00 francs (L6,000) to write them a
serio-comic story. _Tartarin_, which obtained an instant popularity,
proved the author's versatility, but won him the hatred of the good
people of Provence, who have never forgiven him for having made fun of
their foibles. On one occasion a bagman, passing through Tarascon, put,
by way of a jest, the name "Alphonse Daudet" in his hotel register. The
news quickly spread, and had it not been for the prompt help of the
innkeeper, who managed to smuggle him out of the town, he might easily
have had cause to regret his foolish joke.

Judging by sales, _Sapho_ has been the most popular of Daudet's novels,
for over a quarter of a million copies have been sold. Like most of his
stories, its appearance provoked a great deal of discussion, as did the
author's dedication "To my two sons at the age of twenty." But, in
answer to his critics, Daudet always replies, "I wrote the book with a
purpose, and I have succeeded in painting the picture as I wished it to
appear. Each of the types mentioned by me really existed; each incident
was copied from life...."

The year following its publication M. Daudet dramatised _Sapho_, and the
play was acted with considerable success at the Gymnase, Jane Hading
being in the _title-role_. Last year the play was again acted in Paris,
with Madame Rejane as the heroine.

[Illustration: DAUDET'S YOUNGER SON.]

M. Daudet, like most novelists, takes a special interest in all that
concerns dramatic art and the theatre. When his health permits it he is
a persistent first-nighter, and most of his novels lend themselves in a
rare degree to stage adaptation.

I once asked him what he thought of the attempts now so frequently made
to introduce unconventionality and naked realism on the stage.

"I have every sympathy," he replied, "with the attempts made by Antoine
and his Theatre Libre to discover strong and unconventional work. But I
do not believe in the new terms which a certain school have invented for
everything; after all, the play's the thing, whether it is produced by a
group who dub themselves romantics, realists, old or new style. Realism
is not necessarily real life; a photograph only gives a rigid, neutral
side of the object placed in front of the camera. A dissection of what
we call affection does not give so vivid an impression of the
master-passion as a true love-sonnet written by a poet. Life is a thing
of infinite gradations; a dramatist wishes to show e