the days of my life-第1部分

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《The　Days　of　My　Life　》作者：H。　Rider　Haggard　【完结】
Preface
Henry　Rider　Haggard　was　born　on　June　22；　1856；　and　died　on　May　14；　1925。　The　present　work　covers　the　first　fifty…six　years　of　his　life；　mencing　with　his　earliest　recollections　and　ending　on　September　25；　1912。　On　that　day　he　wrote　to　me：　“I　have　just　written　the　last　word　of　‘The　Days　of　My　Life；’　and　thankful　I　am　to　have　done　with　that　book。　Whenever　I　can　find　time　and　opportunity　I　wish　to　add　‘A　Note　on　Religion；’　which；　when　done；　if　ever；　I　will　send　to　you。”　This　“note”　he　sent　me　on　January　24；　1913。　By　his　wish　the　entire　MS。　was　sealed　up　and　put　away　in　Messrs。　Longman’s　safe；　and　was　seen　no　more　till　after　his　death；　when　it　was　opened　by　me　in　the　presence　of　one　of　his　executors。
Rider　Haggard　entered　on　the　serious　business　of　life　at　an　early　age。　He　sailed　for　South　Africa　in　July　1875；　when　he　was　only　just　nieen；　on　the　staff　of　Sir　Henry　Bulwer；　the　newly　appointed　Governor　of　Natal。　Eighteen　months　later　he　was　attached　to　the　special　mission　to　the　Transvaal；　led　by　Sir　Theophilus　Shepstone；　which　resulted　in　the　annexation　of　the　Transvaal　to　Great　Britain　on　April　12；　1877。　Shortly　after　the　annexation　the　Master　and　Registrar　of　the　High　Court　at　Pretoria　died；　and　Haggard　was　appointed　as　Acting　Master　when　he　was　barely　twenty…one；　an　age　at　which　his　contemporaries　in　England　were　undergraduates　at　college。　This　provisional　appointment　was　confirmed　a　year　later。
It　can　hardly　be　doubted　that　this　early　initiation　into　affairs　had　an　effect　in　moulding　Rider　Haggard’s　character；　and　that　effect　would　not　be　diminished　by　the　tragic　nature　of　the　events　which　quickly　followed；　with　which　he　was　closely　connected　—　Isandlwana；　Majuba；　and　the　Retrocession　of　the　Transvaal。
In　consequence　of　the　Retrocession　he　returned　to　England　in　the　autumn　of　1881。　His　African　career　was　ended；　he　had　a　young　wife　and　child；　and　he　still　had　his　way　to　make　in　the　world。　His　six　years　of　Africa　had；　however；　not　only　given　him　a　knowledge　of　the　world　and　a　self…reliance　rare　in　so　young　a　man；　but　had　also　enabled　him　to　acquire　an　intimate　knowledge　of　the　history　and　characteristics　of　the　Native　Races；　which　he　was　subsequently　able　to　turn　to　good　account。
From　the　circumstances　of　his　early　life　he　was　thrown　much　into　the　pany　of　men　older　than　himself；　and　he　had　a　singular　gift　of　winning　not　only　their　confidence；　but　their　love。　The　happy　relations　which　he　was　able　to　establish　with　his　superiors　in　the　Government　service　are　an　example　of　this；　and　it　was　a　faculty　which　never　left　him。
This　autobiography　deals　not　only　with　Haggard’s　life　in　South　Africa；　and　with　his　literary　career；　but　also　with　an　aspect　of　his　many　activities　which　is　less　familiar　to　those　who　knew　him　mainly　as　a　writer　of　romances。　He　was　always　dominated　by　a　strong　sense　of　duty；　and　by　an　ardent　patriotism；　and　the　direction　in　which　he　thought　that　he　could　best　serve　his　country　was　in　an　attempt　to　arrest　the　rapidly　growing　migration　of　population　from　the　country　districts　to　the　slums　of　the　towns。　He　thought　that　a　healthy；　contented；　and　prosperous　rural　population　was　the　greatest　asset　that　a　country　could　possess；　and　this　work　will　show　with　what　ardour　and　energy　he　devoted　himself　to　the　furtherance　of　this　object；　and　to　the　prosperity　of　agriculture　generally。　He　journeyed　through　twenty…seven　countries　examining　the　condition　of　agriculture；　and　published　the　results　of　this　survey　in　his　book　“Rural　England。”　This　undertaking　he　described　as　“the　heaviest　labour　of　all　my　laborious　life。”　Besides　this　he　travelled　through　the　United　States　and　to　Canada　as　a　missioner　appointed　by　the　Colonial　Office；　to　report　to　the　Secretary　of　State　on　the　Labour　Colonies　instituted　by　the　Salvation　Army。　He　also　served　on　Royal　missions　which　involved　much　labour　and　long　journeys。　If　to　give　unsparingly　of　one’s　time　and　abilities　to　the　service　of　one’s　fellow…men；　without　hope　of　reward；　is　to　be　a　philanthropist；　surely　Rider　Haggard　deserved　that　honoured　name。　But；　like　many　another　man　who　devotes　his　time　to　work　of　this　character；　he　was　much　discouraged　and　disappointed　because　his　labours　were　not　crowned　by　immediate　results。　Nevertheless；　it　is　probable　that　the　causes　for　which　he　worked　will；　in　the　long　run；　triumph；　and　the　work　which　he　gave　so　unsparingly　will　not　be　wasted。
