Hernani

There is a fine essay on Victor Hugo by Mr. Frederic W. H. Myers, [note: In volume v of The Nineteenth Century.] which all students of the poet ought to read, not only because it is a very thorough criticism on Hugo as a lyric poet, but also because it is a masterly piece of work altogether, and full of suggestions. Mr. Myers says: «In his moral nature we shall find much that is strong, elevated, and tender; a true passion for France, a true sympathy for the poor and the oppressed, a true fondness for children. Further than this it will be hard to go; so plain will it be that the egoism which penetrates M. Hugo's character is a bar to all higher sublimity, and has exercised a disastrous effect on his intellectual as well as on his moral character.

«In calling M. Hugo egoistic I am far from accusing him of vulgar self-seeking – of an undue regard for any tangible form of personal advantage. What I mean is that he seems never to forget himself; that whatever truth he is pursuing, whatever scene he describes, his own attitude in regard to it is never absent from his mind. And hence it results that all other objects are unconsciously made secondary to the great object of making an impression of the kind desired. From the smallest details of style up to the most serious steps in political conduct this preoccupation is visible. It was the same spirit which prompted the poet to begin one of his most solemn elegiac poems with the repeated assertion «that it should never be said that he kept silence, that he did not send a sombre strophe to sit before his children's tomb», and which prompted the politician to resign in a moment the trust which Paris had committed to him, because the Assembly would not listen to him with the respect which he thought his due.»

Mr. Myers seems too sparing of his praise for what Hugo did that is excellent in poetry, passing without mention some of his sweetest songs and most stirring outbursts of grandeur. His essay came as antidote to the immoderate eulogy published just before by Mr. Swinburne, and overdoes its promise of giving us a calmer estimate of Hugo. Mr. Myers does not do justice to the contents of Hugo's poetry, and he is perhaps not as susceptible of being ravished by the form as Swinburne was. Yet there is truth in what Mr. Myers says when he tells us that he thinks Hugo's «central distinction lies in his unique power over the French language, greatly resembling Mr. Swinburne's power over the English language, and manifesting itself chiefly in beauty and inventiveness of poetical form and melody.» Mr. Edward Dowden speaks with high praise of Hugo's successful efforts «to reform the rhythm of French verse, to enrich its rhymes, to give mobility to the caesura, to carry the sense beyond the couplet, to substitute definite and picturesque words in place of the fadeurs of classical mythology and vague poetical periphrasis.» And this is indeed Hugo's chief distinction and the chief distinction of all the Romanticists, for their pretended searching of foreign literature and mediaeval history brought them less poetical material than variety and vigor of poetical form.

The two most characteristic classes of subjects of Victor Hugo's poems are politics, in a wide sense of the word, and his own family life. He is not a great poet of nature, though some of his sea-pictures are very remarkable. He was prevented by his egoism from being a great interpreter of the heart or a great preacher of divine truth. But Mr. Myers, with much reason apparently, finds a fundamental weakness in Hugo's early political poetry also. He tells, and proves it too, that Hugo had not fully made up his mind, prior to his banishment, what his political ideal was. He sang the praises of the Bourbons when they were on the throne; but then he was a mere boy, and I have shown how at that time he was under the potent influence of the period, which made for conservatism. That surely is a part of his history of which he has no reason to be ashamed, even though he soon emancipated himself from royalist tendencies. But what is harder to understand, for a foreigner, is how he could have become a worshipper of Napoleon and a friend of Louis Bonaparte. It is only the French who could thus kiss the hand that smote them, and love a tyrant because he brought them false glory – the glory of victory in unjust wars. Patriotism of that sort is a national vice, and the French have it in their blood. We might suppose that when he had not only got rid of his Bourbon blindness, but recovered from his Napoleonic fever, Victor Hugo would at last find favor in Mr. Myers's eyes, as a republican, and a republican who suffered eighteen years of exile for his opinions. But no; Mr. Myers's praise is strictly qualified, and again he convinces us that he is right: «We find the same vagueness and emptiness in M. Hugo's praises of the Republic, and yet there is no subject on which a political preacher in France needs to be more explicit. For under the name of Republic are included two forms of government as dissimilar as forms of government can be. A republic may be constructed, like the American republic, on individualistic principles, reducing the action of government to a minimum, and leaving every one undisturbed in the pursuit of private well-being. Or it may be constructed on socialistic principles», etc. And he goes on to say that «no real instruction on these points can be got from M. Hugo's writings or speeches.»

