'NOTRE-DAME DE PARIS.'
There is a natural desire to know something of the personal aspect of
men who have become great. What would the world give, for example, for a
faithful account of the character, the appearance, the sayings, the
habits of Shakespeare, written by a friend and a contemporary? In the
case of Victor Hugo we fortunately have such a description from the pen
of one of his most enthusiastic admirers, Theophile Gautier. The sketch
represents the poet as he appeared at the time which we have now reached
in his history, that is when he was about twenty-eight years of age.
Gautier was exceedingly nervous over his contemplated interview with
Victor Hugo, and twice failed to summon up the necessary courage for the
meeting. On the third occasion he found himself in the poet's study.
All his prepared eloquence, we are told, at once vanished away; the long
apostrophe of praise which he had spent whole evenings in composing came
to nothing. He felt like Heine, who, when he was going to have an
interview with Goethe, prepared an elaborate speech beforehand, but at
the crucial moment could find nothing better to say to the author of
_Faust_ than that the plum-trees on the road between Jena and Weimar
bore plums that were very nice when one was thirsty. But the Jupiter of
German poetry was probably more flattered by his visitor's bewilderment
than he would have been by the most glowing eulogium. Passing over
Gautier's panegyrics, here is what he wrote concerning the person of
Hugo: 'He was then twenty-eight years of age, and nothing about him was
more striking than his forehead, that like a marble monument rose above
his calm and earnest countenance: the beauty of that forehead was
well-nigh superhuman; the deepest of thoughts might be written within,
but it was capable of bearing the coronet of gold or the chaplet of
laurel with all the dignity of a divinity or a Caesar. This splendid brow
was set in a frame of rich chestnut hair that was allowed to grow to
considerable length behind. His face was closely shaven, its peculiar
paleness being relieved by the lustre of a pair of hazel eyes, keen as
an eagle's. The curved lips betokened a firm determination, and when
half opened in a smile, displayed a set of teeth of charming whiteness.
His attire was neat and faultless, consisting of black frock-coat, grey
trousers, and a small lay-down collar. Nothing in his appearance could
ever have led anyone to suspect that this perfect gentleman was the
leader of the rough-bearded, dishevelled set that was the terror of the
smooth-faced _bourgeoisie_. Such was Victor Hugo. His image, as we saw
it in that first interview, has never faded from our memory. It is a
portrait that we cherish tenderly; its smiles, beaming with talent,
continue with us, ever diffusing a clear and phosphorescent glory!'
In the year 1831 Victor Hugo published a work which, if he had written
nothing else, would have given him a place amongst the immortal writers
of France. This was his _Notre-Dame de Paris_, undertaken and produced
under extraordinary circumstances. It was received with mixed favour by
the critics, but at once made its way to the heart of the people. Any
number of hostile reviews would have been insufficient to check the
progress of so singular and powerful a work. The author had made an
engagement to write this book for a publisher named Gosselin, and the
latter now claimed the execution of the contract. The work was
originally to have been ready by the close of 1829, but in July, 1830,
it was not yet begun, and a new contract was prepared, under which it
was to be completed by the ensuing December. Political events greatly
disturbed the progress of the romance, and a further difficulty was
created by the loss of manuscript notes which had taken two months to
collect. In the removal of Hugo's books and manuscripts from the house
in the Rue Jean Goujon to the Rue du Cherche-Midi, these valuable notes
went astray. They were not recovered till some years afterwards, when
they were incorporated in a later edition of the novel. A still further
delay was granted by the publisher, in accordance with which the author
was to complete the story by February, 1831, having just five months in
which to accomplish the task.
