nderwood" of Fontainebleau. Here, Carthage, Hamilcar,
Hannibal, Narr' Havas, the Numidian hero, and Spendius, the Greek slave,
the lions in bondage, the pomegranate trees which they sprinkled with
silphium, the whole a strange and barbaric world; then Charles Bovary,
the chemist Homais, his son Napoleon and his daughter Athalie,
provincial life in the time of the Second Empire; _bourgeois_ adultery,
_diligences_ and notaries' clerks. Then again Herodias, Salome, Saint
Jean-Baptiste, or Saint Julien l'Hospitalier, the middle ages and
antiquity,--all, at first sight, seem far removed, one from the other.
At first one must admire, in such a contrast of subjects and colors, the
extraordinary skill, let us say the _virtuosite_, of the artist. But, if
we look more closely, we shall not be slow to perceive that no work is
more homogeneous than that of Flaubert, and that, in truth, the
_Education Sentimentale_, differs from _Salammbo_ only as a Kermesse of
Rubens, for example, or a Bacchante of Poussin differs from the
apotheoses or the Church pictures of the painters themselves. The making
is the same, and you immediately recognise the hand. The difference is
in the choice of subjects, which is of no importance, since Flaubert is
only attempting to "represent" something, and in the choice of material,
when he is "representing," he is no longer free. That is the reason why,
if one seek for lessons in "naturalism" in _Salammbo_, he will find
them, and will also find all the "romanticism" he seeks in the
_Education Sentimentale_ and in _Madame Bovary_.

From the other lessons that flow from this work, I find some in
rhetoric, in art, in invention, in composition, and two or three of
great import, eloquent in their bearing upon the history of contemporary
French literature.

A master does not mingle or engage his personality in his subject; but,
as a God creates from the height of his serenity, without passion, if
without love, so the poet or the artist expands the thing he touches,
and, on each occasion, brings to bear upon it all the faculties that are
his by toil but not innate. Nothing is demanded of the workers, and they
make no confessions or confidences. Literature and art are not, nor
should be, the expression of men's emotions, and still less the history
of their lives. That is the reason why, while from reading _Rene_, for
example, or _Fraziella_, _Delphine_, _Corinne_, _Adolphe_, _Indiana_,
_Volupte_, or some of the ro