king in the dark," replied the Mayoress.

"The jest would be lost in an explanation," remarked Gatien.

"Nowadays," Lousteau went on, "a novelist draws characters, and instead
of a 'simple outline,' he unveils the human heart and gives you some
interest either in Lubin or in Toinette."

"For my part, I am alarmed at the progress of public knowledge in the
matter of literature," said Bianchon. "Like the Russians, beaten by
Charles XII., who at least learned the art of war, the reader has
learned the art of writing. Formerly all that was expected of a romance
was that it should be interesting. As to style, no one cared for that,
not even the author; as to ideas--zero; as to local color--_non est_.
By degrees the reader has demanded style, interest, pathos, and complete
information; he insists on the five literary senses--Invention, Style,
Thought, Learning, and Feeling. Then some criticism commenting on
everything. The critic, incapable of inventing anything but calumny,
pronounces every work that proceeds from a not perfect brain to be
deformed. Some magicians, as Walter Scott, for instance, having appeared
in the world, who combined all the five literary senses, such writers
as had but one--wit or learning, style or feeling--these cripples, these
acephalous, maimed or purblind creatures--in a literary sense--have
taken to shrieking that all is lost, and have preached a crusade against
men who were spoiling the business, or have denounced their works."

"The history of your last literary quarrel!" Dinah observed.

"For pity's sake, come back to the Duke of Bracciano," cried Monsieur de
Clagny.

To the despair of all the company, Lousteau went on with the made-up
sheet.

224 OLYMPIA

I then wished to make sure of my
misfortune that I might be avenged
under the protection of Providence
and the Law. The Duchess guessed
my intentions. We were at war in
our purposes before we fought with
poison in our hands. We tried to
tempt each other to such confidence
as we could not feel, I to induce her
to drink a potion, she to get posses-
sion of me. She was a woman, and
she won the day; for women have a
snare more than we men. I fell into
it--I was happy; but I awoke next
day in this iron cage. All through
the day I bellowed with rage in the

OR ROMAN REVENGE 225

darkness of this cellar, over which
is the Duchess' bedroom. At night
an ingenious c