range but real worlds he has conjured up
for us in most of his works and with means that are, as with all
great artists, extremely simple. He may be compared to Kipling and
to Stevenson: to Kipling, because he has done for the French seaman
something that the Englishman has done for "Tommy Atkins," although
their methods are often more opposed than similar; like Stevenson, he
has gone searching for romance in the ends of the earth; like Stevenson,
too, he has put into all of his works a style that is never less than
dominant and often irresistible. Charm, indeed, is the one fine quality
that all his critics, whether friendly or not, acknowledge, and it is
one well able to cover, if need be, a multitude of literary sins.

Pierre Loti was elected a member of the French Academy in 1891,
succeeding to the chair of Octave Feuillet. Some of his writings are:
'Aziyade,' written in 1879; the scene is laid in Constantinople. This
was followed by 'Rarahu,' a Polynesian idyl (1880; again published under
the title Le Mariage de Loti, 1882). 'Roman d'un Spahi (1881) deals with
Algiers. Taton-gaye is a true 'bete-humaine', sunk in moral slumber or
quivering with ferocious joys. It is in this book that Loti has eclipsed
Zola. One of his masterpieces is 'Mon Freye Yves' (ocean and Brittany),
together with 'Pecheur d'Islande' (1886); both translated into German by
Elizabeth, Queen of Roumania (Carmen Sylva). In 1884 was published
'Les trois Dames de la Kasbah,' relating also to Algiers, and then
came 'Madame Chrysantheme' (1887), crowned by the Academy. 'Japoneries
d'automne' (1889), Japanese scenes; then 'Au Maroc' (Morocco; 1890).
Partly autobiographical are 'Le Roman d'un Enfant' (1890) and 'Le Livre
de la Pitie et de la Mort' (1891). Then followed 'Fantomes d'Orient
(1892), L'Exilee (1893), Le Desert (Syria; 1895), Jerusalem, La Galilee
(Palestine; 1895), Pages choisies (1896), Ramuntcho (1897), Reflets sur
la Sombre Route' (1898), and finally 'Derniers Jours de Pekin' (1903).
Many exquisite pages are to be found in Loti's work. His composition is
now and then somewhat disconnected; the impressions are vague, almost
illusory, and the mirage is a little obscure, but the intense and
abiding charm of Nature remains. Loti has not again reached the level of
Madame Chrysantheme, and English critics at least will have to suspend
their judgment for a while. In any event, he has given to the world many
great books, and is shrined with the For