course in Alexandrines, as loud as the Horaces or the
Cid. An Englishman will seldom reconcile himself to the roulement of
the verses, and the painful recurrence of the rhymes; for my part, I had
rather go to Madame Saqui's or see Deburau dancing on a rope: his lines
are quite as natural and poetical.

Then there is the comedy of the day, of which Monsieur Scribe is the
father. Good heavens! with what a number of gay colonels, smart widows,
and silly husbands has that gentleman peopled the play-books. How that
unfortunate seventh commandment has been maltreated by him and his
disciples. You will see four pieces, at the Gymnase, of a night; and so
sure as you see them, four husbands shall be wickedly used. When is
this joke to cease? Mon Dieu! Play-writers have handled it for about two
thousand years, and the public, like a great baby, must have the tale
repeated to it over and over again.

Finally, there is the Drama, that great monster which has sprung into
life of late years; and which is said, but I don't believe a word of it,
to have Shakspeare for a father. If Monsieur Scribe's plays may be said
to be so many ingenious examples how to break one commandment, the drame
is a grand and general chaos of them all; nay, several crimes are added,
not prohibited in the Decalogue, which was written before dramas were.
Of the drama, Victor Hugo and Dumas are the well-known and respectable
guardians. Every piece Victor Hugo has written, since "Hernani," has
contained a monster--a delightful monster, saved by one virtue. There is
Triboulet, a foolish monster; Lucrece Borgia, a maternal monster; Mary
Tudor, a religious monster; Monsieur Quasimodo, a humpback monster;
and others, that might be named, whose monstrosities we are induced to
pardon--nay, admiringly to witness--because they are agreeably mingled
with some exquisite display of affection. And, as the great Hugo has one
monster to each play, the great Dumas has, ordinarily, half a dozen,
to whom murder is nothing; common intrigue, and simple breakage of the
before-mentioned commandment, nothing; but who live and move in a vast,
delightful complication of crime, that cannot be easily conceived in
England, much less described.

When I think over the number of crimes that I have seen Mademoiselle
Georges, for instance, commit, I am filled with wonder at her greatness,
and the greatness of the poets who have conceived these charming horrors
for her. I have seen her make lo