25 March, 1855

Yesterday, Saturday, still unwell, but a little better than I have been feeling lately. I am still reading Dumas's novel, Naon de Lartiques, and falling asleep over it at intervals. It begins very well and then as usual there are dull passages, either pompous or badly thought out. At this stage, I don't quite see how he is going to bring in the would-be dramatic and passionate interludes which he introduces into all his novels, even the comic ones.

This mixture of comedy and pathos is undoubtedly in poor taste. You must know where you are and where you are being led. We Frenchmen, who have been used to thinking of the arts in this way for so long, would find it very difficult to get any idea of the opposite effect, like that in Shakespeare's plays for instance, without a good knowledge of English literature. It is hard for us to imagine a joke coming from the mouth of the High Priest or Athalie, or even the faintest attempt at a colloquialism. Comedy generally portrays passions that are extremely serious to those who feel them, but tend to provoke laughter rather than a sense of tragedy in other.

I think Chasles was right in our conversation about Shakespeare, of which I have made a note in one of the diaries: 'Properly speaking,' he said, 'he is neither a tragic nor a comic writer. His art is unique, and it is as much psychology as poetry. He does not set out to portray Ambition, Jealousy, or Consummate Villainy, but one particular jealous or ambitious man, not so much a type, as a human being with all his characteristic lights and shades. Macbeth, Othello or Iago are anything but types; their characteristics, or rather their individuality, make them seem like real people, but give us no absolute idea of their passions Shakespeare has such a strong sense of realism that he forces us to accept his characters as though they were people we knew personally. Hence, the colloquialisms which he introduces into their speeches do not disturb us any more than such things do when we hear them uttered by the people about us, who are not on a stage, but are alternately glad and sorry, or even made to seem ridiculous, by the various situations that occur in real life. In the same way, irrelevancies that would shock us in our own theatre do not disturb us when we find them in Shakespeare. Thus in the midst of all his troubles and schemes for revenge, Hamlet jokes with Polonius and the students and amuses himself with instructing the actors who are brought before him to perform a bad tragedy. Moreover, there is a powerful surge of life throughout the play, an onward movement as it were, a development of passions and events which, however irregular according to our ideas, gives it a quality of unity that becomes established in our minds as we think it over afterwards. For if this supreme quality were lacking, plays containing all the drawbacks which we have been discussing would never have deserved to retain the admiration of the ages. A hidden thread of logic, an imperceptible order, runs through this agglomeration of details. Where one would expect to find nothing but a shapeless mountain, one discover distinct phases, considered reliefs, and always continuity and reason.'

Poor Dumas, whom I'm so fond of, probably imagines himself to be another Shakespeare, but the details he gives us are not so powerful, and his work does not leave us with this strong sense of unity. The different phases are ill balanced. He seems to imprison the comedy--the thing he does best--in certain portions of his books, and then suddenly thrusts you into the middle of a sentimental love story, where the same character who made you laugh a short while ago become pompous and maudlin. How could anyone recognize the three joyous musketeers of the beginning of the novel in these creatures of melodrama, entangled in the exploits of a certain Milady and her ceremonial trial and execution in a raging storm at the dead of night? This is also Mme Sand's besetting sin. When you finish one of her novels your ideas about the characters are in utter confusion. For instance, some of them begin by amusing you with their high spirits and end by making you weep over their virtue and their devotion to others, or else hold forth like minor prophets. I could quote any number of her characters who disappoint the reader in this way.