Mr. Myers carries his condemnation even into the sphere of love-poetry, declaring that Hugo did not write the very best love-poetry because his love was always a refined egoism, and that his poetry suffers from «the want which separates patronage and desire from chivalry and passion.»

I have purposely quoted some of the severest things I could find in first-class criticism, because I wish to conclude with words of praise, which will carry more weight if it is perceived that they were not blindly penned. It is in itself a great achievement to have done so much honest work of a high character as Hugo did. It is no small distinction to have guided a people's hopes for eighteen years from his island of exile. It is a noble end of a zealous life to have worn for fifteen years the crown of such a nation's kingship. But when even these proud honors are forgotten, children's voices will still repeat and men's hearts still echo a hundred songs of the greatest lyric poet of France.

HISTORICAL NOTE TO «HERNANI»

«HERNANI» is an historical tragedy. Its real hero is that inscrutable great man upon whom fortune bestowed first the throne of Spain and presently the crown of the Holy Roman Empire, with the title Charles the Fifth. Although Hugo, as a dramatist may do with perfect right, departs in many instances from historical fact, the play demands for its proper enjoyment some information concerning the nature of the imperial office and the character of Charles.

An earlier and mightier Charles, king of the German conquerors of Gaul, was by Pope Leo III, on Christmas Day, A.D. 800, crowned in the basilica of St. Peter head of the Roman Empire, which was believed to be still, with unimpaired authority, the same as that of Augustus. From its connection with the Church as the temporal complement of the spiritual reign of Christ's vicar, the Empire was thenceforth most frequently denominated the Holy Roman Empire. Its vitality was never greater than under Charlemagne himself. Its limits, both in the minds of men and on the map of Europe, were at no time during the next seven hundred years really greater than in his reign. In general the Emperors claimed dominion over Italy, Germany, the Low Countries, and much of what is now the Austrian Empire, Switzerland, and France, besides the precedence over all other kings and potentates. They desired to be considered, and by most men were considered, to be in temporal things the counterpart of the Popes in things spiritual, and with jurisdiction no less widespread. It was traditional that the king chosen by the seven great princes, or electors, of Germany, should proceed to Rome, there to be crowned Emperor by the Pope. With not a few exceptions these honors were confined for long periods of time to certain families. The first member of the house of Hapsburg who won the election was Rudolf (1272-1292), founder of the present Austrian dynasty. Another Hapsburger, Albert I, was chosen in 1298, and another, Albert II, in 1438; since when, until the annihilation of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, all the Emperors, with two exceptions, have been of that house.

None of his successors made such an impression upon the imagination of contemporary and following generations as was produced by the stupendous figure of Charles the Great. His reputation was well-earned. He can be called, better than any other man, the creator of mediaeval Europe. In his day looked upon as a Roman, the French have adopted him as the father of their nationality, and he is the hero of their ancient epic poetry. Yet, as Mr. Bryce declares, he was entirely German: «No claim can be more groundless than that which the modern French, the sons of the Latinized Kelts, set up to the Teutonic Charles. At Rome he might assume the chlamys and the sandals (marks of a Roman patrician), but at the head of his Frankish host he strictly adhered to the customs of his country, and was beloved by his people as the very ideal of their own character and habits. Of strength and stature almost superhuman, in swimming and hunting unsurpassed, steadfast and terrible in fight, to his friends gentle and condescending, he was a Roman, much less a Gaul, in nothing but his culture and his schemes of government, otherwise a Teuton. The centre of his realm was the Rhine; his capitals Aachen and Engilenheim; his army Frankish; his sympathies – as they are shown in the gathering of the old hero-lays, the composition of a German grammar, the ordinance against confining prayer to the three languages, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin – were all for the race from which he sprang, and whose advance, represented by the victory of Austrasia, the true Frankish fatherland, over Neustria and Aquitaine, spread a second Germanic wave over the conquered countries.» (Bryce: «Holy Roman Empire», pp. 71 and 72.)

