle against the Aus- trian arms. Whereupon they withdrew. And Victor Hugo, a few days afterwards, published his fine Ode, all quivering with patriotic Indignation. But such an act need not at all necessarily have been an act of declared opposition. M. Biré shows almost conclusively that It was not; and that the king, on this occasion, shared the sentiments of the poet. The fact is, that with the death of Napoleon, Imperialism had ceased for a time to be a practical factor in French politics, and that Victor Hugo might declare himself, in Sonorous verse, to be the Memnon tuneful in the rays of the Imperial sun, without greatly hurting anybody's susceptibilities. The admiration was felt to be poetical only. When, there- fore, he claimed in the preface to “Marion de LOrme,” dated August, 1831, to have “been for many years in the most laborious, if not the most illustrious, ranks of the opposition,” he seems clearly to have been deceiving himself. No doubt his royalism had undergone a change 132 AEIFE OF since he wrote about the Virgins of Verdun, and La Vendée, and the consecration of Charles X. But he had drawn his pension regularly, and spoken of the king with politeness, if not enthusiasm. The evidence, in short, of his long years of patient labour for the over- throw of the government is wanting. After the Revolution of 1830 his opinions took an added tinge of liberalism. He marched with the times. In the preface to “Marion de Lorme” the Revolution is chalacterized as “admirable.” In the preface to “Le IRoi s'amuse,” dated November, 1832, we are told that “In July, 1830,” “France had done three good days’ work, had advanced three great stages in the fields of civiliza- tion and progress.” The “Feuilles d’Automne” contains a poem in favour of the “oppressed nationalities,”— “Greece, our disembowelled mother,” and “bleeding Ireland, dying upon her cross,” and “Germany in chains, struggling against ten kings,” and Poland “dead and dis hevelled, violated by a hideous Cossack.” A portion of the “Littérature et Philosophie Mélées" is entitled a “Journal of the Ideas and Opinions of a Revolutionist of 1830,” and opens with this declaration : “What we require after July, 1830, is a republic in fact, and a monarchy in word.” This last quotation may fairly be accepted as repre- senting the attitude of his mind from 1830 to 1848; and that attitude may still further be illustrated by another quotation from the same journal. “The lepublic, in the view of some persons, is the warfare of those who possess neither a halfpenny, nor an idea, nor a single virtue, against whomsoever possesses any one of these three things. The 17WCTOR AUGC/. 133 republic, as I understand it—that republic which is not yet ripe, but which will embrace the whole of Europe a century hence—is society entirely self governed: self protected through the national guard; self Judged through the Jury ; self administered through the municipality; self directed throught the suffrage. In that republic the four mem bers of the monarchy—the army, the magistracy, the administrative organization, the peerage, are only four inconvenient excrescences which will gradually wither and soon die.” Thus Victor Hugo was at this time what we should now call an “opportunist.” He looked forward in the future to certain political and social changes. But meanwhile he had no desire to hurry matters—rather thought, on the contrary, that undue haste would cause accidents and delay —and was quite content to make the best use possible of existing institutions. Thus, for instance, though the peerage might prove in 1930 or thereabouts to be “an Inconvenient excrescence,” there was no reason why he should not, while that consummation was still remote, be a peer, and a useful peer—exercising his Judicial func- tions reasonably and well, as it seems he did—and making speeches on copyright, on Poland, on the defence of the coast, on the readmission of the Bonaparte family into France, and on the aspirations of Pope Pius IX. towards a united Italy. A republican in theory, a monarchist in practice, a liberal in his acceptance of the sonorous watchwords of liberalism, a conservative in his conviction that great immediate political changes would be an unmixed evil, a poet in his sympathy for the poor and down-trodden, a practical man in his appreciation of the fact that any bet- tering of the condition of the masses must be a work of time and patience—such was Victor Hugo when the 134 A.Y.EE OF Revolution of February, 1848, broke suddenly upon con- stitutional monarchy in France. That it came on him, at first, as a blow, seems un- questionable ;-and all honour to the feeling, the blow was a blow to France. On the 24th of February, the king weakly abdicated rather than cause any effusion of blood ; and the widowed Duchess of Orleans, with her two children, the Comte de Paris and the Duc de Chartres, went to the Chambers to see if it were yet pos- Sible to save the crown for the elder. It was a brave, a desperate expedient, and might perchance have been successful, so did the woman's sorrows and gallant bear- ing impress the Assembly, had not Lamartine, the poet, thrown the weight of his popularity and eloquence into the adverse scale. Victor Hugo at that time favoured the appointment of the Duchess as Regent, and vainly proclaimed her rights on the Place de la Bastille. When it became clear that the monarchy was gone, he hesitated for some time as to his future political coulse. In the month of April he was put forward as a candidate to represent Paris in the “Assemblée Consti- tuante,” which was to be called together for the purpose of framing a constitution. But his name only came out forty-eighth on the list,-Lamartine's being first,-and he was unsuccessful. On the 4th of June, however, a supplementary election proved more propitious. 86,965 votes were recorded in his favour, and he entered the Assembly. Among those elected with him was Louis Napoleon, then living as a very unattached prince in England. t Victor Hugo's address to the electors fairly represents WICTOR HUGO. 135 the attitude he was to hold in the Assembly. There were two republics in possibility, he declared—one that would run up the red flag, erect a statue to Marat, make half- pence out of Napoleon's column, abolish property, destroy family ties, parade guillotined heads on the top of pikes, and, in short, exhibit the ghastly phantasmagolia of 1793, which Victor Hugo was afterwards to regard with so much complacency. The other republic, on the contrary, was really to be a very respectable and quiet affair, and to inaugurate a reign of peace plenty and brotherhood. It will thus be seen that the poet at this time spake the words of sobriety and wisdom. His sympathy for the poorer classes was, as it had always been, ardent and openly expressed. But he would have nothing to say to national workshops and other quack remedies for their troubles. No doubt he had crotchets of his own, such as the abolition of capital punishment; but they were harmless and even beneficial crotchets when compared with the wild theories thrown hither and thither like Greek fire in that assembly of all the eccentricities. In no part of his subsequent life did he show the same sanity and equipoise of political judg- ment, as when sitting in the Constituent Assembly as a conservative republican. A very short experience served to sicken France of the democratic government inaugurated in February, 1848. The constitution—a thoroughly bad one—framed by the Constituent Assembly, provided for the election of a president by universal suffrage. That election took place on the Ioth of December, with this result—that Lamar- tune, who had started in the previous February with 186 AZFA2 OF unbounded popularity, and had really rendered great ser- vices to France, was nowhere; that General Cavaignac, who represented moderate republicanism, only secured 1,448, Io'7 votes, and that Louis Napoleon headed the poll with 5,434,226 votes. And what did Louis Napoleon represent? Personally he represented a past that was simply ridiculous—a far- Cical landing at Boulogne with a tame eagle, a temporary Imprisonment in a bathing machine, a hopelessly abortive attempt at Strasburg to incite a regiment to mutiny. But, of course, his name represented something essentially different, it represented a past to which Frenchmen of nearly all shades looked back as one of glory—a past in which revolutionary passion had been curbed by a strong, firm hand. And then that name had been so superbly advertised Think how the Napoleonic legend had been preached to the people, and by what effective tongues. Béranger, the most popular poet of his day, had sown it broadcast through the length and breadth of the land. Thiers had devoted to 1ts proclamation the beautiful lucidity of his prose. Victor Hugo had sung It again and yet again in impassioned verse. Not nine years before, the body of the great emperor had been borne through the streets of Paris, with all outward signs of a nation's mourning, and the country had re-echoed with the dead man's fame. And now, when the time was ripe, the nephew appeared transfigured by the uncle's glory. Every one, the most illiterate voter, knew Louis Napoleon's name; and 1n such a case to be known is everything. He was simply by far the best advertised among the candidates. TVICTOR H UGO. 137 Victor Hugo has described, in the opening of his scath- ing book, “Napoléon le Petit” (“Napoleon the Little”), how in the gathering darkness of a winter afternoon, on the 20th of December, 1848, Louis Napoleon ascended the tribune of the Assembly, and swore in “the presence of God, and before the French people, to remain faithful to the democratic Republic one and indivisible, and to fulfil all the duties imposed on him by the Constitution " To what extent did the Prince President mean to keep that oath P Who shall tell ? The man was a mystic, a visionary, a fatalist, and in his strangely compounded intellect had probably a kind of belief in some personal mission of his own that absolved him from the petty trammels of honour. That the “democratic Republic ’’ was in evil case even at that time is clear; and also that the “Constitution ” was pretty nearly unworkable anyhow, and absolutely unworkable when subjected to the strain and jars of disloyalty. Victor Hugo, in his polemics, lays all the blame for subsequent events on Louis Napoleon's turpitude, on his intrigues for the consolidation of his own power, his constant attempts to discredit parliamen- tary government, his settled determination by all means to reach the Empire. But there is, of course, a different side to all this. If the advanced radical party, to which Victor Hugo was so soon to belong, had not thoroughly frightened France, Imperialism would have been impos- sible. The wild talk of the revolutionists, frothy with the froth of blood, the horrors of the Insurrection of June, 1848, the martyrdom of the Archbishop of Paris, shot down as he strove to put an end to a fratricidal war—such were the arguments that told so heavily in 138 IIFE OF Louis Napoleon's favour. He was borne to his evil goal by the faults of his enemies. Of course he took advan- tage of their faults. It was by playing on the feals which they excited that he secured the co-operation of states- men of the highest character and intellect, who would, in calmer times, have been the first to oppose his designs. Meanwhile, what part was Victor Hugo taking in public affairs? At first he favoured Louis Napoleon. They had both been elected to the Constituent Assembly at the same time, and when the question was debated whether the Prince, then still in London, should be admitted into France to take his seat, Victor Hugo voted in his favour. He also supported his election to the Presidency. At the same time, he was speaking and voting as Con- servative republican, and on the 29th of January, 1849, we find him opposing the extreme radical party who objected to the dissolution of the Assembly. But in May, when the dissolution took place, and a new Assembly, the Assemblée Législative—far more con- servative than the old—came into existence, Victor Hugo's attitude changed altogether. He had again been elected by the City of Paris, and now took up openly the position of extreme radicalism from which he never afterwards retreated. What had led to this change of front? We are not able to answer the question with any degree of precision. Victor Hugo himself, in one of his pompous later prefaces, tells us that-– “After June, 1849, the lightning flash that leaps out of events entered into the author's mind. That kind of flash 1s indelible. A flash of lightning that remains permanent—such is the light of truth in the human conscience In 1849 that light shone definitely for WICZ OA” HUGO. 139 him. When he saw Rome trodden down in the name of France; when he saw the majority, hypocritical so far, suddenly throw away the mask behind which it had, on the 4th of May, 1848, cried seventeen times, ‘Long live the Republic l’ when he saw, after the 13th of June, the triumph of all the coalitions hostile to progress; when he saw that cynical Joy, sadness filled his heart; he understood; and at the moment when the hands of the conquerors were held out to draw him into their ranks, he felt in the bottom of his soul that he too was one of the conquered. A corpse lay on the ground, and all cried, ‘Lo, the Republic lies there !' He went and looked at that corpse, and recognized that her name was Liberty. Then he stooped towards her, and took the dead to his bosom as his wife. Before him, as he looked into the future, were overthrow, defeat, ruin, insult, exile, and he said, ‘It is well !'” Not, perhaps, without a certain kind of eloquence all this, but decidedly a little vague; and as the poet does not appear, even at the time, to have condescended to more detailed explanation, one can scarcely wonder that the change in his opinions was regarded with sus- picion. As he afterwards said, very characteristically, “I was accused of apostasy when I thought myself an apostle " Veuillot, the acrld Roman Catholic journalist, writing, as usual, with a pen dipped in gall, Simply accounted for his conversion by saying that he felt alto- gether outrivalled among the orators of the more Conser- vative ranks, and saw that his only chance of securing personal pre-eminence was among the Radicals. Monta- lembert, the eloquent Liberal Catholic, in one of their many word-duels, openly cast at the poet a rankling accu- sation of “having flattered and then denied every cause.” The party polemics of the day one may rightly set to one side. Victor Hugo's attitude during the years 1849, 1850, and 1851 is entirely to be commended in so far 140 A.IFE OF as it was attributable to a clear foresight on his part that Louis Napoleon aimed at a personal despotism. Where he seems to have gone wrong was 1n thinking that the Imperialist designs could best be frustrated by ultra- radical means. By openly allying himself, therefore, to a party whose violence of act and speech formed the future Emperor's stock-in-trade, he simply played into the enemy's hands. That he should speak effec- tively and well in his new cause was almost a matter of course. Together with a powerful voice, audible even amid the storms of a popular Assembly, Victor Hugo had all the other parts of an orator—perfect self- possession and confidence, a command of ready and striking language—and language not too delicate In 16S effects for the speaker's art—and an Inborn feeling for form. His passion moved, and his sarcasm went barbed to 1ts mark. That his speeches contained some verbal glitter is undoubtedly true. They seem to crackle every here and there, as one may say, with the tinsel of anti thesis. But of their telling brilliancy theme can be no question. Whethel they are a statesman's speeches is a different matter. Let us take an instance. We have reached the 17th of July, 1851, and a great question is being debated in the Assembly. According to the consti- tution, Louis Napoleon's tenure of office will expire in 1852 ; but a revision of the constitution has been pro- posed. Falling such revision, the Prince President must retire into private life. Will he do so P And, if not, what means will he adopt to remain in power P Now, if ever, it seems desirable to use moderation for the purpose of conjuring the advancing peril, and showing that the VICTOR HUGO. 141 republican party is not really a portent and a bugbear, but capable of right reason and good government. Yet this is the occasion which Victor Hugo selects for an harangue, eloquent indeed, but calculated to give a tongue to every worst accusation brought against the extreme radicals, and to alienate altogether those on whose help the republicans might have counted in any future struggle against the President. He glorifies the Revolution of 1793 as the “ era foreseen by Socrates, and for which he drank the hemlock ; as the work wrought by Jesus Christ, and for which he was nailed to the cross.” He declares the Republic and the Revolu- tion to be indissolubly bound together. He mingles, for common insult and execration, all kinds of monarchy, constitutional as well as unconstitutional. He proposes, as a practical measure, that all Judges should be elected by universal suffrage, and the greater political questions decided by direct appeal to the same tribunal. He speaks glibly of the “United States of Europe,” + and heralds the “august proclamation of the rights of man.” In short, he makes a vivacious and telling speech, and plays the game of the ambitious Prince President most effectually. It was speeches of this kind that helped to make the Coup d'Atat possible, and gave Louis Napoleon his immense popular majorities. But here, amid all this storm of politics, these light- nings of vivid speech and thunderings of revolution, we may fittingly pause once more for the purpose of getting a glimpse of the poet among his family and friends. The * “Really, this is going too far,” cried Montalembert when the oratoi had reached this point, “Hugo is crazy l’’ 142 A.IFE OF place of meeting is not of happy augury. It is none other than the Conciergerie prison, in which his two sons, and Paul Meurice and Auguste Vacquerie—the whole staff of the AEvénement, Victor Hugo's paper—had been confined for various press delinquencies. But what a merry party they are as M. de Banville drops in upon them There is the poet himself, who has come to spend the day with the prisoners, and Madame Hugo, and their daughter, Adèle. The young men ale “handsome, gay,” full of life and spirits, making a Jest of their Incarceration. The parents ale proud to see them in such good healt, and the fathel caresses their abundant locks. He, too, is “gay, smiling, happy . . . prodigal of winged words, of crystallized sayings, of amusing anecdotes, delightfully familiar, and a thousand times more witty than those who make trade and mer- chandize of wit.” So does the dismal old place ring with their bright talk and laughter, and the day lightly, quickly pass, and fade into the night. For now the 2nd of December, 1851, is upon us. The Coup d'Átat, however, belongs rather to the general history of France than to my immediate subject, and I need not tell its full story here. We all of us know how, during the fatal night from the 1st to the 2nd, the leading de- puties from whom any organized resistance was to be expected, were arrested and lodged in prison; how, on the following day, a proclamation was published declaring the National Assembly dissolved, and appealing to universal suffrage to ratify the President's acts; how * Started on the 1st of April, 1848, with this motto. “Intense hatred of anarchy; tender love for the people.” WWCTOR HUGO. 143 every printing-press in the capital was gagged ; how every attempt at resistance was ruthlessly suppressed ; how, in fine, the hand of an Iron despotism seized France in 1ts grasp. Victor Hugo has himself told us the share which he took in resisting the President's usurpation. The news of what had happened in the night reached him at eight o'clock in the morning. He breakfasted hurriedly, kissed his wife and daughter, and sallied forth to meet the other Republican deputies. The meeting took place, and there was some speaking and determination, and then sepalation in various directions to see if it were possible to induce the people to rise. But from the first it must have been cleal that any very effectual rising was pro- blematic. The Assembly was unpopular with the masses, who remembered besides the punishment they had re- ceived during the Insurrection of June, 1848, and had little care to try conclusions with the troops again. More- over Louis Napoleon's appeal to universal suffrage was a skilful move. So the first day wore through in somewhat sterile agitation, and Victor Hugo slept, or rather spent a sleepless night, in the house of a stranger—in a delight- ful domestic nest which he describes with an artist's feeling for the effectiveness of contrast. The next morning he visited his own home; learned that a police-officer had been to the place the day before, wentoff in a cab to the classic region of revolt, the Faubourg Saint Antoine ; found that there had already been some fighting; that the barricade erected mainly by the repre- sentatives was taken, and Representative Baudin killed. Here, in view of the entire apathy of the Faubourg, 144 I./FE OF Victor Hugo acknowledges that he felt the cause of resistance to be well-nigh hopeless. Nevertheless he did not surcease from his efforts. There were more meetings, more haranguings of the people, more endea- vours to issue proclamations, though the difficulty of getting anything printed was almost Insuperable, and another flying visit to his home. Then, after an evening all lurid with battle and the coming storm, he found refuge for the night once more in a friend's house. The third day, further proclamations; and also, which is more perhaps to the purpose, greater Signs of a popular rising—barricades in every direction, which Victor Hugo visits, and a great deal of firing. The hearts of the Insurgents are elate; and Victor Hugo is even consider- ing whether it may not be desirable to spare the life of Louis Napoleon when taken, and so help on the cause of the abolition of capital punishment. But at this moment the troops, who have hitherto been acting more or less fitfully, put forth their whole power. The boulevards are swept with grape. Volleys of musketry are fired in every direction. The people in the streets are bayoneted and sabred down. Thus, according to Victor Hugo's constant contention, was mere murder, a cowardly massacre of non-combatants, having for 1fs only object Intimidation. And even M. de Maupas, the Prefect of Police at the time, and one of the four chief agents in the Coup d'Átat, seems to admit that the President’s military adviser, Saint Arnaud, had purposely allowed the Insurrection to gather head so as to quell it more effectually and for ever. If this were really Saint Arnaud's object, he succeeded most entirely. Paris VICTOR Aſ UGO. 145 was thoroughly cowed. There were, during the same evening and night of December 4th, further barricades defended and taken, further deeds of violence. But the fight was virtually spluttering out. Victor Hugo fled from place to place, striving in vain to kindle the dying embers, seeing on his way many a scene of blood and sorrow, to be thereafter chronicled in his “Histoire d'un Crime,” or to find a place in his poetry and fiction. But the game was played out and Irretrievably lost. From the 5th he was a mere fugitive, flitting hither and thither, and lurking in one hiding-place after another. Madame Drouet's devotion here stood him in good stead ; and on December 14th, by means of a false passport and a dis- guise, he succeeded in reaching Brussels.” * M. de Maupas says the Government could easily have laid hands upon him if it had wished to do so; and this seems quite probable. IO CHAPTER IX. A” one who has suffered shipwreck upon the stormy waters of life and bravely struggles to the shore, so did Victor Hugo leach Brussels on December 14, 1851. The cause for which he had fought lay in runs; the party to which he belonged was hopelessly beaten and dispersed ; his private fortune, the result, as he tells us, of his own toll, was greatly impaired. Yet not for a moment did he bate heart or hope. “Never once,” his son says, “did his best friends, his own family, . . . hear from his lips a Single word of discouragement or sadness that might betray the secret emotions caused by so terrible a wrench from all that he held dear.” His pen was his swold, and with his pen he determined to attack the master of legions, by whom he had been driven from the soil of France. Blussels was already full or filling with refugees. They were republicans for the most part, though with a smaller proportion of royalists, and mixed in character as well as politics. Many were men of mark, General Lamori cière, Émile de Girardin the famous journalist, and others. But Victor Hugo, of course, overtopped them all. In January he had taken up his quarters at No. 27, JZFE OF VICTOR A UGO. 147 in the picturesque beautiful Grande Place, the great Square where Counts Egmont and Horn were be- headed when Alva ruled in the Netherlands—the square that witnessed the ball on the night before Waterloo; and there, in a fairly-large apartment commanding a full view of the Hotel de Ville and its beautiful spire, he received many visitors, and worked assiduously. The visitors would come and go while he was writing But they never took off his attention ; for at the point of his pen he felt, as it were, his adversary’s sword in the great duel between them, and his whole soul was in the combat. At first he intended to open his attack with a history of the Coup d'Átat; and he states that he actually com- menced the “Histoire d'un Crime’’ on December 14th, the very day of his arrival in Brussels. But soon he seems to have felt that the times required something more stirring than a history, however impassioned, some more direct appeal to God and man against the wrong that had been perpetrated. Accordingly, though he completed the “Histoire d'un Crime” on May 5th, 1852, he did not publish it then, nor for twenty-five years after- wards. Now, with a pen all quivering with Indignation, he was writing one of the most superb pieces of Invective In literatule, “Napoléon le Petit.” I know no other work that is quite like it. Macaulay's article on Barrère is cold by comparison. Even Milton's “Eikonoklastes " is not so uniformly at white heat. Almost literally the language seems molten with passion, and rolls in a stream like lava, lulld, scorching, devour- ing. As the reader is rushed through page after page, the horror of Louis Napoleon's crimes deepens upon hum 148 J.A.E OF What manner of man can this have been who solemnly swore his oaths before God and man, and then violated them so cynically P What kind of government was this which he had instituted? What crimes were these, what mure of blood, what infamy of cruel persecution, through which he had crawled his way to power? What eloquence had he quenched in the process P By what abject tools had he been absolved and declared Innocent? So, through chapter after chapter, is the reader borne breathless and Indignant, noting every here and again some passage of bulliant rhetoric, like the famous description of Mira- beau as the incarnation of a New World speaking to the Old. The book burst into that newer world like a bomb- shell in July, 1852 –and one of the effects of the ex- plosion was to blow Victor Hugo himself out of Belgium. The country was given to hospitality, and not unmindful to entertain strangers and political refugees ; and it was a country where the liberty of the press had due recogni- tion. But, for all that, it was a very little country beside a very large country, and to suffer the de facto govern- ment of France to be outraged, might prove perilous. So, as the existing laws did not provide adequate machinery for causing Victor Hugo to “move on,” a special law was passed to enable the government to get rid of such a dangerous guest. His sons, who had heard the thunder of the Coup d'État from behind the prison walls of the Concieigerie, had joined him on theil release in January, 1852 ; and all three together left Antwerp on the 1st of August, and, merely passing through England, landed in Jersey on the 5th. VICTOR A. UGO. 149 The house which the Hugo family occupied in the Island stands on the low shore, a little way out of St. Heller, and