A MALFORMED GIANT 185 



the normal till it becomes the abnormal, the dra- 

 matic till it becomes the melodramatic, the intense 

 till it becomes the hysterical; he loves to push 

 anger, jealousy, remorse, grief, till the bond snaps 

 and Termagant is o'erdone. His characters rave, 

 gnash, rend their hair, froth at the mouth, and 

 even die in paroxysms of passion. No doubt, in 

 the opinion of Victor Hugoites like Swinburne, 

 there is no reason why their eyes should not leap 

 from their sockets, their flesh wither on their bones, 

 or serpents hiss from their ears, nose, and mouth, 

 if the " imperial fantasy " of the novelist orders it. 

 I am not now thinking of his poems, some of which 

 I regard as truly great, but of his leading character- 

 istics as a novelist; of "Bug-Jargal" and "Notre 

 Dame." How fares the modesty of nature in these 

 volumes? The former is not so well known, but 

 what shall we say of the latter? Let us examine 

 it a little, since this is one of his masterpieces. 

 As a work of art what is it a faithful transcript of ? 

 It is full of monstrosities, both moral and physical, 

 full of distorted passions, unhallowed lusts, fiendish 

 brutality, diabolical ravings, writhing agonies, hide- 

 ous grimaces, sepulchral wailings, — full of all man- 

 ner of underground horrors and aboveground abomi- 

 nations. It is a carnival of the loathsome. If, 

 underneath these things, and inclosing them, one 

 recognized the great remedial forces of nature, or 

 the compensations of time and history, there would 

 be some refuge, some escape. But the earth is 

 rotten, the sunshine pestiferous, the waters stygian. 



