Ze literature n'existe pas pour ze squeak of ze pig! Ah, bah! L'art, c'est l'imagination l'ideal c'est le veritable Dieu en l'homme!" Longford gave vent to a snigger, which was his way of laughing. "God is an abstract illusion," he said "One does not introduce a non-available quantity in the summing up of facts!" "Ah! Vous ne croyez pas en Dieu?" And Gigue ruffled up his grey hair with one hand.
But there were certain characteristics in Amiel which made it impossible which neutralized his powers, his knowledge, his intelligence, and condemned him, so far as his public performance was concerned, to barrenness and failure. What were these characteristics, this element of unsoundness and disease, which M. Caro calls "la maladie de l'ideal?"
To realize this principle in work you must proceed scientifically, and, in this connection, we may notice that Flaubert's idea is that of Leconte de Lisle in the preface to his Poèmes Antiques, and of Taine in his lectures upon L'Idéal dans l'art. Romanticism had confounded the picturesque with the anecdotal; character with accident; colour with oddity.
Bach after Lili Kerth that is the bite, that is the irony of things. Do you know Baudelaire's quatrain?" He stood up, and, without declamation, even carelessly, through his nose and teeth, gave the quatrain: "Quand chez le debauche l'aube blanche et vermeil, Entre en societe de l'Ideal rongeur, Par l'operation d'un mystere vengeur, Dans la brute assoupie un Ange se reveille."