bears the designation of 3, Marine Terrace It is an ordinary seaside house enough, stuccoed and slate-roofed, with no pretensions or special character, but deriving a slightly French look from 1ts green shutters. Along the back, towards the shore, there is a greenhouse with grapes, and then a little garden with some evergreens, and then a strip planted with tamarisks,—which, as I was told, I know not how truly, had been brought from France, and, with an exile's tenderness, set there by Victor Hugo himself. A sort of sandy ridge hides the sea from the lower rooms. Beyond this ridge stretch the sands, all studded with rocks, and then come the encircling waters—a peaceful, Sunny expanse on a fine day, but, with a rising tide and a stormy wind a very devil's caldron of frothing yeast. The house has as few pretensions internally as ex- telnally, and as the autumn began to gather, seemed dreary enough to the exiles. “There is nothing so icy cold as that English whiteness,” says Victor Hugo, describing in after years the effect of the whitewashed walls. “The place was like a piece of built methodism.” Why then had they chosen to live there? A little by the choosing of chance, and because it happened to be the first dwelling they had found to let. A little, too, as M. Vacquerie tells us in his “Miettes de l’Histoire,” because It was near the town, and Malle. Hugo's twenty summers claved some amusement. Madame Hugo, who had been ill at the time of the Coup d'Atat, and seems to have so far remained in France, soon joined her husband and 150 JC/EE OF sons. Let us look at the group first through her eyes, and then through the eyes of the poet himself. “Our life,” she writes to one of her relations, on the 13th of October, “is regular, quiet, and in part devoted to work. The country is superb, and all articles of food are abundant, easily ob- tained, and a little cheaper than in Paris. The land is pre-eminently that of ſreedom. Policemen are unknown. Passports are papers of which the meaning is not understood. Everybody comes and goes as suits his particular fancy. . . . The Queen of England is greatly worshipped. . . . I am extremely pleased with Charles. He accepts his new life as a philosopher—wears thick boots and coarse clothing, grows stout, fishes, is followed by a dog who has taken a fancy to him, is in excellent spirits, and thereby gives life to our home. He has begun a book of which three-quarters are finished, but the arrival of M. and his wife have interrupted him. . . . The sojourn here of Toto (François Victor Hugo) has prevented young Charles, whom his father calls the ‘indefatigable idler,’ from continu- ing to work at his volume. Charles works for twelve hours at a stretch, and then the slightest thing disturbs him. For the rest, he has entirely given up dress and all frivolous spending of money. Exile has been of the greatest benefit to my dear child. . . . It does not suit my daughter so well, nor, indeed, did her moral health require so heroic a remedy. But winter is coming soon, and here people dance a great deal, stupidly, but still they dance. Get Victor (François) to tell you what the dancing routs of Jersey are like.” Does not this extract introduce us pleasantly, familiarly, to the Hugo family P. Does it not bring before us the kind of change which transportation from Paris had pro- duced in their lives P. How dull the gaieties of St. Helier seem to these gay young Parisians ! How much, as we learn further from M. Asseline, the young men miss the dissipations of the metroplis of pleasure | But they accept the inevitable cheerfully, and put a good face on evil fortune. They work, they ride, they fish, VICTOR Aſ UGO. 151 they fence, they bathe, they take photographs." Charles, who had evidently been developing dandy tastes upon the boulevards, now dresses manfully in homespun ; and Miss Adèle will gladly accept the Jersey dances in default of more brilliant assemblies. Victor Hugo, too, has painted us a picture of his home at this time—a picture as severe and gloomy as a Spag- noletto or Zulbaran — dead earnest every brush-stroke of 16 : “Those who dwelt in this house . . . of melancholy aspect . . . were a group, or let us rathem say a family. They were exiles. The eldest was one of those men who, at a given moment, ale no longer wanted in their native land. He was leaving a popular assembly; the others, who wele young, were leaving a prison. To have whitten aught, is not that a sufficient motive for bolts and bars 2 Whither should thought lead if not to a dungeon P “The prison had released them into exile. “The eldest, the father, had all his dear ones by his side, with the exception of his eldest daughter, who had been unable to follow him. His son in law was with her * “Silent they often leant over a table, or sat on a bench, grave, musing together, thinking without speech of the two who were away . . . One monning, at the end of November, two of the in habitants of this place, the father and the younger of the sons, were Sitting in the panlour. They wene silent like men after a shipwreck. “The rain fell, the wind howled, the house was as it wele deafened by the external clamour. Both were sunk in thought, absorbed, perchance, In considering the coincidence of a beginning of w inter and a beginning of exile. “Suddenly the son lifted up his voice” [I am translating quite literally], “and questioned the ſather. * * * *msm-mm-sº-sº sºme * M Vacquerie, who was of the panty, thus describes their occu pations. * The reference hele, I imagine, is to the daughter who was sleep- ing hel long sleep by the waters of the Seine. * * 152 AZA'E OF “‘What do you think of this exile?’ “‘That it will be long.’ “‘How do you intend to employ it?’ “‘I shall contemplate the ocean “There was a Silence. The father resumed : “‘And you?” “‘I,’ said the son, ‘I shall translate Shakespeale.’” Fortunately there is evidence that Victor Hugo was not always in this tragic mood during his residence at Marine Terlace ; for on the door of one of the upper rooms are scratched, In his handwriting and with his signature, the words “spes,” “pax *—“hope ’’ and “peace.” And, more fortunately still, he did a great deal during his nineteen years of exile besides contemplat- ing the ocean. He wrought without remission, at prose and verse And the firstfruits of his toll were a volume of poems, published in 1853. His Muse had been all but silent since she sang of the burial of the great Napoleon In 1840; she now put a new and sterner string to her lyre, and sang of the misdeeds of Napoleon “the Little.” The title of the new book frankly indicates its character. It is called “Les Châtiments.” A terrible book, a book of lashing Invective and sarcasm, a book well named “The Chastisements,” for in verse after verse one watches as it were the wriggle of the lash—aye, sees the spurt of blood where it falls, and hears the sharp cry of pain. Is such a book justifiable one is tempted to ask P Is there not something cruel In thus using the pen as a Russian soldier would use a knout? But hele, I think, Victor Hugo must be exone- rated. There 1s no sign throughout his life that he ever VICTOR AMUGO. 153 employed his tremendous literary power for the mere purpose of Inflicting pain. He could hit out freely enough on occasion, and probably took a certain plea- sure—as what pugilist does not?—in the skill and vigoul with which he delivered his blows. But he had not Simply the mauling of his opponents in view. He really fought for what he had persuaded himself, rightly or wrongly, were causes of momentous importance. The Empless of the French," it is said, had a strong desire to see this very book, and, after reading it, observed, “M. Victor Hugo must hate us very much.” And so he did. He hated the emperor with a gamekeeper's hatred of a stoat or a pike, as a noxious thing to which no “law” could justifiably be given. So in the face of the Empire and its orgies, he evokes the crime on which it had been founded, and the victims 1t had done to death or sent to rot in the penal settle- ment of Cayenne. He takes for the title of each of the books into which the volume is divided, one of the cant expressions used by the supporters of the Coup d’AEtat, “Society is saved,” “Order is re-established,” “Religion is glorified,” and flashes upon the words the fierce light of his satire. Poor Louis Napoleon, how sadly he fares in the hands of this angry opponent ; what ignominy 1S heaped upon his head | Did his uncle, the great Napo- leon, deserve punishment for arresting the march of Liberty? It might have seemed that that punishment had fallen when he saw the Grand Army melt Into an interminable horror of snow during the retreat from Moscow. But not so. The full thunderbolt of God's * Of the Empress he always spoke with perfect courtesy. 154 AAFE OF wrath had not yet fallen. Was the punishment consum- mated amid the wild confusion of defeat at Waterloo P Still not yet. There were worse things in store for the ruined Emperor. Yes, worse things than that ; and even worse things than to be chained to the rock of St. Helena. The worst chastisement of all lay in his nephew's guilt and shame. Translate this back 1n thought from bald prose to such verse as makes of each situation—Moscow, Waterloo, St. Helena—a mighty picture, and you will understand the peculiar kind of lyrical satire that Infuses most of this book. Or take another poem, the “Souvenir de la Nuit du 4” (“Re- miniscence of the Night of the 4th.”). It is the account, which Victol Hugo has also written in prose, of an Incident he had witnessed on the evening of the 4th of December, when he was hurrying hither and thither in Paris for the purpose of stirring the people to resistance. A child, a boy of seven, had been shot down as he ran across the street. Some one had carried him to the room where he lived with his grandmother—a place quite humble, but decent, and every way respectable. The little corpse lay in the old woman's arms, and she was murmuring over 1 half-broken words, “to think that he called me grandmama this morning,” “only seven years old,” “the masters at his school were so pleased with him,” “he was all that I had left of his mother.” Then they took the child and undressed him. There was a top in the pocket. As they drew off his socks the grand- mother started, “Don’t hurt him,” she cried, and taking the poor, cold feet into hel withered hands, she tried to warm them at the hearth. Then she burst into terrible VICTOR H UGO. 15.j sobs. Why had they killed her child? What had he done P What government of murdelers and brigands was this? “Mother,” says the poet, taking up his parable, “Mother, it is clear that when you asked that question you did not undelstand politics. M. Napoléon—for that, it seems, really is his name—is poor and a prince; he is fond of palaces; it pleases him to have horses, lacqueys, money for his play, his table, his pleasures, and his hunting. At the same time he acts as the saviour of the family, the church, and society; he also desires to have Saint Cloud ſor lesidence, where, mid the roses of summer, the prefects and mayors may come and worship him. And that is why it is necessary that old grandmothels with their pool, glay, trembling fingers should sew the shrouds of seven years old children ‘’ This is a very fine poem. There is a simplicity and directness about it beyond praise. Almost each line is self-sufficient, pregnant, and decisive, like a line from a dialogue of Euripides. And here, perhaps, it may be convenient to take a general survey of what Victor Hugo wrote and thought about Louis Napoleon and his government. Of “Napo- léon le Petit” I have already spoken, and also of the “Châtiments.” The third book in which he treated of the Coup d'Aºtat, the “Histone d'un Crime,” was written in the first six months of 1852, but a good deal “worked upon " afterwards, as I should gather flon the style, and not published till 1877. All three books may, for my present purpose, be taken together That they are in any sense Impartial cannot be affirmed. When Michelet, the historian, was accused of partiality, he boldly accepted the charge, and declared that he was, and should ever remain, partial, strongly partial on the 156 JAZE OF Side of justice and right. Victor Hugo would have rebutted any similar attack with the same reply. Was there anything to be said, he would have asked wonderingly, In favour of Louis Napoleon and his rout P Consequently, if we want to know how it came to pass that Imperialism became possible in France, that the countly ratified the Coup d'État and acclaimed the Empire by such overwhelming majorities, and that men of high character and ability, such as Montalembert, went with the President up to December, 1851, and Some few even beyond—if we want Information on these and kindred matters, we must look elsewhere. On these points Victor Hugo will not enlighten us. In his view Napoleon and his immediate Instruments were male- factors, and all who supported them knaves, cowards, fools. Such a way of looking at an important historical event Is obviously a little wanting in discrimination. Nor can one altogether avoid a feeling of scepticism when noting thoughout these books what a dark cloud of Infamy hovers over the one party, and what a brilliant light of viltue and glory illumines the other. Every general on the side of the Coup d'Átat is venal, every soldier drunken, every police-agent shameless. If one of these fautors of crime meets an honest patriot he hangs his head, stammers, and has nothing to say for himself. If insulted, howevel grossly, he reviles not again. Officers who are about to order wholesale butchery, offer their cheeks to the smuter with a compunction that would be quite edifying, if it did not so obviously spring from the terrors of an evil con- science. But what a change when we come to the other, V/CTOA” Aſ UGO. 157 the right side! What courage, what ardent patriotism, what disinterestedness, what eloquence, what capacity for Saying the right and telling thing exactly at the proper moment The men of action among these advanced Republicans are heroes, the men of thought or speech geniuses. Here is So-and-so of whom the world never heard very much , he is a “pamphleteer like Courier, and a song-writer like Délanger " Now, of course, there is exaggeration in all this. The supportels of the Couſ d'Atat were not uniformly venal Many had persuaded themselves that Louis Napoleon's strong hand was needed to save them from the vagaries of Victor Hugo's friends. The opponents of the Coup d'Atat were not uniformly the salt of the earth. They wele a mixed body of men like the rest of us—good and evil together. And as to So and-so, we may be quite sure, without reading a word of his pamphlets or his songs, that he bore no resemblance to either Courier ol Béranger But when one looks beyond the exaggeration, when one tries to get to the real essential history of the Coup d'Átat, then I fear it must be admitted that Victor Hugo's view is not substantially unjust. The Coup d’AEtat was an act of illegality. It violated an existing constitution It could only have been justified by the extreme peril of society. But in December, 1851, no such terrible peril existed. Though the future of France was dark, it was not desperate. The difficulties ahead were not insuper- able. And in looking for a solution of these difficulties, Louis Napoleon was guided rather by his own selfish interests than by care for the well-being of France. Therefore the government which he founded was a 158 AAFE OF government of decay. It had no root in the better aspirations of the country, and could produce no ulti- mate fruit. In the Coup d'Átat lurked the germs of Sedan. Therefore history, for all her large tolerance, will refuse to obliterate Victor Hugo's terrible words. Those words will live by their literary power. They will live also, too many of them, by their truth. But now another Coup d'Átat comes across our way,+ yes, in territory subject to her gracious Majesty the Queen, another Coup d'État—for so does Charles Hugo designate the events that led to his father's expulsion from Jersey. The reader, however, need be under no alarm. This was a Coup d'Átat without effusion of blood. No barricades were erected in the streets of St. Heller. No volleys of grape and musketry mowed down the peaceful citizens of that bright and busy town. No autocratic English governor determined to suppress the liberties of the Island, and march through crime to his nefarious erids. Compalatively speaking, this political event must be regarded as a tame affair. Divested of a good deal of extraneous matter, 1ts history appears to be somewhat as follows: In 1854-5, the Eng- lish and French armies were fighting side by side in the Crimea. A close and friendly alliance united the two countries, and mutual civilities took place between then respective rulers. This was naturally gall and wormwood to the French exiles To them the Emperor appeared Simply as a climinal and outlaw ; and France, so long as he held sway, ought, in their view, to have been under a kind of International interdict. Accordingly they wrote and spoke very intemperately about the alliance, and with VICTOR A. UGO. 159 peculiar and offensive virulence about the Emperor's visit to the Queen, and the Queen's visit to the Emperor. This was, of course, not calculated to please the English public. To be hospitable is one thing, but to be lectured and insulted by one's guests 1s another. English feeling rose pretty high, as it was sure to do when England's sons wele shedding their blood against the same enemy as the sons of France. Nor in such a cause was Jersey likely to be behind the rest of the Empire The French exiles in the 1sland had always been particularly busy. They were a small active band, living In the kind of agitation that exile fosters, seeing the baleful shadow of the Emperor everywhere, keeping the keenest of noses for a spy, writing apace, Issuing a newspaper, L’Homme (“Man”), to which they confided the story of their wrongs and hopes—and, in short, looking at every- thing through the somewhat narrow lens of their own position. Soonel or later a collision between them and the islanders seemed inevitable On the Ioth of October, 1855, Z'Homme published a letter that had been addressed by three of the London exiles to the Queen. Why had the Queen gone to Paris? the letter asked. She herself was, so the writers were pleased to say, “as honest a woman as it was possible for a queen to be.” What did she mean by going to Paris, where she had “put Canrobert in his bath *—a graceful allusion to the Order of the Bath, “drunk champagne, and kissed Jérome Bonaparte,”—where she “had sacrificed every- thing, her dignity as a queen, her scruples as a Woman, her pride as an allstoclat, her feelings as an English- woman, her rank, her race, her sex, everything, even to her 160 JL/AºE OF shame, . . . even to her honour "P That this letter was in the worst possible taste needs no demonstration. The people of Jersey, who, as Madame Hugo had remarked on first landing in the island, were particularly loyal, and greatly attached to the Queen, took it in very evil part. They were in no mood to appreciate the subtle distinc- tion drawn by Charles Hugo. Z'Homme had possibly published the letter without endorsing its sentiments; but Z'Homme had published the letter. That was enough. An indignation meeting was held on the 13th of October, and, amid great enthusiasm, resolved to peti- tion the governor to suppress the paper. Then the mob made an attack on the publishing office; but not a very determined attack, for the besiegers were effectually put to flight by a shower and one policeman. However, the town was in an uproar, the exiles were in peril, and Victor Hugo sent his manuscripts into hiding. Where- upon the governor ordered the editorial staff of Z'Homme to leave the island. This raised the spirit of the exiles; and Victor Hugo drew up a protest,-in which, after referring, not very relevantly, to the “glove of Castlereag,” —whom I take to be our old friend Lord Castlereagh, he went on to declare that Louis Napoleon was very wicked, that the English Government had for ally “the crime-emperor,” and that England would shortly become “an annexe of the French Empire.” “And now,” the protest concluded, “expel us.” Whereupon they were expelled. The protest is dated the 17th of October, and on the 31st Victor Hugo and his son François Victor left by the steamer for Guernsey. To what extent this expulsion was legal according to VICTOR HUGO. 161 the Constitution of Jersey, I do not know. The act was clearly one which the exiles had done their best to provoke, by going counter in a very offensive way to a popular feeling. This, however, does not Justify it ; and whether lawful or not, it seems clearly to have been a mistake. Z'Homme and the exiles were not doing much harm to any one, and might well have been left alone. That the expelled should have regarded this new mis- fortune as due to the Machiavellian influence of the Emperor, is comprehensible enough. To their fevered fancy the Emperor was ubiquitous ;-did not Victor Hugo himself consider that Lord Palmerston had re- fused to respite Tapner, the murderer, out of deference to the wishes of that potentate P But we, who look at these things with the unbiassed eyes of posterity, may rest content with simpler explanations. I I CHAPTER X. ITH the transfer of the poet's home from Jersey to Guernsey, we may, for a while at least, bid farewell to politics, and return to literature. It was while living at Hauteville House, Guernsey, that he published the masterpieces of his later life. * But first a word as to the house itself—a house which xwill for ever be associated with Victor Hugo, as Abbots- ford is associated with Scott, and Rydal Mount with Woldsworth. It stands about half way up a little narrow picturesque ill-paved street that ascends from St. Peter Port to the Haute Ville, and is, externally, as respectable a house as need be, such a house as a well-to-do Country solicitor or doctor might inhabit, with a little front yard containing two trees—evergleen oaks if I lemenber right —and a door standing well in the centre, and two win- dows on each side of the door. But once within, we bid farewell to the commonplace directly. Victor Hugo was evidently an aesthete “before letters,” an aesthete before the time when old oak, blue china, and tapestry had be- come fashionable. He must for years have collected these articles with "assiduity and excellent discretion. The place is full of them : old oak, tiles, and a tapestried ceiling in the dining-room ; old oak in the billiard- and L/? E OF VICTOR HUGO. 163 smoking-rooms; old oak in the almost palatial guest- chamber prepared for Garibaldi, and to which Garibaldi never came ; and tapestry pretty well everywhere. Everywhere too, inscriptions in Latin or French, containing, as one may suppose, the quintessential wisdom which the poet-philosopher had distilled from the leaves of the Tree of Life : “The People are now little, but they will be great; ” “Night, death, life,” “Life itself is an exile.” There are portraits too of Victor Hugo," and one of Madame Hugo, painted when she would be about thirty-five, a dark, handsome woman, with fine white arms and shoulders, and a face puissant, though scarcely Intellectual, and an almost voluptuous look in the eyes. A few drawings executed by the poet ale there also ; for this man of many aptl- tudes was a busy draughtsman, and with any kind of in- strument, and any sort of pigment—ink, sepia, cigar ash, charcoal, mulberry juice, burnt onion, tooth paste, would draw the vividest, most fantastic pictures, and might unmistakably have been a notable imaginative painter If he had not been the first poet of his time. At the back of the house a garden, fairly large and delightfully situated, tosses into every room the perfume of its flowers. But all this while we have not penetrated into the temple's inner shrine, not reached the place where the poet's thoughts were moulded into their often perfect form of words. In order to get to this, we must leave the ground floor where are the dining-room and billiard- * Not very satisfactory portraits. Victor Hugo said in later life, “I really was a better looking young fellow than they used to paint me.” 164 A. IFE OF rooms; must pass the drawing-room with its somewhat rococo gilding ; must go higher still, past the Garibaldi chamber on the next floor; and then up another flight of stairs, and through a short book-shelved corridor, when we shall find ourselves in a curious sort of glass-enclosed place, a place more like a photographer's studio than any- thing else to which I can compare it; and there, there in one corner, we shall see a black shelf, a kind of simple standing-desk;-and at that shelf Victor Hugo wielded his untiring pen. With such a view Through all the glass sides of the place, wherever one looks, there is a very festival of nature's beauty. To the right is the green slope of the hill, gardens and trees, and a fort. Beyond lies the great encircling sea, with the long straight spine of Sark on the horizon. Nearer in are the twin Islands of Jethou and Herm, and, dotted here and there, rocks round which the white foam chafes almost constantly. Back to the shore again, Castle Cornet stands below us, and there is the port, and the shipping, and the long low line of the coast trending out at Saint Sampson ; and back again, further along the left, the town rising against the hill, and the red-roofed houses jostling one another at our feet. Well had this eagle spirit chosen his eyrie. One likes to think of him watching the changes of light and shadow that play over this superb expanse of land and sea, and seem to give it almost a voice. Close to this unique study is the little garret room in which Victor Hugo mostly slept. When I saw it, his father's swold lay on the bed, and there were on the walls two pictules of Victor Hugo himself as he lay dead. VICTOR HUGO. 165 But death was not yet in the winter of 1855–6, when Victor Hugo would be moving into Hauteville House He was then a hale and hearty middle-aged man of fifty- four or so, with over thirty years more of good work in him ; and life, even life in the saddened garb of exile, must have smiled at him not unpleasantly as he set up his household gods in his new abode, and began to adorn it to his taste. One of his favourite sayings, we are told by M. Asseline, was to the effect that “a little work is a burden, and much work a pleasure.” And if we take this wholesome motto for true, as it indubitably Is, he had many a happy hour in that glass study of his. His habits seem to have been very regular. He would rise at six, or shortly after, refresh himself with a sight of nature in her first morning beauty from the sort of balcony that runs round the top of the house, and then write steadily, without Interruption, till twelve. “After this, with his legs a little stuff, for he had acquired the habit of standing as he wrote, and of walking when in the act of composition, he would come slowly down the stans, the tapestry deadening the sound of his steps, and would lightly shake off his graver thoughts, and give them a holiday for the lest of the day. He was now no longer the poet, the Inspired prophet of a few minutes ago; he was the filend who came to be with his family, the dear kind friend who had always some pleasant word for greet Ing, and a tender caress for farewell. Ah, admirable great man' And how can I, when the wold work is mentioned, not call to mind the ingenious tender devices by which he begulled us to follow his example; for he did not like to see any one idle about him. “No day without its line,’ he was wont to say.” So even Charles, “the Indefatigable Idler,” who had now reached the age of twenty-nine, having been born 166 AZF E OF on the 2nd of November, 1826, was won to labour, and wrought at his novels pretty regularly ; while François, who was two years younger, having been born on the 22nd of October, 1828, set himself assiduously to the gigantic task of translating Shakespeare. The latter was the more serious split of the two. “The younger is the austere one,” said Victor Hugo in the somewhat grandiloquent account which he gave of his two sons in the Introduction to Charles Hugo's “Hommes de l’Exil; ”—“he never loses an hour, he entertains a religious respect for time, his habits are at once those of a Parisian and a monk;” and the young man himself describes his existence at this time as that of a “Benedictine,” and speaks of its “salutary monotonous- ness,” and the health, content, and serenity of the house- hold. In their opinions on political, literary, and social matters, the sons were closely in accord with the father. This indeed was counted to them for sin by Veuillot, of the venomous pen, who complained that, however much they might grow in years, they never seemed to put forth any branch or twig that ventured to stray beyond the patelnal enclosure. But, after all, their father was Victor Hugo, and, with such a father, a certain ductility of mind was excusable. Most of us, I think, will consider that there is something beautiful, and one may almost say august, in the sight of these three men so bravely, and with such unity of purpose, doing battle against adverse fortune. And what was the first jar of honey that came from this busy hive P A book of poems by Victor Hugo, with a preface dated March, 1856, and “Les Contem- plations” for title. W/C 7'O/º AIUGO. 