of talent to me that I need not scruple to accept an encomium which, coming from them, is a criticism.  In any event, I have never sought to gain anything by the display of this inferior quality, which has been more prejudicial to me as a savant than it has been useful of itself.  I have not based any calculations upon it.  I have never counted upon my supposed talent for a livelihood, and I have not in any way tried to turn it to account.  The late M. Beule, who looked upon me with a kind of good-natured curiosity mingled with astonishment, could not understand why I made so little use of it.  I have never been at all a literary man.  In the most decisive moments of my life I had not the least idea that my prose would secure any success.

I have never done anything to foster my success, which, if I may be permitted to say so, might have been much greater if I had so willed.  I have in no wise followed up my good fortune; upon the contrary, I have rather tried to check it.  The public likes a writer who sticks closely to his line, and who has his own specialty; placing but little confidence in those who try to shine in contradictory subjects.  I could have secured an immense amount of popularity if I had gone in for a crescendo of anti-clericalism after the Vie de Jesus.  The general reader likes a strong style.  I could easily have left in the flourishes and tinsel phrases which excite the enthusiasm of those whose taste is not of a very elevated kind, that is to say, of the majority.  I spent a year in toning down the style of the Vie de Jesus, as I thought that such a subject could not be treated too soberly or too simply.  And we know how fond the masses are of declamation.  I have never accentuated my opinions in order to gain the ear of my readers.  It is no fault of mine if, owing to the bad taste of the day, a slender voice has made itself heard athwart the darkness in which we dwell, as if reverberated by a thousand echoes.

III.  With regard to my politeness, I shall find fewer cavillers than with regard to my modesty, for, so far as mere externals go, I have been endowed with much more of the former than of the latter.  The extreme urbanity of my old masters made so great an impression upon me that I have never broken away from it.  Theirs was the true French politeness; that which is shown not only towards acquaintances but towards all persons without exception.[1] Politeness of this kind implies a general standard of conduct, without which life cannot, as I hold, go on smoothly; viz. that every human creature should, be given credit for goodness failing proof to the contrary, and treated kindly.  Many people, especially in certain countries, follow the opposite rule, and this leads to great injustice.  For my own part, I cannot possibly be severe upon any one a priori.  I take for granted that every person I see for the first time is a man of merit and of good repute, reserving