discord between the
surroundings of the nineteenth century and a story of grotesque
supernaturalism can be converted into a pleasant harmony. A similar
effect is produced in one of Balzac's finest stories, the 'Recherche de
l'Absolu.' Every accessory is provided to induce us, so long as we are
under the spell, to regard the discovery of the philosopher's stone as a
reasonable application of human energy. We are never quite clear whether
Balthazar Claes is a madman or a commanding genius. We are kept
trembling on the verge of a revelation till we become interested in
spite of our more sober sense. A single diamond turns up in a crucible
which was unluckily produced in the absence of the philosopher, so that
he cannot tell what are the necessary conditions of repeating the
process. He is supposed to discover the secret just as he is struck by a
paralysis, which renders him incapable of revealing it, and dies whilst
making desperate efforts to communicate the crowning success to his
family. Balzac throws himself into the situation with such energy that
we are irresistibly carried away by his enthusiasm. The impossibility
ceases to annoy us, and merely serves to give additional dignity to the
story.

* * * * *

One other variety of mystification may introduce us to some of Balzac's
most powerful stories. He indulges more frequently than could be wished
in downright melodrama, or what is generally called sensational writing.
In the very brilliant sketch of Nathan in 'Une Fille d'Eve,' he remarks
that 'the mission of genius is to search, through the accidents of the
true, for that which must appear probable to all the world.' The common
saying, that truth is stranger than fiction, should properly be
expressed as an axiom that fiction ought not to be so strange as truth.
A marvellous event is interesting in real life, simply because we know
that it happened. In a fiction we know that it did not happen; and
therefore it is interesting only as far as it is explained. Anybody can
invent a giant or a genius by the simple process of altering figures or
piling up superlatives. The artist has to make the existence of the
giant or the genius conceivable. Balzac, however, often enough forgets
this principle, and treats us to purely preposterous incidents, which
are either grotesque or simply childish. The history of the marvellous
'Thirteen,' for example, that mysterious band which includes statesmen,