167 The book is divided into two parts, of which the first is called “Formerly,” and contains poems either written between the years 1830 and 1843, or relating to these years; while the second is called “To-day,” and refers, In the same manner, to the years intervening between 1843 and 1855. And why should the poet thus have taken the year 1843 as marking so distunct an epoch in his life, and separating the present from the past P Because it was in that year that he had lost his elder daughter, Léopoldine. She had been married, on the 15th of February, to Charles Vacquerie, the brother of one of Victor Hugo's staunchest admirers. The marriage was a marriage of love on both sides, and altogethel happy. But on the 4th of September death stepped in, and turned the joy of both families into mourning. The Vacqueries lived at Villequiel on the Seine. The young couple went out on the day in question for a sail down the river. A sudden wind upset the boat. The young bride seems to have lost her presence of mind, and resisted all her husband's efforts to detach her from the sinking craft. He was an expert swimmer, and would probably have taken her safely to the shore iſ she had yielded to his efforts. That he might easily have saved himself there seems no question. As it was, both were drowned." Such is the terrible tragedy that gives its tone to much of the second part of the “Contemplations.” The fathel looks back into his daughter's short life—he sees her in her childhood, “Ah, do you lemenber the pretty little dress she wore ?” He thinks of her as she used to * There is a stukung account of the accident in Alphonse Karl's “Guêpes” for Septembel, 1843 168 A. IFE OF dance about his desk as he sat at work, and scribble her formless pictures, her little lispings of art, over his papers, —“and, I don’t know how it happened,” he says, “but my best lines always seemed to spring into life on the parts of the paper that she had touched.” He hears her at her play, too, listens to her pretty child-warblings of pleasure, as in the summer days she flitted here and there beneath his window. Then memory brings back the happy evenings they used to spend together—the book, or story —all that gracious companionship—there is none sulely more beautiful — between an intelligent girl and her father. Gone, gone, things of the past, covered one and all by the cere-cloth of death. And with the thought of death come the obstinate questionings, the dark mis- givings, that death suggests. Does she know aught in the grave where she lies P Feeling so cold in her narrow bed, does she ask, “has my father forgotten me?” Forgotten? How could that be P Twelve years afterwards, address- ing his wife, he can Say that no single day has passed on which they have not incensed her name with love and prayer. And in that same twelfth year, being in Gueln- sey, on All Souls' Day, the “Day of the Dead,” as the French call it, he turns his accustomed thought to the little churchyard by the Seine, and would so fain go thithel once more and carry to the grave his tribute of flowers; failing which—for the bitter waters of exile flow between him and the place—he wafts to his dead child, wherever she may be, the spirit of the book in which her memory is enshrined. But though Léopoldine Vacquerie occupies so impor- tant a place in the “Contemplations,” she by no means fills VicTOR HUGO. 169 the book to the exclusion of other subjects. Victor Hugo's last volume of poems, exclusive of the “Châtiments,” was “Les Rayons et Les Ombles,” published in 1840, we are now in 1856, and in the years between there is room for many poetic moods. So he gives us here poems of all sorts and kinds, from love poems that for “motive,” aye, and fresh lyrical directness, are not unlike those written by Bulns in honour of “Bonnie Jean,” to poems that are as the “trumpet of a plophecy” of the gocq things in store when Christ shall have converted Bellal, and other equally desirable, 1ſ remote, results have been attained. Some poems, too, there are here that may fittingly be called satires, in the old acceptance of the term. In short, essentially a miscellaneous volume of verse, and also, in some sort, a link between the poet's earlier and later manner. Por now we reach a new and admirable development in his genius. With certain minor differences, the volumes extending from the “Feuilles d’Automne” to the “Con- templations” are, if we except the “Châtiments,” fairly similar in form and manner. But in the two first volumes of the “Légende des Siècles,” the poet gives us some- thing novel, striking, superb. No doubt there were, here and there in Victor Hugo's former works, passages, as notably the description in the “Burgraves” of Barba- rossa sleeping his age-long sleep, which, read in the light of the later book, seem presageful of its characteristic beauties. Such passages are, however, rare. They ale as the one swallow that does not make a summer. The “Légende des Siècles” came upon us in the autumn of 1859 like a revelation. 170 IIFE OF Seldom Surely can poet have chanced upon a subject, or class of subjects, more in harmony with his genius. Not history did Victor Hugo now propose to paint—history with her severe outline, her impartial calm, her attitude of strict equity. What he here took for his model was history's strange shadowy sister, who sometimes looks as if she were history's double, and sometimes takes her place, and sometimes mocks and mimics her, and sometimes, most often, perhaps, while maintaining a certain resemb- lance, assumes proportions, large, heroic, leal yet unreal, and sometimes seems so altogether unlike that it is difficult to trace any relationship at all. Legend was to be his subject; the “Legend of the Ages” was to Inspire him for the nonce. Or, to change the image, like a paladın of old venturing forth on some hard quest, he had set himself to conquer and make his own the cloud-land of fancy and imagination that has gathered from the dawn of time round the sober world of fact. And well was he equipped for the adventure. Only a great poet can leave with 1mpunity the solid ground of nature, and attempt to give reality to the supernatural. As we read the “Ancient Mariner,” it never occurs to us to question any of the Incidents of that uncanny voyage. The old man's spell is on us, as 1t was on the wedding guest. Coleridge utters his words of magic, and the transformation is effected. We see for the time with his eyes. And so, in this wonderful work, Victor Hugo holds each of us, “like ’’ any “seven-years child,” while he unfolds many a marvellous tale. We never think of doubting what lives so fully in his imagination, what WWCTOR AUGO. 171 he reproduces so vividly. As well might we doubt the reality of those scorching fires of Hell that had left their mark, as his contemporaries thought, upon the face of Dante ; or of the fearful sights and sounds that beset Christian on his way through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. These things seem natural enough in the world which a great Imagination creates. And so here, when Eblis, at work in his laboratory of evil, takes all God’s best gifts and transforms them into the locust, and God in turn takes the locust and makes of 1t a sun, we are not astonished. When the lions to which Daniel has been thrown speak to us their glave thoughts, we listen without surprise. When the archangel shears off the head of the Emperor Ratbert, and wipes his sword upon the wind-vexed even- 1ng clouds, our only feeling is one of satisfaction that Justice has been done. We follow unhesitatingly Canute the Parricide in his march of horror, when, being dead, he fares forth into the darkness, and takes the snow of the mountain to make him a winding-sheet, and feels its whiteness Sullied, drop after drop, by a red rain of blood, and so wanders on for ever, afraid to appeal in the light of God’s countenance. But here a quotation will help me, for a part of this poem has been excellently rendered by Mr. Garnett : “Evening came And hushed the olgan in the holy place, And the priests, issuing ſlom the temple doors, Leſt the dead king in peace. Then he alose, Opened his gloomy eyes, and grasped his swold, And went forth loftily. The massy walls Yielded before the phantom, like a mist. 17 IIFE OF There is a sea where Aarhuus, Altona, And Elsinore vast domes and shadowy towers Glass in deep waters. Over this he went Dark, and still Darkness listened for his foot Inaudible, itself being but a dream. Straight to Mount Savo went he, gnawed by time, And thus, ‘O mountain, buffeted of storms, Give me of thy huge mantle of deep snow To frame a winding sheet.” The mountain knew him, Nor dared refuse, and with his sword Canute Cut from its flank white snow, enough to make The garment he desired; and then he cried, “Old mountain death is dumb ; but tell me thou The way to God.” More deep each dread ravine And hideous hollow yawned, and sadly thus Answered that hoar associate of the clouds : “Spectre, I know not, I am always hele' Canute departed, and with head erect, All white and ghastly in his robe of snow, Went forth into great silence and great night, By Iceland and Norway. After him Gloom swallowed up the universe. He stood A sovran kingdomless, a lonely ghost Confronted with Immensity. He saw The awful Infinite, at whose portal pale Lightning Sinks dying; Darkness, skeleton Whose Joints are nights, and utter Formlessness Moving confusedly in the horrible dark, Inscrutable and blind. No star was there, Yet something like a haggard gleam ; no sound But the dull tide of Darkness, and her dumb And fearful shudden. ‘’Tis the tomb,” he said . ‘God is beyond l’ Thiee steps he took, then cried. 'Twas deathly as the grave, and not a voice Responded, nor came any breath to sway The snowy mantle, with unsullied white Emboldening the spectral wanderer. Sudden he marked how, like a gloomy star, A spot grew broad upon his livid robe; VICTOR AUGO. 173 Slowly it widened, raying dankness forth, And Canute proved it with his spectial hands: It was a drop of blood.” But in the world of legend there are other things besides the supernatural and marvellous. There are things which copy fact so closely as to be almost undistinguishable from it. That Philip II, the “patient writer of the Escurial,” as Motley calls him, sat at his desk, day after day, compassing the downfall of England, this we know. And may it not be true that some last puff of the tem- pest that scattered the Armada did actually penetrate into the Escurial garden and deflower the little Infanta's rose, bringing a flush of surprise and anger into her sweet child's face? “Madam,” is the duenna's explanation and comment, “everything in the world belongs to princes except the wind.” Was ever moral of a great event so daintily enforced P But there is another poem in the “Légende” in which we hug reality even more closely, the poem entitled “Les pauvres Gens.” (“Poor Folk”). The world is not so ill a place but that this touching and beautiful story has had its counterpart, many a time and oft, among the authentic annals of the poor. The fishel- man who takes two little orphans into his already ovel- brimming family belongs fortunately to a world not altogether of legend. Between the story of the “Pauvres Gens” on the one hand, and Canute the Parricide on the other, come legends of chivalry—of the mighty battle between Roland and Oliver, of the taking of Narbonne by Aymerillot, of the Cid, of other paladins;–legends of the East, of Sultan Mourad saved from the last extremity of hell by his kind- 174 A. IAEAE OF ness to a swine; legends of the Renaissance, and of Pan Singing his strange wild song on Olympus before the gods, legends of to day; and also apocalyptic visions of the future. For these last I confess to not caring very greatly. They are the pieludes to a class of poem which finally invaded Victor Hugo's art, and made it too often diſſuse, formless, and void of Interest. The singular advantage to the poet of the subjects which he mainly treated in the “Légende’’ was their comparatively con- Crete character. Each contained a story; and, as he was an excellent story-teller, and a great artist to boot, he naturally set himself to tell his story as well as possible, and with as little abstract disquisition and declamation as might be. Thus the legends did him the Inestimable service of holding his work together, of forcing him to concentrate himself. Language and velse too are of the highest quality. There is a force, an almost rugged strength about the former quite new in French poetry. As Milton takes English, and hews it, like a sculptor hewing marble, into shapes of imperishable beauty, so here Victor Hugo takes French, a far less plastic material, and moulds it to his every purpose in his puissant hands. He never violates its laws, for, rash Innovator as he has been called, he thoroughly respects the material in which he works. But he bends it to his fancy and Imagination, and the result is superb. And as with the language, so with the verse. The French alexandrine becomes ductile to his touch, and as fit as our own blank verse for every highest poetic use. The “Légende des Siècles” V/CTOR A. UGO. 175 is the work of a great master. It marks an epoch in the history of French literature. - And with the prodigality of genius Victor Hugo was about to give to the world, beside this masterpiece in verse, a masterpiece in prose. The “Légende des Siècles" had appeared in the autumn of 1859. On April 3, 1862, was published simultaneously in Paris, Brussels, London, New York, Madrid, Berlin, St. Peters- burg, and Turin, the first volume of the “Misérables.” TThe book had been begun, we are told, long years before, even so far back as in the days anterior to 1848, and had afterwards been gradually worked upon, added to, altered. And it bears in some respects the mark of this slow fitfulness of growth. Not that there is any want of unity of effect or purpose. That is very far from being the case. But the unity, to use a very old image, which, however, is here so apposite that I must be forgiven for making it do service once more— the unity is that of a Gothic cathedral, and quite com- patible with all kinds of episodical additions and out- growths. These, in the “Misérables,” are of very diverse interest and value. It would be too much to affirm that a description of the battle of Waterloo was essential to the book. No doubt the father of Marius, the second hero, is all but slain in that “king-making victory,” and Marius himself greatly influenced in after years by the manner of his father's rescue. But to hold it necessary on this ground to give a full account of the battle is taking a very liberal view of the novelist's functions. Nevertheless few of us would wish Victor Hugo's description unwritten. It may or may not be 176 I./A.E OF strategically exact—of this I am no judge. It is at least a fine effective piece of battle painting, and not to be spared. But when Marius in turn is rescued, and the novelist thereupon thinks it incumbent upon him to give an account of the origin and history of the sewers through which the wounded youth is borne,—why then we feel in- clined to use the reader's privilege of “skipping.” Except to a specialist, the sewers of Paris, regarded in their historical aspect, can scarcely have an Interest for any one, and the specialist would probably regard Victor Hugo's erudition as not beyond cavil. However, this is but playing in the outskirts of a mighty book, or, to go back to our cathedral image, entering by some little lateral door, and peeping at the Side-chapels and sacristy to the neglect of the great dim nave and soaring choir. Let us enter, as enter we should, by the west portal which Victor Hugo himself has prepared for ll.S. “So long,” says the preſace, “as, owing to the operation of laws and customs, there exists a social damnation ci eating artificial hells in the midst of civilization, and complicating destiny, which is Divine, with an element of human fatality; so long as the three problems of the age, the degradation of man through proletarianism, the fall of woman through hunger, the atrophy of the child through night, are unsolved; so long as in certain regions social asphyxia is still possible; or, in other words, and looking at the matter from a more extended standpoint, so long as ignorance and misery remain upon the ealth—so long books of this kind may not be without use.” Of the influence of laws and customs in all this, I may have somewhat to say hereafter. Meanwhile we will look into the “artificial hells” of which the novelist speaks. * VICTOR HUGO. 177 Jean Valjean the hero, the leading character of the book, is a convict. He had stolen a loaf of bread for his starving sister and her seven starving children, and had thereupon been sent to the hulks. Here he remained for several years, and at last, when the story begins, comes forth into the world again, bearing in his heart a bitter hatred for his fellow-men. His first experiences of outside life are not calculated to dispel this feeling. Though able and willing to pay for a night's lodging, he is driven from place to place, and at last even barked and bitten out of a dog-kennel. Then a kindly soul directs him to the dwelling of the good bishop, Myriel. The man is quite worn out and desperate, and makes no attempt to con- ceal his character. But the saintly bishop entertains him hospitably, and as an equal, and sets him to sleep in the guest-chamber of the house. Jean Valjean wakes in the middle of the night. Evil and good contend in his breast. He rises stealthily, and steals his generous host's small supply of silver plate. In the morning he is found by the rural police with the spoons and forks on him, and naturally brought back as a thief. But M. Myriel ob- tains his release by saying that the articles have been given to him, and adds to the gift two silver candlesticks. Even yet, however, the evil in Jean Valjean's heart is not conquered. In a strange state of mental perturbation, he robs a child of a two-franc bit. Then a great horrol of himself comes over him. - - Nor is his repentance transient. We next find him as a beneficent manufacturer, under the name of M. Made. leine, making his own fortune and that of the district in which he has settled. He is honest, kindly, and generous. I 2 178 IIFE OF One of his good works is to rescue a poor sick girl called Fantine, who has been seduced and heartlessly abandoned by a Paris student—a poor girl who, to support hel little daughter, has sold all—her shame, her teeth, her hair. But just as he is about to bring together the dying mother and her child, a terrible complication arises in his own affairs. He hears that a man has been arrested for his own old theft of the two-franc bit, and may possibly be condemned. Then a terrible conflict arises in his breast. Is it his duty to give himself up to justice, to cut short his own most useful career, to go back to the living death of the hulks P Fielcely does the tempest rage in his brain. For a whole night it sways this way and that. At last right prevails. With immense difficulty he succeeds 1n reaching the place of tilal in time to save the false Jean Valjean. Does the reader follow Victor Hugo's thought 2 Hele, he seems to say, is a man who has achieved the im- mensely difficult task of reforming his own character, a man who is good, wise, useful, and yet, because of his past, because in a moment of fielce mental crisis he has deprived a child of two francs, he is blanded and iric- trievably ruined. So poor Jean Valjean is retaken, and sent back to the hulks. But he escapes; and finds poor little Cosette— who meanwhile has been villainously used by the people to whom Fantine had confided her—and hides himself from pursuit in the great wilderness of Paris. There the child grows into a beautiful girl; and Love takes her destiny in hand, as Love sometimes does take in hand the destiny of men and maidens, and she gives her WZCTOR A. UGO 179 heart to Marius de Pontmercy. But though Love be ready enough to direct our lives, he does not always lead- them into the smoothest of paths, and Cosette and Marius have to pass over many rocks and direful places. Jean Valjean, too, has his troubles. Indeed one rather pitles him than the two lovers, for they have youth and 16s hope- fulness on their side, while he is old, and Cosette is his all. However, here again, he conquers all lower feeling, resigns his more than daughter to her lover, Saves that lovel's life at the risk of his own, and without that lover's knowledge; and then dies, almost forsaken, except at the very last, by those for whom he had done so much. ºs But how, by any weak process of epitome or analysis, convey to the reader any impression of the power of . this great book P. There are chapters upon chapters In 1t that for grandeur and pathos cannot be sul- passed. Such is the chapter to which I have alieady alluded, the chapter entitled “Une tempête sous un crâne,” describing the storm in Jean Valjean's brain when he is debating whether he should deliver himself up to justice. Such are the chapters relating to poor little Cosette, her terrified walk in the dalk to the village well —her little broken wooden shoe put out on Christmas eve In the hope that some Santa Claus might pass that way— though, heaven knows, no Santa Claus had ever put any- thing into it on previous occasions. Such—I am quot- ing almost at hazard—is the short chapter comparing Jean Valjean's position to that of a man lost and sinking in mid-ocean. And everywhere the descriptions live, the events move. We see it all. Each scene is present to us. And the characters live too. Bishop Myriel, apos- 180 A.NFE OF tolic as he may be, is no lay figure. Jean Valjean is a man of very real flesh and blood. Poor Fantine one seems to know ; and Cosette most certainly ; and Marius as a “jeune premier” of a very French type. Marius' royalist grandfather, M. Gillenormand, is also genuine enough, if somewhat caricatured. And there are two characters that live not only as individuals, but as types. These are, Javert, the 1deal policeman, whose life is wrecked on finding that Jean Valjean, though a con- vict, is not a scoundrel ;-and Gavroche, the little street arab, the town sparrow of Paris. The latter with his light gaiety, his ready wit, his queer kindli- ness, his pluck under fire, may be said to have won a place in universal literature beside Gil Blas and Don Quixote, and mine uncle Toby, and Sam Weller. Did not M. Renan lately inform us how many years of study and anxious thought it had taken him to reach the high Serenity of Gavroche's religious.opinions 2 - Victor Hugo was not one of those novelists who are fond of masquerading in their own novels. We can nowhere point to any character of his and say that it is merely Victor Hugo in another dress, and represents either what he thought himself to be, or wished himself to be thought. The character who comes nearest to be an exception to this 1s Marius de Pontmercy, whose experiences have a very suggestive similarity to the early experiences of the novelist, Both have been brought up in monarchical opinions. Both have imperialist fathers who have served under Napoleon. Both work through Imperialism to repub- licanism. Both fall in love—though that perhaps is not distinctive, – and in both cases the love-idyl is con- VICTOR A. UGO. 181 nected with a garden. Both, too, are crossed in love— separated by untoward chance, from the object of their affections;–and both pass through a season of penury and almost want, and finally the love suits of both are Crowned with success. The publication of the “Misérables " was an event, as many of us can very well remember. The power and pathos of the book wele unmistakable. Vigour In the painting of the scenes, admirable effectiveness In naluation, real vitality in the characters, intense sympathy with the down-trodden and suffering, a style Such as no other contemporary, and but few writers of any other time could handle—when a novel possesses qualities like these, 1t is a very great novel. Hele, as in the “Légende des Siècles,” Victor Hugo was at his best. So every one read the book, and nearly every one ad- mured it, and it flew into all lands upon the wings of many languages. When the publication was complete, on the 16th of September, 1862, M. Lacroix, the publisher, gave a grand banquet to the author at Brussels. Thither flocked liberal Journalists and lutelary men flom Paris, and writers from various quarters, and all was conviviality and Congratulation. But soon the busy worker was at work again. In the spring of 1864 appeared his book entitled “William Shakespeare”—a book, as Mr. Swinburne admits, that “throws more light on the greatest genius of our own century than on the gleatest genius of the age of Shakes- peare.” And in good sooth the light it throws on the latter is scarcely blinding. But it shows what Victor Hugo himself had come to regard as the poet's mission. The 182 AZAZE OF poet, as he here tells us, “for a truth, is a priest. There 1s but one pontiff here below, genius.” Whereupon, If we ask by what signs we are to recognise our spiritual pastors and masters, we are told that they are “the men who represent the total sum of the absolute realisable by man,” that they attain to the “highest summit of the human spirit,” “the Ideal,” where “they occupy thrones,” and that their thoughts plunge into the abyss of the in- finite. Alas, 1t was an evil day when Victor Hugo em- blaced these ecclesiastical opinions. Exile had selved him well in many ways. It had forced him to concentrate himself on great work, as he had not done, latterly at least, amid the mental dissipations of Paris. But clearly brood- 1ng in solitude, and receiving the adulation of his own party, were not without danger. To few is it given in this world to pontificate with advantage, or even with Impunity. Meanwhile, during the publication of all these books, the snows of age were gathering on the poet's head. He had left France in 1851 a middle-aged man of forty-eight. In the autumn of 1865, when his next volume after “William Shakespeare” appeared, he had reached the riper age of sixty-two. But though the “Chansons des Rues et des Bois” (“The Songs of the Stleets and the Woods ") is thus not the production of a young man, yet 1t is, in the class of subjects treated, and the mode of treatment also, the most juvenile of the books written by Victor Hugo after he was out of his teens. “There is a certain moment of life,” he says in the preface, “when . . . the deslie to look back becomes Irresistible. Our youth, dead in her beauty, reappears to us and insists on claiming VVCTOR AUGO. 183 our thoughts.” So the poet sings here of youth's light gos- Samer loves, the very thistledown of early passion—Sings, though with less of sensuality, almost as Béranger had sung of Lisette—sings, though with less of real feeling, as Burns had sung of Bonnie Jean and Highland Mary. Does the singing sound false at all? Is the leader Inclined to ask; does the quavering falsetto of age mar the delivery of the notes ? Why, no ; one cannot fairly say that there is any defect of this kind. If the book were a young man's book, one would accept it as genuine enough, and have nothing but praise fol the deft skill, the ad- mirable craftsmanship of the versification. Our only feeling of incongruity comes from a knowledge that the wilter must long have put away the childish things of which he speaks. A novel-comes next in the long roll of Victor Hugo's works, a novel with a short preface dated March, 1866. It is entitled “Les Travailleurs de la Mer” (“The Toilers of the Sea”), and the scene is laid partly in Guernsey and partly on