His historical fiction, pure history, dramas, criticisms, essays, and works on art and archæology, we must pass. His shorter fiction claims attention now. “Colomba”--a novelette in length, but a long short-story in structure--is the story of a Corsican vendetta, followed to the end by the heroine (from whom the story takes its title) with a wild ferocity tempered with a queer sort of piety. Mérimée’s fatalism underlies the whole--circumstances control the will, chance decides the brigand or the benefactor, virtue and crime are mere accidents. When Mérimée published “Colomba,” in 1840, he was at the height of his genius, and notwithstanding the enervating philosophy in which the romance is steeped, it remains one of the most powerfully dramatic stories ever written--both terrible and sweet. Of his twenty-some briefer fictions--mostly tales in form--eight at least are brilliant examples of the story-teller’s art, and all show marks of distinction. Six were published in one fruitful year--1829: “Mateo Falcone,” “The Vision of Charles XI,” “The Taking of the Redoubt,” “Tamango,” “Federigo,” and “The Pearl of Toledo.” “Tamango” is a fine specimen of Mérimée’s artistic irony, yet underneath are compassion, and hatred of injustice. As does most of the author’s work, this tale reveals his tendency to tragedy, even his love for picturing the gruesome. There is in all literature no more terrible picture of the slave-trade and its revolting consequent evils. “Mateo Falcone” is a technically perfect short-story. Mateo is a well-to-do sheep-raiser living in the plateau country of Corsica, whose thickets were often the resort of fugitives from justice. One day Mateo and his wife set out early to visit one of their flocks, leaving the little son, Fortunato, at home. Several hours later a bandit, limping painfully from a wound received from the pursuing soldiery, claims sanctuary as a Corsican and protection because of his friendship for Mateo. Fortunato hesitates, but at sight of a five-franc piece hides the man under a haystack. Soon the soldiers come, but threats cannot make the boy betray the bandit. A silver watch, however, proves an effective bribe. Just as the wounded bandit is dragged from the haystack, Mateo returns and learns the truth. When the soldiers have gone, bearing their contemptuous prisoner on a litter, the father takes out little Fortunato and, after giving him time to say a final prayer, shoots him as the first traitor in the family. This, says Walter Pater, is “perhaps the cruellest story in the world.” But it is not all cruelty. So skilfully, so sincerely, does the narrator make us feel the whole spirit of the scene, the people, the crisis, that we are prepared to witness the awful penalty for violating the Corsican code of sanctuary. But oh, the hopelessness of that mother, as she stoically, yet with breaking heart, sees the inevitable tragedy closing in upon those whom she loves!