Victor Hugo on Shakespeare.

WHEN a French critic so popular and enlightened as M. Jules Janin speaks of Shakespeare as "glorious Billy," though the effect be comical, yet the mistake is very pardonable. It is quite clear that the critic admires the poet. It is equally clear that his admiration is unfeigned and heartfelt, that the familiarity with which he uses his name is very far removed from contempt. Indeed, nothing is more remarkable than the altered language which educated Frenchmen now use when speaking of Shakespeare. Surely it is far better that French critics should write eulogies on "glorious Billy" or the "great Will," than that they should imitate Voltaire in first stealing his finest thoughts and then exclaiming that "Shakespeare is a savage!"

Now, though both the conduct and expressions of Voltaire are inexcusable, yet many of his contemporaries and successors were scarcely blameworthy in seeing more to censure than to praise in our poet's works. The marvel is, not that Frenchmen should dislike these works, but that they should ever relish them. Accustomed from infancy to admire their own tragedies; sedulously taught that in the works of Corneille they must look for striking phrases, in those of Racine for tender, sentiments, and that the plays of both are models of perfect dramatic composition, how could it be supposed that they should recognise in Shakespeare a greater dramatist than either Corneille or Racine? If the cases are reversed, it will be found that the French have nearly the same reproaches to cast upon us as we heap upon them. How many Englishmen are intimately acquainted with the works of Corneille and Racine; and among those who have that intimate acquaintance, how many talk of the masterpieces of these dramatists otherwise than disparagingly? Some men prefer claret, others port, those whose taste is more catholic enjoy both; but the claret-drinkers do not regard the port-drinkers as idiots, nor do those who relish both wines consider those who relish one only as criminals. The French and the English dramas give the greatest pleasure to the respective nations for which they were composed. That Frenchmen should adore their dramatists, and that Englishmen should idolise Shakespeare, is very natural. It is far more desirable than attainable that each nation should regard with equal love and veneration the sublime productions of its own great poets and those of the other also.

It is nearly a century since Shakespeare's plays were first represented on the French stage. Ducis had the merit of causing this to be done, and the manner in which he accomplished it was truly singular. Being wholly ignorant of English he availed himself of the translation of M. de la Place, and reconstructed Shakespeare's plays in accordance with

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French rules. Not content with changing the language and style, he also re-cast the plots. From Romeo and Juliet, for example, he excised the balcony scene. He introduced the harrowing episode of Ugolino, which he borrowed from Dante's Inferno, making Montagu undergo Ugolino's sufferings, yet escape his fate; and putting into his mouth, when speaking of the cruel lot his enemy had caused him to undergo, these words of Macduff, "he has no children." This phrase so employed was then considered equal to any thing that Corneille had written. The critics who thus judged did not know that Ducis had stolen it from Macbeth. In spite of these and similar disfigurements and mutilations, Shakespeare's plays produced an extraordinary sensation. To Ducis was ascribed the whole merit of the plays; and on the strength of these dramatic works he was unanimously elected, when Voltaire died, to occupy his chair in the French Academy.

While Ducis is either forgotten, or else remembered only to be reviled, Shakespeare is daily receiving increased praise from the most illustrious writers of France. The last and one of the most noteworthy tributes to his memory is from the pen of Victor Hugo. The book itself, while containing much concerning Shakespeare, also contains much that is foreign to its title. This is not the place to discuss these extraneous topics. It will interest our readers far more to learn in what way a famous modern French poet regards the greatest poet of England.

When estimating Shakespeare's genius, Victor Hugo is enthusiastic almost to fanaticism. His admiration dates not from yesterday. It is now nearly forty years since, in his masterly and much-canvassed preface to Cromwell, he designated Shakespeare the "god of the stage;" and observed, Shakespeare has been reproached for abuse of metaphysics and wit, for unnecessary scenes, for obscenity, for employing the mythological frippery which was fashionable in his day, for extravagance, obscurity, and bad taste, for inflation and asperity of style. The oak, that gigantic tree which has just been likened to Shakespeare and which is analogous to him in more than one respect,-the oak has an odd look, has nodulated branches, sombre foliage, harsh and rough bark; yet it is an oak. These things make it the oak. If you wish for a lissom stem, straight branches, satin leaves, go to the pale birch, the hollow elder, the weeping willow; but leave the great oak in peace. Do not stone that which yields you shelter. As will afterwards be seen, the oak of the English drama was first stoned by Englishmen, and then for a time forgotten.