a lone rock-reef amid the ever-boiling waters. Gilliatt and Déruchette are the hero and heroine—the latter a pretty piece of not very distinctive womanhood— the former a fine fellow, gifted with a strength of body and will beyond mortal. Poor Gilliatt the fates were decidedly harsh to him. Why does Déruchette un- wittingly and unintentionally win his heart by writing his name in the snow P Why, when her uncle's steamer is lost, does she—like any princess of romance sure of the inestimable value of her charms—proclaim that she will marry whomsoever rescues the wrecked vessel ? Ought pretty girls to make Such rash vows, 184 A.M.EE OF especially when they have no intention of keeping them? Vainly does Gilliatt go forth to the reef where the boat has been cast by the sea ; vainly does he fight for long weeks against mechanical difficulties wellnigh Insurmount- able, against the weather's worst inclemencies, against hunger and thirst, against growing weakness, against a monstrous devil fish of the deep, against the full fury of an Atlantic storm ; vainly does he conquer all these, rescue the steamer's engine and bring it back Single- handed to St. Sampson. When he presents himself, all weathel-Scarred and hacked with toll, before Déruchette, he finds that that young woman has, during his absence, given her heart to a pretty young clergyman. Hyperion to a satyr they stand before her. Gilliatt recognizes his defeat , magnanimously helps his rival to a somewhat funcelemonious marriage; and suffers the sea to swallow him up Just as the boat containing the bride and bride- groom dips below the horizon. An unhappy ending Certainly. A man of this power might have done man- kind some service. Pity so strong a craft should have foundered in the wake of a light little feather-brained pleasure boat like Miss Déruchette. But such things have happened Since the days of Solomon, and were possibly not even unknown before the reign of that wise monal ch. It were Idle to declare that “Les Travailleurs de la Mer,” notwithstanding some grand seascapes, and a kind of Titanic heroism in the principal character, 1s at all comparable with so majestic a work as “Les Misérables.” But at least the world to which it introduces us is a sufficiently real world for all art purposes. The VICTOR HUGO. 185 secondary personages are quite possible—some even apparently sketched from actual life—and Gilliatt himself Is a character that the world of fiction could ill spare. When, however, we come to Victor Hugo's next novel, “L’Homme qui rit” (the “Laughing Man”), published In 1869, we are carried to regions the like whereof were never trodden by human foot nor conceived by a healthy imagination. “The repulsiveness of the scheme of the story,” says Mr. Louis Stevenson, “and the manner 1n which it is bound up with Impossibilities and absurdi- tles discourage the reader at the outset, and 1t needs an effort to take it as seriously as it deserves.” Mr. Louis Stevenson 1s a critic from whom one differs with doubt— feeling that he may probably be right; but yet I confess to not seeing how such a book can deserve to be taken sellously at all. To me it is Simply a preposterous, an 1m- possible book. That Victor Hugo possessed no know- ledge of the England of Queen Anne's day is abundantly clear. That his knowledge of the England of any day was of the most fantastic character scarcely needs formal proof. The historical names in this book are misspelt In a way that shows Ignorance as well as Carelessness. The English names which he invents for his imaginary characters, Lord Tom-Jum-Jack, GovICum, the pot-boy, Phelem ghe-madone, the prize-fighter, Barkilphedro, the courtler-parasite, are names to excite derision. Whether Southwark was plonounced “Soudric" in Queen Anne's days, I don’t know. It certainly is not pronounced “Sousouolc” now. Neither 1s “Fibl” or “Vinos” at all likely to convey to a French ear the sound of the English “Venus ” or “Phoebe.” Neither are Englishmen in 186 I./FE OF the habit of addiessing God as “My Lord,” though Victor Hugo gravely assures us that this is the case, and bases moral teachings on that form of address to the deity. Neither was a “wapen take "a kind of superior policeman. Neither was James II. In any sense a “jovial" monarch. Nor, in short, does anything in this fantastic book bear any resemblance to anything that ever was or ever will be. However, let us take the book out of the region of history and political purpose altogether, and regard it simply as a novel. Let us accept it as true that a king— James II. if you like—has, for eccentric purposes of his own, ordered a set of polyglot scoundrels to cut off a boy's lips, so that he shall wear an eternal grin upon his face; and then let us follow the boy's fortunes—his meeting with Dea, the little blind girl, with Ursus the kindly misanthropic tramp; his growth to manhood, his love for Dea; his love passages with Lady Josiane the virgin harlot; his recognition as a peel of the realm ; his single speech to their lordships; his return to Ursus and Dea; and his death. Let us look at the persons he comes across in the course of his career. Can It be said that a single one of them lives? They all strut about in a galvanic sort of a manner certainly, and they all talk, and 1n exactly the same way. But does a single one of them live? Can one of them, with the single doubtful exception of Lady Josiane, be said to have a human character P And how many of the scenes possess even as much likelihood as is required for the purposes of fiction ? Certainly not the sinking of the vessel contain- ing the polyglot scoundrels aforesaid, nor the amazing WICTOR HUGO. 187 trial, nor the wonderful prize-fight in which foul blows are freely allowed. Of course there are striking scenes and pieces of literary art. A writer like Victor Hugo does not write a long book without showing signs of his power. Charles Reade held him to be the one great genius of this century, adding, however, that he sometimes had the nightmare. In “L’Homme qui rit” the nightmare decidedly predominates. Place the book in thought, for a moment, beside Thackeray’s “Esmond.” Both relate to the same period of English history. The one reproduces faultlessly the spirit of that period, and makes the days of Queen Anne live for us again. The other, with far greater professions of accuracy and research, 1s an absurd caricature. Victor Hugo was the gleat romanticist of his time ; Thackeray the great English classic of his generation. Thele were things that Victor Hugo could do magnifi- cently, and that Thackeray could not touch. But in such comparison as this the Frenchman's work is “as the small dust of the balance,” and kicks the beam. Place “L’Homme qui rit” beside “Esmond,” and its unreality becomes doubly glaring. The publication of “L’Homme qul rit” takes us to 1869, and therefore to the eve of Victor Hugo's re-entry into France. If we look back to the fourteen years of his sojourn in Guernsey, we shall see that they had been ſilled with excellent work. Indeed his pen had been so prolific as to leave me, scant space for the chronicling of domestic events. Thus, however, is the less to be re- gletted, inasmuch as the years in question were, for the most part, barren of striking incident. Guernsey had been 188 A./FE OF like a haven of refuge after the storms in Paris, Brussels, and Jersey. Of the way of life at Hauteville House, a word has already been said. The morning was spent in work. At twelve came the French break- fast, or early lunch. Then there were long walks—for the poet was here an unwearied pedestrian, as he had always been when in Paris;–and many huntings about for bric-a-brac of various kinds; and billiards, and other forms of amusement. With the Society of Guernsey, I was in- formed, locally, that the Hugos did not mix very much. Every Thursday a dinner was given to some of the poorest children in the Island. Of course the poet paid the penalty of greatness in having an enormous corre- spondence. With the success of his books wealth had returned, and his well-known generosity tempted appli- cants from all quarters. Literary letters also flowed in upon him. Scarce a French author-aspirant who did not wish to submit his verse or prose to “the Master.” Towards such “the Master” was not always quite in- genuous. It has been said of Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and George Sand, that the first answered young wilters by saying, “Thank you, you are very good;’ the second, “Thank you, you are very great;” and that the woman alone had sufficient Candour to express an honest opinion on the productions submitted to her judgment. The bill is a true one. Victor Hugo's praises on such occasions were perfectly indiscriminate, and often—as in the case of M. Maxime du Camp—quite absurdly fulsome. The years between 1856 and 1870 are marked by four events of capital importance in the domestic annals of VICTOR HUGO. 189 the Hugos—for it seems unnecessary to give any record here of summer trips to Brussels, Zealand, and else- where. It was during these years that François Hugo loved and lost a Guernsey girl to whom he was engaged, and greatly attached; that Adèle Hugo, much against her father's wish as I gather, married an English naval officer; and that Charles Hugo married, at Brussels, a ward of M, Jules Simon, the eminent orator, writer, and statesman. And it was on the 28th of August, 1868, and also at Brussels, that Madame Hugo bade to her husband and children her last farewell. She had asked to be buried beside her daughter, at Villequier. So, amid the joys and sorrows that are common to the greatest as well as the smallest of men, did the years of the poet's exile wear to a close. But before passing on, it is only just to record the impression which he left on the mind of one who knew him well at this time: “He was good enough,” says M. Asseline, “to accept my friend- ship, and to give me his own in return. I was long his neighbour, and often his guest. We have travelled together." With his sons he was ever radiant, the gayest, and most alert of us all. Every- where, and at all times, I have seen him gracious and good, I am describing him here as I have known him in the intimacy of private life, and such as he shows himself in his letters—kindly and indul- gent to his own people, and full of good-will towards all. It is not right that future generations should only remember Victor Hugo as ‘the Master,’ the pontiff-king. There was also in him the man, the kindly relation, the friend, and in each of these characters he was most lovable.” * All testimony is unanimous that he was the most delightful of travelling companions, uniformly good-tempered and ready to be pleased. CHAPTER XI. N August, 1870, the eyes of all the world wele turned towards the frontier lands between Germany and France. At the news of the first disasters to the French arms, Victor Hugo left Guernsey and hurried to Brussels. Thither, in the first days of that terrible September, came tidings of the Emperor's capitulation at Sedan; and, on the 4th, the news of the revolution which had swept away the wreckage of the Empile, and established a Republic on the ruins. Victor Hugo might have returned to his native land in 1859, and again ten years afterwards; but though his son François had accepted the later amnesty, and had for some months been doing opposition joul- nalistic work," he had haughtily declared that, so long as Louis Napoleon held climinal sway, he should not deign to put his foot on French soil. Now, however, the way was open. The Empire was gone; the country in sore need. On the 5th he took the train from Brussels to Paris. M. Claretie, the voluminous novelist, dramatist, jour- nalist, who has just been made an Academician, accom- panied the poet on this somewhat memorable journey, * On the Rappel, in Paris. AAFE OF VICTOR AMUGO. 191 and has told its incidents. He describes how Victor Hugo, wearing a soft felt hat, and carrying a small travelling bag slung across his shoulders, took his ticket for Paris—the very Mecca of all Frenchmen—with a very natural emotion; how he sat in the train watch- 1ng for the first glimpse of the old loved country; how tears filled his eyes at the sight of some of Vinoy’s defeated soldiers, and how he tiled to cheer the poor worn-out wretches by shouts of “Vive la France 1 Vive l'Armée Vive la Patrie ' " Then the shades of even- 1ng began to gather, and it was ten o’clock before the train reached its destination. Charles Hugo was accom- panying his father. But on the platform were François Hugo, and the poet's friends and disciples, M. Vacquerie and M. Paul Meul Ice. These raised a great shout of “Vive Victor Hugo ”—but there were wounded men in the train, and the shout was silenced ;-to be taken up again, however, outside the station, by thousands upon thousands of throats, and to roll, like a great sea of acclamation, all along the way to Paul Meurice's house. “Never,” says M. Alphonse Daudet, the novelist,- “never can I forget the sight as the carriage passed along the Rue Lafayette, Victor Hugo standing up and being literally borne along by the multitude.” So there was great and pardonable excitement, on either side, as the old man, whose vigour was still that of youth, came back among the people he loved so well; —and he spake to them words, not unfitting nor wanting an appropriate eloquence, on the duty of defending and saving Paris, and the immediate duty, above all, of being at unity among themselves. * - * 192 AAFE OF But his words lost their magic when addressed to other than French hearts. As the ring of iron drew ever closer and closer round the doomed city, it occurred to him that he might with advantage address an appeal to the advancing Prussians. They, however, were scarcely in a mood to be moved by antithetical distinctions between the Empire and France's new government, still less to listen patiently to panegyrics of Paris as the place where “men learn to live,” “the city of cities,” “the city of men,” the city occupying the position of pre-eminence formerly occupied by Athens and Rome, the “centre” beside which “Berlin, Dresden, Vienna, Munich, and Stuttgart,” were but as provincial capitals. When the beast that lurks in the dark places of our humanity is roused and roaring, no remembered services, however great, will appease his rage. Did not the people of Sel- kirk throw stones at Sir Walter Scott's carriage during the Reform agitation, and the populace of London break the Duke of Wellington's windows P Nay, within a very few months of the Issue of this manifesto, was not Victor Hugo himself, when speaking in defence of the Com- munards, to have his hour of unpopularity among his own countrymen, and to be bitterly assailed and reviled, even by such approved liberals as M. Sarcey? Could it be reasonably expected that the Germans, who owed Victor Hugo nothing, should be stayed in the full rush of con- quest by invidious comparisons between their own cities and Paris? They have somewhat to answer for in con- nection with the war. But that they took this manifesto very ill, and even suggested the propriety of “hanging the poet,” can scarcely excite our wonder. VICTOR HUGO. 193 N The poet, meanwhile, has decided to remain in the beleaguered city, and take his share in its perils. That he should be a personage there, or, indeed, anywhere, is a matter of course ; and pieces from the “Châti- ments” are freely recited for patriotic purposes, and one of the cannon presented to the city by the Society of Men of Letters is christened with his name. But he takes no very active part in such politics as are possible, and refuses to abet any revolutionary movement that might hamper the defence. As usual, he bears a brave heart, cheering all those about him by his gay endurance of the privations incident to a siege. He even wears the little military képi. of the National Guard, incurring thereby the contempt of General Trochu, whose sneers he afterwards answers in kind. His sons are in Paris also, and his two infant grand- children, Georges and Jeanne—of whom he is to write so often and so pathetically ; and on the Ist of January, amid the flash of swords and the sparkle of bayonets, he takes to the little ones his new year's gift of toys. He wanders about the city a great deal, too, revisiting the old haunts so familiar in days of yore ; and once, when musing in the place where the garden of the Feuillantines had been, musing of his far-distant childhood, of his mother, of the wife he has lost,--a bombshell breaks in rudely upon his meditations. Anon the poor little baby Jeanne falls ill, for the unnatural diet tells heavily on infant life, and a great fear falls upon the grandfather's heart lest the child should die. He writes a good deal, of course, writes much of the verse that finds a place in the “Année terrible,” published two years afterwards: I3 194 AAFE OF verse denunciatory of Louis Napoleon, and the Prussians, and kings, and priests, and full of patriotism; but infelior, as I venture to think, to the verse which he would have wiltten, in less didactic days, on the terrible tragedy being enacted before his eyes. And all this while the weary weeks of the Siege are crawling onwards, with hope now and again of some successful sortie, or of relief from without, and the persistent accumulated horrors of war, famine, and winter; and finally the dread cer- taunty that everything is in vain, that General Trochu has no plan, has never had a plan, and that capitulation is inevitable. So came the end; and on the 8th of February, 1871, elections were held, with Germany's consent, to determine whether poor France should drain the cup of war to the last dregs, or submit to be dismembered and despoiled. Victor Hugo was elected second on the list, with 214,169 votes, by the Department of the Seine, and reached Bordeaux, where the Assembly was to meet, on the 14th. Seldom has popular assembly had to decide on a more momentous issue, or been placed between the horns of a mole dreadful, a more hideous dilemma. Victor Hugo spoke in the Assembly itself three times, and in committee once. He spoke in favour of the con- tinuance of the war, in favour of the deputies from Alsace and Lorraine retaining their seats in the Assembly, even after the cession of the two provinces; in favour of the retention of Paris as the seat of government; in favour of recognizing the election of Garibaldi, which it had been ploposed to annul. The last speech was violently interrupted. Garibaldi's name was of an ill savour *. * VICTOR HUGO. 195 In the Assembly. France, in her houl of need, had turned towards her rural gentry, and a great proportion of the members were royalists and good Catholics. To these Garibaldi's anti-clerical opinions were a stone of stumbling. Victor Hugo had already, in his first speech, offended their susceptibilities by ill-advised remarks on the Pope. When therefore he declared that Garibaldi “was the only general who had fought on the French side, and not been defeated,” there arose a mighty hubbub, in the midst of which he, then and there, resigned his seat. Not an altogether dignified proceeding perhaps. . If a man, however eminent, enters parliamentary life, he must accept its conditions. He can hardly expect a miscellaneous popular assembly to listen to him as the College of Cardinals listen to an allocution fiom the Papal chair. Though, however, Victor Hugo certainly exhibited some petulance on this occasion, yet it cannot be a matter of regret to his admirers that he abandoned a sphere for which he was not certainly now, if he ever had been, well fitted. His few speeches in the Assembly are sufficient to show how entirely he had become un- fitted fol plactical politics, This happened on the 8th of March. On the 13th, and just as he was about to take his departure from Bordeaux, a terrible calamity fell upon him. He had on that day invited a few friends to a farewell dinner. Charles Hugo was to be of the party, and started in a cab for the place of meeting. When the cab arrived, he was found to be dead, struck down by a fit of apoplexy. The father took the body of his son to Paris, and buried it there on the memorable 18th of 196 Z/FE OF March, amid the first sputterings and mutterings of the horrible insurrection of the Commune,—buried 1t with funeral procession of promiscuous National Guards, and with insurgents on the barricades present- ing arms to the dead. Then, on the 21st of March, he went on to Brussels to settle his son's affairs. But not here, and not yet, was this stormy petrel of politics to find rest. From Brussels he watched, as may be supposed, with an intense absorbing interest—all Europe was watching it too—the outbreak of revolu- tionary passion in Paris. His sympathies, on the whole, were on the side of the Commune. Was not Paris the first city in the world P Was she not, above all other cities, entitled to govern herself? Was not the majority of the Assembly a majority of reactionists P Was it not their ineptitude that had goaded the people of Paris into revolution ? Accordingly, though forced to admit that the movement, involving as it did a civil war almost within gunshot of the Germans, was at least inopportune, and though constrained to condemn many of the actions of the Communards, their murders and incendiarism, and the destruction of Napoleon's column, yet, as I have said, his sympathies were, on the whole, rather with them than with the party of order. So when they were defeated and ruthlessly punished, he lifted up a voice of protest. The Belgian Government had decided not to treat them as political refugees, but as the enemies of mankind, and to refuse them admittance into the country. He, on his side, declared, publicly and with pomp, in a letter to the Indépendance Belge, dated the 26th of May, that if any WICTOR HUGO. 197 escaped Communard came to his dwelling, “Place des Barricades, No. 4,” he should be taken in and protected. This letter, not altogether unnaturally, exasperated the loyal Belgians. Some fifty of them collected, on the night of the 27th, before his house, and threw stones at the windows, and howled out their execrations ; and on the 3oth of May the Government, for the second time, Intimated to him that he must go elsewhere. Accordingly, on the 2nd of June, he had made his way into Luxem- bourg, But from this date, at last, something like comparative peace is reached. Of course a man like Victor Hugo, with his passionate convictions, keen interest in public affairs, and full assurance that he possesses a seer's foresight for the direction of mankind, is not likely to abandon politics altogether. In this same year, 1871, we find him refusing, ultra-liberal as he is, to accept an electoral mandate, but presenting himself once more, and this time unsuccessfully, as a candidate for re-election to the Assembly; and on the 3oth of January, 1876, he is elected to the Senate. But practically, after June, 1871, his career as an active politician is over. If he still writes and speaks in favour of the amnesty, the necessity of making Paris once more the capital of France, and other matters political and social, he does so as a publicist only, and not as a militant party man. More and more, as the end draws near, does he with- draw from the arena. But still he wrote apace. Many poets of renown have not, in their whole lives, written as much as he pub- lished between 1872 and 1885, that is, between his 198 AAA’E OF seventieth and eighty-third years. The volumes during that period followed one another so rapidly that it is scarcely possible for the epitomizing biographer to do more than barely catalogue their titles. First, on the 20th of April, 1872, appeared “L’Année Terrible,” to which I have already referred, using it as a record of the poet's life during the siege. It is dedicated “to Paris, the Capital of the Nations.” Next, on the 20th of February, 1874, came out his last novel, “Quatre-vingt Treize” (“Ninety three"). This was written mainly during a season of retirement at Guernsey, and may occupy a place among his books by the side of the “Travailleurs de la Mer,” and far above “L’Homme qul rit.” The story is comparatively simple. A republican battalion—we are, as the title of the book Implies, in 1793—has found in the woods of the Vendée a poor woman and her three children, and has taken the children into its affection. The children ale captured by the royalists, and the mother is wounded and left for dead. Then the royalists in turn are defeated, and take refuge in a castle, where they are besieged, and in sore straits. Whereupon they offer to give up the three children if allowed by the besiegers to go forth safe and sound;—otherwise the children will be burnt. This is a bargain which the attacking party, notwithstanding the love they bear to the little things, cannot accept, and the assault begins. It is of a terrible character. The royalists are killed one by one, all except their Marquis-chief, who is wondelfully saved through a sort of moving stone in the wall. The last man left, as he is dying, musters his remaining strength to light the slow match which is /* AIUGO. 199 to set fire to the tower on the bridge in which the children are confined. Nothing can save them. The flames are flickering up in long tongues, higher, higher, higher, from the lower storey. Suddenly the mother, who has recovered from her wound, and for long days has been looking for her children, appears on the scene with a lamentable cry: “The figure they saw there was no longer Michelle Fléchard, it was a Gorgon. Those who are miserable are formidable. The peasant woman was transfigured into one of the Eumenides. This commonplace village wife, vulgar, 19norant, incapable of thought, had suddenly acquired the epic proportions of despair. Gleat sorrows are a gigantic enlarging of the soul; this mother now represented maternity; everything that epitomizes humanity is superhuman ; she stood theme, on the bondel of that ravine, before that conflagration, before that crime, like some sepulchral power; she had the cry of a beast, and the gesture of a goddess ; her visage, from which curses proceeded, seemed like a flaming mask. Nothing could be more sovereign than the lightning that flashed fom her tear drowned eyes; her look cast thunderbolts on the conflagration.” Her anguish is so terrible that it excites compassion even in the iron heart of the escaped royalist chief, still lurking in the adjacent woods. He leturns to the castle with the key of the tower, saves the children, and is, of course, taken. The republican chief, who happens to be his nephew, does not, however, consider that he ought to be guillotined as the consequence of an act of humanity, and allows him to go free. Where- upon the nephew is himself guillotined by order of a delegate from the Convention, who has educated him, and loves him with a passionate love. As his head falls, the delegate shoots a bullet through his own healt. 