What these young men heard from the stage was the expression of their own defiance and thirst for independence, of their courage and devotion, their ideal and erotic longings, only pitched in a still higher key; and their hearts melted within them.
The time was February 1830, five months before the Revolution of July. The dullest materialism made life colourless. France was as regularly ordered as the avenues of the gardens of Versailles; it was ruled by old men, who patronised only such young ones as had written Latin verse to perfection at school, and had since qualified themselves for office by absolute correctness of behaviour. There they sat, these correct, faultlessly-attired youths, with their neckcloths and stiff standing collars. Contrast with them the youths in the pit, one with locks reaching to his waist and a scarlet satin doublet, another with a Rubens hat and bare hands. These latter hated the powerful Philistine bourgeoisie as Hernani hated the tyranny of Charles V. They gloried in their position; they, too, were freebooters, poor, proud—one a cherisher of Republican dreams, most of them worshippers of art. There they stood, many of them geniuses—Balzac, Berlioz, Théophile Gautier, Gérard de Nerval, Petrus Borel, Préault—taking the measure of their opponents of the same generation. They felt that they themselves were at least not place-seekers, not tuft-hunters, beggars, and parasites like those others; they were the men who a few months later made the Revolution of July, and who in the course of a few years gave France a literature and art of the first rank.
We know how they regarded Hernani. What did they see in the second great character, King Charles of Spain? He repels at first. We cannot place much faith in this cold, cautious monarch's ardent love for Donna Sol; and he, moreover, employs violent and dishonourable means to get her into his power. But the poet soon raises him to a higher level, and makes us feel the great ambition which fills his soul.
It was Charles's tremendous monologue at the tomb of Charlemagne which decided the fate of the drama that evening. And this much criticised and ridiculed monologue is in reality the work of a young master. It is easy to perceive, even if we did not know, how untrue it is to history, how impossible it is that Charles V. should have thought thus; but we are fascinated by the faithfulness with which the political ideas and dreams of 1830 are mirrored, and by the marvellous political insight displayed. This is the historical insight which sometimes astonishes us in poets; Schiller showed it at the age of 21, in Fiesco. Listen to Don Carlos's description of Europe: A building with two human beings on its pinnacles, two elected chiefs, to whom every hereditary monarch must bow—the Emperor and the Pope. Almost all the states have hereditary rulers, and are, in so far, in the power of chance; but the people are at times able to elect their Pope or their Emperor; chance corrects chance, and the balance is restored. The Electors in their cloth of gold, the Cardinals in their scarlet, are the instruments by means of whom God chooses.
"Qu'une idée, au besoin des temps, un jour éclose;
Elle grandît, va, court, se mêle à toute chose,
Se fait homme, saisit les cœurs, creuse un sillon;
Maint roi la foule aux pieds ou lui met un baîllon;
Mais qu'elle entre un matin à la diète, au conclave,
Et tous les rois soudain verront l'idée esclave
Sur leurs têtes de rois que ses pieds courberont
Surgir, le globe en main ou la tiare au front."
The poet was certainly not thinking of Charles V. when he wrote this, but of an Emperor much nearer his own day, the Emperor of whom he had just written in the Ode à la Colonne de la Place Vendôme, that his spurs outweighed Charlemagne's sandals. It must not be forgotten that men's enthusiasm for Napoleon in those days by no means implied that they were Bonapartists; it only signified that they belonged to the party of progress. The Napoleon they worshipped was not the tyrant of France, but the humiliator of kings and of hereditary authority. The Emperor, as compared with the King, was regarded as the personified people; therefore the young generation was deeply moved when Charles in his monologue exclaims: "Rois! regardez en bas! ... Ah! le peuple!—Océan! Vague qui broie un trône! Miroir où rarement un roi se voit en beau!"
They are, thus, revolutionary and perfectly modern reminiscences and comparisons which occur in rapid succession to Charles V. At the grave of Charlemagne he matures into the popular Emperor who has been so often dreamed of in modern times, and his passionate ambition is purified by his intense desire to solve gigantic problems and accomplish prodigious tasks. The man who was, to begin with, so obnoxious to the youthful part of the audience, whose brutal desire made him so inferior to his noble-minded rival Hernani and the proud lady they both love, ends, when he is Emperor, by renouncing his claims and showing mercy—and suddenly the two happy lovers seem small and insignificant beside him.
With his hand on his heart he says softly to himself:
"Éteins-toi, cœur jeune et plein de flamme!
Laisse régner l'esprit que toujours tu troublas.
Tes amours désormais, tes maîtresses, hélas!
C'est l'Allemagne, c'est la Flandre, c'est l'Espagne!"
And with his eye on the imperial banner he adds: