![]() ![]() It was like the confession of a wasted life, the sigh of an old man of what can never be recalled. It was in the cool withdrawing-room of the Société Industrielle at Amiens that the master said these words, and I shall never forget the tone of sadness in which he said them. Yes, Jules Verne, the Jules Verne, your Jules Verne and mine, who has delighted us all the world over for so many years, and who will delight the world for generations and generations to come. Who was it who spoke thus, with drooping head, and with a ring of sadness in his cheerful voice? Some writer of cheap but popular feuilletons for the halfpenny press, some man of letters who has never made a scruple of stating that he looks upon his pen as a money-getting implement, and who has always preferred to glory and honor a large account at the cash office of the Society of French Men of Letters? No strange, monstrous, as it will appear, it was none other than Jules Verne. “ Je ne compte pas dans la littérature française,” he repeated. Jules Verne, date unknown, photograph by Félix Nadar ![]() EIL 4.3 Spenser, Gawain, and Arthurian Context. ![]()
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