200 A.IFE OF Now, of course, it must at once be apparent that such a story demands certain concessions on the reader's part. He must, for Instance, be prepared to take for granted the probability that three little peasant children should acquire an importance so disproportionate in the contest between bodies of armed men. He must further be ready to accept 1 as likely that the royalists would, out of the merest wantonness—for at that stage their own fate was sealed— do their best to burn the pietty little creatures. He must also make up his mund to receive, with as much confidence as he can command, a good deal of quasi history. And If he further thinks that the mother would be a more pathetic figure if less purely animal, I, for one, shall not blame him. But, having once made these concessions and reserves, he will be a leader difficult to please if he does not admit that the fighting in the book is done in a masterly way, that the description of the children at their play in the tower is a pretty, Smiling, happy picture of childhood; and that the book generally, though now and then, as in the passage quoted, somewhat thundelous in style, 1s yet full of passages of striking graphic prose. Passing by Victor Hugo's rather pompous account of his two sons, given as an Introduction to Charles Hugo's “Hommes de l’Exil,” published in October, 1874, we come next to the three volumes of “Actes et Paloles' (“Deeds and Words”), published respectively in May, 1875, November, 1875, and July, I876. These volumes contain his utterances on public matters between 1841 and 1851, 1852 and 1870, 1870 and 1876—all uttel- ances of capital importance to the biographer, but with V, C7 OR HUGO. 201 which the reader need not here be detained. For on the 26th of February, 1877, we come to what should Interest him more, to the issue of a new series of the “Légende des Siècles.” Are these two volumes, then, equal to the two volumes published eighteen years before P Hardly. As time went on, the habit of pleaching had grown terribly on the poet. He did it not only in his speeches, where the preaching may have been admissible, and In his prose, where it might have been spared, but in his verse, which at last It almost drowned. He had preached a great deal, a very great deal, in “L’Année Terrible.” He preached a great deal in these two later volumes of the “Légende des Siècles; ” and in “Le Pape,” published in April, 1878, and “La Pitié Suprême,” published in Feb. ruary, 1879, and “Religions et Religion,” published in April, 1880, and “L’Ane,” published in October, 1880, he may be said to have done nothing but preach. When, however, in the volumes of the “Légende * now immediately before us, he condescends to leave the pulpit and to become once more the minstrel, the teller of stories, the poet, then all his old skill comes back to him, and he is the Hugo whom no one can approach. Beside the masterpieces of the first selles one can place, for power and weird horror, “L’Aigle du Casque” (“The Eagle on the Helmet”), the story of the unequal combat between Tiphaine the hardened warrior and Angus the stripling, and of the fierce chase of the latter through the woods—and then of the punishment inflicted on Tiphaine for his misdeeds by the bronze eagle upon his helm. Nor, for pathos, does the earlier 202 LIFE OF series contain a story more touching than the story of “Petit Paul” (“Little Paul”), the poor motherless child whose father marries again, whose grandfather takes the mother's place, and then dies also, leaving the helpless three-years mite doubly forlorn, forsaken, misused, until one winter night he strays out to the churchyard where his grandfather lies, and is found sleeping the sleep that has no earthly morrow. Two battle pieces also, “Jean Chouan,” and “I e Cimetière d'Eylau.” (“The Cemetery of Eylau ’’), the latter full of musketry-crash and cannon music—these should be mentioned as equal to the poet's best. Why, why in the days of isolation and comparative solitude, in Jersey and Guernsey, had it ever been borne in upon him that he had a prophet's mission? Why did he not rest con- tent with the poet's laurel ? Of the books just enumerated I do not propose to say very much. “Le Pape” is constructed upon a most Ingenious plan. The poet-pontiff supposes that the real Pope dreams a dream, and in that dream delivers Victor Hugo's philosophy ex cathedrá to whomsoever will hear. Pope and anti-Pope thus exchanging sentiments—the Idea is a happy one. In “La Pitié Suprême" the poet surveys all history, and expresses his compassion at once for wicked kings and suffering peoples. In “Religions et Religion ” he demonstrates the futility of all dogmatic teaching, and preaches a pure deism—the belief in a vague being, whose “solstice” is “Conscience,” whose “axis" is “Justice,” whose “equinox" is “Equality,” whose “vast sunrise" is “Liberty.” In “L’âne,” a very learned ass explains to philosopher Kant, at some WICTOR AUGO. 203 considerable length, that human knowledge comes to very little—a position which Kant is finally constrained to admit. Whereupon the poet epiloguises, and assures Kant that all things, even evil things, are working for good. Three other books of verse did this most prolific writer produce.” “L’Art d'Étre Grandpere" (“The Art of Being a Grandfather ”), published in May, 1877; “Les Quatre Vents de l’Esprit” (“The Four Winds of the Spirit”), published in June, 1881; and “Théâtle en Liberté,” published in 1886, after his death. Over each of these one might willingly linger. The last 1s a book of plays not intended for the stage. The “Quatre Vents de l’Esprit” is a really important work, divided into four books — Satirical, dramatic, lyrical, and epic—and containing poems of very diverse value. “L’Art d'Étre Grandpere” is a monument of the old man's tenderness for his two grandchildren, and a book of singular grace. In what does the “art of being a grandfather” consist P does the reader ask? In being full of love, and delicate sympathy, and undeviating Indulgence, Victor Hugo would reply. To the father is committed the rod of discipline. He may have to be occasionally steln. But the glandfather—no such harsh duty is his. He may give the little folks all they ask for, may gratify their every whim, may carry Jam to them in moments of penitential retirement, may spoil them to his heart's content. It is his privilege, his joy; and if any one ventules to ask whether such a mode of education be the best devisable, he has his reply ready: * There are said to be a great many more in MS. and to be published. 204 I./FE OF Have sterner methods succeeded very well in the education of mankind P. Whereupon one trusts that Master Georges and Miss Jeanne were unspoilable, and felt the exceeding beauty of the love which their grand- father lavished upon them. And who would churlishly have begrudged to the old man the happiness which he derived from the constant society of these two children P His own children were all now gone, for François Hugo had died in Paris, after a long illness, on the 26th of December, 1873, and his daughter was divided from him by the terrible sepa- ration of insanity. What wonder if his heart went out to these last Scions of his race—if he watched them, treasured their little sayings and doings, played with them, told them his beautiful stories, drew pictures for them, was a child again in their company P Nor must 1t be supposed that the last years of this great man's life were anything but bright and happy. In December, 1871, on his return to Paris, he took apart- ments at No. 66, Rue de la Rochefoucauld, whence he removed, in 1873, to No. 21, Rue de Clichy." Here he lived with Madame Charles Hugo, and his two dear grandchildren; and Madame Drouet lived there, too, doing the honours of the salon, in which he received his friends and admirers. These, as may be supposed, flocked thither. The place became the rendezvous of all * In 1878 he was driven away from the Rue de Clichy by the im- portunity of visitors, and went to live in a quieter place, No. 130, Avenue d’Eylau, near the Bois de Boulogne. Madame Charles Hugo married M. Lockroy, the Deputy, and lived with Georges and Jeanne next door. Madame Drouet died two or three years before the poet. WYC7 OR HUGO. 205 that was greatest in literary France. For upwards of forty years the man had been the foremost writer in his country, one may even say the foremost poet in the world. During nineteen of those years he had been an exile in a cause which was now triumphant. Everything conspired to exalt him and do him honour. His plays were revived amid universal enthusiasm. His earlier books were spoken of with reverence, the new received with an almost-unanimity of praise. Nor, amid all this enthusiastic admiration, did he pretermit the literary toil in which he took such keen pleasure. As he had laboured in Jersey and Guernsey, so he laboured amid the distractions of Paris, neither hindered by the claims of society and attendance at the Senate, nor with brain in aught be- clouded, nor hand made weaker by old age. Old age 1 Until quite at the last he never seems to have felt its touch. As one reads the record of his secretary, M. Lesclide, one is simply amazed at the man's marvellous vitality. He might be a young fellow of twenty for the things he does and the energy he displays. He never wears a great coat ; he never carries an umbrella. His favourite form of relaxation is riding on the top of an omnibus. He goes up in a balloon—a kind of amuse- ment which Madame Drouet by no means enjoys. He is fond of little excursions in the environs of Paris, and is on such occasions the blithest of companions, as frolic as a boy, pleased with everything, the scenery, the flowers, the fare at the inn, all the little incidents of the day. Well may M. de Banville say that he is younger in these later times than he had been at thirty. At thirty he was writing of “Autumn Leaves,” and singing “Songs of the 206 A.IFE OF * Twilight.” Now, with life near its end, he is full of peace, looking death cheerfully in the face, confident in the hope of a world beyond the grave; and ardent, too, in his faith that a happier age is dawning for mankind. So does a serene and beautiful light linger upon the evening of his day of life. When one remembers how Sadly the careers of such men as Chateaubriand, Lamar- tine, Alfred de Musset, wore to a close—how painful are the concluding chapters of most biographies—one can, I think, but be glad that a great man should thus live greatly to the end. For now death at last struck the fatal blow. The poet was not to have his wish, and dandle a child of Jeanne upon his knee. On May 13, 1885, he seems to have caught a chill during one of his omnibus rides. Heart and lungs became affected. He suffered greatly, and wished for the end. On the 22nd that wish was answered. His last word, his last conscious act, were for his grand- children. In a memorandum given by the poet some few months before to his filend M. Vacquerie, he had said, “I give 50,000 francs to the poor. I wish to be taken to the grave in their hearse. I refuse the prayers of all churches. I ask for a prayer from every human soul. I believe in God.” Such were his scant directions as to his own obsequies. But the countly felt at once that its great dead ought to be buried with all national honour. He had been the foremost poet, not only of France, but of his generation. On the Republic he had very special claims, as having been her champion in evil days, and suffered on her behalf loss of fortune and exile. So a A.-- VICTOR AEIUG. O. 207 public funeral was fittingly decreed, and the Government decreed also that the Panthéon, that edifice of many vicissitudes, where Mirabeau and Marat had lain for awhile, and Rousseau and Voltaire, should be unchurched once more to receive him. Accordingly, on the morning of May 31st, the body was placed beneath the Arc de Triomphe, in a coffin palled with black and silver and royal purple, and lay there in state till the following day, when it was borne to its last home, In a pauper's hearse indeed, but otherwise with such pomp, such a mighty procession, such signs of national mourning, such votive wieaths from every land, as Paris itself had scarcely seen since the day of Napoleon's funeral." * Victor Hugo's personal estate in England alone was sworn under £92,000, and he had real property in Guernsey besides. Nearly all his money is said to have been invested in foreign (not French) funds. CHAPTER XII. N February 26, 1880—that is on his seventy- eighth birthday—Victor Hugo wrote a preface for the collected edition of his writings. It is a short pre- face, and in it there occurs the following passage: “Of the value of the sum of work here presented, time alone can decide. But this at least is already certain, and satisfies the author, that in our own day, in the present tumult of opinions, amid the violence of existing prejudices, and notwithstanding all passions, anger, and hatred, there is no reader, be he who he may, who, if he is himself worthy of respect, will lay down the book without respecting the author.” This is a proud claim to be inscribed, as it were, over the very portal of the edifice reared by the writer's genius. It fronts us there. We cannot pass it by. Let us en- deavour to meet it quite honestly. Respect, respect—why should any of us have to pause for a moment, doubting, before he gives a reply to the challenge P No one would hesitate if similarly challenged on behalf of Scott. Why does not the assent come so readily, so universally in the case of Victor Hugo? For this reason—that, if one examines his life at all minutely, it is scarcely possible to avoid the conclusion AAFE OF VICTOR HUGO. 209 that the facts do not always agree with his presentation of them, and further, that the differences have at least a look of being designed so as to add to his prestige and glory. Here at once we are met by something that checks respect, inasmuch as it needs explanation. How shall we explain it? In the partly analogous cases of Goethe and Shelley, apologists have said, and said truly, that the poet often sees things differently from other men, that he sees them surrounded by a haze of imagination, in which their real outlines are blurred and lost, and that, as regards past events especially, he sees his remembered feelings in con- nection with them rather than the events themselves. To the full benefit of such an excuse Victor Hugo is clearly entitled. Though he claimed for himself a memory of extraordinary and minute accuracy, yet there seems no doubt that that faculty sometimes played him tricks, especially when matters affecting himself were involved. Why, for instance, should he have alleged that M. Piétri, one of Louis Napoleon's myrmidons, had offered 25, ooo, and even 50,000, francs for his capture alive or dead? Had he not brooded over the importance of the capture till he imagined the reward P The poetic vision will not, however, I fear, account for all that here needs explanation. The fact is, and one says it sadly, there was a strong element of theatricality about the man. Great as he was, he liked to appear greater. His statements about himself, his surroundings, the events in which he had himself taken part, bear often the same proportion to fact that the stage bears to real life. They lack the simplicity of truth. They are, in effect, false. There, the murder is out 1 and if there be any I 4 210 AAFE OF one who cannot esteem a character tainted with theatri- cality, why then he must leave Victor Hugo unhonoured. But I, for one, shall not agree with him. Behind the actor in Victor Hugo there was a man, and a great man— a man, 1n his private life, simple, genial, kindly, and in his public life fulfilled with passionate convictions, for which he was prepared to battle and to suffer. In the essential heart of him, he was genuine enough. The theatricality, the vainglory, were of the surface. And what were the opinions which, from the year 1849 onwards, had seized so fast a hold on his whole being? Substantially they were the opinions of Rousseau, as held by Robespierre. Man, according to these theorists, was- originally good, kindly, beneficent. If he seemed to be something different it was because he had been deformed by vicious Institutions—the rule of kings, the inventions of priests, the tyranny of aristocracles, the pressure of Iniquitous laws. Once remove these evil influences, and he would at once go back to a state of nature, which was a state of excellence. Once let the Rights of Man prevail, and those rights would be exercised in the most unselfish and excellent manner. The voter would invariably vote according to his conscience, and with a single eye to the general good. The ruler would rule simply as the voters' delegate, and for the common advantage. Man all over the world would be the brother of man, wars would cease, property be equalized, and everybody, according to the pleasant old saying, live happy ever after. And because the French Revolution had done so much to clear away pre-existing institutions, and to give man an entirely unencumbered piece of high tableland on WYC7 OR HUGO. 211 which to rear the edifice of the future, therefore Victor Hugo felt for the French Revolution a boundless love and veneration. He is never weary of singing its praises. He returns to the subject with an added zest on every possible opportunity. The “French Revolution,” he tells us, for instance, “is the mightiest step taken by the human race since Christ. It is the consecration of humanity.” “It was an immense act of probity.” “It was nothing else than the 1deal bearing the sword, . . . and closing the portals of evil, and opening the portals of good.” “It promulgated truth.” “It may be said to have created man over again, by giving him a second soul, a sense of right.” It rendered all savage upheavals of the masses for ever impossible—this was written before the outbreak of the Commune,—and, in short, it was a movement quite marvellous and miraculous in 15s benefi- cent effects. And if the movement itself had such a transcendent character, the actors in it were no less heroic. Michelet, the historian, asseverates, in his somewhat wild way, that the Assembly that nominally governed France during the Reign of Terror was “a majestic assembly, sovereign among all assemblies, founding, organising, representing, above any other human force, the inexhaustible fecundity of nature.” Victor Hugo, not to be outdone, says of this Assembly—an Assembly, be it remembered, chiefly remaikable for grotesque ineptitude and Cowardice—that It was to all other representative bodies what the Hima- layas are to othel mountains. But how, Indeed, could he be expected to speak other- wise? For had not this Assembly helped to found “the 212 IIFE OF Republic,” and was not “the Republic” the fetish of his later years? No cavalier, in the good old days, can ever have believed more passionately in the divine right of kings than he believed in the divine right of this parti- cular form of government. It was not, in his mind, a government like any other, applicable or not applicable in a given case, according to a country's history, traditions, circumstances—a government which any country, by the exercise of its volution, might accept or reject at will. It was a government of right as opposed to wrong, a some- thing supreme and absolute, which it would have been blasphemy even to question, a universal panacea for every ill to which political or social man is heir. It meant the realised ideal for which the Revolution had prepared,— “the end of prostitution for woman, the end of starvation for man, the end of night for the child.” It meant “brotherhood, concord, dawn.” It meant universal peace, and universal benevolence, and the extinction of poverty, and a regenerated world. Now to all this philosophy of the eighteenth century, and the political and social theories founded upon it, there 1s but one word to apply, and that word is, “obsolete.” They tottered to their fall under Bulke's attack, and from the date when Darwin published his great work they became things of the past. As soon as the idea of development had taken possession of men's minds, it became difficult for any really serious thinker to regard man apart from his history, and as a creature originally beneficent and good, and only led into evil by pernicious laws and Institutions. Man has grown to be what he is, grown by slow, patient effort, prolonged from VICTOR HUGO. 213 generation to generation, grown by the help of the very Institutions which the eighteenth century regarded as the origin of all his woes. He is not, as Rousseau and his school held, a kind of abstract being, under the exclusive guidance of his intellect, who can be divorced from every Influence of the past, and trusted to be always reasonable. His past forms part of himself, and his reasonableness mainly depends upon it. Carry him back to a “state of nature,” In his remotest days, and you carry him back to the state of the savage, and even worse. Behind the savage there is the brute, far enough removed in history, but lurking all too near to the heart of each one of us, and easily roused, and with difficulty appeased. How 1dle to suppose that he can be suppressed by cancelling all that hss taken place Since he held undisputed sway And with the crumbling of Rousseau's worm-eaten philo- sophy, the French Revolution assumes its right propol- tions as a movement in which the brute in man played an all too important part. The history of I793 has been re written for us lately, with an almost superabundance of detail, by M. Talne. It is scarcely a history over which one feels inclined to join in Victor Hugo's hosannas. While as to “the Republic”—why “the Republic" is a good form of government enough under certain condi- tions. It is a better form of government doubtless than the Empire; for it has possibilities of continued life—and those the Empire never had. But even in France, which Victor Hugo held to be the vanguard of the nations— even in Paris, which he considered to be the Holy City of the human race,—can it be said that even there “the Republic” has brought in its train all the blessings he 214 I/FE OF anticipated P. Is woman's purity more conspicuously honoured there than elsewhere? Is man less subject to poverty and the other ills of life? Is the child treated so exceptionally well? The government of France is doubtless doing its best under difficult conditions. But can we as yet regard it as showing to all governments a brilliant example of “brotherhood” and “concord ”? Can It be said to have its being in a rose-flush of pelpetual “dawn "P So I fear that Victor Hugo's claim to be considered as a prophet must be rejected, somewhat sadly. In truth, he was, in one sense, but a “laudator temporis acti.” The doctrines which he preached in politics, social philosophy, and religion, were but the Gospel according to Jean Jacques, as Carlyle called it in derision, the Gospel of Rousseau, as 1t had taken shape in 1793. Apart from the cry for heads, he was the intellectual continuator of Robespierre. From that old wind-withered tree what fluit could be gathered for the healing of the nations P But, very fortunately for mankind, the truth or false- hood of a great writer's systematised opinions is no measure of the value of his work. Pictures of the most superb power may be painted on very indifferent canvas, just as immortal music may be allied to words that are almost meaningless. Who thinks of Godwin's poor thin philosophy when watching the unearthly pageant of “Prometheus Unbound,” and listening to the enchanted verbal harmonies of Shelley's verse? And similarly, we can disregard Victor Hugo's political system, and con- sider him only as a poet and a prose writer; and then, if he be not a delight to us, the fault is ours. TVICTOR HUGO. 215 Of course, in the enormous mass of his work, there is much that is unequal. His early writings are those of a child. His later writings are often maired by didacticism and tricks of manner. What I have ventured to call the theatrical element in his character not unfrequently gives to his prose and verse a tone of exaggeration, unreality, and violence. But in considering the place he holds in literature, all such faults may fitly be blushed to one side. He should be judged by his best, and that best is not only immense in quantity, but of a quality so excellent that the critic experiences some trouble in adequately speaking of 1t without falling into what may seem to be hyperbole. As a novelist he holds rank with the highest. There are two of his books, at least, which the world will not easily let die. One of them, “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” has been published now for fifty-seven years; the othel, “Les Misérables,” for upwards of a quarter of a century Neither, whatsoever M. Zola may say, has at all waxed old. There is in each a salt of genius which will for ever preserve it from decay. Vivid powers of description, , admirable skill as a narrator, the faculty of creating real characters, and interesting us in their fol tunes, the power of marshalling their actions to definite ends, pathos, passion, a noble intolerance of wrong, and a style of malvellous richness and bulliancy—all these he displayed in “Nôtre Dame" and “Les Misérables.” What mole would you have P They hold an honourable place in the permanent literature of the world. -- As a dramatist he takes rank, if not with the very highest, if not on that unapproachable peak where 216 A./FE OF Shakespeare dwells alone, yet high upon the spurs of the great mountain. Here, again, he displayed excellent gifts of Invention, and also a real playwright's Instinct for what is scenic and effective. Working for the stage, he adapted himself to 16s conditions, and succeeded 1n making an audience accept plays that were in a high sense litera- ture. Then too in his dramas there was room for the display of his Supreme gift, his gift as a poet. And that he was a poet, and a great poet, who shall be bold to question ? Speaking lately, in the preface to a dictionary of Victor Hugo's similes, M. Coppée says— “Among all the poets of mankind Victor Hugo is the one who has invented the greatest number of similes, and those the best carried out, the most striking, the most magnificent. . . . He is the greatest lyric poet of all ages.” Without quite endorsing these superlatives, one may at least claim for him a place in the very first rank of the world's singers. The mere enumeration of the points at which he touched the highest excellence is 1tself eloquent. As a song writer he has had few equals. His songs have the essential lyric qualities, spontaneous tunefulness, light delicacy of touch,-all that we are accustomed to associate with the flutter and warble of a bird. As a satirist he is direct, trenchant, terrible, a swordsman whose weapon draws blood at every stroke. As a writer of reflective verse—I am not speaking here of the didactic work of his later life—he 1s weighty and impressive, and, amid all his philosophising, remains a poet. As a narrator, he is singularly lucid and striking, and possesses to the full * In my Judgment the foremost living French poet. WICTOR HUGO. 217 the story-teller's gift of awakening and retaining interest. By turns sublime and playful, roughly strong and dauntily delicate, full of love-passion and a sweet, fatherly tender- ness-he seems to touch at will all the organ stops in our nature. And what regal Command over rhymes, rhythms, and metre what a rich verbal palette what superb freedom of power in its use ! His words are as pigments, and as pigments, if that were conceivable, which appeal to the ear as well as to the eye. They seem to give out at once colour and sound. Ah, he was more than the prophet or apostle of a narrow sect. And when time has done its worst and best with his work—has disintegrated the quartz and washed away the clay—there will remain a treasure of gold, without which mankind would be appreciably the poorer. He was one of the world's great poets, and his verse will continue through the after-time as a living force, because, while perfect in workmanship, it is broad- based upon the universal human heart, and So eternal. THE END, INDEX. -º-º- A. Académie Française awards “honourable mention" to Victor Hugo's early poem, 37, 38, Victor Hugo a candidate for, 123, strength of that body, I24, speeches at, I25 “Actes et Paloles,” 200, 201 Amaury-Duval's, M., description ,of Victor Hugo, quoted, 75 “Ane, L’,” 201, 202-203 “Angelo Tyran de Padoue,” 91, 97 “Année Terrible, L’,” I93, 198, 2OT ** Art d'Étie Grandpère, L’,” 203 Asseline, M., quoted, 47; descrip- tion of an evening at Hauteville House, 52, 53; 54, 150, 165, his character of Victor Hugo in private life, 189 Assemblée Constituante, 134, 135 Assemblée Législative, I38, 140, I4I B. Banville, M. de, 74, 126, 128, I42, 205 Barbou, M., quoted, 38, descrip- tion of Victor Hugo's house in the Place Royale, 126, 127 Béranger, 61, I:23, 136, 183 Berlioz, 79 Bernhardt, Sarah, as Doña Sol, 87 Biré, M., quoted, 17, 25, 42, 68, I31 “Bloody Mary,” her character, 92, 93 Bolleau, 6o Borel, Petrus, 44 Browning, Mr , 52, 96, 123 Brussels, Victor Hugo takes re- fuge there, 146–147, made to leave, I48; returns in August, 1870, 196, again turned out ot, I97 “Bug Jargal,” Ioo, IoI-102 “Burgraves, Les,” 91, 97, Ioo, I69 Bulns, 169, 183 Byron, 59, 64, 65, 66, 73, II4 C. Capital punishment, early impres- Sions, 21–22 ; Victor Hugo's views on, Ioz-Io/ Cappon, Mr., his book on Victor Hugo, quoted, 123 220 IWDEX. Carlyle, I2o, 2I4 Cénacle, Le, 77 ** Chansons des Rues et des Bols, Les," 182-183 " Chants du Crépuscule, Les," II9, I2I Charles X makes Victor Hugo a Knightofthe Legion of Honour, 6I, 62 , refuses to allow perfor- mance of ** Marion de Lorme,'' 8I ; offers to Increase Victor Hugo's pension, 8I, I2I Chateaubrland, 65, II4, 2o6 " Châtiments, Les,'' I22 ; charac- ter of described, I52-I55 Chénier, André, early crit1c1sm of Victor Hugo on, 43 , Influence of his poems, 66 Childhood, Victor Hugo's feeling for, II7, 2O3-2O4 ** Choses Vues,'' Io6, I2I Claretie, M , accompanies Victor Hugo to Paris In September, I87o, I9o-I9I ** Claude Gueux,'' I2o Coleridge, 45, 64, 65, II4, I7O Conservateur Ltttéraure started, 41, Victor Hugo's contributions thereto, 42, 43, 44, IOO, II9 ** Contemplations, Les,'' 167-I69 Coppée, M., quoted, 2I6 Coquelin, M , 96 Corneille, 89, 9o Coup d'Etat, I4I, I42-I45, I47, 153, 155 , Victor Hugo's view of, I55-I58 ** Cromwell," 68-72, 78, 9I D. Dante, 88, I7I Daudet, Alphonse, M. , I9I Delille, Abbé, 43, 44 * Dernier Jour d'un Condamné," Io2-Io4, Io7 Dickens charmed by Victor Hugo's manner, I27, 128 Drouet, Madame, 52, 53 ; her position towards VIctor Hugo, 53, 54 , I45, 2O4, 2O5 Dumas, Alexandre, 2I, 77, 8o, 82, I23, I24 E, ** Enfants, Les, le livre des Mères," I17 F. Feuillantines, Garden of the, 23, 24, 3I, IO3, I2I, I93 ** Feuilles d'Automne,'' I16-I19, I32 Forster, hls account of Victor Hugo's house and social charm quoted, I27-I28 Foucher, Pierre, Victor Hugo's father-In-law, 48, 49, 5o, 5I, 58 French Revolution, Victor Hugo's views thereon, 2Io-2II, 2I3 Froude, Mr., 92 G. Garibaldl, I63, I94-I95 Garnett, Mr., translation of " Le Parricide,'' quoted, I7I-I73 Gautier, Théophile, 69, 74, 75, 83 , his appearance at the pel- formance of ** Hernanl," 85 ; his description of Victor Hugo, quoted, II5-II6 ; 126 Girardin, Madame de, I24 GirardIn, Saint-Marc, I2 5 Goethe, 64, II4 ; his opinion of " Nôtre Dame de Paris,'' II4 ; 2O9 * AWDAEX. 