Shakspeare and His Times

by François Guizot

We need not go far in search of the proof of this; the manifestations which were made at the first representation of the "Moor of Venice" were such as to leave no doubts on this point.

On this occasion, in fact, the attempt was made without disguise. In its reception, there was no possibility of giving a tacit recognition of the change, while refusing, under shallow pretexts, to avow it. It was no longer a question as to the amount of encouragement that might be bestowed on a young author; there could be no pretense of complacently shutting the eyes to this or that license, in consideration of the address and caution shown in the style of its presentation; and no motive for indulgence could be suggested either by the small importance of the work itself, or by the more or less fluctuating condition of the theatre. No! Now a real verdict had to be pronounced; either a dramatic system entirely opposed to our own must be inaugurated, before gods and men, or its establishment must be defeated; either William Shakspeare must be received, or rejected as a rival of the masters of our stage.

This event had been for a long time in preparation; and the result was awaited with some impatience. While announcing it with the most varying expectations, the majority of our public journals agreed in declaring that this would be a memorable day—a day on which the dispute between the classical and romantic schools would be fought out upon an open arena—a day which must decide either for the triumph or for the failure of the new doctrines in literature.

Alas for the feebleness of human foresight! This so decisive day has passed, and, on the whole, we remain in very nearly the same position as before. The work of the great British tragedian was saluted with a thunder of applause; this intelligence was communicated by these same journals, but they also informed us that the thunder of applause proceeded almost exclusively from a small group of passionate admirers, who had come with the set purpose of going into ecstasies at every point, comma, or interjection, and of bestowing with profuse liberality the epithets of idiot, imbecile, and dolt upon every one who might seem to hesitate. On the other hand, sufficiently audible hisses broke out in different places; but it appeared that these hisses proceeded not less exclusively from another small group, quite as insignificant as the other, of embittered detractors, resolved to consider every thing detestable, and to repay with equal liberality the vituperative epithets hurled at them by their adversaries. Between these two factions, the body of the audience in the pit appears to have preserved a reasonable neutrality. They were evidently on their guard, fearing lest their consecrated maxims should be violated, and they be led into some hasty demonstrations of feeling; and yet they were sensible, profoundly sensible, of the great beauties of the piece. Accordingly, during the whole course of the representation, they appeared constantly curious, astonished, moved, indulgent, submitting with good grace to the boldest departures from received rules; they willingly, though without warmth or violence, joined in the attempt to silence the detractors; and they good-naturedly allowed free scope to the enthusiasts, while taking great care not to enlist themselves on their side, or to mingle in their transports. Thus, then, their hearts were gained, but their minds remained still undecided; the difficulty with our reformers is not in obtaining a hearing; it is in procuring an open recognition even from those who give them their best possible wishes. They are in the same position as that which the negroes of Saint Domingo occupied during twenty years; the public refuses, or at least hesitates, to recognize them. But with patience they will ultimately attain their end; when once, in a revolution, power has been decidedly gained, right is never long withheld; they have triumphed over unreasonable habits and prejudices, and over involuntary opposition; this was the most intricate part of their work; theories, especially those which are a little superannuated, have not so lingering an existence.

Such, then, being the state of things—the progress of the spirit of innovation becoming every day increasingly manifest—it remains that we should inquire into the cause of this, and ask whether the change is for the better or for the worse—whether the spirit of innovation is, this time, a spirit of light or a spirit of darkness!

A spirit of darkness, it is exclaimed, from one quarter—a veritable child of perdition!

Consult, for instance, many of our men of taste; enter, if admission is allowed to you, into one of their assemblies; and there, at first, you will hear much noise about the confusion of species, the neglect of rules, the forgetfulness of sound doctrines, and the contempt for true models; afterward, however little you may feel at ease in this select committee, you will speedily learn the parties to whom all this disorder is attributed. The author of "L'Allemagne," the writer of the "Génie du Christianisme," the translator of "Wallenstein," the two Schlegels, besides many others, are the guilty individuals; their heads have been turned, and so they have turned the heads of their fellows. M. De Stendhal takes his share in these anathemas; the "Globe" has its allotment. Not even M. Ladvocat, the publisher of the "Thèâtre Etranger," has escaped from them. More than one sage poet, whether in the tragic or comic line, will inform you of this with all the seriousness in the world. If no one had ever taken it into his head to translate by the yard the monstrous productions of the countries situated beyond the Rhine, the Channel, or the Pyrenees; if he had not afterward taken pains to publish them on fine paper and in elegant type, all with a huge parade of advertisements and placards, we should not have been brought into our present condition.

Well said this, undoubtedly, and still better reasoned!