"Would you think of passing in review Corneille's twenty or thirty plays? Would you have the courage to speak of Mélite, of Clitandre, of the Galerie du Palais, of Pertharite, of Œdipe, of Attila, of Agésilas?"
"No, I should not mention any one of them."
"Then you would not be extolling Corneille: when a poet is praised, you must praise his bad work loudest of all; when one does not praise, it savours of criticism."
"No," said Hugo, "I do not mean anything like that: I would not undertake a vulgar eulogy. I would describe the agèd Corneille, wandering through the streets of old Paris, on foot, with a shabby cloak on his shoulders, neglected by Louis XIV., who was less generous towards him than his persecutor Richelieu; getting his leaky shoes mended at a poor cobbler's, whilst Louis XIV., reigning at Versailles, was promenading with Madame de Montespan, Mademoiselle de la Vallière and Madame Henriette, in the galleries of Le Brun or in the gardens of Le Nôtre; then I would pay compensation to the poet's shade by showing how posterity puts each one in his proper place and, as days are added unto days, months to months and years to years, increases the poet's fame and decreases the power of the king...."
"What are you looking for, Théophile?" asked Madame de Girardin of Gautier, who had got up hastily.
"I am looking for my hat," said Gautier.
"Girardin is asleep on it," replied Cabarus drily.
"Oh, don't wake him," said Madame de Girardin. "It will make an article!"
"Nevertheless, I cannot go without my hat," said Gautier.