People Talked About

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue II, 9 January 1904, Page 2

People Talked About

Jules Verne. There are probably few men under the age of fifty who have not a warm corner in their memory for the French writer to whose magic pen they owed so many thrilling hours of boyhood; and it was with no little anticipatory delight, when I was spending a few days in drowsy Amiens, writes the Paris correspondent of a London journal, apropos of the rumours of the novelist’s blind ness. that I was promised by a mutual friend a peep at M. Jules Verne and the home where he weaves his spells for boys the whole world over. As we were ushered into the courtyard of No. 1 Rue Lharles Dubois one delicious afternoon recently, ami T caught my first glimpse of the quaint, picturesque house, crowned by its round tower, and flanking two sides of the little quadrangle, I began to understand how it was that Jules Verne could dream such wonderful drcams: for the very atmosphere with its peacefulness and its silence, broken only by the distant, happy shouts of children at play, began to cast its spell over me. Through a large conservatory, green and cool with towering palms and bright with many-coloured blossoms, we were ushered by the pleasant - faced bonne into a lovely salon, through the open windows of which I saw a vista of velvety green lawns and brilliant flowerbeds. and, most fascinating sight of all. our hero surrounded by a group of clam orous children, evidently inviting him to join them in their romps. A moment later, however, he had torn himself away with a laugh and was greeting us in the salon, with true, old-world French courtesy. The Jules Verne 1 saw was by no means the Jules Verne T had mentally pictured: but he was. if possible, more attractive and charming. Picture a fairly stout, white-haired and bearded man. with dark, restless. humorous eyes, full of kindness; a suit of black.

only relieved by the red button of the Legion of Honour, and throwing into relief his grand head and the silver of his hair—and you have a fairly life-like picture of the genial host who bade us welcome, and inundated me with polite inquiries as to my stay in Amiens. Like so many great men. however. M. Verne

is unconquerably modest, and will talk of anything in* the world but himself and his work; and if we had not been joined by his charming wife, who has been his loyal helpmate for more than half a century, I fear I should have come away little wiser than when I went. “Von must come and see my husband’s study,” this delightful old lady insisted, and we gladly followed her through the conservatory and up a winding staircase, until Mme. Verne threw open the door of a tiny chamber. ‘‘This,” she said, “is where my husband does all his writing—his ‘den’ I call it. for while he is shut up here he is as inaccessible as the Llama of Thibet”—this with a playful and proud glance at her husband. The room was characteristic of the man. for it was. evidently a room to work and not to play in. In front of the window, looking out towards the beautiful cathedral of Amiens, were a couple of tables before which stood a capacious armchair. Behind the chair was a simple, narrow iron bedstead, and around the walls were a few pictures, and busts of Shakespeare and Moliere. “Winter and summer,’ Madame continued, “my husband is at his desk at five o’clock in the morning; and from that hour until eleven he works away, without pausing, at his writing and his proofs. And this he has done for more years than 1 like to remember, haven’t you. Jules?” The author modestly assented, and was kind enough, now that the ice had been broken, to explain his methods of work. “Writing is not the easy thing with me it is with some authors.” he said. “I really don’t know how many times I re-write my stories; but quite half a dozen times. I plan a story first of all completely in my head, then I map out the different chapters, and prepare my first rough draft in pencil, leaving a wide margin for corrections. When these are made, I write it all out again in ink and .send my MS. to the printer. At this stage my real work begins, for as the proofs come in I revise and add and strike out, often re-writing a whole chapter, until by the time I have finished my last proof there is scarcely a word remaining as it was in the original draft.” “And y,et. Monsieur.” I said, “you produce two complete books a

