y because of its breaches of the
proprieties, but on account of the plan on which it is written. A
mixture of letters and narrative,[217] dealing almost entirely with
emotions, and scarcely at all with incidents, it defies narrative
analysis such as that which was given to its elder sister in
naughtiness, _La Religieuse_. It would seem that Goethe, who in many
ways influenced Gautier, is responsible to some extent for its form, and
perhaps for the fact that _As You Like It_ plays an even more important
part in it than _Hamlet_ plays in _Wilhelm Meister_. No one who has read
it can fail thenceforward to associate a new charm with the image of
Rosalind, even though she be one of Shakespeare's most gracious
creations; and this I know is a bold word. But, in truth, it is in more
ways than one an unspeakable book. Those who like may point to a couple
of pages of loose description at the end, a dialogue in the style of a
polite _Jacques le Fataliste_ in the middle, a dozen phrases of a
hazardous character scattered here and there. Diderot himself--no
strait-laced judge, indeed _particeps ejusdem criminis_--remarked long
ago, and truly enough, that errors of this sort punish themselves by
restricting the circulation, and diminishing the chance of life of the
book, or other work, that contains them. But it is not these things that
the admirers of _Mademoiselle de Maupin_ admire. It is the wonderful and
final expression, repeated, but subtly shaded and differenced, in the
three characters of Albert, Rosette, and Madeleine herself, of the
aspiration which, as I have said, colours Gautier's whole work. If he,
as has been justly remarked, was the priest of beauty, _Mademoiselle de
Maupin_ is certainly one of the sacred books of the cult. The apostle to
whom it was revealed was young, and perhaps he has mingled words of clay
with words of gold. It would be difficult to find a Bowdler for this
Madeleine, and impossible to adapt her to the use of families. But those
who understand as they read, and can reject the evil and hold fast the
good, who desire sometimes to retire from the meditation of the weary
ways of ordinary life to the land of clear colours and stories, where
there is none of this weariness, who are not to be scared by the poet's
harmless puppets or tempted by his guileless baits--they at least will
take her as she is and be thankful.[218]

Still, as has been said, the book might have been made still better by
being cut