THE STORY OF A STORY

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 109, 11 May 1939, Page 26

THE STORY OF A STORY

BY J. O'BRIEN!

SHORT STORY

fjrUJF.RT VASSTXfiF.n wrote hi*, I* first linok of poems when lie wae •23. He lint) tho puciiH [irintcd at liis own i'.\|U'ii.sc. and liis frifixls. mi id tli(>\ Wiic —well, they read tlicin ;uul they siiiil. "I read your jioem*, old boy. T must s:iy they knocked inc. Absolutely inc. if you know what I mean. \ can never understand how you fellows write poetry. Where do you jjet the. ideas and the—(lie word.-; and so on. Jfow vmi can do it heats me."' Thus spake the friendly critics, to whom Iliilheit had -riveli free inscribed copies and who knew as much about poetry (und matters akin) as a group of well-disposed ostriches. Hut to Hulliert their word* were ax fuel to the file of liis belief in himself und, though the public I'rcss made no more allusion to his "I'lirpl.' Twilight" than if it had been written on bark leaves by a lone I v ravage in flic heart of darkest Africa, he applied himsHf with trpinbling enthusiasm t,, n volume entitled, "Summer Raindrop*." When "SniniiKT T?aindro|»" blinded the public eye. llulbert (who liml.il little luoiwy left him by an aunt) verv imprudently threw up his job in a lawyer's ollice and decided to consecrate" liis entire energies to the art of letters. A few years « : f writing for the laurels evergreen, thai would rank him among the immortal songsters, drove him to tlu> conclusion that his gciiiu* was probahly for fiction-writing'rather than poesy. Kven the faithful few who nad hailed liiß "Vurpli" Twilight." in the favourable mat r I have described above, when questioned on "Slimmer llaindrops" shook their heads dumbly, in a manner which might have meant silent admiration or silent indigestion. Ifilllx'rt brought to liis first novel that nirwt valuable .piality in tl xecntion of the literary art —enthusiasm. When lie had linUhed it he read it through and culild find no Haw in it. Tliero remained a detail to have it printed. The first «»ix publishers to whom he submitted "In the Soul , * Deeps," sent it back to him with practically no comment, not even on the weather. The seventh, however, wrote him a long letter. Hulbert thrilled as he read the letter and tasted again the joys that had followed on the appearance of "Purple Twilight." This publisher said "In the Soul's Deep*" was a work of art, one of those superfine works of elemental power, gossamer delicacy, psychology, drama and human interest. After rhapsodising over it, like an archaeologist gloating over the discovery of a t>ooo-year-old mummy, the publisher went on to discuss the conditions in the publishing trade.

Hulbert read with sympathetic interest (for he had taken an immediate liking to thin publisher) that there were such thing* in the publishing business known as risks, and especially was this foul snag associated with new and -unknown novelist* even when their work was the flower of immortal genius. In Irriof, the publisher, in view of the excellence of "In the Soul's Deeps." wok Willing, nay eager, to publish it on receipt of a certain sum from Hulbert to cover some sort of risk or other, though there wim no doubt the book would make a fortune. The sum demanded took about all the money Hulhert had left, but he paid it willingly, for had he not the publisher's word that a fortune was coming later on. as sure as the gasmanVi bill? "In the Soul's Deeps" duly appeared , , but If illicit and that publisher seemed, to be the only two great minds capable of appreciating its true worth. The sales were practically nil. and after about ten months of waiting for a cheque from the publisher, the author was desperately hunting for a job when something remarkable happened. The landlady of his boarding house. announced one day that a gentleman wished to see him. The gentleman was A etont, pale-faced Italian, and though opulently dressed and wearing an expennive ring on his finger, there was something about him that suggested to Hulbert Vassinger the literary man. "Mr. Vassinger?" he asked, speaking in English with an accent. "Yes," stammered Hnlbert, embarraseed at the contrast between his. out-of-elbowa velvet jacket and the su|>erior gent's suiting which had swum into his humble abode. "Sit down, won't you?" He pushed forward one of the dilapidated Iftth century curios that his landlady called cushion chairs. "You are the author of 'Tn the Soul's Deeps, , Mr. Vas*inger?" demanded the visitor. "Yea," replied Hulbert. wondering if he was going to be arrested for it. "Well," continued his visitor, "I happened to be in London on a visit and I read your book, and I congratulate you on it." "You bought it?" asked Hulbert, astounded, and wondering what had become of his royalties for this sale. "Not exactly. I came across ft in my hotel here, in the lounge. I live in Home, Mr. Vaß»inger, and I am an author myself. I am, ae you will perceive by my name, an Italian"—Hulbert glanced again at the card his landlady had brought up and read again the