221 Guernsey, 162 ; Victor Hugo's sojourn there, 187 - 189, he leaves Guernsey, 190 H. “Han d’Islande,” described, 55, 58, IOO Hauteville House, Guernsey, 127, description of, 162–164 “Hernani,” 81 , battle of, 81– 88, 96, 98, IOO, Ioz “Histoire d'un Crime,” I45, 147, I55 “Homme qui rit, L’,” 184–187, compared to “Fsmond,” 187, 198 Houssaye, Arsène, M., 124 Hugo, Abel (Victor's brother) 16, 23, 28, 29, 38, starts Conserva- teur Littératre with Victor, 41 Hugo, Adèle (Victor Hugo's daughter), I42, 149, I5I , mar- ried, 189 Hugo, Charles (Victor Hugo's son), II5, I42, I48, 150-151, 165, 166, 189, 191 , his death, I95 Hugo, Eugène (Victor's brother), I6, 23, 30, 33, 39, 4o loses his reason, 58 Hugo, François Victor (Victor Hugo's son), II5, E42, I48, 150– I51, 16o, I66, 189, 190, IgE , his death, 204 Hugo, General (Victor's father), career, I4, 15, 20, governor of Avellino, 21 ; follows Joseph Bonaparte to Spain, 22, 23, 26; his political and religious opinions, 30 ; Separates from his wife, 32 ; objects to his sons pursuing literary career and cuts off supplies, 39; mar- ries again, 48; 62 Hugo, Georges (Victor Hugo's grandson), 193, 203-204, 206 Hugo, Jeanne (Victor Hugo's granddaughter), 193, 203-204, 206 Hugo, Léopoldine (Victor Hugo's daughter), 62, II5, 151 , her death, 167, poems relating to her in the “Contemplations,” 167–168 Hugo, Madame (Adèle), Victor Hugo's wife, 24, her love-story, 49-51 ; marriage, SI, 54, 55, 62, her “Victor Hugo ra conté,” quoted, d ?ropos of Hernani, 83, 84, 124 ; her Social charm, I28-129, 131, 142, I49, letter of hers quoted, ISo, her death, 189 Hugo, Madame (Sophie), Victor's mother, I5, 16, 23, takes her children to Spain, 26-28, re- turns to Paris, 29, her political and religious opinions, 30, 31, Separates from her husband, 32, 39; her death, 47, her charac- ter, and opinion of Victor, 47 Hugo, Marie Victor, birth, 13, 14, I9 ; ancestry, I4–17, first re- miniscences, 20, 21 , at Avellino, 22–24 ; taken into Spain, 26, and experiences there, 26–29, religious and political opinions by which surrounded in child- hood, 29–31, School life, 33, 34, early verses, 36, 37, poem honourably mentioned by Aca- demy, 37, 38, boy competitions, 4o ; description of him as a boy by Soumet, 40, 41 , starts Con- 222 JAWDEX. servateur Latte‘razre, 41 , contri- butions thereto, 42—44; pub- lishes “Odeset Poésies diverses,” 44, loses his mother, 47, falls In love, 48–51, marriage, 51 , writes more odes and “Han d’ Islande,” 55, sets up housekeep- Ing and loses first child, 58, contributes to Muse Française, 59 made a Knight of the Legion of Honour, 61, becomes leader of the Romantic move- ment, 62, 65 ; writes “Crom- well,” and the “Préface de Cromwell,” 68, 69 ; writes “Orientales,” 72 ; writes “Ma- rion de Lorme,” 8o, refuses additional pension from Charles X., 81 , writes “Hernani,” 81 , his ambition as a dramatist, 91 , publishes “Bug Jargal,” roo, “Dernier Jour d'un Condamné,” ro2 ; views on capital punishment, Ioa-Io/, writes “Nótre Dame de Paris,” IOZ-Io8, description of by Gau- tler, 115–116; difficulty of getting at real character, 118; publishes “Littérature et Philosophie Mélées,” II.9, “Claude Gueux,” and “Le Rhin,” 12o , various volumes of verse, 121 ; elected to French Academy, 123, made a peer, I25; his house in the Place Royale, 126, his social charm, 127-128; his political opinions from 1830 to 1848, 130– 134; opinions in 1848, 134–135, elected to Constituent Assem- bly, 134; attitude therein, 138; elected to Assemblée Législa- tlve, I38, becomes an extreme radical, 138, I39, power as an orator, 14o ; speech in the As- semblée Législative, 141, resists Coup d'Aºtat, I43-I45, reaches Brussels, 145; writes “Histoire d’un Crime,” and “Napoléon le Petit,” 147; goes to Jersey, I48, writes “Les Châtiments,” I52, his view of Louis Napoleon and his government, 155–158 ; ejected from Jersey, 158–161; habits in Guernsey, 165, writes “Contemplations,” 166, “La Légende des Siècles,” 169, “Les Misérables,” 175, “Wil- liam Shakespeare,” 181, “Chan- sons des Rues and des Bols,” I82 ; Les Travailleurs de la Mer,” 183; “L’Homme qui rit,” 185, character in private life, 189; re-enters France, 191 , remains in Paris during siege, I93-194, elected to Assembly, I94, resigns his seat, 195, in Brussels during the Insurrection of the Commune, 196; turned out of Belgium, 197; elected to Senate, 197 , writes later books, 197-204 , his delight In his grandchildren, 203-204, way of life during later years, 2O4–206, death, 206, funeral, 2O6-207, how far theatrical, 208-2Io; his political and social opinions, 2IO-2I4, quality of his work, 214–217 Jersey, house of the Hugos in, I49, I52, Col'A d'Etat in, 158, I6I K. Karr, Alphonse, M., ros, I23 JAWDEX. Kean, Edmund, 79, 8o Kemble, Charles, performs Shakespeare's plays in Paris, 78–80 L. Lafontaine, 90 Lahorle, General, 24, 25 Lamartine, 47, 61 ; his “Médita- tions,” 66, 67, 122 ; In 1848, I34, I35, 188, 206 Larivière, M (Victor's school- master), 23 ; alleged pernicious Influence on Victor, 29, 30, 31 “Légende des Siècles, La,” first Series, 169-175, second series, 2OI-2O2 Legouvé, M , 128 Lesclide, M., quoted, 31, 128, 205 “Littérature et Philosophie Mêlées," 42, 59, II9–120, 132 Louis XVIII. gives Hugo a pen- Sion, 51, 61 Louis Napoleon, 134 ; elected Plesident, 136, his past, 136, I37, I38, I4o, I47-I48, I55, I57 Louis Philippe, 125 “Lucièce Borgia,” 91, 93, 94, 97 * M. “Malle Tudol,” 91 ; Victor Hugo's inadmissible historical pletensions with regard to, 92, 93, 97 “Marion de Lorme,” performance prohibited by Government, 80, 81, 91, 94, 95, 96, 98, I2I Mars, Mdlle, 82, 85, 86, 88 Maupas, M de, I44, 145 Meurice, Paul, M., 142, 191 Michelet, I55, 213 Milton, 43, 44, 64, 65, 174 223 “Misérables, Les,” 175, 181, 184, 2I5 Molière, 89, 9o Montalembert, r39, 14r Moore, 73 Muse Française, Victor Hugo's contributions thereto, 59 Musset, Alfred de, 75, 76, 77, 206 N. Napoleon, 122, 124, 131 “Napoléon le Petit,” 147–148 Nerval, Gérard de, 77, 83 Nodier, Charles, 58, 74 “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” Ioz, Io'7, published, Io8, described, IoS- II.3, compared with “Quentin Durward,” Io8–Io9, Iro , Goethe's opinion of, II4, I 15, II9, 2I5 O “Odes and Ballades,” 40, 44–46, 55, 60, 61, 67, 68, 75 “‘Orientales, Les," 72-74, roo Orleans, Duchess of, I34 P Panthéon, Victor Hugo bulled thele, 207 “Pape, Le,” 201, 202 Paris, Siege of, 192-194 Pension Cordier et Decotte, Vic- tor and Eugène Hugo sent there, 33, 34, 35, 37 “Pitié Suprême, La,” 201, 202 Q. “Quatre Vents de l’Esprit, Les," 2O3 “Quatre-vingt tielze,” 198–200 “Quentin Durward,” 59, IoS, Io9, IIC) 224 AVADAEX. * R. Rachel, 98, 99 Racine, 44, 60, 65, 70, 89, 9o, 98, 99 “Rayons et les Ombres, Les,” 121 “Religions et Religion,” 201, 202 Renan, M , 18o Revolution of 1830, 130, 132 Revolution of 1848, 134, 135 “Rhin, Le,” 120–121 “Rol s'amuse, Le,” 91, 93, 94, 96 Romanticism, 60 ; Victor Hugo throws himself into the move ment, 62; in Germany, 63, 64; In England, 64, in France, 66– 68, 77 Rousseau, his influence on Victor Hugo, 2Io, 212–213, 2I4 “Ruy Blas,” 91 , character of the hero, 95, 96, 98 S Sainte-Beuve, his opinion of Hugo's works, 12 , 65, 74; makes acquaintance of Hugo, 75, 76, 77 , reception of, at Académie Française by Victor Hugo, I25 Sand, George, 188 Sarcey, M., 192 Schuller, 44, 64 Scott, Sir Walter, Victor Hugo's early opinion of his novels, 59 ; 64, 65, 66, his “Quentin Durward," compared to “Nôtre Dame de Paris,” Io8-IIo, II4– I92 Shakespeare, 44, 64, 65, 70; per- formance of his plays in Paris, 78–80; 89, 90, 91, 93, 96, 123, Victor Hugo's book on, 181-182; 2I6 Shelley, 64, 65, 71, 209, 214 Smithson, Miss, her acting in Paris, marries Berlioz, 79 Soumet, his description of Victor Hugo as a boy, 40, 41 Spain, Sojourn of the Hugos in, 26–29 Stael, Madame de, 65 Stevenson, Louis, Mr., 185 Swinburne, Mr , his opinion of Hugo's Wolks, 13, 181 T. Taune, M . Io9, 213 Tapner the murderer, IoS-106, I6I Tennyson, Lord, 92 Thackeray’s “Esmond " com- pared to “L'Homme qul rit,” I87 Thiers, 136 “Travailleurs de la Mer, Les,” I83-184, 198 Trochu, General, 193, 194 V. Vacquerie, Auguste, M., 142, 151, I67, 191, 206 Veuillot, 139, 166 Vigny, Alfred de, 4r ; his poems, 67, 77 “Volx Intérieures, Les,” I2I W. Wordsworth, II.4 Z. Zola, M., his opinion of Hugo's works, 12, 88, 93, 251 B I B L I O G R A PHY. BY JOHN P. ANDERSON (British Museum). I. WORKS. II POETICAL WORKS. III PROSE WORKS. IV. DRAMATIC WORKS. V. MISCELLANEOUS. VI, SELECTIONS. VII. APPENDIX— Biography, Criticism, etc. Dramas, etc., founded on Hugo's Works Parodies on Hugo's Works. Songs, etc., set to Music. Magazine Articles VIII. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST WORKS. OF I. WORKS. CEuvres de Victor Hugo. Bluxelles, 1832 37, 16mo. CEuvres. 2 tom. Bruxelles, 1836 37, tol CEuvres. 16 tom. 46, 8vo. There are two vols 1x, and no vol Xlll, CEuvres Complètes. édition. 10 vols. 55, 12mo. 5 pts. Paris, 1841- Nouvelle Paris, 1853 CEuvres édition, Complètes. Nouvelle ornée de vignettes. 19 vols. Paris, 1856 59, 8vo CEuvres Complètes. 20 vols Paris, 1856 57, 12mo. CEuvres Complètes. édition 20 vols. 63, 12mo. CEuvres Complètes. Palls, 1s 66 73, 4to. Published in pants *-Romans, 1866 — Notre Dame de Paris–Han d’ Islande — Bug Jargal – Deº nwei Nouvelle Palls, 1862 [Illustrated]. I 5 1i A3/AB/C/OG/?A PA / V. Jour d'un Condamné et Claude Gueuv-Les Musérables, 1873-Les Th avavlleu) s de la Mer, 1869 Théatre lllustlé, 1867 —Cromwell- Ruy Blas-Man von de Lorme-Her mam-Man ve T'udor-La Esmen alda — Angelo-Le Rov s'amuse — Le8 Bu) g) aves-Lucrèce B07 gva Poésies Illustlées, 1868 —Odes et Ballades- Vo2x Intér eures-Les Rayons et les Omb) es — Les O) ?entales — Fentalles d'automne Chants du crépuscule —Les Châtvments, 1872 —Le Rhvn, 1S67 CEuvres. Nouvelle édition, ornée de vignettes, etc. 20 vols. Paris, 1875, 8vo. , CEuvnes Complètes (Edition défini tive d'après les manusc11ts on lglnaux). 46 vols. 1880 85, 8vo. ParIs, II. POETICAL WORKS. Ar CEuvre Poétique. Edition Elzévir 1enne, avec ornements par E. Froment. 10 vols. Paris, 1869 70, 16mo. CEuvres Poétiques. 10 vols. ParIs, 1875, l6mo. A L'Ane. Pa11s, 1880, 8vo. L'Ânnée Terrible. Paris, 1872, 8vo Another ed1t1on. tions de L Flameng. 1873, 8vo FIrst Illustrated edItIon. L'Ant d'être Grand Père. 1877, 8vo. Another edution. [With 1llustrat1ons by Jean Paul Laurens, H. G1accomelll, F. Méaulle, and others.l Paris, 1884, 4to L'Aumône Rouen, 1830, 8vo. Appean ed olIgInally In the Globe, Feb 3, 1830 Buonaparte, ode. Paris, 1822, 8v O. Illustra Palls, Paris, Les Chansons des Rues et des Bo1s. Paris, 1865, 8vo. Numerous edltlons appeared the Same year. Les Chants du C1épuscule. 1835, 8vo. Songs of Twilight, translated from the French, by George W. M. Reynolds. Par1s, 1836, 8vo. Les Châtiments. Bruxelles, 1853, 12mo. Paris, Another editIon. Genéve, 1853, 32mo. Another edltlon. Londres, 1862, 16mo. Another editIon Illustra tion par T. Schuler. Paris [1872], 8vo. Forty third edltlon. Paris [1872], 8vo. —Another edition, 1llustrated v Par1s, 1884, 4to. A la Colonne de la Place Vendôme, ode. Paris, 1827, 8vo. Les Contemplat1ons. [With twelve 1llustratIons.] 2 tom. ParIs, 1856 7, 8vo. Deuxième édition. Panis, 1856, 8vo. Les Destins de la Vendée, ode. Paris, 1819, 8vo. 2 tom. L'Expiation. Par1s, 1877, 32mo. Les Feuilles d'Automne. Paris, 1831, 8vo. La Fin de Satan. 8vo. Le Gén1e, ode à M. le Vicomte de Paris, 1886, Châteaubnland. Paris, 1821, 8vo. La Légende des Siècles. 5 tom. Paris, 1859 83, 8vo. La Libération du Ter11toire. Paris, 1873, 8vo. Moise sur le N1l, ode couronnée par l'Académie des Jeux Floraux. Pan 1s, 1822, 8vo. A3 VB LAVOGARA PA V. 111 Ode sur la mort de S. A. R. Charles Ferdinand d'Artois, duc de Berru, fils de France. Paris, 1820, 8vo. Ode sur la naissance de S. A. R. Mgr. le duc de Bordeaux, sulvie d'une Ode sur la mort de S A. R Mgr le duc de Berri. Paris, 1820, 8vo. Odes et Poésies divenses. 1822, 18mo. Odes. Seconde édition, aug mentée de deux odes nouvelles. Paris, 1823, 18mo Paris, Troisième édition. Paris, 1825, 18mo. Nouvelles Odes. Paris, 1824, l8mo. Odes et Ballades. Paris, 1826, 18mo. The above three volumes com bIned form what may be con sidered the first collected edition of the poems Quatrième édition, augmentée de l'Ode à la Colonne et dux pièces nouvelles. 2 vols. Paris, 1829, 8vo A preface, dated August 1828, points out the changes necessary to tumn the three precedung collections (Odes, Nouvelles Odes, Ballades) unto tvo, and is followed by the prefaces of 1822, 1824, and 1826, Les Orientales. Paris, 1829, 8vo. Les Orientales. Survi de onze pièces nouvelles. Brux elles, 1829, 32mo. Les Orientales. (D'après l'édition originale ) Illustrées de hurt compositions de MM. Gérome et Benjamin Constant, gravées à l'eau forte par M. de Los Rios. Paris, 1882, 4to. Privately printed Le Pape [A dramatic poem.] Paris, 1878, 8vo. Nouvelle édition Paris, 1882, 4to. Illustrée, Le Pape. Nouvelle édition. Avec 21 compositions dessinées et gravées à l'eau-forte par Jean P. Laurens Paris, 1885, 4to 300 copies printed and numbered. La Pitié Suprême. Paris, 1879, 8vo. Political Poems by V. H. and Garibaldi “ Dome Into Eng lish by an Oxford Graduate” (EUdwin] A[rnold]) [Reprinted from the Morning Star. With a preface by G. J. Holyoake.] London, 1868, 8vo. Les Quatre Vents de l'Esprit. 2 tom. Paris, 1881, 8vo. – Nouvelle édition Illustrée. Paris, 1884, 4to. Les Rayons et les Ombres. Paris [1840], 8vo. –Edition Elzéviruenne. Orne ments par E. Froment. Paris, 1869, 12mo. Religions et Religion. Paris, 1880, 8vo. Le Retour de l'Empéreur. Paris, 1840, 8vo Very scarce Le Sacre de Charles X., ode. Palis, 1825, 4to. Le Télégraphe, 1819, 8vo. Very rare Revenants (Pages supprimées par l'Empire) (La voix de Guer nesey, Poème.) L. Blanc, C. Pascal, H. Testard, E. Chériffel, La Grave Bruxelles, 1872, 8vo. Una Voce de Guernesey, ossia la battaglia di Mentana, lecato in versi Italiani da M. Consigli, col testo a fronte. Fr. and Ital. Livorno, 1868, 12mo. Les Voix Intérieures. Paris, 1837, 8vo. Another edition. Paris, 1840, 8vo, sature. Paris, iv. AZEZZOGAEAAEATY. Les Voix Intérieures; Les Rayons et les Ombres. Paris, 1841, 12mo. Les Wolx Intérieures — Les Rayons et les Ombres. Paris, 1879, 8vo. III. PROSE WORKS. Actes et paroles, 1870-1871 1872. Paris, 1872, 8vo. Actes et panoles. (Avant l’Exil, 1841 1851. — Pendant l’Exll, 1852 70.-Depuls l'Exil, 1870 1876.) Paris, 1875, 76, 8vo. L'Anchipel de la Manche. Paris, 1883, 8vo. Le Beau Pécopin et la Belle Baul- dour [from “Le Rhin"]. Edi tion spéciale pour la France [with a preface signed : P. J. Stahl, pseud—i.e., Piel re Jules Hetzel]. Paris, 1855, 16mo. Bug Jargal, par l'Auteur de Han d’Islande. Paris, 1826, 12mo. Appeared originally in the Com- 8ervatewr Lattéraw, e, Nos 11 15, and signed M. Real ranged and much enlanged, It was published in book folm The name of the author appears in the thuld edition, 1829 Bug Jargal—Le Dernier Jour d’un Condamné—Claude Gueux. Paris, 1845, 12mo. The Slave King. From the Bug Jargal. (Lvörary of Ro mance, ed. Leitch Ritchle, vol. vi ) London, 1833, 12mo. —The Noble Rival, or the Prince of Congo. London [1845], 8vo. The Slave King ; a historical account of the Rebellion of the Negroes in St. Domingo. Adapted from the “Bug Jar gal” of W. H. (Parlour Library, vol. lxxi.). London, 1852, 8vo. —Jargal. A Novel. Translated from the French by C. E. Wil- bour. With illustrations by J. A. Beaucé. New York, 1866, 8vo. CEuvres inédites. Paris, 1887, 8vo. Things Seen [Translated from the French..] 2 vols. Lon- don, 1887, 8vo. Claude Gueux. Paris, 1834, 8vo. Appeared originally in the Revue de Parvs, vol vil, 1834, pp 529 Capital Punishment Claude Gueux. [Translated from the French, by D Pyrke, junior.] London, 1865, 8vo. Le Dennier Jour d'un Condamné. Paris, 1829, 12mo. Two other editions appeared the Same year. Choses Wues. Another edition. Palis, 1840, 8vo. —Another edition. Precédé de Bug Jargal. Paris, 1841, 12mo. —Another edition. Sulvi de Claude Gueux. Vingt dessins pal Gavarmlet And, leux. Paris, 1877, 4to. The last days of a Condemned, from the French of W. H. [Translated] with observations on Capital Punishment, by Sir P H. Fleetwood. London, 1840, 12mo. * Anothel edition. Translated by G. W. M. Reynolds. Lon don, 1840, 12mo. Under Sentence of Death ; or, a Chimunal's Last Hours. To gether with, Told undel Canvas and Claude Gueux. Translated by Sir G. Campbell, Bart. Lon- don [1886], 8vo. One of “Ward & Lock's Royal Library of choice books of famous authors.” B/B/C/OGRAPHY. V Etude sur Mirabeau. Paris, 1834, 8vo. Mes Fils. [F. W. and C. Hugo. A biographical sketch..] Quat- rième édition. Paris, 1874, 8vo. Han d’Islande. 4 vols. Paris, 1823, 12mo. Seconde édition. 4 vols. Paris, 1823, 12mo. Troisième édition. 4 vols. Paris, 1829, 12mo. Another edition. 2 vols. Paris, 1833, 8vo Another edition. 2 tom. Palls, 1875, 8vo. Nouvelle édition illustrée. Paris, 1885, 4to, Hans of Iceland. [Trans- lated from the French. With etchings by G. Cruikshank.] London, 1825, 16mo. Hans of Iceland ; or, the l)emon Dwarf. [Translated from the French..] London [1845], 8vo. —The Outlaw of Iceland ; a romance. Translated by Sir G. Campbell. London, 1885, 8vo. Histoire d' un Crime. 2 vols. Paris, 1877-8, 8vo. New edition, Paris, 1879, 4to. The History of a Crime; the testimony of an Eye Witness. Translated by T. H. Joyce and illustrated. A. Locker. 4 vols. London, 1877 78, 8vo. Another edition. London, 1886 [1885], 8vo. John Brown. [An anonymous sketch of the career of John Brown, hanged Dec. 2, 1859, for Inciting the Virginian slaves to insurrection ; and containing 2 letters from W. H., the first asking for the pardon of John Brown, the second giving per- mission to Mr. Chenay to en grave his design of J. Brown, with a lithographed facsimile of this letter, etc.] Paris, 1861, 8vo. L'Homme qul rit. 4 tom. Paris, 1869, 8vo. —Another edition. [Illustra- tions by Daniel Vierge J Pails [1877], 4to —By Older of the King. The authorised English translation of W H.’s L’Homme qui rit. [By Mrs. A. C. Steele.] With 1llustrations by S. L. Fildes. 3 vols. London, 1870, 8vo. —By the King's Command. [Translated from the French work entitled : “L’Homme qul rit "I London, 1875, 8vo. By the King's Command. London [1876], 8vo One of a series entitled “Favour ite Authors British and Foreign " By Older of the King. Ion- don, 1886 [1885], 8vo. Littérature et philosol hue mêlées. 2 vols Paris, 1834, 8vo. Les Misérables. 10 tom. Paris, 1862, 8vo. Another edition. [Illustrated by photographs from drawings by G. Brion | 10 tom. Brux- elles, 1862, 8vo. —Nouvelle édition, illustréepar Brion. Paris, 1864, 4to. Nouvelle édition, illustrée. 5 vols. Paris, 1879, 4to. Les Misérables, principaux épisodes de. Edited by J. Bolelle. 2 vols. London, 1885 1886, 8vo. Les Misérables. Authorised English Translation [from the French, by Sir F. C. L. Wraxall, vi A/B/C/OGRAPH. V. Bart.] 3 vols. 8vo. Les Misérables (The Wretch- ed). A new tianslation, re- vised. 5 pts. Richmond [Vir ginia], 1863 64, 8vo. Les Misérables Authorised copyright English translation [by Sir F. C. L. Wraxall, Bart.]. Fourth edition, levised [and abridged] London [1864], 8vo Les Misérables. Jean Wal- Jean. [Translated flom the French..] London [1876], 8vo. Les Misérables. Translated from the French by C. E. Wilbour. London, 1887, 8vo. One of “Routledge's Sixpenny NOvels '' Les Misérables [abridged] Authorised English translation [by Sir F. C. L. Wraxall, Balt J. London, 1862, With 11 lustrations. London [1879], 8vo Les Misérables. Fantine || (Cosette and Marius). A Ro mance. [An abridged transla tion of pts. 1-3.] London, 1874, 8vo The Battle of Watelloo. [Translated from vol. 111. of the work entitled “Les Misérables.”] New York, 1863, 8vo ——Gavroche the Gamin of Pauls. From “Les Misérables " Trans lated and adapted by M. C. Pyle. [With 1.llustrations.] Philadelphia [1872], 8vo. Napoléon le Petit. Londres, 1852, 8vo. ——Nouvelle édition. Londres, 1862, 16mo. — —Edition illustrée. Paris, 1879, 4to. ——Napoleon the Little. Second edition. London, 1852, 8vo. One of a series entitled “Contem porary French Literatule " ——Napoleon the Little. (Author ised version.) Third edition. London, 1852, 8vo. One of a series entutled “Contem poral y French Litelature * Notre Dame de Paris. 2 vols. Pauls, 1831, 8vo Exceedingly rare Eleven hum died copies welle printed, and com posed the finst four editions A smaller edition in 4 vols, 12mo, Was published the same year with the same text, but containing foul vignettes, two more than the 8vo edition This edition complised 2000 copies, and ful nished the 5th, 6th, and 7th editions . The 8th, Paris, 1832, 8vo, in 3 vols, which contains a new preface and three new chapters, viz — I’m popular vić, Abbas bea/v Marton, Cevº, twen G. cela, 1s really the second edition, and folms vols Ill w of the filst collective edition of the ‘‘CEuVles de Victor Hugo, Romans,” pub lished by Renduel. Another edition. (Illustra tons Littéravres.) Bruxelles [1835 ºl, 8vo. —— Another edition. Palls, 1836, 8vo This edition is 1.llustrated with 12 plates designed by Boulange", Alfred and Tony Johannot, Raffet, Tºogler, and Rouarge, and engraved on steel by Lacoul, the Blothels It inden, etc. An edition in 3 vols with the same plates, was published the same year Édition illustrée d'après les dessins de E. de Beaumont, L. Boulanger, Daubigny, etc. Paris, 1844, 8vo. Contains 55 steel englavings, and a large number of wood cuts —Édition illustrée de soixante dix dessins par Brion, gravures de Yon et Perrichon. Paris, 1865, 8vo. —Nouvelle édition. 2 tom. Paris, 1876, 8vo. A/B/./OGAA PA/ V vil Notre Dame de Paris. Edition illustrée. Paris, 1877, 4to. —Notre Dame; a tale of the “Ancient Régime” from the French of W. H., with a pre fatory notice of his Romances. By the translato [W Hazlitt). 3 vols. London, 1833, 12mo. ——The Hunchback of Notle Dame Translated, with a sketch of the life and wiltings of the author, by Frederic Shoberl. A new edition, re vised. (Standard Novels, No. 32) London, 1833, 8vo. La Esmeralda; on, the Hunch back of Notre Dame (The Novel- *St, vol. 1.). London, 1839, 8vo. —La Esmeralda; or, the Hunch back of Notle Dame. London [1844], 8vo. Hunchback of Notre Dame (Parlow'r Labrary, vol. cli.). London [1857], 8vo. The Hunchback of Notre- Dame. Translated from the French by H. L. Williams. New York [1862], 8vo. Notre-Dame; or, the Bell- ringer of Paris. New copy- right translation. London [1867], 8vo. One of a selles entitled “The Library of World wide Authors ’’ Notre Dame; or, the Bell 11nger of Paris. With illustra- tions London [1885], 8vo. Quatrevingt trenze. [A novel.] 2 tom. Paris, 1874, 12mo, —Another edition. Paris [1877], 8vo Finst illustrated edition. —Ninety - Three. Translated by F. L. Benedict and J. H. F11swell. 3 vols. London, 1874, 8vo. | Notre Dame de Paris Another edition. London [1885], 8vo. “Ninety Three * Trans- lated by Sir G. Campbell. London [1886], 8vo. Le Rhin. Lettres à un am1. 2 tom. Paris, 1842, 8vo. Nouvelle édition Augmentée d'un volume 1nédit. 4 tom. Palls, 1845, 8vo The first dution, 1842, contained only twenty five letters, followed by the Conclusion This edition con contains fourteen additional letters on Worms, Mannheim, Spile, Iſel delberg, Alsace, and Switzerland Excursions along the Banks of the Rhine. London, 1843, 8wo The Rhine; from the French, by D. M. All d. London, 1843, 12mo. Another edition, etc don, 1853, 8vo. Les Travallleuls de la Mer. 3 tom. Paris, 1866, 8vo. Les Travallleurs de la Mer. Illustrations de Daniel Vierge. Paris, 1876, 8vo Contains sixty three woodcuts Nouvelle édition. Illustrée, Pal is, 1883, 4to Les Travallleurs de la Mer. Adapted for use in schools, with notes, life, etc. By J. Bolelle London, 1887, 8vo. Tollers of the Sea. Author- ised English translation, by W. Moy Thomas. 3 vols. London, 1866, 8vo. Another edition. Lon- Two illus trations by G. Dolé. Lom don, 1867, 8vo. Another edition. London, 1870, 8vo. —Another edition. London, 1886 [1885], 8vo. viii A/B/C/OGRAPHY, William Shakespeare. Palis, 1864, 8vo. William Shakespeare. Author- 1sed copyright English transla tion, by A. Baillot. London, 1864, 8vo. William Shakespeare. Trans lated by M. B. Anderson. Chicago, 1887, 8vo. IW DRAMATIC WORKS. Théâtre. 3 vols. Palls, 1841 47, 12mo Another edition. 6 vols. Paris, 1858, 12mo. Another edition. 4 vols. Paris, 1867, 12mo. Angelo, tyran de Padoue, drame. Paris, 1835, 8vo. Another edition. 1846, 8vo. ——Angelo: a tragedy [in four acts] Rendered into English blank verse; with notes and some prefatory remarks on French dramatic poetry, by E. O Coe. London, 1880, 8vo. Les Burgraves, tillogle. Palls, 1843, 8vo. Cromwell, drame [in five acts, and in verse]. Palls, 1527, 8vo Another edition. Paris, 18 11, 12mo La Esmeralda, opéra en quatie actes, musique de Mlle Louise Bettin, paroles de M. W. Hugo, etc Pal is, 1836, 8vo He nann, ou l'honneur Castillan, dialue [in five acts and in versel. Pal is, 1830, 8vo. —— Another edition. 1846, 8vo. Hernani, drame en cinq actes [and in verse]. With explana tory notes, by G. Masson (Le Paris, Paris, Théâtre Françaisdu XIXestecle, No. 1). London [1876], 8vo. Catherine of Cleves, and Hernani : Tragedles, translated from the French of Mr. Alex- andre Dumas and Mr. Victor Hugo, by Lord Francis Leveson Gower. London, 1832, 8vo. Lucrèce Borgia, drame. Paris, 1833, 8vo. -—Another edition. Paris, 1846, 8vo. Lucretla Borgia; a dramatic tale, translated from the French of W. H., by W. T. Haley. (The Romancist, vol. v., N.S.) London, 1842, 8vo. Marie Tudor, drame. [1833], 8vo. In Rendu l’s Catalogue of 1833, this work, with the title “Manle d’ Angleterre, ou souvent femme valie,” is announced as being in the press On the frontispiece of the original edition “Marie d’ Angle telle "appears without the sub title. Another edition. Paris, 1846, 8vo. Marion de Lorme, drame [in five acts and in verse]. Palls, 1831, 8wo Another edit’on. Paris, 1846, 8vo. Another edition. Paris, 1873, 8vo. Le Rol s'amuse, drame [in five acts and in verse]. Paris, 1832, 8vo Another edition. Paris, 1846, 8vo. Le Rol s'amuse. [A drama in five acts and in verse. Illustrated by H. Meyer, A. Marie, and others 1 (Détall du procés du Roi s'amuse. Notes et Warlantes de l'édition définitive, etc.) Paris, 1883, 4to. 150 copies printed. Paris . B//5//OGRA PAZ V. ix The King's Fool ; or, Le Rol s'amuse. From the French of V. H. Translated by W. T. Haley.] (The Romancist, vol. v., N.S.) London 1841 ?), 8vo. Le Rol samuse A tragedy 1n five acts. Translated Into English blank verse by F. L. Slous, and entutled Francis the Fulst : or, the curse of St. Vallier London, 1843, 8vo. P11vately printed. Ruy Blas, diame en cinq actes. Paris, 1838, 18mo. Théâtre en liberté. 