But the critical merits of the book are quite extraordinary. I know nothing earlier even approaching it as a comprehensive review of a great writer; and the details are even more admirable than the admirable _ensemble_. As for the latter, whatever may be Sainte-Beuve’s insinuations, whatever his want of cordiality for Chateaubriand the man and the politician,[589] it is impossible to charge him with the least inadequacy as regards Chateaubriand the writer. Like others, he dwells a little too much on the obligatory “images”; but unlike others, he does not limit Chateaubriand’s powers to them; and he is more likely to be thought by foreign critics excessive than grudging in his assignment and recognition of those powers. He does the amplest justice to the immense advance, in intensity and range, of “René” over Bernardin and Jean Jacques. He sees perfectly well that the best and most characteristic part of Byron is only Chateaubriand in English, in verse, with a few more yataghans, and with no crucifixes. He has here gone nearer, I think, to a real “grasp” of the writer, and the whole writer (alas! not of nothing but the writer) than in any other instance. As for the details, one simply punctuates the book with bravo!s, if reading merely for enjoyment, and the note-book is never out of one’s hand if one is reading for reference. It “enfists” you, as the French say, at once, and it never lets the grasp go, but tightens it ever again and again. Take the admirable conclusion of the second Lecture,[590] with its indication of the way in which Chateaubriand combines the appeal of ancient poetry, of mediæval romance, and of the new fancy for nature, and turn, or rather come (for there should be no turning or skipping in this book) to the justification of the last point in the Fourth.[591] [Sidenote: _and final_ dicta.]