And what was the piece, can you guess, which produced this effect upon us?... It was "Angelo!" It was the "Tyran de Padoue"—pas doux du tout, as the wits of the parterre aver. But, in truth, I ought not to assent to this verdict, for never tyrant was so doux to me and mine as this, and never was a very long play so heartily laughed at to the end.
But must I write to you in sober earnest about this comic tragedy? I suppose I must; for, except the Procès Monstre, nothing has been more talked of in Paris than this new birth of M. Hugo. The cause for this excitement was not that a new play from this sufficiently well-known hand was about to be put upon the scene, but a circumstance which has made me angry and all Paris curious. This tragedy, as you shall see presently, has two heroines who run neck and neck through every act, leaving it quite in doubt which ought to come in prima donna. Mademoiselle Mars was to play the part of one—but who could venture to stand thus close beside her in the other part?—nobody at the Français, as it should seem: and so, wonderful to tell, and almost impossible to believe, a lady, a certain Madame Dorval, well known as a heroine of the Porte St. Martin, I believe, was enlisted into the corps of the Français to run a tilt with—Mars.
This extraordinary arrangement was talked of, and asserted, and contradicted, and believed, and disbelieved, till the noise of it filled all Paris. You will hardly wonder, then, that the appearance of this drama has created much sensation, or that the desire to see it should extend beyond the circle of M. Hugo's young admirers.
I have been told, that as soon as this arrangement was publicly made known, the application for boxes became very numerous. The author was permitted to examine the list of all those who had applied, and no boxes were positively promised till he had done so. Before the night for the first representation was finally fixed, a large party of friends and admirers assembled at the poet's house, and, amongst them, expunged from this list the names of all such persons as were either known or suspected to be hostile to him or his school. Whatever deficiencies this exclusive system produced in the box-book were supplied by his particular partisans. The result on this first night was a brilliant success.
"L'auteur de Cromwell," says the Revue des Deux Mondes, "a proclamé d'une voix dictatoriale la fusion de la comédie et de la tragédie dans le drame." It is for this reason, perhaps, that M. Hugo has made his last tragedy so irresistibly comic. The dagger and the bowl bring on the catastrophe,—therefore, sans contredire, it is a tragedy: but his playful spirit has arranged the incidents and constructed the dialogue,—therefore, sans faute, it is a comedy.
In one of his exquisite prefaces, M. Hugo says, that he would not have any audience quit the theatre without carrying with them "quelque moralité austère et profonde;" and I will now make it my task to point out to you how well he has redeemed this promise in the present instance. In order to shake off all the old-fashioned trammels which might encumber his genius, M. Hugo has composed his "Angelo" in prose,—prose such as old women love—(wicked old women I mean,)—lengthy, mystical, gossiping, and mischievous. I will give you some extracts; and to save the trouble of describing the different characters, I will endeavour so to select these extracts that they shall do it for me. Angelo Tyran de Padoue thus speaks of himself:—
"Oui ... je suis le podesta que Venise met sur Padoue.... Et savez-vous ce que c'est que Venise?... C'est le conseil des dix. Oh! le conseil des dix!... Souvent la nuit je me dresse sur mon séant, j'écoute, et j'entends des pas dans mon mur.... Oui, c'est ainsi, Tyran de Padoue, esclave de Venise. Je suis bien surveillé, allez. Oh! le conseil des dix!"
This gentleman has a young, beautiful, and particularly estimable wife, by name Catarina Bragadini, (which part is enacted on the boards of the Théâtre Français by Madame Dorval, from the Théâtre de la Porte St. Martin,) but unfortunately he hates her violently. He could not, however, as he philosophically observes himself, avoid doing so, and he shall again speak for himself to explain this.
"ANGELO.
"La haine c'est dans notre sang. Il faut toujours qu'un Malipieri haïsse quelqu'un. Moi, c'est cette femme que je hais. Je ne vaux pas mieux qu'elle, c'est possible—mais il faut qu'elle meure. C'est une nécessité—une résolution prise."