* * * * Anything about that extraordinary genius Pierre
Loti, who told the French Academy in his inaugural address that he never read, and who yet wrote passages that contain the quintessence of domestic grief,' as in Tante Claire, the most intimate descriptions ever written of the North Atlantic, as in Picheurs d'Islande, and some of the most delicate and most brutal love stories ever imagined, is always interesting, for the lover of Aziade will surely be numbered amongst the immortals. When he was old, Loti painted his face and wore high-heeled shoes, but a noble and fiery heart beat within his corsetted breast. Pierre Loti, by E. B. d'Auvergne (Werner Laurie, 16s.), is in some ways a curious book, with too much intrusion on the author's part for a good biography. Yet we forgive Mr. d'Auvergne readily enough because of his just and kind summing-up of his hero's character.
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