The following is the catalogue of Shakespeare's principal works with the dates of their composition, as drawn up and determined by Victor Hugo. It is rather too fanciful a statement to be unreservedly accepted, yet it is curious and ingenious enough to deserve quotation. In 1589, while James VI. of Scotland, who aspired to the English crown, was paying his respects to Elizabeth, who, two years previously, had decapitated his mother Mary Stuart, Shakespeare produced his first play, Pericles. In 1591, while the Catholic king, prompted by the Marquis of

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Astorga, was meditating a second armada, which was more fortunate than the first in not being launched, he produced Henry VI. In 1593, while the Jesuits were obtaining express permission from the Pope to paint the "torments and punishments of hell" on the walls of the room of meditation" of Clairmont College, wherein was often confined an unhappy youth, who, during the following year, was to render the name of Jean Châtel famous, he produced Taming the Shrew. In 1594, while regarding each other askance and about to come to terms, the King of Spain, the Queen of England, and even the King of France, all spoke of Paris, my fine city, he continued and concluded Henry VI. In 1595, while at Rome Clement VII. was solemnly striking Henry IV. on the back in the persons of his proxies the Cardinals Perron and Ossat, he produced Timon of Athens. In 1596, the year when Elizabeth issued a decree against long-bladed rapiers, and Philip II. banished from his presence a lady who had laughed when using her pocket-handkerchief, he produced Macbeth. In 1597, while the same Philip II. told the Duke of Alba that he deserved the axe, not because the duke had desolated the Low Countries with fire and sword, but because he had come into the king's presence without being announced, he produced Cymbeline and Richard III. In 1598, while Lord Essex was ravaging Ireland with the maiden Queen's glove fastened in front of his hat, he produced the Two Gentlemen of Verona, King John, Love's Labour's lost, The Comedy of Errors, All's well that ends well, A Midsummer-Night's Dream, and The Merchant of Venice. In 1599, while the privy council, at the Queen's request, was deliberating about putting Dr. Hayward on the rack for having stolen some thoughts from Tacitus, he produced Romeo and Juliet. In 1600, while the Emperor Rudolph was warring against his revolted brother, and opening his son's veins because he had assassinated a woman, he produced As you like it, Henry IV., Henry V., and Much Ado about Nothing. In 1601, while Bacon was publishing an eulogium on the execution of Lord Essex, just as Leibnitz, eighty years afterwards, would enumerate good reasons for the murder of Monaldeschi, yet with this difference, that Monaldeschi was nothing to Leibnitz, whereas Essex had been the benefactor of Bacon, he produced Twelfth Night. In 1602, while the King of France, styled the Bearnese Fox by Cardinal Aldobrandini, was commanded by the Pope to recite his chapter daily, the litany on Wednesday, and the rosary of the Virgin on Saturday; while fifteen cardinals, assisted by the heads of the order, opened the debate at Rome on Molinism, and his Holiness, at the request of the King of Spain, "saved Christianity and the world" by instituting the order de Auxiliis, he produced Othello. In 1603, when the death of Elizabeth made Henry IV. to observe, "she was a virgin as I am a Catholic," he produced Hamlet. In 1604, while Philip III. was succeeding in losing the Low Countries, he produced Julius Caesar and Measure for Measure. In 1606, while James I. of England, formerly James VI. of Scotland, was writing his Tortura torti against Cardinal Bellarmin, and

unfaithful to Carr, commencing to look sweetly on Villiers, who would afterwards honour him in return with the title of your pig, he produced Coriolanus. In 1607, while the University of Oxford was conferring the title of doctor on the young Prince of Wales with all the accustomed honours and ceremonies, as Father de Saint Romuald relates, he produced King Lear. In 1609, while the French judges were granting a blank warrant condemning the Prince of Condé "to whatever punishment it might please the king to order," he produced Troilus and Cressida. In 1610, when Ravaillac stabbed Henry IV., and the Parliament of Paris sentenced Ravaillac to be torn in pieces, he produced Antony and Cleopatra. In 1611, when the Moors, expelled by Philip III., were going forth from Spain and suffering dreadfully, he produced A Winter's Tale, Henry VIII., and The Tempest.