It is a long jump from the crowning of Charles the Great, in A.D. 800, to the accession of Maximilian I, of the house of Hapsburg, in 1493. The imperial dignity, as such, had declined. The power of Maximilian lay in his hereditary possession of the grandduchy of Austria and his acquisition, by marriage, of the Burgundian lands, including Franche-Comté, Luxemburg, Flanders, Holland, Zeeland, Brabant, and Limburg; in other words, a territory which embraced what is now Belgium, Dauphiny, Burgundy, and parts of Holland, of Provence, of Languedoc, and of Savoy. Philip, son of this Maximilian, married Joanna, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. Ferdinand, head of the united kingdoms of Aragon and Leon, and Isabella, Queen of Castile, had by their marriage, in 1469, consolidated Spain into a strong kingdom. Through their success in promoting industry and conquering the Moors of Granada, and by the discovery of America, Spain rose to a dominant position in European politics. Joanna became hopelessly insane. Philip, for two years King of Castile, after the death of Isabella in 1504, died in 1506. Charles, son of Philip and Joanna, was born at Ghent in 1500. From his maternal grandparents he inherited Aragon (with Naples, Sicily, and Sardinia) and Castile (with the American colonies). He had been brought up at his father's court in Brussels, and was not really Spanish in sympathies or culture. On the death of his grandfather, Ferdinand the Catholic, in 1516, the Cardinal Ximenes protected his interests until his arrival in Spain, in 1517. The beginnings of his career as Charles I. of Spain were weak. His mother, though shut up in a madhouse, was nominally joint ruler with him, and his Spanish subjects took advantage of this fact to oppose him and his Flemish favorites.

He unjustly and ungratefully degraded Ximenes, and showed little indication of tact and small sense of responsibility. In 1519, on the death of his grandfather Maximilian, Charles became Grand Duke of Austria, inheriting from him also Burgundy, which had come into the family with his grandmother, Mary of Burgundy. He immediately set up his candidacy for election as German King. His opponents were Henry VIII of England and Francis I of France, the latter a real and formidable rival.

The electors were the Archbishops of Trier (Treves), Mainz, and Cologne, the Duke of Saxony, the Count Palatine, the King of Bohemia, and the Margrave of Brandenburg. The constitution of the electoral body had been settled in 1356 by an instrument called the Golden Bull, issued by the Emperor Charles IV and confirmed at the Diet of Nuremberg: By it Frankfort was made the place of election, and the Archbishop of Mainz convener of the college.

In June 1519 this body was convoked at Frankfort, and after hearing the claims of Francis and Charles, offered the imperial crown to one of their own number, the Elector of Saxony, Frederick the Wise. He declined it in favor of Charles, who was then elected. It took nine days for the news to travel to Barcelona, where the young man was. Naturally elated at his success he assumed, even in his decrees as King of Spain, the title of Majesty, which up to that time no mere king had received; disregarded the appeals of his Spanish subjects to remain in that country; and hastened to Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle), where he was crowned German King in October 1520.

After ten years of political and military activity, contests with Luther and his adherents, wars with Francis I, who laid claim to Burgundy and Northern Italy, Charles was crowned Emperor, at Bologna, in 1530. From then until 1555 he filled Europe with the blaze of his achievements, reviving the almost vanished prestige of the imperial office. In 1555 he abdicated his throne and retired to the monastery of San Yuste, near Plasencia, where, in 1558, he died.

[Transcriber's note: notes with numbertags are to be found at the end of the text, those with lettertags are placed immediately after the part they refer to.]

PREFACE DE L'AUTEUR.

L'auteur de ce drame écrivait il y a peu de semaines à propos d'un poëte mort[1] avant l'âge:

«…Dans ce moment de mêlée et de tourmente littéraire, qui faut-il plaindre, ceux qui meurent ou ceux qui combattent? Sans doute, il est triste de voir un poëte de vingt ans qui s'en va, une lyre qui se brise, un avenir qui s'évanouit; mais n'est-ce pas quelque chose aussi que le repos? N'est-il pas permis à ceux autour desquels s'amassent incessamment calomnies, injures, haines, jalousies, sourdes menées, basses trahisons; hommes loyaux auxquels on fait une guerre déloyale; hommes dévoués qui ne voudraient enfin que doter le pays d'une liberté de plus, celle de l'art, celle de l'intelligence; hommes laborieux qui poursuivent paisiblement leur oeuvre de conscience, en proie d'un côté à de viles machinations de censure[2] et de police, en butte de l'autre, trop souvent, à l'ingratitude des esprits mêmes pour lesquels ils travaillent; ne leur est-il pas permis de retourner quelquefois la tête avec envie vers ceux qui sont tombés derrière eux et qui dorment dans le tombeau? Invideo, disait Luther dans le cimetière de Worms, invideo, quia quiéscunt.

