Poems by Victor Hugo (mobi ebook reader txt) đ
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He, finding letters barred out, wrote a love story (âHans of Icelandâ) in two weeks, where were recited his hopes, fears, and constancy, and this book she could read.
It pleased the public no less, and its sale, together with that of the âOdesâ and a West Indian romance, âBuck Jargal,â together with a royal pension, emboldened the poet to renew his love-suit. To refuse the recipient of court funds was not possible to a public functionary. M. Foucher consented to the betrothal in the summer of 1821.
So encloistered had Mdlle. AdĂšle been, her reading âHansâ the exceptional intrusion, that she only learnt on meeting her affianced that he was mourning his mother. In October, 1822, they were wed, the bride nineteen, the bridegroom but one year the elder. The dinner was marred by the sinister disaster of EugĂšne Hugo going mad. (He died in an asylum five years later.) The author terminated his wedding year with the âOde to Louis XVIII.,â read to a society after the President of the Academy had introduced him as âthe most promising of our young lyrists.â
In spite of new poems revealing a Napoleonic bias, Victor was invited to see Charles X. consecrated at Rheims, 29th of May, 1825, and was entered on the roll of the Legion of Honor repaying the favors with the verses expected. But though a son was born to him he was not restored to Conservatism; with his motherâs death all that had vanished. His tragedy of âCromwellâ broke lances upon Royalists and upholders of the still reigning style of tragedy. The second collection of âOdesâ preluding it, showed the spirit of the son of Napoleonâs general, rather than of the Bourbonist fieldmarshal. On the occasion, too, of the Duke of Tarento being announced at the Austrian Ambassadorâs ball, February, 1827, as plain âMarshal Macdonald,â Victor became the mouthpiece of indignant Bonapartists in his âOde to the Napoleon Columnâ in the Place VendĂŽme.
His âOrientales,â though written in a Parisian suburb by one who had not travelled, appealed for Grecian liberty, and depicted sultans and pashas as tyrants, many a line being deemed applicable to personages nearer the Seine than Stamboul.
âCromwellâ was not actable, and âAmy Robsart,â in collaboration with his brother-in-law, Foucher, miserably failed, notwithstanding a finale âsuperior to Scottâs âKenilworth.ââ In one twelvemonth, there was this failure to record, the death of his father from apoplexy at his eldest sonâs marriage, and the birth of a second son to Victor towards the close.
Still imprudent, the young father again irritated the court with satire in âMarion Delormeâ and âHernani,â two plays immediately suppressed by the Censure, all the more active as the Revolution of July, 1830, was surely seething up to the edge of the crater.
(At this juncture, the poet ChĂąteaubriand, fading star to our rising sun, yielded up to him formally âhis place at the poetsâ table.â)
In the summer of 1831, a civil ceremony was performed over the insurgents killed in the previous year, and Hugo was constituted poet-laureate of the Revolution by having his hymn sung in the Pantheon over the biers.
Under Louis Philippe, âMarion Delormeâ could be played, but livelier attention was turned to âNĂŽtre Dame de Paris,â the historical romance in which Hugo vied with Sir Walter. It was to have been followed by others, but the publisher unfortunately secured a contract to monopolize all the new novelistâs prose fictions for a term of years, and the author revenged himself by publishing poems and plays alone. Hence âNĂŽtre Dameâ long stood unique: it was translated in all languages, and plays and operas were founded on it. Heine professed to see in the prominence of the hunchback a personal appeal of the author, who was slightly deformed by one shoulder being a trifle higher than the other; this malicious suggestion reposed also on the fact that the quasi-hero of âLe Roi sâAmuseâ (1832, a tragedy suppressed after one representation, for its reflections on royalty), was also a contorted piece of humanity. This play was followed by âLucrezia Borgia,â âMarie Tudor,â and âAngelo,â written in a singular poetic prose. Spite of bald translations, their action was sufficiently dramatic to make them successes, and even still enduring on our stage. They have all been arranged as operas, whilst Hugo himself, to oblige the father of Louise Bertin, a magazine publisher of note, wrote âEsmeraldaâ for her music in 1835.
Thus, at 1837, when he was promoted to an officership in the Legion of Honor, it was acknowledged his due as a laborious worker in all fields of literature, however contestable the merits and tendencies of his essays.
In 1839, the Academy, having rejected him several times, elected him among the Forty Immortals. In the previous year had been successfully acted âRuy Blas,â for which play he had gone to Spanish sources; with and after the then imperative Rhine tour, came an unendurable âtrilogy,â the âBurgraves,â played one long, long night in 1843. A real tragedy was to mark that year: his daughter LĂ©opoldine being drowned in the Seine with her husband, who would not save himself when he found that her death-grasp on the sinking boat was not to be loosed.
For distraction, Hugo plunged into politics. A peer in 1845, he sat between Marshal Soult and Pontécoulant, the regicide-judge of Louis XVI. His maiden speech bore upon artistic copyright; but he rapidly became a power in much graver matters.
