dramatic art-uniting the grand and the true; yet the French poet, in his professedly humble imitation, entirely loses sight of his model in the boundless sea of exaggeration into which he launches; nor shall we pretend to say what portion of sublimity or truth he has retained. Certainly, if in divesting the tragic muse of her stately classic garb, he has given her full license to rove abroad in her night gown and slippers, she employs the liberty he has bestowed in a manner to reflect little credit upon his discretion. In the preface to Angelo, his latest production, our author inculcates the necessity of making the drama a vehicle of instruction. "Be enchanted," he says, "with the drama; but let the lesson be within, and be discovered whenever we attempt to analyse a creation so vivid, so beautiful, so poetic, so passionate, so magnificently invested in velvet and silk and gold. In the fairest production of art there should be severe thought, as a skeleton within the frame of a beautiful woman." "The drama, as the author of this work would make it, as a man of genius could make it, ought to give to the crowd a philosophy, to ideas a formula, to poetry its muscle and its life-blood, to those who think a disinterested exposition, to thirsty sculs a beverage, to secret wounds a balm, to each a counsel, to all a law." How is it, meanwhile, that M. Hugo essays, in the spirit of his precept, to blend instruction with amusement, to charm and delight, and lead captive the fancy, while he conveys to the mind an important lesson of practical utility? How does he offer this secret counsel and law to his fellow-citizens? Is it by representing a chivalric monarch of la belle France, seeking his midnight amusements in the lowest haunts of infamy, deceiving honest credulity, and destroying innocence, as in his drama of Le Roi s'amuse? Is it by painting a being stained with fouler crimes than, we would hope, ever disgraced humanity, at least in one individual, and holding her up to compassion as an object of interest, because she is not destitute of the natural instinct of love for her offspring, as in Lucrèce Borgia? Is it by investing a courtesan with every grace and quality of loveliness, and seeking to enlist our sympathies by depicting her as a martyr, as in Marion de Lorme? Or, is it, as in his last work, so eloquently praised by the French critics, by rewarding the constancy and devotedness of his amiable heroine, by furnishing her with a steed and a lover to run away from her husband? "I will, perhaps, endeavour some day," says our author, "to explain in detail what I have wished to do in each of the separate dramas given to the public within the last seven years." When that period shall arrive, the literary world will doubtless be furnished with M. Hugo's reasons for the exhibition of scenes so disgusting and atrocious, and the choice of plots so hideously at variance with every principle of good taste. We shall then be prepared to admit much in extenuation; but till that explanation, (and for the sake of our dramatist himself, we wish earnestly he would hasten it,) we must be permitted to protest with all our might against the examples hitherto presented, of the new dramatic school over which Victor Hugo presides in France. That our readers may have some opportunity of judging the merits of some of the masterpieces of the modern French drama, we shall offer analyses of a few of Victor Hugo's pieces, selecting the least exceptionable, from a pardonable reluctance to admit into our pages aught that would sully them, though sanctioned by the civil authorities in Paris, and lauded by the voice of the "universal nation." Of Hernani, the earliest represented among the author's plays, he says:-"Hernani n'est jusqu'ici que la première pierre d'un édifice qui existe tout construit dans la tête de son auteur, mais dont l'ensemble peut seul donner quelque valeur à ce drame." What are to be the uses of the structure composed of materials such as he has employed, we cannot even conjecture; certain it is, that the edifice casts already a portentous shadow over the plain it was designed to adorn. This piece has been rendered into English, and represented at some of our theatres; being unable, however, to obtain the published translation, we shall offer all the extracts in our examination of it, in a version of our own. The scene is at Saragossa; the design is to exhibit the stern inflexibility of Castilian honour. Donna Sol, the heroine, is beloved by a chieftain of banditti, but betrothed to her uncle, Don Ruy Gomez de Silva. She has yet a third lover, who is no other than Don Carlos, King of Spain, afterwards chosen emperor at Aix-la-Chapelle. The scene opens in her chamber, where her duenna waits to receive Hernani; Don Carlos unexpectedly arrives, and compels her to conceal him in a closet, whence he bursts upon the unsuspecting lovers in the midst of their interview. Before, however, their respective claims to the lady's favour can be decided by the sword, the uncle enters, with servants, and demands the meaning of the fray. Don Carlos discovers his rank, and shields Hernani from the wrath of the old man ; while the bandit, after giving vent in a prodigious soliloquy to his indignation and thirst for revenge, departs to make preparations for carrying off the fair Sol on the succeeding night. In this enterprise he is no more successful; the indefatigable king, who has overheard the appointment, reaches first the spot VOL. XIX.-No. 37. 22 of rendezvous, and making the signal agreed upon between the lovers, gets the lady into his power. "Carlos. Donna Sol Donna Sol. 'Tis not his voice!-me wretched- Wouldst hear could be more loving? It is still A lover 'tis a lover king. Donna Sol. The king! Ah, what voice Carlos. Who wishes-who commands. A kingdom waits The king thy sovereign is-is Charles thy slave! Donna Sol. Help, help-Hernani! Carlos. Just alarm, indeed. 