ribly by being turned into the semi-dramatic form.
All this may be thought to show that Mérimée knew what he was about—a thing which perhaps happens more frequently than critics of great writers sometimes seem to perceive. His genius appears to have had what we may call its more concentrated and also its more desultory moments. In the former he wished to take a situation or set of situations, and put it, or them, with the utmost directness—"in column" as the military folk would say. Then he wrote in plain narrative prose. At other times he wished rather to skirmish, to stroll about his subject and sketch it from various points of view; then he took the form by personages. This latter has resulted in some wonderful work. For the Famille Carvajal, I have, I confess, no great affection or admiration. Here only, perhaps, has Mérimée fallen into the mistake which originated in Early Romantic times and which has survived all the changes to the present day, that the revolting is the striking in itself. The "horrors" of La Jacquerie have, with the greater length, helped to make it more unpopular, but I think unjustly. They are not ubiquitous; the constant panoramic change of scene and subject is, except for persons whose
