Romance　is　the　deepest　thing　in　life；　romance　is　deeper　even
  than　reality。　　For　even　if　reality　could　be　proved　to　be　misleading；
  it　still　could　not　be　proved　to　be　unimportant　or　unimpressive。
  Even　if　the　facts　are　false；　they　are　still　very　strange。
  And　this　strangeness　of　life；　this　unexpected　and　even　perverse
  element　of　things　as　they　fall　out；　remains　incurably　interesting。
  The　circumstances　we　can　regulate　may　become　tame　or　pessimistic；
  but　the　〃circumstances　over　which　we　have　no　control〃　remain　god…like
  to　those　who；　like　Mr。　Micawber；　can　call　on　them　and　renew
  their　strength。　　People　wonder　why　the　novel　is　the　most　popular
  form　of　literature；　people　wonder　why　it　is　read　more　than　books
  of　science　or　books　of　metaphysics。　　The　reason　is　very　simple；
  it　is　merely　that　the　novel　is　more　true　than　they　are。
  Life　may　sometimes　legitimately　appear　as　a　book　of　science。
  Life　may　sometimes　appear；　and　with　a　much　greater　legitimacy；
  as　a　book　of　metaphysics。　　But　life　is　always　a　novel。　　Our　existence
  may　cease　to　be　a　song；　it　may　cease　even　to　be　a　beautiful　lament。
  Our　existence　may　not　be　an　intelligible　justice；　or　even　a
  recognizable　wrong。　　But　our　existence　is　still　a　story。　　In　the　fiery
  alphabet　of　every　sunset　is　written；　〃to　be　continued　in　our　next。〃
  If　we　have　sufficient　intellect；　we　can　finish　a　philosophical
  and　exact　deduction；　and　be　certain　that　we　are　finishing　it　right。
  With　the　adequate　brain…power　we　could　finish　any　scientific
  discovery；　and　be　certain　that　we　were　finishing　it　right。
  But　not　with　the　most　gigantic　intellect　could　we　finish　the　simplest
  or　silliest　story；　and　be　certain　that　we　were　finishing　it　right。
  That　is　because　a　story　has　behind　it；　not　merely　intellect　which
  is　partly　mechanical；　but　will；　which　is　in　its　essence　divine。
  The　narrative　writer　can　send　his　hero　to　the　gallows　if　he　likes
  in　the　last　chapter　but　one。　　He　can　do　it　by　the　same　divine
  caprice　whereby　he；　the　author；　can　go　to　the　gallows　himself；
  and　to　hell　afterwards　if　he　chooses。　　And　the　same　civilization；
  the　chivalric　European　civilization　which　asserted　freewill　in　the
  thirteenth　century；　produced　the　thing　called　〃fiction〃　in　the　eighteenth。
  When　Thomas　Aquinas　asserted　the　spiritual　liberty　of　man；
  he　created　all　the　bad　novels　in　the　circulating　libraries。
  But　in　order　that　life　should　be　a　story　or　romance　to　us；
  it　is　necessary　that　a　great　part　of　it；　at　any　rate；　should　be
  settled　for　us　without　our　permission。　　If　we　wish　life　to　be
  a　system；　this　may　be　a　nuisance；　but　if　we　wish　it　to　be　a　drama；
  it　is　an　essential。　　It　may　often　happen；　no　doubt；　that　a　drama
  may　be　written　by　somebody　else　which　we　like　very　little。
  But　we　should　like　it　still　less　if　the　author　came　before　the　curtain
  every　hour　or　so；　and　forced　on　us　the　whole　trouble　of　inventing
  the　next　act。　　A　man　has　control　over　many　things　in　his　life；
  he　has　control　over　enough　things　to　be　the　hero　of　a　novel。
  But　if　he　had　control　over　everything；　there　would　be　so　much
  hero　that　there　would　be　no　novel。　　And　the　reason　why　the　lives
  of　the　rich　are　at　bottom　so　tame　and　uneventful　is　simply　that　they
  can　choose　the　events。　　They　are　dull　because　they　are　omnipotent。
  They　fail　to　feel　adventures　because　they　can　make　the　adventures。
  The　thing　which　keeps　life　romantic　and　full　of　fiery　possibilities
  is　the　existence　of　these　great　plain　limitations　which　force　all　of　us
  to　meet　the　things　we　do　not　like　or　do　not　expect。　　It　is　vain　for
  the　supercilious　moderns　to　talk　of　being　in　uncongenial　surroundings。
  To　be　in　a　romance　is　to　be　in　uncongenial　surroundings。
  To　be　born　into　this　earth　is　to　be　born　into　uncongenial　surroundings；
  hence　to　be　born　into　a　romance。　　Of　all　these　great　limitations
  and　frameworks　which　fashion　and　create　the　poetry　and　variety
  of　life；　the　family　is　the　most　definite　and　important。
  Hence　it　is　misunderstood　by　the　moderns；　who　imagine　that　romance　would
  exist　most　perfectly　in　a　complete　state　of　what　they　call　liberty。
  They　think　that　if　a　man　makes　a　gesture　it　would　be　a　startling
  and　romantic　matter　that　the　sun　should　fall　from　the　sky。