As fate would have it, his speech on the Bonapartes induced King Louis Philippe to allow Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte to return, and, there being no gratitude in politics, the emancipated outlaw rose as a rival candidate for the Presidency, for which Hugo had nominated himself in his newspaper the EvĂšnement. The story of the Coup dâĂtat is well known; for the Republicanâs side, read Hugoâs own âHistory of a Crime.â Hugo, proscribed, betook himself to Brussels, London, and the Channel Islands, waiting to âreturn with right when the usurper should be expelled.â
Meanwhile, he satirized the Third Napoleon and his congeners with ceaseless shafts, the principal being the famous âNapoleon the Little,â based on the analogical reasoning that as the earth has moons, the lion the jackal, man himself his simian double, a minor Napoleon was inevitable as a standard of estimation, the grain by which a pyramid is measured. These flings were collected in âLes ChĂątiments,â a volume preceded by âLes Contemplationsâ (mostly written in the â40âs), and followed by âLes Chansons des Rues et des Bois.â
The baffled publisherâs close-time having expired, or, at least, his heirs being satisfied, three novels appeared, long heralded: in 1862, âLes MisĂ©rablesâ (Ye Wretched), wherein the author figures as Marius and his father as the Bonapartist officer: in 1866, âLes Travailleurs de la Merâ (Toilers of the Sea), its scene among the Channel Islands; and, in 1868, âLâHomme Qui Ritâ (The Man who Grins), unfortunately laid in a fanciful England evolved from recondite reading through foreign spectacles. Whilst writing the final chapters, Hugoâs wife died; and, as he had refused the Amnesty, he could only escort her remains to the Belgian frontier, August, 1868. All this while, in his Paris daily newspaper, Le Rappei (adorned with cuts of a Revolutionary drummer beating âto arms!â), he and his sons and son-in-lawâs family were reiterating blows at the throne. When it came down in 1870, and the Republic was proclaimed, Hugo hastened to Paris.
His poems, written during the War and Siege, collected under the title of âLâAnnĂ©e Terribleâ (The Terrible Year, 1870-71), betray the long-tried exile, âalmost alone in his gloom,â after the death of his son Charles and his child. Fleeing to Brussels after the Commune, he nevertheless was so aggressive in sheltering and aiding its fugitives, that he was banished the kingdom, lest there should be a renewal of an assault on his house by the mob, supposed by his adherents to be, not âthe honest Belgians,â but the refugee Bonapartists and Royalists, who had not cared to fight for France in France endangered. Resting in Luxemburg, he prepared âLâAnnĂ©e Terribleâ for the press, and thence returned to Paris, vainly to plead with President Thiers for the captured Communistsâ lives, and vainly, too, proposing himself for election to the new House.
In 1872, his novel of ââ93â pleased the general public here, mainly by the adventures of three charming little children during the prevalence of an internecine war. These phases of a bounteously paternal mood reappeared in âLâArt dâĂȘtre GrandpĂšre,â published in 1877, when he had become a life-senator.
âHernaniâ was in the regular âstockâ of the ThĂ©Ăątre Français, âRigolettoâ (Le Roi sâAmuse) always at the Italian opera-house, while the same subject, under the title of âThe Foolâs Revenge,â held, as it still holds, a high position on the Anglo-American stage. Finally, the poetic romance of âTorquemada,â for over thirty years promised, came forth in 1882, to prove that the wizard-wand had not lost its cunning.
After dolor, fĂȘtes were come: on one birthday they crown his bust in the chief theatre; on another, all notable Paris parades under his window, where he sits with his grandchildren at his knee, in the shadow of the Triumphal Arch of Napoleonâs Star. It is given to few men thus to see their own apotheosis.
Whilst he was dying, in May, 1885, Paris was but the first mourner for all France; and the magnificent funeral pageant which conducted the pauperâs coffin, antithetically enshrining the remains considered worthy of the highest possible reverence and honors, from the Champs ElysĂ©es to the Pantheon, was the more memorable from all that was foremost in French art and letters having marched in the train, and laid a leaf or flower in the tomb of the protĂ©gĂ© of ChĂąteaubriand, the brother-in-arms of Dumas, the inspirer of Mars, Dorval, Le-maĂźtre, Rachel, and Bernhardt, and, above all, the Nemesis of the Third Empire.
EARLY POEMS.
MOSES ON THE NILE.
(âMes soeurs, lâonde est plus fraiche.â)
[TO THE FLORAL GAMES, Toulouse, Feb. 10, 1820.]
âSisters! the wave is freshest in the ray
Of the young morning; the reapers are asleep; The river bank is lonely: come away!
The early murmurs of old Memphis creep Faint on my ear; and here unseen we stray,â
Deep in the covert of the grove withdrawn,
Save by the dewy eye-glance of the dawn.
âWithin my fatherâs palace, fair to see,
Shine all the Arts, but oh! this river side, Pranked with gay flowers, is dearer far to me
Than gold and porphyry vases bright and wide; How glad in heaven the song-bird carols free!
Sweeter these zephyrs float than all the showers
Of costly odors in our royal bowers.
âThe sky is pure, the sparkling stream is clear:
Unloose your zones, my maidens! and fling down To float awhile upon these bushes near
Your blue transparent robes: take off my crown, And take away my jealous veil; for here
To-day we shall be joyous while we lave
Our limbs amid the murmur of the wave.
âHasten; but through the fleecy mists of morn,
What do I see? Look ye along the stream! Nay, timid maidensâwe must not return!
Coursing along the current, it would seem An ancient palm-tree to the deep sea borne,
That from the distant wilderness proceeds,
Downwards, to view our wondrous Pyramids.
âBut stay! if I may surely trust mine eye,â
It is the bark of Hermes, or the shell Of Iris, wafted gently to the sighs
Of the light breeze along the rippling swell; But no: it is a skiff
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