st. He does not believe in the
vitality of the old order, any more than he believes in the truth of
Catholicism. But he regrets the extinction of the ancient faiths, which
he admits to be unsuitable; and sees in their representatives the only
picturesque and really estimable elements that still survived in French
society. He heartily despises the modern mediaevalists, who try to spread
a thin varnish over a decaying order; the world is too far gone in
wickedness for such a futile remedy. The old chivalrous sentiments of
the genuine noblesse are giving way to the base chicanery of the
bourgeois who supplant them: the peasantry are mean, avaricious, and
full of bitter jealousy; but they are triumphantly rooting out the last
vestiges of feudalism. Democracy and communism are the fine names put
forward to justify the enmity of those who have not, against those who
have. Their success means merely an approaching 'descent of Niagara,'
and the growth of a more debasing and more materialist form of
despotism. But it would be a mistake to assume that this view of the
world implies that Balzac is in a state of lofty moral indignation.
Nothing can be further from the case. The world is wicked; but it is
fascinating. Society is very corrupt, it is true; but intensely and
permanently amusing. Paris is a hell; but hell is the only place worth
living in. The play of evil passions gives infinite subjects for
dramatic interests. The financial warfare is more diabolical than the
old literal warfare, but quite as entertaining. There is really as much
romance connected with bills of exchange as with swords and lances, and
rigging the market is nothing but the modern form of lying in ambush.
Goneril and Regan are triumphant; but we may admire the grace of their
manners and the dexterity with which they cloak their vices. Iago not
only poisons Othello's peace of mind, but, in the world of Balzac, he
succeeds to Othello's place, and is universally respected. The story
receives an additional flavour. In a characteristic passage, Balzac
regrets that Moliere did not continue 'Tartufe.' It would then have
appeared how bitterly Orgon regretted the loss of the hypocrite, who, it
is said, made love to his wife, but who, at any rate, had an interest in
making things pleasant. Your conventional catastrophe is a mistake in
art, as it is a misrepresentation of facts. Tartufe has a good time of
it in Balzac: instead of meeting with an appropriate punishmen