(modern French and ancient English writers) it was not about their
writings that we talked, but about the something kindling in them,
which never got expressed. His theory of writing was this:--"No
good writer can ever be translated." He used to quote triumphantly
from Shakespeare's 130th. Sonnet.

"As any she belied with false compare."

"How would you put that into French ?" he asked.

He never talked about himself. He often talked of his affairs, his
money, his little room in Paris, his meetings with odd characters,
etc., but never of himself. He had wandered over a lot of Europe.
He was silent about all that.

Very rarely, and then by chance, when telling of the life in Aran,
or of some strange man in the train or in the steamer, he revealed
little things about himself:--

"They asked me to fiddle to them, so that they might dance."

"Do you play, then?"

"I fiddle a little. I try to learn something different for them
every time. The last time I learned to do conjuring tricks. They'd
get tired of me if I didn't bring something new. I'm thinking of
learning the penny whistle before I go again."

I never heard him mention his early life nor what he endured in
his struggles to find a form. I believe he never spoke about his