THE DISCOVERY OF LONDON.
Interviewer. As a keen student of your fascinating works, permit me to render to you my respectful homage.
Distinguished Foreigner in London. Certainly. I observe that you speak the French of the capital with fluency.
Int. You flatter me. I am only an ordinary journalist. Possibly you prefer to converse in our local language?
D. F. On the contrary, I have only recently acquired the English word, "Yes." Curiously enough, this is my first voyage of discovery to your shores. I had, of course, often heard of England, and your literature is not unfamiliar to me. My secretary reads to me the works of your popular poet, Robert Browning.
Int. Do you not, with your—er—limited knowledge, if I may so say, of our language, find that writer's meaning somewhat obscure?
D. F. Oh no; for my secretary translates him into idiomatic French verse at sight.
Int. M. Zola has also only recently discovered us. How do your novelists find the necessary models for their English types?
D. F. Nothing simpler. Tradition, voilà tout. The Englishwoman, with her large feet, projecting teeth, and execrable French—we know her because we have always known her. It is not necessary to have seen her in the flesh. Indeed, it is only a marvel to me that I find the type so rare in its own country.