it and gave their
report. They said that "Hernani" was whimsical in conception, defective
in execution, a tissue of extravagances, generally trivial and often
coarse. But they advised that it be put upon the stage, just to show the
public to what extent of folly an author could go. In order to preserve
the dignity of their office, they drew up a list of six places where the
text should be changed.

Both sides were afraid, so each was willing to give in a point. The text
was changed, and the important day for the presentation was drawing nigh.
The Romanticists were, of course, anxious that the play should be a great
success; the Classics were quite willing that it should be otherwise; in
fact, they had bought up the claque and were making arrangements to hiss
it down. But the author's friends were numerous; they were young and
lusty; they held meetings behind locked doors, and swore terrible oaths
that the play should go.

On the day of the initial performance, five hours before the curtain
rose, they were on hand, having taken the best seats in the house. They
also took the worst, wherever a hisser might hide. These advocates of
liberal art wore coats of green or red or blue, costumes like
bullfighters, trousers and hats to match or not to match--anything to
defy tradition. All during the performance there was an uproar. Theophile
Gautier has described the event in most entertaining style, and in
"L'Historie de Romanticisme" the record of it is found in detail.

Several American writers have touched upon this particular theme, and all
who have seen fit to write of it seem to have stood under umbrellas when
God rained humor. One writer calls it "the outburst of a tremendous
revolution in literature." He speaks of "smoldering flames," "the hordes
that furiously fought entrenched behind prestige, age, caste, wealth and
tradition," "suppression and extermination of heresy," "those who sought
to stop the onward march of civilization," etc. Let us be sensible. A
"cane-rush" is not a revolution, and "Bloody Monday" at Harvard is not "a
decisive battle in the onward and upward march."

If "Hernani" had been hissed down, Victor Hugo would have lived just as
long and might have written better.

Civilization is not held in place by noisy youths in flaming waistcoats;
and even if every cabbage had hit its mark, and every egg bespattered its
target, the morning stars would still sing together.

"The Hunchback of Notre Dame" w