"is or is not the subject of what in
England is called a hoax, and in France a _mystification_," and when
_she_ doubts upon such a point, it would be extremely difficult for any
one else not to deem it a matter of certainty. Had we space sufficient,
we should transcribe the whole of this colloquy, as it deserves
repetition; but we can only give a small specimen of it for the
amusement of our readers. The gentleman having informed Miladi, that
Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire, are "dethroned monarchs," and no longer
tolerated at the Theatre, she asks him what is to be seen or heard
there, to which he answers:--

"'Our great historic dramas, written not in pompous
Alexandrines, but in prose, the style of truth, the language of
life and nature, and composed boldly, in defiance of Aristotle
and Boileau. Their plot may run to any number of acts, and the
time to any number of nights, months, or years; or if the
author pleases, it may take in a century, or a millennium: and
then, for the place, the first scene may be laid in Paris, and
the last in Kamschatka. In short, France has recovered her
literary liberty, and makes free use of it.'

"'_Oui da!_' I rejoined, a little bothered, and not knowing
well what to say, but still looking very wise, 'In fact, then,
you take some of those liberties, that you used to laugh at, in
our poor Shakspeare?'

"'Your _poor_ Shakspeare! your divine, immortal Shakspeare, the
idol of new France!--you must see him played _textuellement_ at
the _Francais_, and not in the diffuse and feeble parodies of
Ducis.'

"'Shakspeare played _textuellement_ at the _Francais_!" I
exclaimed--'_O, par exemple!_'

"'Yes, certainly. Othello is now in preparation; and Hamlet and
Macbeth are stock pieces. But even your Shakspeare was far from
the truth, the great truth, that the drama should represent the
progress, development, and accomplishment of the natural and
moral world, without reference to time or locality. Unknown to
himself, his mighty genius was mastered by the fatal prejudices
and unnatural restrictions of the _perruques_ of antiquity.
Does nature unfold her plots in five acts? or confine her
operations to three hours by the parish clock?'

"'Certainly not, Monsieur; but still....'

"'_Mais, mais, un moment, chere Miladi._ The drama is one great