set at rest. One is never set at rest by Mr. Henry James's novels. His
books end as an episode in life ends. You remain with the sense of the
life still going on; and even the subtle presence of the dead is felt in
that silence that comes upon the artist-creation when the last word has
been read. It is eminently satisfying, but it is not final. Mr. Henry
James, great artist and faithful historian, never attempts the
impossible.



ALPHONSE DAUDET--1898


It is sweet to talk decorously of the dead who are part of our past, our
indisputable possession. One must admit regretfully that to-day is but a
scramble, that to-morrow may never come; it is only the precious
yesterday that cannot be taken away from us. A gift from the dead, great
and little, it makes life supportable, it almost makes one believe in a
benevolent scheme of creation. And some kind of belief is very
necessary. But the real knowledge of matters infinitely more profound
than any conceivable scheme of creation is with the dead alone. That is
why our talk about them should be as decorous as their silence. Their
generosity and their discretion deserve nothing less at our hands; and
they, who belong already to the unchangeable, would probably disdain to
claim more than this from a mankind that changes its loves and its hates
about every twenty-five years--at the coming of every new and wiser
generation.

One of the most generous of the dead is Daudet, who, with a prodigality
approaching magnificence, gave himself up to us without reserve in his