enied that this
is told excellently. That the part of Serapion (though somebody or
something of the kind is almost necessary) is open to some criticism,
may be granted. He seems to know too much and yet not enough: and if he
was to interfere at all, one does not see why he did not do it earlier.
But this is the merest hole-picking, and the biggest hole it can make
will not catch the foot or the little finger of any worthy reader. As to
the beauty of the phrasing, even in another language, and as rendered by
no consummate artist, there can be little question about that. Indeed
there we have consent about Gautier, though, as has been seen, the
consent has not always been thoroughly complimentary to him. To go a
step further, the way in which the diction and imagery are made to
provide frame and shade and colour for the narrative leaves very little
room for cavil. Without any undue or excessive "prose poetry," the
descriptions are like those of the best imaginative-pictorial verse
itself. The first appearance of Clarimonde; the scene at her death-bed
and that of her dream-resurrection, have, I dare affirm it, never been
surpassed in verse or prose for their special qualities: while the
backward view of the city and the recital of what we may call Serapion's
soul-murder of the enchantress come little behind them.

But, it may be said, "You are still kicking at open doors. The degree of
your estimate is, we think, extravagant, but that it is deserved to some
extent nobody denies. In mere point of expression, and even to some
extent, again, in conception of beauty, Gautier's manner, though too
much of one kind, and that too old-fashioned, is admitted; it is his
matter which is questioned or denied."

[Sidenote: A parallel from painting.]

Here also, I think, the counter-attack can be completely barred or
broken to the satisfaction of all but those who cannot or will not see.
In the first place one must make a distinction, which ought not to be
regarded as over-subtilising, but which certainly seems to be ignored by
many people. There are in all arts, and more especially in the art of
literature, two stages or sets of stages in the discharge of that duty
of every artist--the creation of beauty. The one is satisfied by the
achievement of the beautiful in the presentation itself; the other gives
you, in your own interior collection or museum, the thing presented.
This is not the common distinction between form and matter, betw