8vo. Torquemada. Drame in a pro- logue and four acts, and In vense. Paris, 1882, 8vo. Paris, 1886, V. MISCELLANEO US. Adolphe Amours, Victor Hugo, etc. 18mo. Cárlos Peñaranda. Cantos del Pueblo. Precedidos de una carta de V. H. Madrid, 1875, 8vo. Centenaire de Voltaire, 30 Mal, Pelleport. Tous les avec une lettre de Paris, 1882, 1878 Le D1scours , pour Voltaire. La lettre à l'Evéqne d'Orléans, Palls, 1878, 8vo. Ce que c'est que l’exil. Intro duction au llvre Pendant l'Exil. Paris, 1875, 8vo. Contes de toutes les Couleurs par Edmond About, etc. Avec une Pi éface de Victor Hugo. Paris, 1879, 8vo. Discouis dans la discussion de lol sur la déportation. Palls 1849), 8vo. Discours d'ouverture du Congrès Littéraire International. Le Domaine public payant. Paris, 1878, 8vo. Discours prononcés à la Chambre des Paurs, à l'Assemblée nationale et au Conglès de la paux. Paris, 1851, 8vo Discours on the liberty of the press) prononcé à Bruxelles. Londres (1862), 8vo. Douze Discours. Paris, 1851, 8vo. Quatorze Discours. Neuvième édition. Paris, 1851, 8vo. Le Droit et la Lol. Introduction au luvre, Actes et Paroles. Paris, 1875, 8vo. Echoes of Harper’s Ferry. By James Redpath. Boston, 1860, 8vo. Conta Ins two letters flom V H on the attempted libelation of the Slaves by Capt. John Blown Frédéric Soullé, sa vue et ses ouvrages, sulvl des discours pl o- noncés sur sa tombe par MM. Victor Hugo, Paul Lacroix, et Antony Bén aud. Par M. Cham- pion. Paris, 1847, 12mo. Les Génies de la Liberté, avec des lettres de George Sand, Victor Hugo, etc. Par Benjamin Gastuneau. Paris, 1865, 12mo. Charles Hugo. Les Hommes de l'Exil, précédés de Mes Fils par V H. Pal 1s, 18, 5, 12mo. Le Christ au Vatican, suivi de la Volv de Guernesey. Bruxelles, 1868, 32mo. Christ and the Vatlcan. Translated from the French by G. Schlatter With notes by the translator. Second edutlon. London, 1875, 16mo. Ledi u Rollin. Discouls politiques et écrits divers. 2 tom. Paris, 1879, 8vo. Vol 11 contains the "Discours du Citoyen Victor Hugo” at the A3 VVS VI VOG RAA'A V. Inaugulation of the Fumel al MIonu ment elected to Ledlu Rollin at Père LaChaise Léon de Labessade. La Sémiramis Allée, piècédée d'une letti e de V. H. Paris, 1875, 8vo. Mélanges par Victor Hugo, Louis Blanc, César Pascal, etc. Bruxelles, 1869, 8vo Contains La Vona de Guernesey Mentana) Mémoires de Garibaldi par Alexandre Dumas, précédés d'un discours sur Garibaldi pal Victor IIugo, etc. Bruxelles [1860], 8vo. Panis et Rome. Introduction au livre Depuis l'Exil. Paris, 1876, 8vo. Paris Guide par les principaux écrivains et artistes de la France. [Introduction by V Hugo. ] 2 pt. Paris, 1867, 12mo soldier named Blanc, con- demned to death for Insub ordination 1 Paris, 1875, 8vo. Repl Inted from “Actes et Pal oles ” Raccolta di lettere del Generale Garibaldi indirizzate a M. A. Sammito, precedute da due di F D. Guerrazzi e continuate da altre di V. Hugo, etc. Milano [1882 ?], 8vo. La servilité de la magistrature impériale sous le despotisme de Napoléon le Petit [v.e , Napo leon III | Londres, 1871, 8vo. Théophile Gautier par Charles Baudelaire Notice littéraire précédée d'une lettre de Victor Hugo. Paris, 1859, 8vo. , En vente au bureau de L'Evéne- ment. Extrait de L'Evénement. Discours de V. H. dans la discussion du projet de lo1 électorale. Paris, 1850, 8vo Visit of the Emperor of the French to England. [Trans- lated from the French.] Lon don, 1855, 8vo. VI. SELECTIONS. Les Femmes de V. H [with selections from his writings], pal L Beauvallet et C. Valette Illustrations, etc. Palls, 1862, etc., 8vo. A few Translations from Victor Hugo and other poets. By Many Charlotte Chavannes. London, 1886, 8vo. Fleurs de Poésie Moderne. Tirées des CEuvres de A. de Lamartine, Victor Hugo, etc. Londres, 1834, 8vo. Le Livre des Mères. Les Enfants. Vignettes par E. Froment, [Edited by P. J. Stahl, pseud- e., Pierre J. Hetzel.] Paris [1877], 8vo. Metrical Translations from the Works of Lamartine, Casimir Delavigne, Victor Hugo, etc. To which are added some Original Poems by the trans- laton, Elizabeth Collins. Paris [1850 ?], 8vo. La Penne demort, jugée par V. H., et Lamantine. [Extracts from their writings.] Paris [1848], s sh. fol Plus de Bourreau. [Extracts from the writings of V. H. and Lamantine. ] Pan is [1848], s. sh. fol. The literary life and poetical works of V. Hugo. Translated 1nto English by eminent authors. Now first collected and edited by H. L. Williams. New York [1883], 8vo. A/B/C/OGA'AAA/V. x1 Selections, chiefly lyrical, from the Poetical Works of Victor Hugo Translated into English by various authors. Now filst collected by H. W. Williams. (Bohn's Standard Lab, ary.) London, 1885, 8vo. Translations in Verse. (The Child's Prayer : An Infant’s Influence on the Family Circle, from W. H. Psalm 1 will , xcvill.). By H. Highton. Lon don, 1873, 8vo. Translations from the Poems of V. H. By Henry Callington (The Canterbury Poets.) Lon don, 1885, 8vo. VII. APPENDIX. BIOGRAPHY, CRITICISM, ETC. Albelt, Paul.—Poetes et Poésies. Paris, 1881, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 153 198 Alexander, William, Bishop of Derry —Victor Hugo as a Poet. (Afternoon Lectureson Laterature and Art, Sec. Ser.) London, 1864, 8vo. Alland, H. J.-‘‘Een Genie” en “slechte Manleren in de Letterkunde” of de Fransche en Hollandsche Victor Hugo [i.e., W. H. and J. Van Vloten], voor dezelfde rechtbank. (Studien op Godsdvenstºg Gebued. Jahr. 5.) S'Hertogenbosch, 1873, 8vo. Asseline, Alfred —Victor Hugo Intime. Mémoires, Correspond ances, Documents inédits. Paris, 1885, 8vo. Asselineau, Charles. Mélanges turés d'une petite Bibliothèque Romantique. Bibliographie anecdot1due et pittoresque des éditions originales des oeuvres de W. Hugo, etc. Palls, 1866, 8vo. Seconde édition, etc. 1872, 8vo. Appendice à la seconde édition, Paris. etc. Paris, 1874, 8vo Autellve, Louis d’.—Les Misér- ables et Victor Hugo, etc. Bruxelles, 1862, 8vo Banville, Théodore de —Mes Souvenils. Victor Hugo, Henll Heine, etc. Paris, 1882, 8vo. Baour Lolmlan, L. P.-Canon d'alal me. [Satlle in verse on Victor Hugo.] Paris, 1829, 8vo Balbey d'Aurevilly, Misérables de W. 1862, 8vo. Balbou, Alfred — Victor Hugo et son Temps. Edition illustrée de 120 dessins Inédits par Emile Bayald, Clerget, etc. Paris, 1881, 8vo. Victor Hugo ; his life and works ; flom the French, by F A, Shaw Chicago, 1881, 16mo. Translated from the French by Ellen E. Frewer. London, 1882, 8vo. Victor Hugo and his time ; 1llustrated by Bayard, etc.; from the French by Ellen E. Fiewer. New York, 1882, 8vo. Barr, ll A G., and Panzacchi, E — Vittor Hugo ; Sagg1 cultıcı, etc. Milano, 1885, 8vo. Beauvallet, L., and Valette, C Les Femmes de W. H. [With selections from his writings] par L. Beauvallet et C. Walette Jules.—Les H. Paris, [with W. H.’s biography.] Illustrations, etc. Paris, 1862, etc., 8vo. xii B/B/C/OGRAPA / V. Bérard Valagnac, M. — Portraits Littéraues. Paris, 1887, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 77 129. Bernier, E.—Du Caractère de l'Epopée dans La Légende des Siècles. Par1s, 1886, 12mo. B1c, J. P.—Maison Victor Hugo et Cle, 1842 et 1871. Poésies satiriques. Palis, 1871, 8vo. Bué, Edmond.—Victor Hugo et la Restaurat1on ; étude h1stor- 1que et littéraire. Paris, 1869, 12mo. Victor Hugo avant 1830. Pa11s, 1883, 8vo. Blanchet, Eugène.—Victor Hugo et la Renaissance Théâtrale au XIXe siècle. Hernanl-Ruy Blas. Meaux, 1879, 8vo. Blémont, Émile.—Le Livre d'Or de Victor Hugo par l'élite des artistes et des écllvalns contem porains. Direction de E. B. [Illustlated.] Par1s, 1883, 4to Bouvenne, Aglails. — 1827 1879. Victor Hugo, ses portraits et ses charges, catalogués par A. B. Panis, 1879, 12mo Brandes, Georg.—Die Litteratur des neunzehnten Jahr hunderts, etc. Le1pzig, 1882, etc, 8vo. Numerous leferences to V Hugo. Brigny, A de.—Pape contre Pape, ou le Pape de V. Hugo et le Pape de l'Eglise. Paris, 1878, 12mo. Blunetière, F.—Histoire et Littér- ature. Paris, 1885, 8vo. Contauns an article,* Hugo avant 1830 Buchanan, Robert. — Master Spirits London, 1873, 8vo. Hugo In 1872, pp 143 167. A Poet's Sketch Book ; selec- tions from the prose wr1tIngs of R. B. London, 1883, 8vo. V1ctor Hugo, pp, 157 164. Buchanan, Robert.—A Look round Llterature. London, 1887, 8vo. From AEschylus to Victol Hugo, pp. l 53 Camerin1, Eugenio.—Profili Let- terarl Firenze, 1870, 8vo. Vittor Hugo, pp 280 300. Cappon, James.—Victor Hugo ; a Memoir and a Study, Edln- burgh, 1885, 8vo. Castille, Hippolyte - Victor Hugo. (Portrants Polntuques au dha - neuvième siècle, No. 15.) Palls, 1857, 16mo. Charavay, E. — Histoire d'un Crime. Dépos1t1on d'un Témoin. (Album de fac slmlle, d'auto- graphes et de portrants, dressé par E. Charavay.) Paris, 1877, 8vO. ChatelaIn, J. B. E. de. —Les Misérables ; Souvenir de 1862. Victor Hugo's new work, re- viewed for the Jersey Indepcnd- ent. London [1873], 8vo. Chépet, Eugene. — Les Poetes Fiançais, etc. 4 tom. Paris, 1861, 8vo. Victor Hugo, by Challes Baude laIne, tbm Iv , pp 265 287 Chétélat, E. J.-Les Occidentales, ou Lettres cr1t1ques sur les Orientales de V. Hugo. [Edited by E. J. Chétélat.1 Paris, 1829, 8vo. Claret1e, Jules.—La Libre Parole, etc. Paris, 1868, 8vo. VIctor Hugo, pp 157 168. Victor Hugo. (Célébn !tés Con temp0ravnes, Part 1.) Paris, 1882, 8vo. f Courtat, Félix.—Etude sur les Misérables de M. V. Hugo. Panis, 1862, 8vo. , Cuvillier-Fleury.—Etudes et Por- traits. Paris, 1865, 8vo. Les Misérables par Victor Hugo, pp 281 311. AIBAE/OGRAPHY, xiii Dabas, J. Ch. — A propos de Shakespeare ou le nouveau livre de Victor Hugo. Bordeaux, 1864, 8vo. Dairnvaell, G. M. — Prédictions extraordinaires du grand Abn a- cadabra, découvert dans les odes et ballades de V Hugo, par G. M. D. Paris, 1842, 32mo. Dannehl, Gustav —Victor Hugo. Literarisches Portrait, m1t be sonderel Belucksichtigung der Lehrjahre des Dichters. (Samm lung gemevnverstandlºcher was senschaftlicher Vortrage, etc. Neue Folge. Ser. 1.) Berlin, 1886, 8vo. Dessoffy, Gustave.—Discours sur la vle littéralle de W. Hugo. Paris, 1846, 8vo. Dowden, Edward —Studies in Literature, 1789 1877. Lon don, 1878, 8vo. The Poetry of Victor Hugo, pp. 428 467. Du Camp, Maxime.-Souvenirs Littéraires. 2 tom. Paris, 1882, 8vo Numerous references to W. Hugo Dulcken, W. —Worthies of the World, etc. London [1881], 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 721 736 Dumas, Alexandre. — Mes Mé moires. 22 vol. Paris, 1852 54, 8vo. Contains several chapters entirely devoted to V Hugo Dumas, Alexandle, fils —Thereply of Alexandre Dumas at the Aca- demy, to the speech of Leconte de Lisle, successor to Victor Hugo. (Journal des Débats, 1 April, 1887). Dupuy, Ernest.—Victor Hugo, l’homme et le poète. Paris, 1887, 12mo, " Duval, Georges. – Dictionnaire des Métaphores de W. Hugo, par G. D., avec Pléface de Frangols Coppée. Paris, 1888, 8vo. p f Faguet, Emile. — Etudes Litté- raires sur le dix neuvième siècle. Paris, 1887, 8vo. * Victor Hugo, pp 153 257 Flameng, F. — Illustration des oeuvres complètes de W. H. [By] F. Flameng. Paris, 1885, etc., 4to. Frédérix, Gustave —Souvenir du Banquet offert à Victor Hugo par MM. A. Lacrolx, Verboeck- hoven & Cle. Bruxelles, 1862, 8vo. Friswell, J. Hain.—Modeln Men of Letters honestly criticised. London, 1870, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp 61 74 Galerie.—Galerie des Contempor- alns Illustres, etc. 2 tom. Paris, 1847 8, 8vo. W Hugo, tom 1 , pp 144 151 Gautler, Théophile.—Dessins de Victor Hugo, gravés par Paul Chenay, texte par T. G. Palls, 1863, 4to. Histolre du Romantisme, etc. Palls, 1874, 8vo Piemière représentation d’Her nani , Hernanl, La leplise d’Hel nani , Wente du mobiller de Victor Hugo, pp. 99 133 Gay, Nanciso. —Los Miserables de Victor Hugo, ante la luz del buen sentido y la sana filosofía social Mad, 10, 1863, 8vo. Gill.—Victor Hugo revu et corrigé à la plume et au crayon, par Gill Les Chansons des Glues et des Boas. Paris, 1865, 8vo. P Girardin, Madame Emile de...— Lettres Parisiennes. Paris, 1843, 8vo. W. Hugo, pp. 241 248. X1W A/B/C/OGRAPHY, Gottschall, Rudolf.-Portrats und Studien. 4 Bde. Leipzig, 1870 71, 8vo. Victor Hugo als Lylukel, Bd i. pp 59 127. f Gourmez, Jules, Simple Epître [in verse] a Victor Hugo [deploring his enmity to the government, and urging sub mission]. Paris, 1853, 8vo. Griswold, Hattle Tyng.—Home Life of Gleat Authors. Chicago, 1887, 8vo. Victol Hugo, pp 150 163 Hamel, Ernest. —Victor Hugo. [On the character of his wilt- Ings.] Palls, 1860, 8vo. Hazeltine, Mayo W.-Chats about Books, Poets, and Novelists. New York, 1883, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 1471 Hepp, Alexandre — Histoire de Ruy Blas. Par MM. Hepp et Clament. Paris, 1879, 12mo. Heylli, Georges d’.—Documents sur la Guerre de 1870 71 et sur la Commune. Wictor Hugo et la Commune. Paris, 1871, 12mo. Honegger, J. J.-Victor Hugo, Lamartine und die franzosische Lyrik. Historisch - clitisch dangestellt von Dr. J. J. H. Zunich, 1858, 8vo. Houssaye, H.—Les Hommes et les Idées Palls, 1886, 8vo. Contains an alticle, Victor Hugo et la C, wituque Huet, B — L1tterarische Fantaslen en Kriticken. Haar lem [1883], 8vo. V Hugo, Deel Ix, pp 65 111. Hugo Victor.—Une Pichenette, ou les Fantômes, orientale de W. Hugo, avec un commentalre en faveur des Français qui n' entendent que leur langue maternelle, par un Jeune bacheller &s lettres. Paris, 1829, 8vo. Victor Hugo [a biographical and literary sketch]. Mit Portrait. (Moderne Schriftstel- ler, Bde. Ill.). Cassel, 1854, 16mo. Victor Hugo devant Na poléon. [An anonymous pam phlet directed against W. H.] Bluxelles [1861], 8vo. Misère et les Misérables. [With a preface referring to W. H.’s “Les Misérables.”] Paris, 1863, 8vo. Victor Hugo, raconté par un témoin de Sa vie [.. e., Madame Hugo 31 Avec oeuvres Inédites de W. H. entre autres un diame en trols actes ; Inez de Castro. 2 tom. Bruxelles, 1863, 8vo. Victor Hugo: a life, related by one who has witnessed it (writ ten, it is believed, by Madame Hugo); lncluding a diama in three acts, entitled Inez de Castro, and other unpublished works. [Translated from the French by A. D. H. A.] 2 vols. London, 1863, 12mo. French Authors at Home. Episodes in the Lives and Wolks of Balzac, Madame de Girardin, George Sand Victor Hugo, etc. London, 1864, 8vo. Victor Hugo en Zélande. Paris, 1868, 12mo. Part of a series, entitled “Biblio- thèque Contempolalne * —Réponse d’un Allemand a M. Victor Hugo [on his appeal to 2 vols. the German nation]. Dalm- stadt, 1871, 8vo. Wictor Hugo devant l'opinion: Presse Française, Presse étrangère; avec une lettre A ZA 5 AL / C'CrAYA A AZ V. de M Gustave Rivet, député de l' Isère. Paris, 1885, 12mo. Hugo, Victor, pseud [i.e., Antoine Rocher ? ] – L'organographie physiogno - phrénologique de Badinguet [v.e., Napoleon III.] d'après Gall et Spurzheim, par V. Hugo [n e, Antoine Rocher ºl. Londres, 1871, 12mo. Interdonato, Stefano – I Bur- gravi, dramma lirico. (L'argo mento è tratto dalla trilogia di V H , I Burgravi.) Milano, 1881, 8vo. Janin, Jules. –Histoire de la Lit térature Dramatique, etc., Panis 1855 8, 8vo. Numerous references to V Hugo Joffrin, Charles –Victor Hugo è l'Ecole de Droit Le Cas de Jean Valjean au point de vue historique, legal et philoso- phique. Panis, 1862, 8vo. King, Edward. –French Political Leaders. New York, 1876, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp 9 54 Lagarde, J. de. – Notice sur les Odes et Ballades de Victor Hugo. Londres, 1837, 8vo. Lamartine, A. de.–Cours familler de Littérature. Paris, 1862 3, 8vo Les Misérables tom, xiv pp 305 432, and tom XV , pp 5 224 Laun, Henri vam. – History of French Literature 3 vols London, 1876 77, 8vo. Victor Hugo, vol 111, pp. 323 332 Laurent Pichat, L. –Les Poetes de Combat. Paris, 1862, 8vo. Victor Hugo è quatie sous, pp 851 379 Lecanu, Alphonse.–Chez Victor Hugo, par un Passant [v.e., Alphonse Lecanul Avec 12 XV eaux-fortespar Maxime Lalanne, Paris, 1864, 8vo. Contains a description of V. Hugo's house at Guernsey Leconte de Lisle, C M Speech of M Leconte de Lisle as successor to Victor Hugo at the French Academy, and the reply of Alexandre Dumas (Journal des Débats, 1st April, 1887). Lectures. –The Afternoon Lectures on Literature and Art, delivered In Dublin, 1864. London, 1864, 8vo Victor Hugo as a Poet, by Very Rev Villiam Alevandel, Dean of Emly, Second selles, pp 197 243 Lesclude, Richard – Propos de Table de Victor Hugo, recueillis pan R. L. Panns, 1885, 8vo. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. – The Poets and Poetry of Europe. London, 1855, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp. 494 497. Lovenjoul, Charles de –A. de Musset et ses prétendues attaques contre V. Hugo (Extra1t des Miscellanées Biblio graphiques.) Paris, 1878, 12mo. Lucrezia Borgia. –Justification de Lucrèce Borgia. Lo ons, 1833, 8vo. McCarthy, Justin –“ConAmore,” on Critical Chaptems. London, 1868, Svo. Victor Hugo, pp. 250302 Mallanu, M A. –A. M. le Rédacteur en Chef, etc. [A circular respecting a challenge sent by F. Pescantini to Victor Hugo, un reference to an alleged attack upon Italy in V. H.'s “Marie Tudor,” etc.] Paris [1833 ?], 8vo Maxse, F. A –The Irish Question and Victor Hugo. London, 1881, 8vo. 2× V || and Lon Mazzini, Joseph. — Life Writings of J. Mazzini. don, 1870, 8vo. On the Poems of Victor Hugo, Vol 11 , pp. 257 303, reprinted from the B tush and Forevgn, Review,1838 M11 ecourt, Eugène de, pseud [º. e., C. J. B. Jacquot] —Les Con- temporains, No. 2, Victor Hugo. Paris, 1858, 12mo. Victor IIugo. —Londres, 1860, 8wo Les vrals Misérables [Being a review of W H 's work, entitled “Les Misérables.”] 2 tom Paris, 1862 3, 12mo, II1stoire contemporaine, etc. Victor Hugo.—No. 2. Paris, 1867, 12mo, Montégut, Emile. — Mélanges Critiques Paris, 1888, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 3 142 Montifaud, Marc de [º e., Mme. Léon Quivogne de Montifaud]. —Les Romantiques, avec un po) trait de Victor Hugo. Paris, 1878, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 25 29 Mºray, C J.—Men of the Third Republic (reprinted, with additions, from The Davly News). [By E. C. J. Murray.] London, 1973, 8vo. "Victor Hugo, pp. 343 384. Myers, F. W H — Essays, modern. London, 1883, 8vo. Victor IIugo, pp 105 162 Nemo, pseud.—Discouns de M. Nemo (Ignotus), successeur de M. Hugo, prononcé a l'Académie Française, etc [A criticism on the works of W. H. j Palls, 1876, 4to. Not termſ nt A.—Histolre de la Littérature Flangalse, etc. 2 tom. Paris, 1859, 8vo. Victor Hugo : second cycle pºétique, tom 2 116 130, pp. Théâtre àew Hugo, pp. 185204. JO A / ) Al, A C/Cr/U.6:1. A ſº Jº a Nettement, A.—Poetes et Artistes Contemporain. Paris, 1862, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 184250 , Nisard, D –Portraits et Etudes d'Histone Littéraire. Paris, 1875, 8vo Victor Hugo en 1836, pp 57 105. Noel, Hon. Roden. — Essays on Poetry and Poets. London, 1886, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp 172 222. Notes and Queries. – General Index to Notes and Queries, Five selles. London, 1856- 1880, 4to Numerous refelences to Hugo Parodi, D. A. — Vittor Hugo ; 11cordi e note. Milano, 1858, 18mo. Parton, James — Some noted Princes, Authors, and States men of our time. Edited by J. P. New York [1886], 8vo. Victor Hugo at Home, by Richard Lesclude, pp 188 203, Victor Hugo, by James Palton, pp. 204 210. Perez Miranda, Gregollo, - La Catedral de Sevilla, novela tomada de la que escribló el céleble Victor Hugo en Francés con el titulo de Notre Dame de Paris. 3 tom. Madrid, 1834, 8vo. Perrot de Chezelles, E —Examen du livre des Misérables, etc. Paris, 1863, 8vo. Planche, Gustave — Portraits Littéraires, etc. 2 tom. Paris, 1836, 8vo. W Hugo, tom u , pp 209 325 Pollock, Walter Helries —Lectures on the French Poets, etc. Lon- don, 1879, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp. 97151 Pontmartin, A. de — Nouveaux Samedis. S. Première Série Paris, 1865, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 255 268. \ A/B/C/OGA’APA/ P. xvil Pontmartın, A. de. — Nouveaux Samedus. Troisième Sélle. Paris, 1867, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 40 51. —ºptºms Série. Paris, 1870, WO. Victor Hugo et la Restaunation, pp. 103 116, L'Homme qul rit, pp, 117 142. Hultième Série. Paris, 1873, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp 107 130. Proth, Mario.—Le Mouvement a propos des Misérables. Paris, 1862, 8vo. Prout, Father [i.e., the Rev Francis Mahony].—The Wonks of Father Prout. London, 1881, 8vo. Victor Hugo's Lyrical Poetly, pp. 288 307, hepi Inted flom Fraser's Magazine, July 1835 Rémusat, Charles de...—Critiques et tudes Littéralles, etc. Paris, 1857, 8vo. Du Cromwell de Victor Hugo, pp. 249 280 Raoul, L. W.—L'Anti-Hugo. [A critical analysis of W. H.’s Works.] Bruxelles [1846], 8vo. Rivet, G.-Victor Hugo chez lui. Paris, 1878, 8vo. Robin, Challes Philippe.—Galerie des Gens de Lettres au XIXe Siècle, etc. Pan is, 1848, 8vo. W. Hugo, pp 199 230 Sanctus, Francesco de. — Saggl Critici. Napoli, 1866, 8vo. Le Contemplazioni di Victor Hugo, pp 1929 30. Sainte Beuve, C. A. — Portraits Contemporains Nouvelle édi tlon. Paris, 1869, 8vo. Victor Hugo en 1831, vol i, pp 384 469. Sala, Manuel. —L’Espagne et la République. Réponse W. Hugo. Paris, 1868, 8vo. Schelen, Edmond.— Etudes sur la Littérature Contemporalne. Paris, 1885, 8vo Victol Hugo, tom vui , pp 313 316 Schmeding, G. — W1ctor Hugo. Ein Beitrag zu seiner Wurdu- gung in Deutschland. Braunsch- weig, 1887, 8vo. Schmidt, Julian.—Bilder aus dem Ge1stigen Leben unserer Zelt. 2 Bd. Leipzig, 1870 71, 8vo. W. Hugo, Bd 2, pp 251 269 Serle, A.—Le Sublime Goethe et Victor Hugo. Paris, 1880, 8vo. Smith, George B.-Victor Hugo, his life and work. With a por- tralt. London, 1885, 8vo Stapfer, Paul.—Racine et Victor Hugo. Paris, 1887, 8vo Stevenson, Robert Louis.-Fa- millar Studies of Men and Books London, 1882, 8vo Victor Hugo's Romances, pp 137 Swinburne, Algernon C.—Essays and Studies. London, 1875, 8vo. VICtor Hugº L’Homme qul rit, pp. o' 16, L'Année Tellible, I, P 17 5 A Study of Victor London, 1886, 8vo. Talmeyr, Maurice.—W1çºf Hugo, L’Homme qul rut. " Quatre- vingt theize, etc. Confélences par M. T. Paris, 1874, 12mo Taylor, Baya (d.—Clitical Essays and Literary Notes. New York, 1880, 8vo Victor Hugo, pp. 37 54 Ten Brink, Jan —Litterallsche Schetsen en Kulticken. Lelden, 1883 84, 8vo. Numerous references to Wigtor Hugo Tennyson, Alfred. — To Victor Hugo (Nineteenth Century, June 1877, p 547). London, 1877, 8vo. Replinted in “Ballads and other poems ” I6 xviii BIBLIOGRAPHY. Towle, George Makepeace.—Cer- taun Men of Mark : Studies of living Celebrities. Boston [U.S.], 1880, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 154 182 Wacquerie, A.—Les Mlettes de l'histoire. Palls, 1863, 8vo. Contains an account of V Hugo's life in Jelsey and his expulsion. Walter, Jehan.—La Première de Le Rol s'amuse, avec une lettre autographe, trols dessins de W. Hugo et deux portraits. Palls, 1882, 18mo. Weuillot, Louis. – Etudes sur Victor Hugo. Paris, 1886, 12mo. Willetard, Edmond.—Jules, César et William Shakespeare, Etude, etc. [A clitique upon W. H.’s life of the lattel] Paris, 1865, 8vo. Winet, A.—Etudes sur la Littéra- ture Frangalse au dix neuvième siècle. 3 tom. Palls, 1849 51, 8vo Victor Hugo, tom 2, pp. 301 568. \, Auguste.—Les Mille et une 5 série. Palls 1885- 8vo !ns several articles on W. LayS A Wolturon, Paul.—Etudes philoso phiques et littéralles sur les “Misérables" de W. Hugo. Paris, 1862, 18mo. Williams, H L.-The literary life and poetical works of V. Hugo Tianslated into English by eminent authors, now first collected and edited by H. L. Williams. New York [1883], 8vo. Yates, Edmund.—Celebrities at IIome. Réprinted from The World. Second selles. Lom don, 1878, 8vo. Victor Hugo in the Rue de Clichy, pp 53 62, Zola, Emile.—Documents Littér- aires; Études et portraits. Paris, 1881, 8vo. Victor Hugo, pp. 43.86. DRAMAs, ETC., FOUNDED ON THE WORKS OF WICTOR HUGO. Bug-Jargal, drame en sept ta- bleaux, tiré du roman de Victor Hugo. Per Pierre Elizéar [i.e., M. Ortolan] et Richard Lesclide. Palls, 1881, 4to. Esmeralda, an English version of “Ermelinda’’ [An opera, in four acts and in verse], written and adapted by C. Jeffreys to the music composed by W. Battista. London, 1856, 8vo. Hans of Iceland. A ballet of action. [From the romance of W. H.] London [1841], 8vo. Hernani: or the Pledge of Honour. A play in five acts. From W. Hugo. By James Kenney. (Lacy's Actºng Edition of Plays, vol. 77.) London [1868], 12mo. Hernani. A lyric drama, in four acts [by F. M. Plave]. Founded on the French drama of W. H., and rendered into English from the Italian, by J. W. Mould. Sydney, 1857, 8vo. Lucrezia Borgia, a tragedy [in four acts and In verse] altered flom the French prose drama of W. H., and adapted for the English stage, by W. Young. London, 1847, 8vo. Plivately plunted. Lucrezia Borgia; melodramma con prologo e due atti [and in verse. Imitated from the tlagedy of W. H. by F. Romani]. Milano, 1850, 8vo. Lucrezia Borgia, an opera in three acts. Music by Donizettl. A3//5/C/O GARA PAZ V. xix [Founded on V. H. 's diama of “Luclèce Borgia.” Melboul ne, 1861, 12mo The King's Edict. A drama un four acts, by B. Fairclough Adapted from the drama of “Marion Delorme.” London 1872), 12mo. Les Misérables, drame founded on V. H. 's movel] Par Charles Hugo. Paris [1863, 8vo. Atonement : a romantic drama in four acts and ten tableaux. By William Muskeri y (Lacy's Actung Edolvon, of Plays, vol. 104) London 1875), 12mo. Jean Valjean, drama 1n 4, actos por Cán los Paz, sacado des los ** Misérables” de V. Hugo. Buenos Aires, 1863, 12mo. A Conversäo de um Calceta, drama em um prologo e tres quadros, tirado do celebre romance de Victor Hugo, intitulado , Os Miseravels, por Duarte José de Mello Pltada. Rio de Janeiro, 1868, 8vo. The Man of Two Llves 1 a new romantic play, In three acts and a prologue. Founded on “Les Misérables” of Victor Hugo. By Bayle Bernand. (Lacy's Actung Edutvon of Plays, vol. 85), London 1870), 12mo. Notre Dame de Pan is, dl ame en cumq actes et quinze tableaux (tiné du roman de Victor Hugo) par Paul Foucher, musique de M. Artus, etc. (Bibliothèque Dramatuque, tom. 27.) Paris. 1849, 8vo. Notre Dame de Paris, drame en cunq actes par Paul Foucher. (Théátre Contemporann Illustré, Llvr. 88, 89). Paris, 1853, fol. Ruy Blas. A romantic drama, in four acts and un verse. Adapted} from the French by E. O'Rourke) (Lacy's Actung Edutton of Plays, vol. 49 ) London 1861), 12mo. Ruy Blas Righted ; or the love, the lugger, and the lackey Written by R. Reece. (Lacy's Actung Ednton of Plays, vol. 100.) London 1874), 12mo. PARODIES ON THE WORKS OF VICTOR HUGO. Les Barbus graves, par Paul Zéro Parody of “Les Burgraves” un vense). Paris, 1843, 8vo. Les Büches graves, pièce de 1ésistance seivie au Théâtre Français. ... Parody of “Les Burgiaves,” signed Chol. Pauls, l843, 12mo. Oh Qu’ menni, ou le Murliton Fatal, parodie d'Hernan1, en cunq tableaux. Par Brazier et Carmouche. Palls, 1830, 8vo. N. I. N1., ou le danger Castilles. A parody Herman1.] Par Carmouche et Dupeuty. Palls, 1830, 8vo. Fanfan le troubadóún à la repré- sentation d'Henné h 2. A parody.] Paris, 1830, 8 vo. Hal mall, pan º die en cinq tableaux of Hernani) Par A. T de Lauzan me Pauls, 1830, 8vo. Parottie de l’Homme quirit. Nouv- eau Roman de V. H. Timé du Journal le Tintamarre. Nou- velle Orleans (1869), 8vo. Touchatout. L’Homme qui rit. Edition tintamarresque. A burlesque of V. H’s novel.] Deux1ème édition. Paris 1869), 8vo. Marie Crie fort, parodie en quatre endroits et ¿? quarts d'heure, explication tinée de la pièce de XX A3/AB/L/OG/PA PA / V. Marie Tudor de M. V. Hugo, et d'aplès Voltaire et d'autres historiens. Paris, 1883, 12mo. Gothon du Passage Delorme, 1m1- tation de Marion Delorme ; bullesque par MM. Dumersan, Blunswick et Céran. Paris, 1831, 8vo. Marionnette, parodie en cinq actes et en vers de Manlon Delorme. Par C. D. Dupeuty and F. A. Duve1t. Pa11s, 1831, 8vo. A. Vémar. Les Misérables pour rire, parodie, etc. Par A. Vémar. Paris, 1862, 12mo. SONGS, ETC., SET TO MUSIC. Lucrezia Borgla, By Donizett1, 1834. Ernan1, opera. By Verdi, 1844 Esmeralda, opera. By Mlle. Louise Bertin, 1836. Esmeralda, opera. mysky, 1847. Esmeralda, opera. 57. opera. By Dango By Lebeau, Rigºletto, op era [founded on Le Ro! s'amuse ]. By Verdi, 1851. Chants †N" Paroles de V. Hugo, 188, Deux Chœurs su l'Art d'être Grand père. C C. Saint Saens, 1878 Six Mélodies. [Nos. , 3, 4, 6, written by V. Hugo ] By C. M. Widor, 1875. Quatre Mélodies [Nos, 1-3 written by V. Hugo]. 1870. 