OVERLOOKED
By
MAURICE BARING
London: William Heinemann
1922
To
M.A.T
OVERLOOKED
PART I
THE PAPERS OF ANTHONY KAY
CHAPTER I
When my old friend and trusted adviser, Doctor Kennaway, told me thatI must go to Haréville and stay there a month or, still better, twomonths, I asked him what I could possibly do there. The only possiblepastime at a watering-place is to watch. A blind man is debarred fromthat pastime.
He said to me: "Why don't you write a novel?"
I said that I had never written anything in my life. He then said thata famous editor, of the Figaro, I think, had once said that everyman had one newspaper article in him. Novel could be substituted fornewspaper article. I objected that, although I found writing on mytypewriter a soothing occupation, I had always been given to understandby authors that correcting proofs was the only real fun in writing abook. I was debarred from that. We talked of other things and I thoughtno more about this till after I had been at Haréville a week.
When I arrived there, although the season had scarcely begun, I madeacquaintances more rapidly than I had expected, and most of my time wastaken up in idle conversation.
After I had been drinking the waters for a week, I made the acquaintanceof James Rudd, the novelist. I had never met him before. I have, indeed,rarely met a novelist. When I have done so they have either been elderlyladies who specialized in the life of the Quartier-Latin, or countrygentlemen who kept out all romance from their general conversation,which they confined to the crops and the misdeeds of the Government.
James Rudd did not certainly belong to either of these categories. Hewas passionately interested in his own business. He did not seem inthe least inclined to talk about anything else. He took for granted Ihad read all his works. I think he supposed that even the blind couldhardly have failed to do that. Some of his works have been read tome. I did not like to put it in this way, lest he should think I wascalling attention to the absence of his books in the series which havebeen transcribed in the Braille language. But he was evidently satisfiedthat I knew his work. I enjoyed the books of his which were read to me,but then, I enjoy any novel. I did not tell him that. I let him takefor granted that I had taken for granted all there was to be taken forgranted. I imagine him to wear a faded Venetian-red tie, a low collar,and loose blue clothes (I shall find out whether this is true later), tobe a non-smoker—I am, in fact, sure of that—a practical teetotaler,not without a nice discrimination based on the imagination rather thanon experience, of French vintage wines, and a fine appreciation of allthe arts. He is certainly not young, and I think rather weary, but stillpassionately interested in the only thing which he thinks worthy of anyinterest. I found him an entertaining companion, easy and stimulating.He had been sent to Haréville by Kennaway, which gave us a link.Kennaway had told him to leave off writing novels for five weeks if hepossibly could. He was finding it difficult. He told me he was longingto write, but could think of no subject.
I suggested to him that he should write a novel about the people atHaréville. I said I could introduce him to three ladies and that theycould form the nucleus of the story. He was delighted with the idea,and that same evening I introduced him to Princess Kouragine, who isnot, as her name sounds, a Russian, but a French lady, née Robert, whomarried a Prince Serge Kouragine. He died some years ago. She is a ladyof so much sense, and so ripe in wisdom