would be a gratuitous impertinence.

Maupassant's conception of his art is such as one would expect from a
practical and resolute mind; but in the consummate simplicity of his
technique it ceases to be perceptible. This is one of its greatest
qualities, and like all the great virtues it is based primarily on self-
denial.

To pronounce a judgment upon the general tendency of an author is a
difficult task. One could not depend upon reason alone, nor yet trust
solely to one's emotions. Used together, they would in many cases
traverse each other, because emotions have their own unanswerable logic.
Our capacity for emotion is limited, and the field of our intelligence is
restricted. Responsiveness to every feeling, combined with the
penetration of every intellectual subterfuge, would end, not in judgment,
but in universal absolution. _Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner_. And
in this benevolent neutrality towards the warring errors of human nature
all light would go out from art and from life.

We are at liberty then to quarrel with Maupassant's attitude towards our
world in which, like the rest of us, he has that share which his senses
are able to give him. But we need not quarrel with him violently. If
our feelings (which are tender) happen to be hurt because his talent is
not exercised for the praise and consolation of mankind, our intelligence
(which is great) should let us see that he is a very splendid sinner,
like all those who in this valley of compromises err by over-devotion to
the truth that is in them. His determinism, barren of praise, blame and
consolation, has all the merit of his conscientious art. The worth of
every conviction consists precisely in the steadfastness with which it is
held.