. It was not published till the
Second Empire was more than half-way through, but it seems to have been
written considerably earlier; and as it is equally remarkable for
_lexis_ and for _dianoia_, it may, on the double ground, be best
attached to this chapter, though Fromentin was younger than any one else
here dealt with, and belonged, in fact, to the generation of our later,
though not latest, constituents. But, in fact, it is a book like no
other, and it is for this reason, and by no means as confessing omission
or after-thought, that I have made the notice of it a note. In an
outside way, indeed, it may be said to belong to the school of _Rene_,
but the resemblance is very partial.

The author was a painter--perhaps the only painter-novelist of merit,
though there are bright examples of painter-poets. His other literary
work consists of a good book on his Netherlandish brethren in art, and
of two still better ones, descriptive of Algeria. And _Dominique_ itself
has unsurpassed passages of description at length, as well as numerous
tiny touches like actual _remarques_ on the margin of the page. Only
once does his painter's eye seem to have failed him as to situation. The
hero, when he has thrown himself on his knees before his beloved, and
she (who is married and "honest") has started back in terror, "drags
himself after her." Now I believe it to be impossible for any one to
execute this manoeuvre without producing a ludicrous effect. For which
reason the wise have laid it down that the kneeling posture should never
be resorted to unless the object of worship is likely to remain fairly
still. But this is, I think, the only slip in the book. It is
exceedingly interesting to compare Fromentin's descriptions with those
of Gautier on the one hand before him, and with those of Fabre and
Theuriet on the other later. I should like to point out the differences,
but it is probably better merely to suggest the comparison. His actual
work in design and colour I never saw, but I think (from attacks on it
that I _have_ seen) I should like it.

But his descriptions, though they would always have given the book
distinction, would not--or would not by themselves--have given it its
special appeal. Neither does that appeal lie in such story as there
is--which, in fact, is very little. A French squire (he is more nearly
that than most French landlords have cared to be, or indeed have been
able to be, since the Revolution and the Code