So it was indeed, and so much so at the There is nothing like one good deed for producing others. Such generosity gave the great publishing firm of Hachette the idea of founding a prize of the same value. It takes its name from the wide-spread monthly "La Vie Heureuse," and a jury of twenty women of letters is to award it annually to the best work published by a writer of their own sex. But see how impartial Frenchwomen are! They have resolved of their own accord that men shall be allowed to compete. This, indeed, is clever as well as liberal, for the average standard of the competitions is thereby considerably raised. Besides which it gives a piquant lesson to the Goncourt Academy, which affects the most rigorous exclusion of women from its rewards. Till now the best reception women who write have met with has been at the old French Academy, some of its most important prizes having been awarded to Arvède Barine, Th. Bentzon, Daniel Lesueur, to mention chiefly those of late years. The Academy, it is true, admits women only as competitors for prizes. George Sand herself was never offered a chair, even as an honorary member. Let us recall some pretty verses the good-hearted Théophile Gautier wrote to her about this exclusion: Je vois l'Académie où vous êtes présente. Si vous m'y recevez, mon sort est le plus beau. Nous aurons, à nous deux, l'esprit de quarante Vous comme quatre et moi comme zéro. (I see the Academy wherever you are. However, if they do not put themselves forward, women have always taken an active part in the Academy elections, each literary salon having its own candidate. We may say, therefore, that though they are not Academicians, they often have the making of them, therein playing the same powerful though secret part they play in politics. We need only watch their triumphant looks when, from the places of honor in the center, they witness the sittings for the reception of their friends. But there are no seats for them either at the Palais Mazarin or the garret at Auteuil. From time to time, however, the newspapers publish the names of the forty Frenchwomen of letters who would form a very respectable academy. Grapes being not yet ripe for them, what can they do but assume of their own accord the dignity that masculine selfishness refuses to grant with a good grace? "La Vie Heureuse" ("The Happy Life"), which has such a lucky title, helped them in this matter. With the free disposal of five thousand francs to be awarded every year to the best work of the season either in prose or poetry, it gave, moreover, into their hands the right to have printed by Hachette the first manuscript from the pen of any gifted young author. What a blessing this confers when we think of the difficulties that beset the paths of beginners; but at the same time what an arduous task is the reading of such a mass of written or printed matter undertaken by women who of their own free will deny themselves the right to compete, and simply take all the trouble without any compensation! The jury formed in 1904 elected successively as president Arvède Barine (Madame Vincens), the author of that fine life-like history "La Grande Mademoiselle," and Th. Bentzen, who is best 1In 1907, Jules Renard, author of "Poil de Carotte," was elected 2 The Maternal School (the public kindergarten for working people). "H. Rosny " Drawn by André Castaigne. Half-tone plate engraved by R. Varley Octave Mirbeau Léon Daudet Lucien Descaves Gustave Geffroy A MEETING OF THE ACADÉMIE DES GONCOURT AT A RESTAURANT IN PARIS LXXVI-2 known in America under the name of Madame Thérèse Blanc. Both declined the honor, leaving it to a poet, their youthful colleague, Comtesse Mathieu de Noailles. Madame Dieulafoy, another clever writer, the partner of her husband in the excavations made in Persia, whose name is affixed to one of the halls of the Louvre, is vice-president; Madame de Broutelles, the very intelligent and amiable directress of "La Vie Heureuse," is secretary. So, at a first sitting in the Hôtel des Sociétés Savantes, with a good deal of fuss and bustle, for we Frenchwomen are not yet accustomed to public meetings, the Committee formed for one year. was After having looked over the numerous volumes sent in by the candidates, the Committee assembled at the Avenue Henri Martin in the drawing-room of the Comtesse de Noailles. It had put on a holiday look for the occasion. Ah! how far superior to their male competitors these writing women look at first sight! The green coats embroidered with palm branches, and even the carefully sheathed sword, cannot rival such dresses. That worn by the frail and graceful mistress of the house is a dream in nasturtiumcolored velvet and "style empire"; the short waist encircled with satin ribbons, the long skirt striped with rolled bands of sables and old "point d'Alençon." We see side by side the handsome Baronne de Pierrebourg, who signs Claude Ferval to the novels she writes for the "Revue des Deux Mondes" and the "Revue de Paris"; Madame Félix-Faure-Goyau, who adds to the name of her husband, himself a writer, that of her father, the former president of the Republic; Séverine, with white, powdered hair crowning her expressive countenance, which might be that of a Madame Roland or any other heroine of the French Revolution; Marni, a rival of Gyp, whose sharp and subtle wit, decidedly modern, has sparkled in the newspapers and won applause on the stage; Madame Marcelle Tinayre, looking almost like a girl, the author, however, of the most talked-about novel of the last few years, "La Maison du Péché"; Madame Alphonse Daudet, who has written exquisite books in verse and in prose, faithful mirrors of her life as wife and mother; Madame Jean Bertheroy, whose fine Greek romances show learning and wealth of imagination closely allied; another novelist, Daniel Lesueur (Madame Lapauze), who also entered her career through the lofty gate of poetry by translating Byron; Madame Georges de Peyrebrune, whose great successes, Marco" and "Victoire la Rouge," are of a much earlier date. By a piquant coincidence, the two successive wives of Catulle Mendès are both present; the first having resumed by divorce right the glorious name of her father, signs Judith Gautier to her masterly works on Chinese literature; the other is a young and pretty poet whose esthetic attire makes a sensation wherever she appears. The only celebrities wanting to the assembly were Madame Adam and Madame Gabrielle Réval, whose “Sèvriennes," a picture of the great normal school of Sèvres, met with varied appreciation, although no one denied the talent displayed therein. The votes are called; it is to be a secret ballot. The urn passes round, Madame de Noailles counts the votes and Madame Myriam Harry is elected by an overwhelming majority. She is the author of a singular, remarkable book, "The Conquest of Jerusalem," and fully understands her subject, treating it in a novel and startling way. She was born in the East, and the mingled race from which she springs has given a most peculiar bent to her mind. As a child she spoke indifferently a smattering of English, German, and Arabic; her first books were composed in German, yet she now writes admirable French. She has lately married a sculptor, Perrault, and thus belongs to the land in which chance brought her literary talents to maturity. Amid the rustle of silk and velvet, the sheen of furs and lace and plumed hats, we notice the close-cropped head of Madame Dieulafoy, with her masculine coat just enlivened with the narrow red strip of ribbon, sign of the Legion of Honor. Since her travels in Asia, where she lost the habit of wearing our irksome skirts, she dresses as a man. Some of the ladies meet here for the first time. We in France have none of the freemasonry among women of the same profession that obtains in America. No club has ever assembled us, |