ourt. The colouring of
Frederic Soulie (like that of the book-lover Jacob) appeared to them
insufficient; and M. Villemain scandalised them by showing at page 85 of
his _Lascaris_, a Spaniard smoking a pipe--a long Arab pipe--in the
middle of the fifteenth century.

Pecuchet consulted the _Biographie Universelle_, and undertook to revise
Dumas from the point of view of science.

The author in _Les Deux Dianes_ makes a mistake with regard to dates.
The marriage of the Dauphin, Francis, took place on the 15th of October,
1548, and not on the 20th of May, 1549. How does he know (see _Le Page
du Duc de Savoie_) that Catherine de Medicis, after her husband's death,
wished to resume the war? It is not very probable that the Duke of Anjou
was crowned at night in a church, an episode which adorns _La Dame de
Montsoreau_. _La Reine Margot_ especially swarms with errors. The Duke
of Nevers was not absent. He gave his opinion at the council before the
feast of St. Bartholomew, and Henry of Navarre did not follow the
procession four days after. Henry III. did not come back from Poland so
quickly. Besides, how many flimsy devices! The miracle of the hawthorn,
the balcony of Charles IX., the poisoned glass of Jeanne
d'Albret--Pecuchet no longer had any confidence in Dumas.

He even lost all respect for Walter Scott on account of the oversights
in his _Quentin Durward_. The murder of the Archbishop of Liege is
anticipated by fifteen years. The wife of Robert de Lamarck was Jeanne
d'Arschel and not Hameline de Croy. Far from being killed by a soldier,
he was put to death by Maximilian; and the face of Temeraire, when his
corpse was found, did not express any menace, inasmuch as the wolves had
half devoured it.

None the less, Bouvard went on with Walter Scott, but ended by getting
weary of the repetition of the same effects. The heroine usually lives
in the country with her father, and the lover, a plundered heir, is
re-established in his rights and triumphs over his rivals. There are
always a mendicant philosopher, a morose nobleman, pure young girls,
facetious retainers, and interminable dialogues, stupid prudishness, and
an utter absence of depth.

In his dislike to bric-a-brac, Bouvard took up George Sand.

He went into raptures over the beautiful adulteresses and noble lovers,
would have liked to be Jacques, Simon, Lelio, and to have lived in
Venice. He uttered sighs, did not know what was the matter with him, and
felt hims