e town," from whence the drama widens again in its turn. How it is
that Balzac has precisely the right scene in his mind, a house that
perfectly expresses his _donnee_ and all its associations--that, of
course, is Balzac's secret; his method would be nothing without the
quality of his imagination. His use of the scene is another matter,
and there it is possible to reckon how much of his general effect, the
sense of the moral and social foundation of his story, is given by its
inanimate setting. He has to picture a character and a train of life,
and to a great extent he does so by describing a house.

Beyond old Grandet and the kind of existence imposed upon his
household, the drama needs little by way of preparation. The miser's
daughter Eugenie, with her mother, must stand out clearly to the fore;
but a very few touches bring these two women to life in their shadowy
abode. They are simple and patient and devoted; between the dominance
of the old man and the monotony of the provincial routine Eugenie and
her mother are easily intelligible. The two local aspirants to the
girl's fortune, and their supporters on either side--the Cruchotins
and the Grassinistes--are subsidiary figures; they are sufficiently
rendered by their appearance in a flock, for a sociable evening with
the Grandets. The faithful maid-servant, the shrewd and valiant Nanon,
is quickly sketched. And there, then, is the picture that Balzac
prepares for the action, which opens with the arrival of Charles,
Eugenie's young and unknown cousin. Except for Charles, all the
material of the drama is contained in the first impression of the
household and the small country-town; Eugenie's story is implied in
it; and her romance, from the moment it begins, inherits the reality
and the continuity of the experience. Charles himself is so light a
weight that in his case no introduction is needed at all; a single
glance at him is enough to show the charm of his airy elegance. His
only function in the story is to create the long dream of Eugenie's
life; and for that he needs nothing but his unlikeness to the
Cruchotins and the Grassinistes. They and Eugenie, therefore, between
them, provide for his effect before he appears, they by their dull
provinciality, she by her sensitive ignorance. The whole scene, on the
verge of the action, is full of dormant echoes, and the first movement
wakes them. The girl placed as she is, her circumstances known as they
are, all but make t