more, and shortly after nine he
was at his table in a small room overlooking the garden of the house he
had rented. And there he remained regularly, hard at work, until the
luncheon hour, covering sheet after sheet of quarto paper with serried
lines of his firm, characteristic handwriting.

M. Zola has retained possession of the MSS. of almost every work written
by him, and I know that these MSS. often differ largely from the books
actually given to the world. The 'copy' is not only extremely clear, but
remarkably free from erasures and interpolations. But when his first
proofs reach him M. Zola revises them with the greatest care. He will
strike out whole passages in the most drastic manner, and alter others
until they are almost unrecognisable.

He will even at the last moment change some character's name, and I know
all the inconvenience that arises on certain occasions from having had to
prepare portions of my translations from first proofs, through lack of
time to wait for the corrected matter.

This was notably the case with my version of 'Paris.' While that work was
passing through the Press M. Zola was already in all the throes of the
Dreyfus affair, and somehow, as he has acknowledged to me with regret, he
forgot to tell me that at the last moment he had changed the names of
several personages in the story. Thus Duthil (as originally written and
given in my translation) became Dutheil in the French book; Sagnier was
changed to Sanier; the Princess de Horn was renamed Harn and finally
Harth, and young Lord George Eliott became Elson.

Of course some of the reviewers of my translations attacked me virulently
for my unwarrantable presumption in changing the very names of M. Zola's
characters; they were unaware that the names given by me were those first
selected by the author, who had afterwards altered them and forgotten to
tell me of it.

Coming back to 'Fecondite,' I should say that M. Zola wrote an average of
three pages per day of that book during his exile in England. Work ceased
at the luncheon hour, as I have said, and consequently he could dispose
of his afternoons.

But it will be remembered that the summer of 1898 was exceptionally hot,
so hot indeed that M. Zola, though many years of his childhood were spent
under the scorching sun of Provence, found a siesta absolutely necessary
after the midday meal. It was only later that he ventured out on foot or
on his bicycle, often taking his hand camera