Frenchmen have been censured for being blind to Shakespeare's surpassing genius: his countrymen are in some measure liable to the same reproach. Queen Elizabeth, who, like all sovereigns, whether they can read or not, has been magnified in history as the protectress of arts and letters, seemed ignorant of the fact that the greatest of Englishmen was one of her subjects., King James I., whom Sully styled "the wisest fool in Europe," and who aspired to the title of poet, prohibited the publication of certain of his plays. A few of his contemporaries were conscious of his excellence, but out of petty jealousy traduced his character. Ben Jonson, after recording that he never erased a line, showed his capacity for appreciating his works by wishing that he had erased a thousand. The parallel which may be drawn between some of the tragedies of Eschylus and Shakespeare may also be drawn between the lives and fates of the two poets. Both were envied and calumniated; both accused of unnatural crimes; and both afterwards became the glories of their countries. For Shakespeare was reserved a happier lot than Eschylus; for while the former ended his life in his native town, the latter, banished from Athens, found a grave in Gela. No sooner, however, had Eschylus expired than his countrymen repented them of their cruelty, and decreed divine honours to the same man whom, when alive, they had misunderstood and exiled. What the Greeks did for Eschylus immediately after death, the English did not do for Shakespeare until his bones had for several centuries mouldered in the grave. For a long period he was wholly forgotten. When remembered again, it was only to be insulted by men like Dryden and Davenant, who had the temerity to re-write certain of his plays; to be outraged still more by Nahum Tate, who in 1707 published King Lear with a prefatory statement to the effect that he had taken the subject of the play from a piece which he had accidentally met with, he knew not where. An insult upon his memory hardly less gross was cast by Bishop Warburton, who in his day enjoyed the undeserved reputation of being the greatest of divines and the first of critics. This distinguished man told Bishop Hurd, that in his opinion Swift was

wittier than Shakespeare; and that Shakespeare's comedies were far inferior to those of Shadwell! Indeed, it was by great good fortune that the works of our poet reached posterity. They narrowly escaped the fate of that unique copy of the works of Eschylus, which along with other literary treasures of the Alexandrian library, was doomed by the Caliph Omar to heat the baths of Alexandria. In 1666, when the City of London was nearly destroyed by fire, there was but one edition of Shakespeare's works in existence. It consisted of three hundred copies, all of which were then consumed with the exception of forty-eight. Thus we owe it to forty-eight men that the name of Shakespeare is coextensive with the habitable globe and as enduring as time. t

"Because I admire every thing in Shakespeare, I have written this book.. ... What others call fault, I call accent." Here are some of his so-called faults. His works are said to abound in conceits, verbal quibbles, and puns; in improbabilities, extravagance, absurdity; in obscurity and puerility; in bombast, emphasis, and exaggeration; in tinsel and pathos; in far-fetched ideas and affectations of style; in excessive use of contrast and metaphor; in studied appeals to the mob; while they are utterly devoid of grace, of charm, and of wit. These charges carry with them their own refutation. Let us turn from them to see what Shakespeare really is, and wherein lies his true greatness.

זי.

Every poet is also an historian and a philosopher. Herodotus and Thales are included in Homer. Shakespeare, besides having this threefold character, is also a painter. As a philosopher, he is superior to Homer. Lear is greater than Priam: to bewail ingratitude is more bitter than to lament the dead. Shakespeare gives the sceptre to the envious; of Thersites he makes Richard III,; envy is all the more naked when draped with the purple., To Shakespeare appertains internal jurisdiction over man. Few poets surpass him in psychological penetration. Many of the strangest peculiarities of the human mind are indicated by him. That which no one dares avow, the obscure thing which we first dread and then desire, constitutes a meeting-point for the hearts of virgins and of murderers--for the mind of Juliet and the mind of Macbeth; the innocent one having that fear and longing for love which the wicked one has for ambition; dangerous kisses stealthily snatched from a phantom— to the one an angel of light, to the other an angel of darkness. Of every sort of character we have an example: of the traitor, from Macbeth the murderer of his guest to Coriolanus the betrayer of his country; of the despot, from the cold-blooded tyrant Cæsar to the sensualistic tyrant Henry VIII.; of ravening beasts, from the lion down to the usurer. Men of genius are distinguished from ordinary men in this-that the former reflect things in a twofold manner, just as the carbuncle, according to Jerome Cardan, has the property of double refraction. Thus the antithesis which Shakespeare's works present, so far from being, as many suppose, a reproach, is a distinctive and necessary mark of genius. In