«Qu'importe toutefois? Jeunes gens, ayons bon courage! Si rude qu'on nous veuille faire le présent, l'avenir sera beau. Le romantisme, tant de fois mal défini, n'est, à tout prendre, et c'est là sa définition réelle, si l'on ne l'envisage que sous son côté militant, que le libéralisme en littérature. Cette vérité est déjà comprise à peu près de tous les bons esprits, et le nombre en est grand; et bientôt, car l'oeuvre est déjà bien avancée, le libéralisme littéraire ne sera pas moins populaire que le libéralisme politique. La liberté dans l'art, la liberté dans la société, voilà le double but auquel doivent tendre d'un même pas tous les esprits conséquents et logiques; voilà la double bannière qui rallie, à bien peu d'intelligences près (lesquelles s'éclaireront), toute la jeunesse si forte et si patiente d'aujourd'hui; puis, avec la jeunesse et à sa tête, l'élite de la génération qui nous a précédés, tous ces sages vieillards qui, après le premier moment de défiance et d'examen, ont reconnu que ce que font leur fils est une conséquence de ce qu'ils ont fait eux-mêmes, et que la liberté littéraire est fille de la liberté politique. Ce principe est celui du siècle, et prévaudra. Les Ultras de tout genre, classiques ou monarchiques, auront beau se prêter secours pour refaire l'ancien régime de toutes pièces, société et littérature; chaque progrès du pays, chaque développement des intelligences, chaque pas de la liberté fera crouler tout ce qu'ils auront échafaudé. Et, en définitive, leurs efforts de réaction auront été utiles. En révolution, tout mouvement fait avancer. La vérité et la liberté ont cela d'excellent que tout ce qu'on fait pour elles et tout ce qu'on fait contre elles les sert également. Or, après tant de grandes choses que nos pères ont faites et que nous avons vues, nous voilà sortis de la vieille forme sociale; comment ne sortirions-nous pas de la vieille forme poétique? A peuple nouveau, art nouveau. Tout en admirant la littérature de Louis XIV, si bien adaptée à sa monarchie, elle saura bien avoir sa littérature propre et personnelle et nationale, cette France actuelle, cette France du dix-neuvième siècle, à qui Mirabeau a fait sa liberté et Napoléon sa puissance[a].»

Qu'on pardonne à l'auteur de ce drame de se citer ici lui-même; ses paroles ont si peu le don de se graver dans les esprits, qu'il aurait souvent besoin de les rappeler. D'ailleurs, aujourd'hui, il n'est peut-être point hors de propos de remettre sous les yeux des lecteurs les deux pages qu'on vient de transcrire. Ce n'est pas que ce drame puisse en rien mériter le beau nom d'art nouveau, de poésie nouvelle, loin de là; mais c'est que le principe de la liberté en littérature vient de faire un pas; c'est qu'un progrès vient de s'accomplir, non dans l'art, ce drame est trop peu de chose, mais dans le public; c'est que, sous ce rapport du moins, une partie des pronostics hasardés plus haut viennent de se réaliser.

Il y avait péril, en effet, à changer ainsi brusquement d'auditoire, à risquer sur le théâtre des tentatives confiées jusqu'ici seulement au papier qui souffre tout; le public des livres est bien différent du public des spectacles, et l'on pouvait craindre de voir le second repousser ce que le premier avait accepté. Il n'en a rien été. Le principe de la liberté littéraire, déjà compris par le monde qui lit et qui médite, n'a pas été moins complètement adopté par cette immense foule, avide des pures émotions de l'art, qui inonde chaque soir les théâtres de Paris. Cette voix haute et puissante du peuple, qui ressemble à celle de Dieu, veut désormais que la poésie ait la même devise que la politique: TOLÉRANCE ET LIBERTÉ.

Maintenant vienne le poëte! il y a un public.

Et cette liberté, le public la veut telle qu'elle doit être, se conciliant avec l'ordre, dans l'état, avec l'art, dans la littérature. La liberté a une sagesse qui lui est propre, et sans laquelle elle n'est pas complète. Que les vieilles règles de d'Aubignac[3] meurent avec les vieilles coutumes de Cujas[4], cela est bien; qu'à une littérature de cour succède une littérature de peuple, cela est mieux encore; mais surtout qu'une raison intérieure se rencontre au fond de toutes ces nouveautés. Que le principe de liberté fasse son affaire, mais qu'il la fasse bien. Dans les lettres, comme dans la société, point d'étiquette, point d'anarchie des lois. Ni talons rouges, ni bonnets rouges[5].