year?” “Oh, yes,” he answered with a laugh, “I always manage that, somehow, and I generally have four or five stories in hand. I am now writing a story which won’t be wanted until 1905. But come and see my library;” and we were ushered into a large room lined with thousands of volumes in serried ranks, and ranging from the classics of Rome and Greece, and volumes on scientific and antiquarian subjects, to the latest French novel and the last volume of poor G. A. Henty. “Yes,” he said in answer to my remark that many of his books were English, “I love youi English authors, and in fact everything English. Dickens I have always revelled in; he is my hero; and your boys’ books by Fenimore Cooper, Marryat, Stevenson, Henty, and others, 1 read with the utmost pleasure. I think, though, my favourite among all stories is the ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ which I have read a score of times with fresh delight. But surely this is enough about books and myself; come into the garden and let me introduce you ro my little friends. 1 warrant they will entertain you more than I can.” And, indeed, the most abiding picture of a charming visit was that of this most youthful of patriarchs playing hide-and-seek behind the shrubs and bushes, with the ringing laughter and keen enjoyment of a boy of ten. + -fr * Lion Hunting. A young Aucklander, William George Whittington, son of Mrs Whittington, of Hargreaves-street, Auckland, has had a rather adventurous and peculiar experience in South Africa. He was a volunteer - in the New Zealand Fifth Contingent, and after the war he fell upon very bad times, and his money running out, he went up north hunting for lions and leopards with Captain Adam McAdams. They had the luck to kill two full grown lions and some leopards, and then encountered a lion and lioness with three cubs. Whittington got two of the cubs and his mate one, with which they succeeded in reaching Bulawayo. They sold the cubs for £ GO, much less than could have been obtained at Johannesburg or the Cape, but the risk of losing them from some of the prevalent animal epidemics induced the captors to make the best bargain they could, and not take any further risk. Whittington says in his letter: “I came here, hearing such a lot about Johannesburg, bat 1 am sorry now. There are thousands out of work here, many starving, and eager to get away, and every place from Salisbury to Capetown is the same.” + + + The Roxbnrghe Wedding. Curiosity in the Duke of Roxburghe and his young American wife has not been confined to the place whence so many sensations come. Vulgar curiosity dogs their steps with a most em-

barrassing persistency, as witness the following account of their trip to Paris: “In some respects the journey from Cherbourg to Paris was the most remarkable feature of their trip from New York. The privacy which was rigidly maintained <fh board the Kaiser Wilhelm 11. had to be abandoned, and the overwhelming curiosity of their fellowpassengers, especially the women, who had hungered for five days for a good look at the Duchess and her toilette, was at last satisfied. "The Duke and Duchess were among the last to leave the Kaiser Wilhelm 11. They went immediately to the saloon of the tender, where the Duke secured two corner seats. As soon as their whereabouts became known the other passengers flocked to the saloon. A number of women sat down directly opposite the Duchess, and carefully scanned her gown. Two of them audibly speculated as to the probable cost of the magnificent set of sables and ermine that she wore. '•'This scene was watched by the Duke with undisguised annoyance, but the I fuchess was not at all disconcerted. She chatted laughingly with her husband, and when the stare of the passengers at last became too impertinent she deliberately dropped her veil. The veil was of exquisite lace, and it caused as much interest as had her furs. "The Duke and Duchess were the last passengers ashore. They lingered for some time in the Customs shed, but as the business of opening luggage was quickly suspended when their presence became known, they passed to their compartment in the sleeping-car train. Then it became known that the Duke u Duchess would eat their dinner in the ordinary dining saloon, instead of having it privately served, and there was a wild scramble for the first dinner series. “One German-American lady who was booked for the second series offered to buy the seat of a fellow countrywoman who was fortunate enough to be placed near the Duke and Duchess, but the latter declined to part with the privilege. “The place of vantage, a corner seat at the table directly opposite the bridal couple, was secured by a Philadelphia politician. Throughout the meal he watched them eat with sympathetic interest. The apartment held 22 passengers besides the Duke and Duehess, and fully one-half of them paid more attention to the pair than to their own appetites. "Several Americans sitting with their backs to the Duke and Duehess did not hesitate to turn round every other minute. and as the train unexpectedly slowed up on one occasion, a woman’s voice asked shrilly, “What is she eating now?” The Duchess went through the ordeal with good humour and unconcern. but the Duke did not apparently share her feelings. "When they left the table souvenirs were in great demand. A rich brewer from one of the Western States secured the Duehess’ menu card, and one woman was unite aggrieved because she could