'Tis not thy bandit holds thee-'tis the king! Donna Sol. 'Tis thou who art the robber ;-fie upon thee! For thee the crimson shame doth dye my Are these the deeds a king should boast? To seize At night, by force, a woman! Nobler far The scorned Hernani! King! I say to thee, If birthright were the soul's-if heart alone Hernani comes to her aid, and compels the king to retire ; he departs threatening vengeance, and the lady implores her lover to fly, offering herself to be the companion of his flight. "Hernani. Together? no-the hour for that is past: My mountains, woods, and streams, and—thy pure pity Donna Sol. Yet all You promised me! Hernani. Angel! e'en in this moment, When death perhaps is nigh-when in its gloom I here proclaim-proscribed, and bearing ever For you have loved me! you have told me thus! Ah, 'twere a crime To snatch the flower as down the abyss we fall! It is Hernani The alarm bell sounds--and the sudden terror of the maiden, and the reckless apathy of her lover, are well depicted. Donna Sol. Up-up, and fly! Great God-the city Hernani. The torches for our nuptials! Donna Sol. 'Tis the death-bridal-nuptials for the tomb !" He escapes; and in despair of seeing him again, the unhappy girl at length consents to espouse her uncle. The scene of the third act is in the banqueting hall, where Donna Sol, magnificently habited, comes to give away her hand to one she can never love. A page informs the host that a wandering pilgrim implores admission to partake his hospitality, and Hernani is introduced, in the disguise of a mendicant, who, beholding what he imagines the proof of his lady's falsehood, instantly proclaims himself the robber, and calls upon the servants to win by his arrest the price offered for his head. Don Ruy Gomez, anxious only to preserve the life of his guest, and distrusting the cupidity of his servants, goes out to close the doors and arm his household, and in the brief moments of his absence, Hernani learns from Donna Sol the secret of her still cherished affection for him. The Duke de Silva discovers on his return that the bandit is his rival; in the midst of his reproaches, the sound of trumpets is heard without; a page announces that the king demands admittance, and requires to know why the gates are closed. Silva goes to his portrait, which hangs in the hall with those of his ancestors, and pressing a spring, discloses a hiding place in the wall, where he commands Hernani to secrete himself. This is hardly done when the king enters with his armed train; but though Don Carlos has traced the outlaw to the palace of Silva, and knows him to be concealed within it, his commands and menaces cannot compel the heroic Castilian to surrender his guest to the royal indignation. In vain the monarch threatens to raze his ancient castle to the ground; to take his head in lieu of that of the proscribed chieftain; Silva points to the portraits of his ancestors, and asks if the descendant of a line so illustrious shall be branded as the betrayer of his guest? Don Carlos then seizes Donna Sol; the old noble pathetically implores him to spare his niece; but though in the extremity of grief, his resolution wavers not for a moment. The lady is carried off as a hostage; when the king and his attendants. have retired, Don Ruy Gomez releases his prisoner, and bids him prepare for mortal combat. Hernani has heard nothing in the place of his concealment, but being informed of the fate of Donna Sol, prays the old man to give him life and liberty to assist in her recovery. When that shall be accomplished, he swears "by the head of his father" to return and surrender his life as forfeited to his rival. The horn which he takes from his girdle and presents to Silva, is to be the signal of his death. "Hernani. Hear; take this horn. Whate'er from this may chance, Whene'er thou wilt, whatever be the place, The hour,-if in thy heart thou will'st my death, Hernani, and Don Ruy Gomez, with other conspirators, meet to plot the overthrow of the King of Spain, in a vault of Aix-laChapelle; and here occurs one of those striking dramatic situations in which Victor Hugo is often so successful. The election for the Emperor of Germany is about taking place; the choice to be announced by the firing of cannon;-if the Duke of Saxony is elected, by one report; if the King of France, by two; and three, if the King of Spain. Don Carlos, aware of every movement of the conspirators, and provided with the means of arresting them, is concealed in the tomb of Charlemagne, within the vault; at the moment they solemnly swear his destruction, a distant report of cannon is heard; the door of the tomb opens a little, and Don Carlos, listening eagerly, appears upon the threshold. A second report-a third-he suddenly throws open the door, and discovers himself, but without advancing. "Carlos. Gentles-stand further off;-the EMPEROR hears you!" The conspirators, in sudden alarm, extinguish their torches; the king advances; strikes the iron key upon the bronze door of the tomb, and the vault is instantaneously filled with armed soldiers, who seize the discovered traitors. The grandees of Spain separate themselves from the common herd of the conspirators, who are beneath imperial vengeance; but Hernani, scorning to avail himself of the ignorance of all around of his claims to the distinction of punishment, announces his real name, as John of Arragon, with a list of titles that might alarm the ears of any new-made emperor. Donna Sol, however, who has been brought in by way of a coup-de-théâtre, throws herself at the monarch's feet; her lover is pardoned, and receives her as his bride; and here all parties might have been happily disposed of, but for a tragic afterplot, destined to mar all previous good fortune. On the evening of their bridal, Hernani and Donna Sol quit the scene of festivity, to wander alone among the gardens of the palace. They are followed at |