s, and
contrast it with the atmosphere of light which surrounds the ship in
_Plein Ciel_, where even the night is bright:

La Nuit tire du fond des gouffres inconnus
Son filet ou luit Mars, ou rayonne Venus.

_Le Crapaud_ is wrapped in the light of sunset:

Le couchant rayonnait dans les nuages roses;
C'etait la fin d'un jour d'orage, et l'occident
Changeait l'ondee en flamme en son brasier ardent.
* * * * *
Les feuilles s'empourpraient dans les arbres vermeils;
L'eau miroitait, melee a l'herbe, dans l'orniere.

And this because sunset is the hour for gentle thoughts and quiet
feeling:

Dans la serenite du pale crepuscule,
La brute par moments pense et sent qu'elle est soeur
De la mysterieuse et profonde douceur.

So strong is Hugo's feeling for light and shadow that he often seems to
solidify them, as it were, into concrete objects. When the trap-door in
the hall of Corbus is opened

Il en sort de l'ombre, ayant l'odeur du crime,

and in the pit are seen

D'ombres tatant le mur et de spectres reptiles.

In _Les Pauvres Gens_

La morte ecoute l'ombre avec stupidite.

In _Fabrice_

L'aieul semble d'ombre et de pierre construit.

The light seems solid in this line from _Le Satyre_:

Son pied fourchu faisait des trous dans la lumiere.

Again, in _La Conscience_, shadow is vast and oppressive:

L'ombre des tours faisait la nuit dans les campagnes.

And in _Au Lion d'Androcles_ it is the fitting emblem of the human race
in a degenerate age:

La creature humaine, importune au ciel bleu,
Faisait une ombre affreuse a la cloison de Dieu.

Very curious is the connexion between the legends of a countryside and
the smoke of its cottages in the lines:

Les legendes toujours melent quelque fantome
A l'obscure vapeur qui sort des toits de chaume,
L'atre enfante le reve, et l'on voit ondoyer
L'effroi dans la fumee errante du foyer. (_Eviradnus_.)

Of the infinite variety of Hugo's poetic gifts such a selection as is
contained in this volume can of course give but a very inadequate
idea. The extraordinary versatility and fecundity of his genius can be
appreciated only by those who have read all, or at least much, of his
output. But the first series of the _Legende_ is perhaps that part of
the poet's work in which substance and beauty, original thought and
vivid expression, are found in the most perfect combination. Written in
mi