not purchase From the dining-room attendant a silver fish knife used by the Duchess. When the train reached the Gare St. Lazare some passengers lingered on the platform, despite the lateness of the hour, to gel a farewell glimpse of the couple. “They remained, however, in their compartment with drawn blind until the intruders had left the station, and were then driven rapidly to the’ Ritz Hotel, where a suite of rooms on the first floor, overlooking the Place Vendome, had been reserved. They remained in their rooms until dinner time, lunch being served privately. “A statement having been published that the Ductless intended to buy a large amount of jewellery before leaving Paris, including some magnificent pearls now on the market, a shoal of agents appeared at the hotel. There were likewise many persons desirous of selling the Duke motor-cars and other articles, but the Duke did not even know that they had called.” ’i' T Mr. Lewis Waller. Mr. Lewis Waller, the well-known English actor. is the ideal hero of romance, the hero splendid, who pays the penalty of stage popularity by being pestered by silly women, to his own infinite discomfort. He was born in the Basque provinces of Spain, and there is in his veins, eminently British though he seems, a touch of Jewish blood that has probably been of no small effect in the constitution of the actor’s temperament. Give him a trusty sword and mediaeval surroundings and you would swear that he would cut his way through all odds to his goal and the end of the fifth act. He does it all so naturally, and that is what makes his rendering of such parts the perfect thing it is. In private life Mr. Waller has a good deal of the strenuous character, which is associated with him on the stage. He

is, for example, an ardent motorist, who loves the excitement of a fast run on a dark night, and his early motoring days were starred by adventures of quite a thrilling order. One of his tirst feats was to attempt a ninety miles spin to Dover, which he expected to reach at lunch time. He turned up at 2.30 the following morning, and. be sides innumerable breakdowns, recorded weird experiences on a trackless bog, and a narrow escape from being eaten by bull-dogs. Nowadays, having bought his experience, a stray summons or two provides all the excitement he needs. At a certain news agent's in a particular suburb of London there is a larger demand for Mr. Lewis Waller (on the theatrical postcards which are having such a vogue just now) than for any other player, male or female. He is preferred in the picturesque costume of Monsieur Beaucaire, but when the news agent has run out of the Imperial romantic actor in this disguise,enthusiastic customers can always be persuaded to buy him as he appears standing majestically behind a bold sporting waistcoat known as a "Tattersail,” for which order of garment Mr. Lewis Waller, who loves a country life (having to lead a town one), entertains an unmistakable regard. Air. Lewis Waller should follow the example set by Miss Marie Tempest, and make his admirers pay a small fee for his signature, for the benefit of the Actors’ Benevolent Fund. At Brighton recently Miss Tempest had no less than 50 requests for her autograph, and in complying with all of them, did so only on condition that the transactions should not be of the "something for nothing" kind. In this way the popular heroine of "Tlie Marriage of Kitty" was able to make the Actors’ Benevolent Fund the richer by a substantial sum of money, a pretty fan, a tablecloth and some books. If all actors ami actresses were to do as Miss Marie Tempest does while the fashion for autograph portrait post-cards lasts, the Actors’ Benevolent Fund would, in all probability, become one of the richest charity organisations in the world. And when, in consequence, it was summertime once again for the distressed of the profession, there would be no lack of fans for tempering Hie unaccustomed sunshine, no dearth of tablecloths for the improved supply of food, and no need for a Carnegie library. ♦ * + Mr. Carnegie’s Hobby. People have suggested that Mr Carnegie’s hobby is the distribution of free libraries all over the country, but this is not so. In his younger days, when he was principally occupied in making money, Mr Carnegie had but one hobby, he occasionally took a day of! and went fishing. Since then he has always been an enthusiastic angler, and recently Inbas had salmon and trout hatcheries built on the banks of the Eveleeks, about three miles from Skibo. Air Car negie is so fond of the sport that he has taught his little daughter to use a rod and line.