a steamer once in the service of the Czars. Wherefore, also, I found the master's works in the ship's library, and could renew acquaintance with many an old favourite: "Ramuntcho," "Matelot," "Ispahan," "Les Pêcheurs d'Islande" and the "Désenchantées."
The captain told me of his visit to Rochefort, and I told him how Antoine went to the same house for final instructions upon the staging of "Ramuntcho," which, however, did not prove a success. How, indeed, could anyone think of dramatising Pierre Loti, whether in prose or verse? He gives us neither psychology nor dramatic incident. I can only suppose that Antoine permitted them to be produced—to show once for all that the thing could not be done; a hard lesson for the master!
"Among Loti's collection of priceless treasures, rifled from every corner of the East, Antoine sought in vain for somewhere to place his hat! Finally, he hooked it on to an Eastern idol, and their talk began. In a few moments, however, there was a pause, for the astonished dramatist caught sight of the offending headgear suspended, as he supposed, in mid-air. However, a closer look revealed that it was resting upon a thin stream of water. The Eastern idol was a fountain!"
The captain expressed his surprise that I should not only be so familiar with Loti's work, but that I could really know anything intimately of his private life, "seeing how the Frenchman disliked my own country."
"My dear sir," I replied, "if we are to find our friends to-day only among those who love England, we should be limited indeed. You and your charming daughter, par exemple, are you precisely admirers of the British Government?. . .
"To me, Art is first, and the rest—nowhere! I care not whether the genius first saw daylight in Paris, in New York, or in Timbuctoo. I have more friends out of England than in England. Like Kipling's cat, 'all places are alike to me.' I only ask that your land be warm; and with all peoples who do not rob me I am ready and eager to be good friends. To
