lacking in harmony, and quite as bad as those of his friend, Jean Bouchet.
He had no gift of poetic form, as indeed is evident even from his prose.
And his letters from Rome to the Bishop of Maillezais, interesting as they
are in regard to the matter, are as dull, bare, flat, and dry in style as
possible. Without his signature no one would possibly have thought of
attributing them to him. He is only a literary artist when he wishes to be
such; and in his romance he changes the style completely every other
moment: it has no constant character or uniform manner, and therefore
unity is almost entirely wanting in his work, while his endeavours after
contrast are unceasing. There is throughout the whole the evidence of
careful and conscious elaboration.

Hence, however lucid and free be the style of his romance, and though its
flexibility and ease seem at first sight to have cost no trouble at all,
yet its merit lies precisely in the fact that it succeeds in concealing the
toil, in hiding the seams. He could not have reached this perfection at a
first attempt. He must have worked long at the task, revised it again and
again, corrected much, and added rather than cut away. The aptness of form
and expression has been arrived at by deliberate means, and owes nothing to
chance. Apart from the toning down of certain bold passages, to soften
their effect, and appease the storm--for these were not literary
alterations, but were imposed on him by prudence--one can see how numerous
are the variations in his text, how necessary it is to take account of
them, and to collect them. A good edition, of course, would make no
attempt at amalgamating these. That would give a false impression and end
in confusion; but it should note them all, and show them all, not combined,
but simply as variations.

After Le Duchat, all the editions, in their care that nothing should be
lost, made the mistake of collecting and placing side by side things which