ry of the heart, soul, and intellect in
their normal condition. To achieve the effects he aims at--that is to
say, the sense of simple reality, and to point the artistic lesson he
endeavors to draw from it--that is to say, a revelation of what his
contemporary man is before his very eyes, he must bring forward no
facts that are not irrefragible and invariable.

But even when we place ourselves at the same point of view as these
realistic artists, we may discuss and dispute their theory, which
seems to be comprehensively stated in these words: "The whole Truth
and nothing but the Truth." Since the end they have in view is to
bring out the philosophy of certain constant and current facts, they
must often correct events in favor of probability and to the detriment
of truth; for

"Le vrai peut quelquefois, n'etre pas le vraisemblable." (Truth may
sometimes not seem probable.)

The realist, if he is an artist, will endeavor not to show us a
commonplace photograph of life, but to give us a presentment of it
which shall be more complete, more striking, more cogent than reality
itself. To tell everything is out of the question; it would require at
least a volume for each day to enumerate the endless, insignificant
incidents which crowd our existence. A choice must be made--and this
is the first blow to the theory of "the whole truth."

Life, moreover, is composed of the most dissimilar things, the most
unforeseen, the most contradictory, the most incongruous; it is
merciless, without sequence or connection, full of inexplicable,
illogical, and contradictory catastrophes, such as can only be classed
as miscellaneous facts. This is why the artist, having chosen his
subject, can only select such characteristic details as are of use to
it, from this life overladen with chances and trifles, and reject
everything else, everything by the way.

To give an instance from among a thousand. The number of persons who,
every day, meet with an accidental death, all over the world, is very
considerable. But how can we bring a tile onto the head of an
important character, or fling him under the wheels of a vehicle in the
middle of a story, under the pretext that accident must have its due?

Again, in life there is no difference of foreground and distance, and
events are sometimes hurried on, sometimes left to linger
indefinitely. Art, on the contrary, consists in the employment of
foresight, and elaboration in arranging skillful and inge