Hugo set to work with marvellous energy, and some amusing details are
given of the way in which he laboured with his romance. 'He bought a
bottle of ink, and a thick piece of grey worsted knitting which
enveloped him from the neck to the heels; he locked up his clothes, in
order not to be tempted to go out, and worked at his novel as if in a
prison. He was very melancholy.' It appears that he never left the
writing-table except to eat and to sleep, and occasionally to read over
some chapters to his friends. The book was finished on the 14th of
January, and as the writer concluded his last line and his last drop of
ink at the same moment, he thought of changing the title of the novel,
and calling it 'The Contents of a Bottle of Ink.' This title, which was
not thus used, however, was subsequently adopted by Alphonse Karr.
On being asked by his publisher for some descriptive notes upon the
work, which might be useful in advertising it, Victor Hugo wrote: 'It is
a representation of Paris in the fifteenth century, and of the fifteenth
century in its relations to Paris. Louis XI. appears in one chapter, and
the King is associated with, or practically decides, the _denouement_.
The book has no historical pretensions, unless they be those of painting
with some care and accuracy--but entirely by sketches, and
incidentally--the state of morals, creeds, laws, arts, and even
civilization, in the fifteenth century. This is, however, not the most
important part of the work. If it has a merit, it is in its being purely
a work of imagination, caprice, and fancy.' Nevertheless, the author has
underrated in certain respects the value of his own work. Powerful as it
is from the imaginative point of view, it is no less remarkable for the
way in which the writer has brought together a mass of historical and
antiquarian lore. Its thoroughness and careful construction in regard to
such details may be recommended to less accurate writers in the field of
historical romance. Paris, with its myriad interests, is vividly
represented by one to whom it had given up its past as well as its
present. Whether we see life beneath the shadow of Notre-Dame, in the
Cour des Miracles, the Place de Greve, the Palais de Justice, the
Bastille or the Louvre, it is all the same--the master-hand has given
life and vitality to all it has touched.
The gipsy girl Esmeralda, a fascinating creation, has been compared with
the Fenella of Scott, the La Gitanilla of Cervantes, and the Mignon of
Goethe. But she has a character of her own distinct from all of these.
In her history the power of love is once more exemplified, and if round
her centres the finest pathos of the work, so also is she its noblest
gleam of light and grace and beauty. It has been said that love makes
the learned archdeacon forget his studies, his clerical character, his
reputation for sanctity, to court the favours of a volatile Bohemian.
'Love for this same Parisian Fenella softens the human savage Quasimodo,
the dumb one-eyed bell-ringer of Notre-Dame, and transforms him into a
delicate monster, a devoted humble worshipper of the Bohemian. While
she, who is the cynosure of neighbouring eyes, the object of adoration
to these singular lovers, is herself hopelessly attached in turn to a
giddy-pated captain of the guard, who can afford to love no one but
himself.' In his grand and startling effects, the writer has been
compared with the painter Martin. There is an almost unparalleled
breadth, which gives the work a Rembrandtish effect in all the chief
scenes. The siege of the cathedral by the banded beggars and vagabonds
of Paris in the night is one not readily effaced from the memory; and
this is equally true of the terrible interview between the infatuated
monk and his victim in the filthy dungeons of the Palais de Justice; of
the weird scene of the Fete de Fous in the Hall of the Palace; of the
Alsatian picture of the examination and projected hanging of Gringoire
among the thieves in the Cour des Miracles; of the execution of
Esmeralda; and of the fearful fate of the impassioned monk.
The strange fatality attending upon mere passion is insisted on all
through; it binds together in one miserable chain the priest who is
prepared to sacrifice all that is sacred in duty for love, the heartless
soldier, and the trusting maiden. As to the _dramatis personae_, the
_Athenaeum_, observed, 'No character can be more intimately identified
with the genius of Victor Hugo than the interesting, generous, and
high-minded gipsy girl Esmeralda. The character of Phoebus de
Chateaupers, the bold, reckless, gay, gallant, good-tempered,
light-hearted, and faithless captain of gendarmerie, is also original,
and wrought out with great skill. The Archdeacon Claude Frollo is a
striking specimen of those churchmen of the fifteenth century who united
the grossest superstition to the most consummate hypocrisy, and applied
the influences of religion to acts of the blackest perfidy. There are
many historical characters in this work, and, among others, our old
acquaintances in Quentin Durward, Louis XI., Olivier-le-Daim, and the
squinting Provost, Tristan l'Hermite.' In eloquence, in vigour, in
animation, and in all the masterly pageantry of a bygone age, this work
will continue to hold a unique position amongst symbolical and
historical romances.
