qualify his truth with the drop of facile sweetness; he forgets to strew
paper roses over the tombs. The disregard of these common decencies lays
him open to the charges of cruelty, cynicism, hardness. And yet it can
be safely affirmed that this man wrote from the fulness of a
compassionate heart. He is merciless and yet gentle with his mankind; he
does not rail at their prudent fears and their small artifices; he does
not despise their labours. It seems to me that he looks with an eye of
profound pity upon their troubles, deceptions and misery. But he looks
at them all. He sees--and does not turn away his head. As a matter of
fact he is courageous.

Courage and justice are not popular virtues. The practice of strict
justice is shocking to the multitude who always (perhaps from an obscure
sense of guilt) attach to it the meaning of mercy. In the majority of
us, who want to be left alone with our illusions, courage inspires a
vague alarm. This is what is felt about Maupassant. His qualities, to
use the charming and popular phrase, are not lovable. Courage being a
force will not masquerade in the robes of affected delicacy and
restraint. But if his courage is not of a chivalrous stamp, it cannot be
denied that it is never brutal for the sake of effect. The writer of
these few reflections, inspired by a long and intimate acquaintance with
the work of the man, has been struck by the appreciation of Maupassant
manifested by many women gifted with tenderness and intelligence. Their
more delicate and audacious souls are good judges of courage. Their
finer penetration has discovered his genuine masculinity without display,
his virility without a pose. They have discerned in his faithful
dealings with the world that enterprising and fearless temperament, poor
in ideas but rich in power, which appeals most to the feminine mind.

It cannot be denied that he thinks very little. In him extreme energy of