It is possible that, even in this brief sketch, some faults of the book
may appear; it is certain that actual reading of it will not utterly
deprive the fault-finder of his prey. The positive history--of which
there is a good deal, very well told in itself,[276] and the appearance
of which at all is interesting--is introduced in too great proportions,
so as to be largely irrelevant. Although we know that this extremely
artificial world of love-making with your neighbours' wives was also
real, in a way and at a time, the reality fails to make up for the
artifice, at least as a novel-subject. It is like golf, or acting, or
bridge--amusing enough to the participants, no doubt, but very tedious
to hear or read about.[277] Another point, again true to the facts of
the time, no doubt, but somewhat repulsive in reading, is the almost
entire absence of Christian names. The characters always speak to each
other as "Monsieur" and "Madame," and are spoken of accordingly. I do
not think we are ever told either of M. or of Mme. de Cleves's name. Now
there is one person at least who cannot "see" a heroine without knowing
her Christian name. More serious, in different senses of that word, is
the fact that there is still ground for the complaint made above as to
the too _solid_ character of the narrative. There is, indeed, more
positive dialogue, and this is one of the "advances" of the book. But
even there the writer has not had the courage to break it up into
actual, not "reported," talk, and the "said he's" and "said she's,"
"replied so and so's" and "observed somebody's" perpetually get in the
way of smooth reading.

So much in the way of alms for Momus. Fortunately a much fuller
collection of points for admiration offers itself. It has been admitted
that the historical element[278] is perhaps, in the circumstances and
for the story, a trifle irrelevant and even "in the way." But its
presence at all is the important point. Some, at any rate, of the
details--the relations of that Henri II., with whom, it seems, we may
_not_ connect the very queer, very rare, but not very beautiful
_faience_ once called "Henri Deux" ware,[279] with his wife and his
mistress; his accidental death at the hands of Montgomery; the history
of Henry VIII.'s matrimonial career, and the courtship of his daughter
by a French prince (if not _this_ French prince)--are historical enough
to present a sharp contrast with the cloudy pseudo-classical canvas of
the