_Notre-Dame_ was assailed by the majority of the Parisian journals, but
in the minority warmly in its favour were to be found some of the first
writers of the age. Touching the style of the work, Sainte-Beuve said,
'There is a magical facility and freedom in saying all that should be
said; there is a striking keenness of observation, especially is there a
profound knowledge of the populace, and a deep insight into man in his
vanity, his emptiness, and his glory, whether he be mendicant, vagabond,
_savant_, or sensualist. Moreover, there is an unexampled comprehension
of form; an unrivalled expression of grace, material beauty, and
greatness; and altogether a worthy presentment of an abiding and
gigantic monument. Alike in the pretty prattlings of the nymph-like
child, in the cravings of the she-wolf mother, and in the surging
passion, almost reaching to delirium, that rages in a man's brain, there
is the moulding and wielding of everything just at the author's will.'
Alfred de Musset, while unable to take in the scope of the work,
acknowledged that it was colossal. Jules Janin remarked that 'of all the
works of the author it is pre-eminently that in which his fire of
genius, his inflexible calmness, and his indomitable will are most
conspicuous. What accumulation of misfortunes is piled up in these
mournful pages! What a gathering together there is of ruinous passion
and bewildering incident! All the foulness as well as all the faith of
the Middle Ages are kneaded together with a trowel of gold and of iron.
At the sound of the poet's voice all that was in ruins has risen to its
fullest height, reanimated by his breath.... Victor Hugo has followed
his vocation as poet and architect, as writer of history and romance;
his pen has been guided alike by ancient chronicle and by his own
personal genius; he has made all the bells of the great city to clang
out their notes; and he has made every heart of the population, except
that of Louis XI., to beat with life! Such is the book; it is a
brilliant page of our history, which cannot fail to be a crowning glory
in the career of its author.' Finally, Eugene Sue wrote: 'If the useless
admiration of a barbarian like myself had the power to express and
interpret itself in a manner worthy of the book which has inspired it, I
should tell you, sir, that you are a great spendthrift; that your
critics resemble those poor people on the fifth story, who, whilst
gazing on the prodigalities of the great nobleman, would say to each
other, with anger in their hearts, "I could live during my whole life on
the money spent in a single day."'
The publisher had some doubts of the pecuniary success of the novel, but
these speedily disappeared, as edition after edition was called for. In
the course of a year only, eight large editions had been disposed of,
and the number of editions which have been issued since that time may be
described as legion. From thinking, as he did originally, that he had
made a bad bargain, M. Gosselin soon had reason to arrive at the
conclusion that he had made a remarkably good one. Together with other
publishers, he now pestered the author continually for more novels.
Hugo protested that he had none to give them; but wearied at length by
their importunities he furnished the titles of two stories he proposed
to write, which were to be called the _Fils de la Bossue_ and _La
Quinquengrogne_. The latter name was the popular designation of one of
the towers of Bourbon l'Aschembault, and in the novel the author
intended to complete the account of his views concerning the art of the
Middle Ages. Notre-Dame was the cathedral, La Quinquengrogne was to be
the dungeon.
Victor Hugo wrote at this time his admirable descriptive work _Le
Rhin_--a work full of learning, vivacity, and humour--but he never
proceeded with the two projected novels. _Notre-Dame_ remained for many
years the only romance in which the author revealed his marvellous power
of moulding human sympathies, of throwing into imaginative conceptions
the very form and substance of being, and of realizing a dead-past age
as though it were that of the actual and the living.