And just now it is this side—to us the obviously weak side—of Beyle's genius that seems to be most in favour with French critics.
During his lifetime Beyle was isolated, and had a pride in isolation.
Beyle would have endorsed these sentiments; Mrime was kept from doing so by his antipathy to generalisation.
But I do not find fault with Beyle for drawing her, and she, too, is very human.
In Beyle's essentially self-conscious characters this Romanticism acts like a powerful explosive.
Sainte-Beuve said that Beyle was the dupe of his fear of being duped.
Beyle never wrote a line of poetry; he had no ear whatever for rhythm.
This bit of mystification was quite in line with Beyle's career.
Beyle had passed his youth within earshot of that mighty roar, and his inmost spirit could never lose the echo of it.
Hugo knew that Beyle was an enemy of poetry, of the lyric, of the "ideal."