Voilà ce que veut le public, et il veut bien. Quant à nous, par déférence pour ce public qui a accueilli avec tant d'indulgence un essai qui en méritait si peu, nous lui donnons ce drame aujourd'hui tel qu'il a été représenté. Le jour viendra peut-être de le publier tel qu'il a été conçu par l'auteur[b], en indiquant et en discutant les modifications que la scène lui a fait subir. Ces détails de critique peuvent ne pas être sans intérêt ni sans enseignements, mais ils sembleraient minutieux aujourd'hui; la liberté de l'art est admise, la question principale est résolue; à quoi bon s'arrêter aux questions secondaires? Nous y reviendrons du reste quelque jour, et nous parlerons aussi, bien en détail, en la ruinant par les raisonnements et par les faits, de cette censure dramatique qui est le seul obstacle à la liberté du théâtre, maintenant qu'il n'y en a plus dans le public. Nous essayerons, à nos risques et périls et par dévouement aux choses de l'art, de caractériser les mille abus de cette petite inquisition de l'esprit, qui a, comme l'autre saint-office[6], ses juges secrets, ses bourreaux masqués, ses tortures, ses mutilations et sa peine de mort. Nous déchirerons, s'il se peut, ces langes de police dont il est honteux que le théâtre soit encore emmailloté au dix-neuvième siècle.

Aujourd'hui il ne doit y avoir place que pour la reconnaissance et les remerciements. C'est au public que l'auteur de ce drame adresse les siens, et du fond du coeur. Cette oeuvre, non de talent, mais de conscience et de liberté, a été généreusement protégée contre bien des inimitiés par le public, parce que le public est toujours, aussi lui, consciencieux et libre. Grâces lui soient donc rendues, ainsi qu'à cette jeunesse puissante qui a porté aide et faveur à l'ouvrage d'un jeune homme sincère et indépendant comme elle! C'est pour elle surtout qu'il travaille, parce que ce serait une gloire bien haute que l'applaudissement de cette élite de jeunes hommes, intelligente, logique, conséquente, vraiment libérale en littérature comme en politique, noble génération qui ne se refuse pas à ouvrir les deux yeux à la vérité et à recevoir la lumière des deux côtés.

Quant à son oeuvre en elle-même, il n'en parlera pas. Il accepte les critiques qui en ont été faites, les plus sévères comme les plus bienveillantes, parce qu'on peut profiter à toutes. Il n'ose se flatter que tout le monde ait compris du premier coup ce drame, dont le Romancero general[7] est la véritable clef. Il prierait volontiers les personnes que cet ouvrage a pu choquer de relire le Cid Don Sanche, Nicomède, ou plutôt tout Corneille et tout Molière, ces grands et admirables poëtes[8]. Cette lecture, si pourtant elles veulent bien faire d'abord la part de l'immense infériorité de l'auteur d'Hernani, les rendra peut-être moins sévères pour certaines choses qui ont pu les blesser dans la forme ou dans le fond de ce drame. En somme, le moment n'est peut-être pas encore venu de le juger. 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. Peut-être ne trouvera-t-on pas mauvaise un jour la fantaisie qui lui a pris de mettre, comme l'architecte de Bourges[9], une porte presque moresque à sa cathédrale gothique.

En attendant, ce qu'il a fait est bien peu de chose, il le sait. Puissent le temps et la force ne pas lui manquer pour achever son oeuvre! Elle ne vaudra qu'autant qu'elle sera terminée. Il n'est pas des ces poëtes privilégiés qui peuvent mourir ou s'interrompre avant d'avoir fini, sans péril pour leur mémoire; il n'est pas de ceux qui restent grands, même sans avoir complété leur ouvrage, heureux hommes dont on peut dire ce que Virgile disait de Carthage ébauchée:

Pendent opera interrupta, minaeque[10]

 
     Murorum ingentes!
 

9 mars 1830.

[a] Lettre aux éditeurs des poésies de M. Dovalle.

[b] Ce jour, prédit par l'auteur, est venu. Nous donnons dans cette édition Hernani tout entier, tel que le poëte l'avait écrit, avec les développements de passion, les détails de moeurs et les saillies de caractères que la représentation avait retranchés. Quant à la discussion critique que l'auteur indique, elle sortira d'elle-même, pour tous les lecteurs, de la comparaison qu'ils pourront faire entre l'Hernani tronqué du théâtre et l'Hernani de cette édition. Espérons tout des progrès que le public des théâtres fait chaque jour.

Mai 1836. (Note de l'éditeur.)