will of either. I have myself
always thought _La Petite Comtesse_ and _Julia de Trecoeur_ among the
earlier novels, _Honneur d'Artiste_ and _La Morte_ among the later, to
be Feuillet's masterpieces, or at least nearest approaches to a
masterpiece. _Un Mariage dans le Monde_ (one or the rare instances in
which the "honest woman" does get the better of her "temptations") is
indeed rather interesting, in the almost fatal cross-misunderstanding of
husband and wife, and the almost fabulous ingenuity and good offices of
the "friend of the family," M. de Kevern, who prevents both from making
irreparable fools of themselves. _Les Amours de Philippe_ is more
commonplace--a prodigal's progress in love, rewarded at last, very
undeservedly, with something better than a fatted calf--a formerly
slighted but angelic cousin. But to notice all his work, more especially
if one took in half- or quarter-dramatic things (his pure drama does not
of course concern us) of the "Scene" and "Proverbe" kind, where he comes
next to Musset, would be here impossible. The two pairs, early and late
respectively, and already selected, must suffice.

[Sidenote: _La Petite Comtesse._]

They are all tragic, though there is comedy in them as well. Perhaps _La
Petite Comtesse_, a very short novel and its author's first thing of
great distinction, might by some be called pathetic rather than tragic;
but the line between the two is a "leaden" barrier (if indeed it is a
barrier at all) and "gives" freely. Perhaps the Gigadibs in any man of
letters may be conciliated by one of his fellows being granted some of
the fascinations of the "clerk" in the old Phyllis-and-Flora _debats_ of
mediaeval times; but the fact that _this_ clerk is also represented as a
fool of the most disastrous, though not the most contemptible kind,
should be held as a set-off to the bribery. It is a "story of
three"--though not at all the usual three--graced (or not) by a really
brilliant picture of the society of the early Second Empire. One of the
leaders of this--a young countess and a member of the "Rantipole"[412]
set of the time, but exempt from its vulgarity--meets in the country,
and falls in love with, a middle-aged _savant_, who is doing
archaeological work for Government in the neighbourhood. He despises her
as a frivolous feather-brain at first, but soon falls under the spell.
Yet what has been called "the fear of the 'Had-I-wist'" and the special
notion--more common perhaps w