3 Poésies de V. Hugo. By P. Gael, 1883. Twelve Orientales. By F. Ped rell, 1877. ** Dieu qui sourit"—** L'aube nâit et ta porte est close ''-Quand la demoiselle dorée ''—By E. des Poésies de By By S. Perullo, ! VIault, 1858. (12 Mélodies, Nos. 3, 4, 8 ) * A cette terre où l'on ploie." By H. P. Blaglali (20 Mélodies, No. 3), 1875 ; C. M. Widor (Six Mélodhes, Op. 14, No. 6), 1872. * Adieu, pat11e !" By L. A. Bourgault Ducoudray, 1872 ; C. Saint Saens, 1868. * Aime celui qui t'aime." By L. Lacombe (Deux Mélodies, No. 2), 1870 ; E. Schneider, (Mélodies, No. 5), 1868 " Aimons toujours." By C de Gessler, 1875, 1877 , B Godai d (12 Mo7 ceaux, 2me série, No. I), 1868. * A quoi bon entendre." By G. Braga (Sux Mélodies, No 4), 1863 , A. D. Duvivier, 1869 , F M. V. Massé (Vingt Mélodies, No. 20), 1868 ; L. Mululotti, 1879 ; E. Philp (O why hark wuth pleasure), 1867, 1870 , A. Pilati, 1873 , C. Saint-Saens, 1868 ; L. Spohr (Ah, why need I lusten), 1852 ; J B. Wekerlin (Stars the mºght adornvmg), 1868, 1874 * Àtoi, toujours à toi." By E F Fitzwilliam (Songs for a Wvnter N !ght, No. 13), 1855. ** L' Aube naît et ta porte est close.'' By F. d'Alquen, 1881; F. Berger, 1873 ; S. David, 1874 ; J. Diaz de Sorla, 1881 , Donizetti, 1873, J. Van den Eden (Douze Mélo dues, No. 10), 1866 ; J. Faure, 1878 ; Gounod, 1863 ; J. B A. Gueroult, 1881 ; S. Lacont W1dmer, 1881 ; C. Lecocq, 1876 ; A Petit, 1876 ; L. M. R. 1871 ; A. Relchardt, 1873 ; J. Renaud, 1869; T. Ritter, 1881 ; J. RosenhaIn, 1840 ; G. Stern, 1867; Sir A. S. Sullivan, 1872, A9/A3/C/OGAPA PA / V. xxi F. P. Tosti, 1877 ; A Unter- stelner, 1880 ; L. Zavental, 1874. ** L' Aurore s'allume." By J. B A Gueroult, 1881 ; J. B. Wekerlin, 1861. **Au Soleil couchant." By G. Bizet, 1868 ; E Wintzweille1 (Mélodies postumes, No 1), 1875. ** Le brouilland est flo1d." By G. Weldon, 1879. ** C'est toi dont le regard.'' By Lady H. Morant, 1850. ** Ceux qui pleusement sont meurts pour la patrie." By L. J. F. Hérold, 1882 ** Les champs n' etalent point nons " By F. M. V. Massé (Vangt Melodues No. 6), 1868 , J O'Kelly, 1867. ** Chantez, chantez spnée." By M. V. 1881. ** Comme elle courte 1 voyez ' By P. Lacombe (3 Mélodnes, No. 3), 1867. ** Comment disaient ils.'' By H. P. Biag1ol1 (20 Mélodves, No 17), 1875 ; J. Faure, 1882 ; B. Godard, (Douze Morceaux, 3me série, No. 11), 1870 ; P. Ra- mond, 1875 ; C. Salnt Saens, 1870. ** Dansez, dansez les petites filles.'' By N. H Reber, 1878 ; F. Manhal, 1879. * Dans l' alcove sombre." By A. Nibelle, 1860, G. Pfeiffer, 1865. ** Demain.º By L. Lacomb 1S73. * De quoi puis J'avoir envie, B Godard, 188). Jeune nn White, ** Dieu nous prête un moment." By A. D Duvivier, !8568. ** Dieu qui sou11t et, qui donne " pº§ Morceaux, 3me série, No ^ 9), 1870 ; J. M. À / By B. Godard ( de Lalanne, 1863 ; E Pesserd, 1883 ** Dona Sol.* 1875. ** Ecoute mo1." 1830. * Elle étaIt déchaussée * By A. D. Duvivier, 1868 , B Godard (12 Morceaux, 2me série, No. 7), 1868. ** Elle me dit : Quelque chose me By C. Lenepveu, By F. Grast, tourmente." By G. Bizet, 1868. * Une enfant dormait " By F. A. Boleldieu, 1835. ** Enfant, s1 J'étais roi " By A Dassler, 1870 , J. B. A. Gue roult, 1880 , A. von Gold schmidt, 1887; A Raimo, 1872. ** En guerre les guel11els." By F. Polse, 1862. ** Espère, enfant demain.'' By M. White, 1878, 1879. ** Etre riche, n'est pas l'affaire.' By L. Engel, 1867. ** Fée ou Femme, sols ma da By F. Vergoni, 1867 * Gastibelza, homme à l2ſycata bine.'' By H. # de la France, XNo † ** The grave récey s all." By C. FranclK, 1873. " Heuleº ， qui peut aimer.'' By M. A White, 1881. « « H a nuit d'été " By C. épveu, 1873 , T. Salomé 'rous Mélodies, No. 1), 1883, A Thomas, 1877 ; A Wormser, 1879. * L' Hiver est froid." By H. P. Biagioli (20 Mélodnes, No 10), 1875. * How shall we flee soirow ?" By J. P. Hullah, 1871. * I ask foi no other riches.'' By B. Godar d, 1880. xxii A3/B/C/OGRAPH V. ** J'avais douze ans." By B. Godard (12 Morceaux, 2me série, No. 5), 1868. ** Je ne me mets pas en reine." By P. Maquet, 1876. * Je ne songeais pas à Rose " By L. Amat, 1862 ; B. Godard (12 Morceaux, 2me série, No 8), 1868 ; L. Lacombe (Deux Mélo dues, No. 1), 1870 ; J. O'IKelly, 1862 ; E. Pessard (5 Mélodnes, No 5), 1870 ; J. Renaud (Sept Mélodues, No. 7), 1869 ; Balo ness W. de Rothschild, 1865. * Je me veux pas d'autres choses.'' By B. Godard, 1873. ^* Je 1espne où tu palpites." By B. Godard, 1874 , A. E. de Vaucorbell (Collectuon de Mélo dues, No. 26), 1866. * J'étais seul, près des flots." By J. Cressonnols, 1874 , A. Deslandres, 1877 ; A Mones du Pujol, 1866 ; J. T. Radoux, 1875 ; H. Salomon, 1880. a Lyre et la Harpe." By C. SaJx2t Saens, 1879. amu, autou de vous tant de $étncelle." By A. Glan- l5{ N - * Mes ve#om^uràuent doux et frêles '' B , Amat, 1862 ; E Lassen, 1855 $ A Wormser, 1877. * Mon bras pressait Nº frêle " By B. Godard A Wilford, 1879. ** Monte, écureuil, monte au gr， chêne." By W. (3 Mélodies, No. 3), 1876. * N'ai Je pas pour tol, belle Julve.* By H. Salomon, 1866. * Nous emmenions en esclavage." By A. de Beauplan, 1840. * Oh | combien de marins." By L. Collin, 1869. * Oh ! quand je dors." By F. M. V. Massé (Vingt Mélodies, No. 1), 1868. ** Oh ! sur des ailes, dans les nues.'' By A. Sch1mon (Deux Mélodies, No, 2), 1870. ** Oh ! vous avez trop dit.'' By J. O'Kelly, 1867. * Oh ! why not be happy." By E. Philp, 1874. ** O mes lettres, mes lettres d'amour.'' By P. Lacombe (3 Mélodues, No. 1), 1867. ** La pauvre fleur disait au pa pillon céleste.'' By G. Faune, 1869 ; J. B. A. Gueroult, 1880 ; A. Palun, 1883 ; J. B. Wekerlin (6 Nouvelles Mélodies, No. 1), 1873. * La perle de l' Andalousie.'' By C. Soubre, 1835. * Pourquoi donc entendre." By E Guiraud, 1869. ** Pi oscrit, regarde les roses.'' By A. Dassler, 1883, ** Puisque J'ai mis ma lèvre." By Fontarès 1868 ; A. Glandaz, 1882 ; C. Lenepveu, 1881 ; C. C. Saint Saens, 1878. * Puisque mal tout en fleurs " By A. Deslandres, 1883 ; E. Marlois, 1878 ** Puisque rien ne t'arrête." By G B1zet, 1867 ; A. D Duvivier, 1869 ° A. E. de. Vaucorbeil (Collection de Mélodves, No. 23), 1868. * Puisqu' ici bas toute âme." By J. Faure, 1874 ; G. Fauré, 9 ; A. Tauden (Deux Mélo , No. 1), 1872 ; S. Lacont- Widmel, 1881 ; C. C. Saint Saens, 1878. ** Quand l8 été vient." By J. P. Goldberg, N870. * Quand tu chà ntes." By Gounod, 1860 and 1863. s , N A3/A3/C/OG/PA PA / V. xxii1 * Quand tu me parles de glone " By G. de Saint Quentin, 1883. ** Sara, belle d' Indolence.'' By G Darcler, 1867 ; B. Laurent, 1876. ** Seuls, tous deux, ravis, chant- ants " By G. Fauré, 1870. * Si Je n'étais captive.* By H. Berlioz, 1850 ; H. Maréchal, 1879 ; F. Mo11 (F. Morv's new Songs, No. 6), 1865 ; N. H. Reber, 1835 * Si J'étais la feuille." By T Salomé (Trois Mélodues, No. 3), 1883. * S'il est un charmant gazon." By H Bemberg, 1877 ; A. Des landres, 1883 ; A D. Duv1v1er, 1875 ; G. Fauré, 1875 ; A. Grandaz, 1882 ; H. Grémont, 1868, G. Jacob1, 1876 ; H. Ketten, 1878 ; S Lacont- Widmer, 1881 ; A. Morel, 1860; L Pillant, 1867 ; H. M. Young, 1873. ** Si vous n'avez rien à me dire.º By L Badla, 1874 and 1879 ; J Berleur, 1867 , C Collinet, 1875 ; E. Depret, 1877 ; E. Lassen (Filmf Lneder, Op. 46, No. 3), 1873 ; S. C Manches1, 1866 ; G Munato11, 1862 ; E. Pessai d, 1872 ; J. Renaud (Sept Mélodies, No. 5), 1869 ; Baron ess Rothschuld, 1865 ; H. Salomon, 1865 ; E. Schnelder (Mélodnes, No. 4), 1868. * Smyrne est une princesse." Zan1 de Ferramt1, 1868. ** Sols heureuse, o ma douce am1°.' By C. Brontin, 1879. ** Te souvient 1l du Jour.'' B" J'. Labari e, 1835 * La Tombe dit à la Rose." By F F. Courtenay, 18o3 , Lady Jenkinson, 1874. * Toujours à toi ! que chanterait By ) ma lyre." By A. Unterstelner, 1880 * Tout à l'heure, un moment.'' By C. Lenepveu, 1881 * Tout est lumière, tout est Joie " By R. de Valmency, 1874 ** Tout rev1t, ma bien aumée " By G. Blzet, 1867 , B. Godar d, 1873 ** Tra, la, la, la, la.'' By G B1zet, 1867. ** Viens ! une flûte 1nvlslble '' By L. Almat, 1862 , A. D. Duvivier, 1869 , B Godard, 1873 ; G. Pierné, 1883. * Vous qui pleuez, venez à ce Dieu." By J. Faure, 1878 ; Gounod, 1869 ; L. Lacombe, 1870. ** Vous rappelez vous notre douce air.* By A. Holmès, 1873 * Voyageur qui la nuit.'' By N. H. Reber, 1880. ** We roam the w1de and bound- less billows " By A. D. Duvivier, 1881. MAGAZINE ARTICLEs, Hugo, Victor.—Revue-ºſes Deux Mondes, by Salrite Beuve, vol. 3 4, 1831, pr ^ 221 251 —Lon- don and Westminster Review, vol. 31, 1836, pp 389 417 — Revue des Deux Mondes, by G. Planche, vol. 13, 1838, pp 732- 707 —Fraser's Magazine, vol. 26, i842, pp. 740 742.—Fraser's Magazme, vol. 33, 1846, pp 515 529 ; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol 8, pp. 508-519. —Howitt's Jou nal, by S. Smiles, vol. 3, 1848, pp. 368, etc.—Le Correspondant, by Auguste Ducoun, tom 23, 1848, pp. 68 74, 113 123, 225 242.— xxiv. A/B/C/OGAEAA’H P. Hugo, Victor. People's Journal (with portrait), vol. 8, 1849, pp. 275 277. – Temple Bar, by J. F. H., vol. 9, 1863, pp. 576 589.-Frasel’s Magazine, vol. 67, 1863, pp. 372 382.-Chambels's Journal, vol. 20, 1863, pp. 185 187.- Christian Examiner, by C. A Cummings, vol. 76, 1864, pp. 301 338. –Blackwood’s Edin burgh Magazine, vol. 100, 1866, pp. 744 769 —Every Saturday, vol. 2, 1866, p. 303, etc.— Colburn’s New Monthly Maga zine, by C. Redding, vol. 138, 1866, pp. 81 95.-Appleton's Journal of Literature, vol 1, 1869, pp. 11-14.—Every Satur day (with portrait), vol. 9, 1870, p. 625, etc.—London Society, by K. Cook, vol. 22, 1872, pp. 501 511 , same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 17, N. S., 1873, pp 324-332 —Atlantic Monthly, by T. S. Perry, vol 36, 1875, . 167-174 —New Eclectic, by H Browne, vol. 4, pp. 204, Aygosy, vol. 20, 1875, 191. –Potter's American º, by E. F. Wheeler, vol. 16, p. 529, etc.—Inter national Review, by A. Laugel, vol. 11, p. 283, etc., 391, etc — Blackwood’s Edinburgh Maga- zine, vol. 122, 1877, pp. 157 181; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol 26, N.S., 1377, pp 399 418.-Temple Bar, vol 50, 1877, pp. 367 373.−British Quarterly Review, vol. 67, 1878, pp 340 379 —Nineteenth Century, by F. W. H. Myers, vol 5, 1879, pp. 773 787, 955 970, afterwards reprinted in Myers’ “Essays Modern,” 1883.−Temple Bar, vol. 59, —and Romanticism. Hugo, Victor. 1880, pp. 251-259; same article, Littell’s Living Age, vol. 146, pp. 241 246.-New Monthly Magazine, by C., vol. 4, 3rd Selles, 1881, pp. 356 383.−Cen- tury Magazine, by Alphonse Daudet, vol. 25, 1882, pp. 30- 37.-St. James's Magazine, by Philip Castle, vol. 42, 1882, pp. 364 377. — British Quarterly Review, by C. Waughan, vol. 77, 1883, pp. 71 97.-Month, by Maude Petre, vol. 54, 1885, pp. 318 330.—Fortnightly Re view, by Henry Céard, vol. 38, N.S., 1885, pp. 1731.— Temple Bar, by Lady Pollock, vol. 74, 1885, pp. 507 517. – Temple Bar, vol. 75, 1885, pp. 388 399. –Scottish Church, by W. E. Henley, Sept. 1885, pp. 241 252.—Leisure Hour (with portrait), by Richard Heath, 1885, pp. 809-816.-Contem- porary Review, I. by Mrs. Oliphant, II. by B. F. Lock, vol. 48, 1885, pp. 10 35.-Nuova Antologia, by E. Panzacchi, vol. 51, 1885, pp. 593 612.-- London Quarterly Review, vol. 65, 1886, pp. 303 337. –Edin burgh Review, vol. 163, 1886, pp. 119-164 — New Princeton Review, by John Safford Fiske, Jan. and March 1887, pp. 1 16 and 212 219. and his Enemies. Critic (New York), with portrait, by P. M. Potter, vol. 1, 1881, p. 170. and his Writings. West- minster Review, vol. 7, N.S., 1855, pp. 424 449. Temple ; vol. 42, 1874, pp. 317- A3/78/C/OG/PAAPA 7 V. XXV Hugo, Victor. and Sannte Beuve National Quarterly Review, vol. 20, p. 32, etc and the Constables. Putnam's Monthly Magazine, vol. 4, N. S., 1869, pp. 29-38. L'Ane. Nation, by A Lau gel, vol. 31, 1880, pp 407, 408 —Athenaeum, Nov. 20, 1880, pp. 670-672. —Angelo. Revue de Paris, by A. Granler de Cassagmac, tom 17, 1835, pp. 26 43 —Revue des Deux Mondes, by Gustave Planche, 1835, pp. 355 363 —L'Année Terrible. Revue des Deux Mondes, by Louis Etienne, vol. 100, 1872, pp. 439 456.— Nation, by C. A. Bristed, vol. 14, 1872, pp. 393, 394.—Mac mullan's Magazine, by Sidney Colvin, vol. 26, 1872, pp. 326 336.—FortnIghtly Review, by A. C. Swinburne, vol. 12, N.S., 1872, pp 243 267 ; same anti- cle, Every Saturday, vol. 10, p. 396, etc.—Datk Blue, by Ca mille Barrére, vol 4, 1873, pp. 26 38.—London Society, vol. 24, 1873, pp. 139-143 —St. Paul's Magazine, vol. 11, 1872, pp. 431 444. — L' Art d'être Grand pè) e. Saturday Rev1ew, vol. 43, 1877, p. 802 —Athenaeum, May 26, 1877, pp. 665 666. —as a Dramatist. Scribner's Monthly, by J. B. Mathews, vol. 22, 1881, pp. 688 696 —as a Novelhst. Southern Re- view, by W H. Browne, vol.As 1867, pp. 453 462. at Home, Talt's Edy Magazine, vol. l, N % pp. 310-316. — Lipplncott's MagazIne, by L. H. Hooper, Hugo, Victor. vol. 22, 1878, pp. 639-642 — Gentleman's Magazine, bv S P. Oliver, vol. 4, N.S., 1870, pp 713 725.—Every Saturday, vol 7, 1868, p. 165, etc., 217, etc —Once-a Week, vol 2, 31d Serles, 1868, pp 563-570. befo e 1830. Revue des Deux Mondes, by F. Brunet1ère, tom 57, 1883, pp 186 199, leprunted 1n Blunet1ère's ** Hlstoire et Llttérature," 1885 — Le Cor respondant, by H. de Lacombe, tom 132, 1883, pp. 66 89 Bug Jargal Le Globe, No 30, March 2, 1826, Les Burgraves. Le Corres pondant, by L A BInant, tom 2, 1843, pp. 258 276 —Fol e1gn Quartelly Review, vol. 31, 1843, pp. 193-198.—Revue des Deux Mondes, by Ch. Magnun, vol 1, 1843, pp. 1054 1066 Career of. Once a Week, vol. 3, 3rd Series, 1869, pp 1 4 Les Chansons des Rues et des Bons. L'Anneé Littélane, vól 8, pp. 1 13.—Revue dcs Tſeux Mondes, by Emule Mo ntégut, vol. 60, 1865, pp 1045 1065 — Fontnightly Review, by G H Lewes, vol. 3,,é1866, pp. 181 190 Chants dºº Crépuscule. Revue des Deux | Mondes, by Sainte Beuve, vol. 4, 1835, pp. 351- 362. Zes Châtvments. Revue des )eux Mondes, by F. de Lazene- vais, vol 90, 1870, pp. 154-169 Chlef Dhscnplcs of. Time, by Vernon Ismay, vol. 13, 1885, pp. 281 289. —Choscs Vues. Le Correspon- dant, by E. Biré, Aug 1887, pp. 535 565. — Westminster xxvi P/BZZOGAAPA/ P. Hugo, Victor. Review, Sept. 1887, pp. 674- 683. Les Contemplations. Le Correspondant, by A. de Pontmartin, tom. 38, 1856, pp. 295 309. — Revue des Deux Mondes, by Gustave Planche, vol. 3, 1856, pp. 413 433.− Revue de Paris, by L. L. Pichat, tom. 31, 1856, pp. 482 497.—New Monthly Magazine, vol. 108, 1856, pp. 213 217. Cromwell Le Globe, Dec. 6, 1827, Jan. 26 and Feb. 1828. Development of Genus of. Nation, by A. Laugel, vol. 31, 1880, pp. 457, 458; Vol. 32, pp. 7, 8, 41,42. –Dramas. Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 6, 1830, pp. 455 473; vol. 17, pp. 417 427; vol. 31, pp. 193 198 —American Quarterly Review, vol. 19, 1836, pp. 167 184 — North American Review, by F. K. Butler, vol. 43, 1836, pp. 133 $83. — Monthly Review, vol. \ N S , 1839, pp. 167 187. ºwestminster Review, by G. H. Lewes, vol. 34, 1840, pp 287 324. — Macmillan's Maga zine, by C. NBarrèle, vol 30, 1874, pp. 281*294.—Time, by William Archer, vol. 13, 1885, pp. 143157. Dramatist, Novelist, Poet. Lippincott's Magazine, by Kate Hillard, vol. 9, 1872, pp.N.188 194. > Les Enfants. Dublin Univer sity Magazine, vol. 60, 1862, pp. 430 435. Evenings at the House of. Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 15, 2nd Series, 1848, pp. 234 237. —Appleton's Journal, by L. H. | Hugo, Victor. Hooper, vol. 12, 1874, pp. 202- 204.—Galaxy, vol. 24, p. 200, etc. Festival Saturday Review, vol 51, 1881, pp. 300, 301. French Crotºc on (F. Brune- tlère). National Review, by Francis Paul, May 1887, pp. 407 417. Genºus and Writings of. North American Review, by A. R. Spoffold, vol. 81, 1855, pp. 324 346. —Han d’Islande. La Quotidi enne, by Charles Nodler, No. 71, Malch 12, 1823. Herman. Le Globe, March 1, 1830.—L'Année Littéraire, vol. 10. pp. 95 106.—Le Coire- spondant, by A de Portmartin, tom 71, 1867, pp. 749 769.- Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 6, 1830, pp. 455 473.− American Monthly Magazine, vol. 9, p. 41, etc. First performance of Hermany. Every Saturday, vol 11, p 151, etc. Histore d'un Crºme. Nation, by A. W. Dicey, vol. 25, 1877, pp. 382 383.-Saturday Review, vol. 45, 1878, pp. 531 532 Home of Galaxy, by G. Cluseret, vol. 1, 1866, pp. 133 139. L'Homme qui rºt. Revue des Deux Mondes, by L. Etienne, tom. 81, 1869, pp 965 - 996.-Le Couri Iel de l'Europe, May 29, 1869 — pinion Nationale, June 7, $9.— Athenaeum, May 1, pp. 602 604.—Frasel's gºe, vol. 80, 1869, pp. 798 805. — Macmillan's Maga zine, vol. 20, 1869, pp. 163169. A/B/C/OGAEAAA/V. xxvii Hugo, Victor. —Saint Paul's, vol. 4, 1869, pp. 466-481.-Fortnightly Re view, by A. C. Swinburne, vol. 12, 1869, pp. 73 81; same article, Every Satul day, vol. 8, p. 129, etc.—Nation, by J. Burloughs, vol. 9, 1869, pp. 509 511. wn. Eacile. Irish Monthly Magazine, by Theodora L. L. Teeling, vol. 8, 1880, pp. 191- 199. Jast days of a Comdemned. Monthly Review, vol. 2, N.S., 1840, pp. 252 265. La Légende des Stēcles. Le Cor- respondant, by P. Douhaire, tom. 48, 1859, pp. 495 515.- Revue des Deux Mondes, by Emile Montégut, vol 23, 1859, pp. 970-996.-L'Année Littér- aire, vol. 2, pp. 1-29. –Revue Germanique, vol. 8, 1859, pp. 237-239. — La Presse, by E. Pelletan, 14th Oct. 1859 — Macmillan's Magazine, by J. M. Ludlow, vol. 1, 1859, pp. 131- 141. –Saturday Review, vol. 8, 1859, pp. 580 582.-Athenaeum, Oct. 15, 1859, pp. 489, 490 — Saturday Review, vol. 43, 1877, pp. 365, 366.-Dublin Univer- sity Magazine, vol. 55, 1860, pp. 221-232, 320 327 ; same alticle, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 49, pp. 509 520 ; vol. 50, pp. 65 72.-Athenaeum, March 17, 1877, pp. 348, 349; March 24, pp 380 382.-Foltnightly Re view, by Algernon C. Swin burne, vol. 34, N.S., 1883, pp. 497-520 A. Life and Writings of 'Eclec- tic Magazine, vol. 57.3%2, pp. 489 494 (from the Etzectic Re- view). — Westminster Review, Hugo, Victor, vol. 24, N.S., 1863, pp. 483 510. –Littérature et Phºlosophºe Revue des Deux Mondes, 1834, pp. 191 208 —Lucrezia Borgia. Revue des Deux Mondes, by Gustave Planche, 1833, pp. 336 358 — Amel 10am Monthly Magazine, vol. 2, N.S., 1836, pp. 163 174 Lyrics of Fraser's Maga zine, vol 32, 1845, pp 358 372; same anticle, Eclectic Magazine, vol 24, 1851, pp. 433-445. Marve Tudor. La Renais sance, by Camille Pelletan, Oct 5, 1873, pp 273 275.-Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 17, 1836, pp. 417-427.-Nuova Antologia, by P. Fambri, vol. 32, 2nd Series, 1882, pp. 585 636. Marve Tudor et l'histoire La Renaissance, by E. Blémont, tom. 2, pp. 275 277. Marºe Tudor el 7a cry tique, La Renaissance, by º Blémont, tom 2, pp. 278, 27% / JMay 20m Delorne. La Reſals sance, by E. Blémont, vol. 2, 1873, pp. 9 13. / Memovrs of New Monthly Magazine, vol. 128, 1863, pp 474. 485, , , -Les Misérables. L'Année Lit téraire, Vol. 5, pp. 3899 – Revue, des Deux Mondes, by Emilé Montégut, vol 39, 1862, pp. 119 142. –La Critique Fian Çalse, by E. Desman est, tom. I 1862, pp. 290 302, 366 377, 457 473; tom. 2, pp. 43 56, 173 184:-Le Correspondant, by A de Pontmartin, tom. 56, 1862, pp. 527 552, 701 729 –Quar terly Review, vol. 112, is82 pp. 271 306.—St. James's Maga xxviii B7RL/OGRAPH. P. Hugo, Victor. zine, vol. 4, 1862, pp. 217-225. —Temple Bar, vol. 6, 1862, pp. 572 578. — Blackwood’s Edin burgh Magazine, vol 92, 1862, pp. 172 182 –Cornhill Maga zine, vol. 6, 1862, pp. 704 707.- Home and Foreign Review, vol 1, 1862, pp. 392-419.— Eclectic Review, vol. 3, N S., 1862, pp. 451 467; same alticle, Eclectic Magazime, vol. 58, 1863, pp. 195 204.—Athenæum, April 5, 1862, pp. 455, 456, 687 689.-Westminstel Review, vol 23, N S , 1863, pp 77 114. —Boston Review, vol. 3, 1863, pp. 52 68. —British Quarterly Review, vol. 37, 1863, pp. 121 147.-Edinburgh Review, vol. 117, 1863, pp. 208 240.-New Englander, by Mrs. C. K Corson, vol. 23, 1864, pp. 454 481. Napoléon le Petit Demo- cratic Review, vol 31, N.S., 369 386. —Talt’s 1852, pp. N Edinburgh Magazine, vol 19, 2\id Series, 1852, pp. 700 702. -Notre Dame de Parts. Le Temps, S 30 June, 1831.- L'Avenur, by Ch. de Montalem- bert, April 11, 1831.-Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. 8, 1831, pp. 196215.-Frasel's Maga- zine, vol. 12, 1835, pp. 89- 100. w Le Globe, Now, 4 and —Odes 18, 1826. N Les Orientales. Le Globe, by Pierle Leroux, April 8, 1829.-- London Magazine, vol. 3, 31 d Series, 1829, pp. 240-246. Ila Pitve Suprême. Athenæum, March 1, 1879, pp. 276, 277. Le Pape. Nation, by A. Laugel, vol. 26, 1878, pp. 415- Hugo, Victor. 417. –Athenæum, May 11, 1878, pp. 598, 599. Poems and Novels. Foreign Qual terly Review, vol. 4, 1829, pp. 205-235. Poetry of North American Review, by the Countess de Bury, vol 83, 1856, pp. 483- 490.-British Quartelly Review, vol. 32, 1860, pp. 71-98 — Contemporary Review, by E. Dowden, vol. 22, 1873, pp. 175 197; after wards reprinted in Dowden’s “Studies in Litela- tune,” 1878. Les Quatre Vents de l’Esprit La Nouvelle Revue, by Henri de Bonnier, tom. 10, 1881, pp. 939 950.-Fortnightly Review, by G. Saintsbury, vol. 30, N S., 1881, pp. 40 53.− Athenæum, July 9, 1881, pp. 39 41. —Quatre-vingt treize. Opinion Nationale, by Armand Silvestre, 26 Feb. 1874 — Fortnightly Review, by J. Morley, vol. 15, N.S., 1874, pp. 359 370 ; same article, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 19, N.S., pp. 624 631.—Black- wood's Edinburgh Magazine, vol 115, 1874, pp. 750 769 — Nation, by H. James, Jumr., vol. 18, 1874, pp. 238, 239 — Saturday Review, vol 37, 1874, pp. 371, 372, 408, 409. Les Rayons et les Ombres. Revue des Deux Mondes, by Charles Magnum, vol. 22, 1840, pp. 729 748. Reception af the French .46gdemy. Røvue des Deux j by C. Magnin, vol. 26, M&A, pp. 840 853. Relagºon et Religions. Jourral des Débats, by Henri Houssaye, A3/Z3/C/OG/?A PA / V. Hugo, Victor. May 8, 1880. — Athenaeum, May 29, 1880, pp. 692, 693 — Fontnightly Review, by A. C. Swinburne, vol. 27, N.S., 1880, pp. 761 768 Le Rhºn. Quarterly Review, vol. 71, 1843, pp. 315 331.— Fraser's Magazine, vol. 27, 1843, pp. 4l1 426 —Revue des Deux Mondes, by Lermunler, vol 10, 1845, pp. 821 840. Le Roº s'amuse. Revue des Deux Mondes, by G. Planche, vol. 8, 1832, pp 567 581. R0mances. Revue des Deux Mondes, by A Fontaney, vol. 6, 1832, pp. 375 379.—Cornhill Magazine, by Robert L. Steven- son, vol. 30, 1874, pp 179- 194 ; repllnted un Stevenson's ** Famillar StudIes of Men and Books," 1882 ; same anticle, Eclectic Magazine, vol. 20, N S , pp. 432 442. Ruy Blas. Revue des Deux Mondes, by Gustave Planche, vol. 16, 1838, pp. 532 548.— Revue UnIverselle, by Gustave Planche, tom 6, 1839, pp. 377 392. g-m-mºm-s Introduction to Ruy Blas Revue des Deux Mondes, by G Planche, vol. 16, 1838, pp 682 690.— Revue Universelle, by G Planche, tom. 1, 1839, pp. 36 43. — Torquemada. Athenaeum, June 10, 1882, pp. 723 725. Zes Travanlleurs de la Mer. L'Année Llttéraire, vol 9, pp. ºr A^ »^ Hugo, V1ctor 48 56.—Revue des Deux Mondes, by Emule Montégut, vol. 63, 1866, pp. 482 498.—Athenaeum, March 24, 1866, pp 389 391 — Eclectic Rev1ew, vol. 10, N S., 1866, pp. 386 404. — Every Saturday, vol 1, p 500, etc.— Fortnightly Review, by George H Lewes, vol. 5, 1866, pp. 30 46 —F1aser's Magazine, vol. 73, 1866, pp. 735 745.—Eclectic Magazine (from the Satu7 day Revuew), vol. 4, N S., 1866, pp. 77 81 T'wo Visuts to. Scrlbner's Monthly, by H H. Boyesen, vol 19, 1879, pp. 184 193. Les Vacances de La Nouvelle Revue, by F. Montal gis, tom. 36, 1885, pp 5 34, 251-283. Les Vonſc Inté leures Journal des Débats, by Jules Jan1n, 30 July, 1837.—Revue des Deux Mondes, by Gustav e Planche, vol. 11, 1837, pp. 161-184. PVv llvam Sha k es p e Reader, by Frank T Mo z,Ns vol 3, 1864, pp. 615,616,-Athe naeum, Apull 23, lS6,', pp 569, 570 —Blackwood's ^Edinbugh Magazine, vol. 96, 1S64, pp. 164-180 —Fi aséi's Magazine, vol. 70, 1S64, pp 711 725.— Revue des Deux Mondes, by George Sand, tom. 51, 1864, pp. 257 279. : ff7o k of. Nineteenth Cen- · tuy, by A. C Swinburne, vol. 18, 18S5, pp. 14 29 and 294 3ll. VIII. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF WORIKS. Nouvelles Odes. $ 1824 | Les Châtiments $ . 1853 Odes et Ballades $ . 1826 | Les Contemplations . . 1856 Han d' Islande •e . 18 La Légende des Siècles 1859 83 Bug Jargal $ # . 1826 | Les Misérables @ . 1862 Cromwell . $ # . 1827 | William Shakespeare . 1864 Les Or1entales . $ . 1829 | Les Chansons des Rues et Odes et Poésles diverses ) 1822 | Napoléon le Petit . 1852 Le Dernier Jour d' des Bois 43 { ! , 1865 Condamné un . 1829 | Les Travailleurs de la Mer, 1866 Hernanl 6 $ , 1830 L' Homme qul l'1t . . 1869 Notre Dame de Paris | 183i | L'Année Terrible . 1872 Manlon de Lorme . i83i | Quatre vingt treize . . 1874 Les Feuilles d' Automne .. 1831 | Mes Fils . @ $ . 1874 Le Rol s'amuse . 1832 Actes et Paroles @ 1875 6 1833 | L'Art d'être Grand Père , 1877 a11e Tudor . i833 | Histoire d'un Crime . 1877 érature et Philosophie Le #apº ,: , . . .. 1878 Mêlées . 4 $ . 1834 | La Pitié Suprême . 1879 Claude Gueux . . i834 | Religions et Religion . 1880 Angelo sa à $ . 1835 | L'Ane . $ @ . 1880 Les Chants du Crépuscule 1835 | Les Quatre Vents de La Esmeraldà . $ , 1836 l'EsprIt . (# . 1881 Les Volx Intérieures . 1837 | Torquemada . © , 1882 Ruy Blas . $ N . 1838 | L'Archipel de la Manche .. 1883 mºtes . 1840 Les Rayons et les O Le Rhln . @ 1842 | Théâtre en liberté . . 1886 Les Bulgraves . . N 1843 | Choses Vues . º ° 1887 N N N. N N V N Prvnted by WALTER ScoTT, Fellung, Ne se on Tyne. |O OTH TH O U S A N D. CRO WAV 8vo, 440 PAGES, PRICE O/VE SHILLING. THE WORLD OF CANT. “Dally Telegraph.”—“Decidedly a book with a purpose.” “Scotsmaze "-‘‘A vigorous, clever, and almost ferocious exposure, in the form of a story, of the numerous shams and Injustices * “Newcastle Weekly Chronzcle.”—“Tlemchant in sarcasm, warm in commendation of high purpose . . . A somewhat zema, kable book '' “Alondon Fºga, o.”—“It cannot be said that the author is partia clergymen and Nonconformist divines, Liberals and Conservativ lawyers and tradesmen, all come undel his lash. . . . The sketches a worth reading. Some of the chalactels are poltrayed with considerable skull.” “May the Lord deliver us from all Cant; may the Lord, whatever else He do or forbear, teach us to look facts honestly in the face, and to beware (with a kind of shudder) of Smeating them over with our despicable and damnable palaver into irrecognisability, and so falsifying the Lord's own Gospels to His unhappy blockheads of Children, all staggering down to Gehenna and the everlasting Swine's trough, for want of Cospels. “O Heaven it is the most accursed sin of man: and done every where at present, on the streets and high places at noonday ! Verily, seriously I say and pray as my chief orison, May the Lord deliver us from 1t.”—Letter froz, Carlyle to Emerson, London WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row. PARENTAL COMMANDMENTS Or, Warnings to Parents ON THE PHYSICAL, INTELLECTUAL, AND MORAL TRAINING OF THEIR CHILDREN. Zhe Zunced—“Very sensible advice—agreeably readable—terse, Interesting, Instructive, well considened, and accurate; readers will doubtless leain some points which they don’t know.” Christman Wom la—“Terse and sententious wainings on the physical, Intellectual, and moral training of children, which parents will do well to lay to healt ’’ AWezvoastle Chronicle—“Valuable book—mass of information—have not seen any work which treats in such an exhaustive and Interesting fashion on training of children; 1ſ studied and acted upon, would quickly be a more beneficial levolution of society than all the hosts of Social reformers can ever hope to accomplish.” Z2/e, aſy Woy /d—“Sound common sense and knowledge of the conditions of healthy child life " A, 1stol Me, cury—“Shall not be surprised if the circulation rivals Called Back, it has that touch of genius which makes it everybody’s reading ” A’z Aon. W. F. Gladstone—“It has been read by two members of my family, on whose taste and Judgment I fully rely. Both of them Ǻk of at with warm favour.” /37% of \of Gloucester and Bresto!—“Very useful and suggestive cepts.” N Tº are Aarl of Zdales/engh—“How Interested I have been in its perusal.” AJr Samuel Jºmales—“Capital book—full of sound advice—should be widely read " Professo, AZ.43rley—“Excellent manual of negative commandments for fathers and mothers '' Mr. S. C. A/a//—“Valuable little book I know no book con- taung a tenth part so many wise, moral, Social, and physical axioms.” George R. Sams, Auſhor “10agonet Ballads,” etc.—“Admirable little book; hope it will have the success it deserves.” Mr. Wałęze Col/222s—“The second axiom at once informed me that 1t was the work of a man whose knowledge of human nature, and whose wise and gentle method of communicating that knowledge, established claims on the gratitude and respect of his leader; there are, as I firmly believe, thousands of Intelligent people in thus countly to whom this book will be a blessing, In the truest sense of that word.” Cardinal Mewman—“So full of good sense and wisdom.” Aord Brabazozz—“Valuable work.” Iord Salisbury—“Intelesting little book.” London WALTER SCOTT, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row. ſº gae« ſaeſº,8***）: r ≤ ∞ & & ***ț¢ © ®iſ， ſ.º №. 5,3 ± …， ¿º :…-…--~& * & * & * * * * * * * * * ¿¿. ſº: t’, ‘º :::-- ** « §§§ ; :----. . . . ğ. 、 $ſ; ſ'）;'）;'）; ķī£”?;： $ſ; | | U 。、、。（...）,- :。、。· · · · ș}-·· · ·§ * ， ，· -·- *·ſ …’- ·... ~;: ·-- -- ·: （.*¿¿.*.*¿.**?¿?, - - -, }， }.*¿.*;;" ſººs ºſſ? i.º.º. # ¿? §§§§§§） 7 *.* ** º ·:·º·:·º， ; ; ; ） , ';'.*.*$', ';'） + 3;: . …….…！?！~& £ € （3，3% § -， *， º* （ < ， ！ * √∞∞∞ ſº sº º # ſae ſae ********， **, ！ №. ！！ ！！ ！ ¿¿.*¿.* * √∞ √°√∞.'， } \，+\，:， … * §. & №ae, §§§§ §§§&.*? *（?:.*） §, |， x}\， :）; §§§§）. ***¿¿.*¿¿.* ſºgaejº， *************, &&*）（.*¿¿.*¿¿.*· r §§§ ºſae ëſ ！！！，，， §¶√∞∞∞ ±∞ a√∞ sae， ſae， ：ſae"）. Iſae ae §§#####Rºſſ - ， ， ， ， .*«.