name "Ouiseppe Bardola"—"and what ' I have conic to tell you is this: I don't ! know what success your novel has had country, nor'do I wish to know c "Oh. quite flattering, T am pleased to say." interrupted Hullicvt, lying and recovering liirnself. "I congratulate you; it deserves it. Whet I am sure (if is that it would have an enormous success in Italy, and 1 should like your permission to translate it." Tfulliert took a dizzy pace or two across the room. "You mean you want to translate 'In the S(»ul'« Deeps" into Italian?' , "On very advantageous terms for you. It will have a phenomenal sucSijrnor Bardola departed with full permission to translate "in the Soul's Deeps,'" and Illllhert related the object of his visit to his puzzled and sceptical landlady. Here at last was fame, jjlory, renown! He went out to «i library to see if he could lind out anything aliout the literary staiulinu of (iuiseppe Jsardola. 'I'lie work of Sijjnor Bardola appeaird in due course, and. in Italian, was entitled "Fiery Sands." Iliilliert received a few copies, und noted that '"Fiery SaixU" was "by (iuiseppe l>ardola," and. in very small print, "after the novel 'In the Soul's Deeps.' by Iliilliert ViiMsin<jer." Me sought out a friend who read Italian, gave him -the book, and, afterwords, disked him to tell him the story. When lii« linguistic friend had finished. Hulbcrt said: "Is tliat the story of the book J <rave you? You're not mixing it up with sonic other book? ,, "'Hint's the. story of 'Fiery Sands' in Italian, and a pretty good yarn. too. Hut yon ought to know it when it's a translation of your story. Of course, T haven't read 'In the Soul'n Deeps' yet—" the friend hesitated. "You can buy a copy for four]x>nce now," said Hiilbert bitterly. "I saw it on sale for that price to-day." He sat thinking. "Sα that's the translation of my novel, in Italian. Well, well!" He received one small cheque from Italy find then discovered that he had signed a- '"cooked" contract regarding his author's lights and could claim no more on sales. Still, the transaction had given him a certain prestige with his publisher in London, who offered him a job to keep him from perishing of starvation. In Italy "Fiery Sands" was the success Mr. liardoia had predicted, and when the .American dramatist. Homer 1\ Claster. visited Koine, on his annual trip to Kiirope. he read the book. An accomplished linguist. Mr. Cluster read Italian like English, nnd when he had finished the novel he sat for a long time considering, as was natural with him, its possibilities for dramatisation. "It is quite in my stvle," lie murmured thoughtfully. '".Just the sort of idea I would have had—but would have handled differently, of course, using a different medium! furious." Mr. Claster did not call upon Signor Bardola in Home. Instead, he re-read "Fiery Sands" again and again. He took a copy with him back to America and a year later his three-act play, '"Hie Withered Peace," was produced with Hcnsational success in !New York. Certainly had Mr. Bardola, of "Fiery Sends" fame, witnessed Mr. ClasterV "The Withered Pen I'll." , twilight glimmerings of the recognition of an old familiar friend would have penetrated to his understanding every now and then during the entire three acts, hut then he didn't see it and could have done nothing if he '-ad. There was oiicj man who did svi- "The Withered Peach," however, and that w«is Monsieur fiuwtave Bonsquet, and he was present the flirt night. Nobody was watching Monsieur Bousquet's movements, or they would have noticed that he was present the first five nights at that play, every faculty alert and' thinking deeply .... Some short time later. M. Bousquet, who was on a visit to New York from Paris, where he produced motion pictures, sailed for his native land, and some months later produced a picture in Vincennes entitled (in French, of course) "Bleeding Hearts." Mr. Claster, of New York, did not see it, but the picture company for which Monsieur Bouequet worked made a fortune out of it. All this time Hulhert Vaseinger was doing all sorts of jobs in the office of the publisher who had taken his last money to produce "In the Soul's Deeps." One. morning the publisher came to him and said: "Vassinger, I've got a job for you— a job nfter your heart. You have a chance to make nome money, too. I linve just come back froni Paris—l was over seeing some Frenchmen in the trade about, my idea of publishing in book form, in Knglish, foreign scena-< rios. Xow here's one that in a over there; I saw the picture myself and it's a. wow—'Coeurs Saignnnt«' 'Bleeding Hearts.' in Knglish, though we II probably change the title. I've secured the scenario; here it is, and I want yon to write a book from it. There's a hundred pounds down for yon when you've finished, and if it goes as I think it will, we'll fix llp some basis of royalties." Delighted. Hulbert set to work. When he was half-wny through the publisher read his manuscript. "Oreat stuff." he pronounced. "Just the ticket. Vassinger. What do you think of the scenario, by the way?" "Oh, that tripe," replied Hulbert. However 1 m doing my l, eß t with the book while sticking to the scenario. Its not easy. "I thought the scenario first rate" said the publisher. "However, vour IZ^rT 1 - «<r He pa " spd ' coneide'rinir contentedly. "I tell you what, Vns" smger We'll label it 'Bleeding Hearts' (or whatever title we choose) adapted from the French film 'Coeurs Sainantn into novel form by Hulbert Vas--3' r ' n V]ehr , att ' d a »thor of 'In the Souls Deeps.' How's that?" bnrf fl C° Od /°"'" Inu ™"red Hulbeit, flushing with pleasure. The adaptation was a huge success and Hu.bert knew fame and %rtune at last Unfortunately, he has become uppish with success. oecome THE ENTD.