  But　the　startling　and　romantic　thing　about　the　sun　is　that　it　does
  not　fall　from　the　sky。　　They　are　seeking　under　every　shape　and　form
  a　world　where　there　are　no　limitationsthat　is；　a　world　where　there
  are　no　outlines；　that　is；　a　world　where　there　are　no　shapes。
  There　is　nothing　baser　than　that　infinity。　　They　say　they　wish　to　be；
  as　strong　as　the　universe；　but　they　really　wish　the　whole　universe
  as　weak　as　themselves。
  XV　On　Smart　Novelists　and　the　Smart　Set
  In　one　sense；　at　any　rate；　it　is　more　valuable　to　read　bad　literature
  than　good　literature。　　Good　literature　may　tell　us　the　mind
  of　one　man；　but　bad　literature　may　tell　us　the　mind　of　many　men。
  A　good　novel　tells　us　the　truth　about　its　hero；　but　a　bad　novel
  tells　us　the　truth　about　its　author。　　It　does　much　more　than　that；
  it　tells　us　the　truth　about　its　readers；　and；　oddly　enough；
  it　tells　us　this　all　the　more　the　more　cynical　and　immoral
  be　the　motive　of　its　manufacture。　　The　more　dishonest　a　book
  is　as　a　book　the　more　honest　it　is　as　a　public　document。
  A　sincere　novel　exhibits　the　simplicity　of　one　particular　man；
  an　insincere　novel　exhibits　the　simplicity　of　mankind。
  The　pedantic　decisions　and　definable　readjustments　of　man
  may　be　found　in　scrolls　and　statute　books　and　scriptures；
  but　men's　basic　assumptions　and　everlasting　energies　are　to　be
  found　in　penny　dreadfuls　and　halfpenny　novelettes。　　Thus　a　man；
  like　many　men　of　real　culture　in　our　day；　might　learn　from　good
  literature　nothing　except　the　power　to　appreciate　good　literature。
  But　from　bad　literature　he　might　learn　to　govern　empires　and　look
  over　the　map　of　mankind。
  There　is　one　rather　interesting　example　of　this　state　of　things
  in　which　the　weaker　literature　is　really　the　stronger　and　the　stronger
  the　weaker。　　It　is　the　case　of　what　may　be　called；　for　the　sake
  of　an　approximate　description；　the　literature　of　aristocracy；
  or；　if　you　prefer　the　description；　the　literature　of　snobbishness。
  Now　if　any　one　wishes　to　find　a　really　effective　and　comprehensible
  and　permanent　case　for　aristocracy　well　and　sincerely　stated；
  let　him　read；　not　the　modern　philosophical　conservatives；
  not　even　Nietzsche；　let　him　read　the　Bow　Bells　Novelettes。
  Of　the　case　of　Nietzsche　I　am　confessedly　more　doubtful。
  Nietzsche　and　the　Bow　Bells　Novelettes　have　both　obviously
  the　same　fundamental　character；　they　both　worship　the　tall　man
  with　curling　moustaches　and　herculean　bodily　power；　and　they　both
  worship　him　in　a　manner　which　is　somewhat　feminine　and　hysterical。
  Even　here；　however；　the　Novelette　easily　maintains　its
  philosophical　superiority；　because　it　does　attribute　to　the　strong
  man　those　virtues　which　do　commonly　belong　to　him；　such　virtues
  as　laziness　and　kindliness　and　a　rather　reckless　benevolence；
  and　a　great　dislike　of　hurting　the　weak。　　Nietzsche；　on　the　other　hand；
  attributes　to　the　strong　man　that　scorn　against　weakness　which
  only　exists　among　invalids。　　It　is　not；　however；　of　the　secondary
  merits　of　the　great　German　philosopher；　but　of　the　primary　merits
  of　the　Bow　Bells　Novelettes；　that　it　is　my　present　affair　to　speak。
  The　picture　of　aristocracy　in　the　popular　sentimental　novelette　seems
  to　me　very　satisfactory　as　a　permanent　political　and　philosophical　guide。
  It　may　be　inaccurate　about　details　such　as　the　title　by　which　a　baronet
  is　addressed　or　the　width　of　a　mountain　chasm　which　a　baronet　can
  conveniently　leap；　but　it　is　not　a　bad　description　of　the　general
  idea　and　intention　of　aristocracy　as　they　exist　in　human　affairs。
  The　essential　dream　of　aristocracy　is　magnificence　and　valour；
  and　if　the　Family　Herald　Supplement　sometimes　distorts　or　exaggerates
  these　things；　at　least；　it　does　not　fall　short　in　them。
  It　never　errs　by　making　the　mountain　chasm　too　narrow　or　the　title
  of　the　baronet　insufficiently　impressive。　　But　above　this
  sane　reliable　old　literature　of　snobbishness　there　has　arisen
  in　our　time　another　kind　of　literature　of　snobbishness　which；
  with　its　much　higher　pretensions；　seems　to　me　worthy　of　very　much
  less　respect。　　Incidentally　（if　that　matters）；　it　is　much
  better　literature。　　But　it　is　immeasurably　worse　philosophy；
  immeasurably　worse　ethics　and　politics；　immeasurably　worse　vital
  render