.

* * * * *

It was my reference to Dostoievsky that first started her talking. In all
literary conversations Dostoievsky is my King Charles's head. She had
previously stated that she had read very little indeed. But at any rate
she had read Dostoievsky, and was well minded to share my enthusiasms.
Indeed, Dostoievsky drew her out of her arm-chair and right across the
room. We were soon discussing methods of work, and I learnt that she
worked very slowly indeed, destroying much, and feeling her way inch by
inch rather than seeing it clear ahead. She said that her second book,
dealing with her life in Paris, might not be ready for years. It was
evident that she profoundly understood the nature of work--all sorts of
work. Work had, indeed, left its honourable and fine mark upon her. She
made some very subtle observations about the psychology of it, but
unfortunately I cannot adequately report them here.... From work to
prices, naturally! It was pleasing to find that she had a very sane and
proper curiosity as to prices and conditions in England. After I had
somewhat satisfied this curiosity she showed an equally sane and proper
annoyance at the fact that the English and American rights of "Marie
Claire" had been sold outright for a ridiculous sum. She told me the exact
sum. It was either L16 or L20--I forget which.

* * * * *

When Madame Audoux had gone I reviewed my notions of her visit, and I came
to the conclusion that she was very like her book. She had said little,
and nothing that was striking, but she had mysteriously emanated an
atmosphere of artistic distinction. She was a true sensitive. She had had
immense and deep experience of life, but her adventures, often difficult,
had not disturbed the nice balance of her judgment, nor impaired the
delicacy of her impressions. She was an amateur of life. She was awake to
all aspects of it. And a calm common sense presided over her magnanimous
verdicts. She was far too wary, sagacious, and well acquainted with real
values to allow herself to be spoilt, even the least bit, by a perilous
success, however brilliant. Such were my notions. But it is not in a
single interview that one can arrive at a due estimate of a mind so
reserved, dreamy, and complex as hers. The next day she left Paris, and I
have not seen her since.

JOHN MASEFIELD

[_20 April '11_]

I opened Mr. John Masefield's novel of moder