I　undertook　the　preparation　of　this　work　for　the　press　because　my　friend；　Rider　Haggard；　wished　me　to　do　so。　I　hope　I　have　not　bungled　or　failed　in　the　execution　of　this　labour　of　love。　I　wish　especially　to　express　my　gratitude　to　Miss　Hector；　who　acted　as　Sir　Rider’s　secretary　for　thirty…four　years；　up　to　the　time　of　his　death；　for　reading　the　proofs　and　for　her　unfailing　kindness　and　help　in　many　ways。
My　thanks　are　also　due　to　various　gentlemen　for　permission　to　print　letters：　viz。　the　Father　Superior　of　Mount　Saint　Bernard’s　Abbey　for　several　letters　from　the　late　Brother　Basil；　Mr。　E。　F。　Benson　for　an　extract　from　a　letter　of　Archbishop　Benson；　the　executors　of　Sir　Walter　Besant；　Mr。　Bramwell　Booth；　General　of　the　Salvation　Army；　for　letters　from　himself　and　from　General　William　Booth；　the　Earl　of　Carnarvon　for　a　letter　from　his　grandfather；　the　Rt。　Hon。　Winston　Churchill　for　a　letter　from　himself；　and　one　from　Lady　Leslie；　Lady　Clarke　for　a　letter　from　Sir　Marshal　Clarke；　the　executors　of　Miss　Marie　Corelli；　Sir　Douglas　Dixie；　Bart。；　for　a　letter　from　the　late　Lady　Florence　Dixie；　Lady　Gwendolen　Elveden　for　one　from　the　late　Earl　of　Onslow；　Sir　Bartle　Frere　for　a　letter　from　his　father；　Sir　Edmund　Gosse；　Earl　Grey　for　letters　from　his　father；　the　Viscountess　Harcourt　for　letters　from　the　late　Viscount　Harcourt；　Mrs。　Hanbury　for　a　letter　from　the　late　Rt。　Hon。　R。　W。　Hanbury；　the　executors　of　the　late　W。　E。　Henley；　Mr。　H。　C。　L。　Holden　for　a　letter　from　Dr。　Holden；　Messrs。　Hutchinson　and　Co。；　Ltd。；　for　a　letter　from　Messrs。　Hurst　and　Blackett；　the　executors　of　the　late　Mr。　J。　Cordy　Jeaffreson；　Mr。　Rudyard　Kipling；　Chief　Justice　J。　K。　Kotze；　Mrs。　Andrew　Lang　for　many　letters　from　her　husband；　Sir　Oliver　Lodge；　the　Hon。　Mrs。　A。　Lyttleton；　the　executors　of　the　late　Sir　Melmoth　Obsorn；　Mr。　Lloyd　Osbourne　for　five　letters　and　an　unpublished　poem　by　R。　L。　Stevenson；　Messrs。　G。　Routledge　and　Sons；　Ltd。；　for　a　letter　from　Mr。　Trubner；　the　executors　of　the　late　President　Roosevelt；　Colonel　Walter　Shepstone　for　letters　from　his　father；　Sir　Theophilus　Shepstone；　Miss　Townsend　for　a　letter　from　her　father；　Mr。　Meredith　Townsend；　Mr。　Evelyn　Wrench　for　extracts　from　the　Spectator。　I　have　also　to　express　my　thanks　to　the　following　gentlemen　for　kindly　reading　and　consenting　to　the　publication　of　passages　referring　to　them：　Sir　E。　Wallis　Budge；　Major　Burnham；　The　Rt。　Hon。　D。　Lloyd　George；　and　Mr。　Thomas　Hardy；　O。M。
July　1926。　C。　J。　Longman。
Introduction
A　while　ago；　it　may　have　been　a　year　or　more；　the　telephone　in　this　house　rang　and　down　the　mysterious　wire　—　for　notwithstanding　a　thousand　explanations；　what　is　more　mysterious　than　a　telephone　wire；　except　a　telephone　without　one？　—　came　an　excited　inquiry　from　a　London　press　agency；　as　to　whether　I　were　dead。
Miss　Hector；　my　secretary；　answered　that　to　the　best　of　her　knowledge　and　belief　I　was　out　walking　on　my　farm　in　an　average　state　of　health。　Explanations　followed；　diversified　by　telegrams　from　the　Authors’　Society　and　others　interested　in　the　continuance　or　the　cessation　of　my　terrestrial　life。　From　these　it　appeared　that；　like　a　sudden　wind　upon　the　sea；　a　rumour　had　sprung　up　to　the　effect　that　I　had　vanished　from　the　world。
It　was　a　false　rumour；　but　the　day　must　e；　when　or　how　I　know　not；　since　Providence　in　its　mercy　hides　this　ultimate　issue　from　our　eyes；　on　which　it　will　be　true；　and　like　the　storm　that　I　hear　raving　outside　the　windows　as　I　write；　the　elemental　forces　which　are　about　every　one　of　us　will　sweep　me　away　as　they　brought　me　here　and　my　place　will　know　me　no　more。
Before　this　event　happens　to　me；　this　mon；　everyday　event　which　excites　so　little　surprise　even　among　those　who　knew　us　and　yet；　whatever　his　degree　or　lack　of　faith；　is　so　important　to　the　individual　concerned；　shall　overtake　me；　before　I　too；　like　the　countless　millions　who　have　gone　before；　put　on　the　Purple　and　have　my　part　in　the　majesty　of　Death；　it　has　entered　into　my　mind　that　I　desire　to　set　down；　while　I　still　have　my　full　faculties；　certain　of　my　own　experiences　of　life。
I　have　met　many　men；　I　have　seen　many　lands；　I　have　known　many　emotions　—　all　of　them；　I　think；　except　that　of　hate；　I　have　played　many　parts。　From　all　this　sum　of　things；　tangible　or　intangible；　hidden　now　in　the　heart　and　the　memory；　some　essence　may　perhaps　be　pressed　which　is　worthy　of　preservation；　some　picture　painted　at　which　eyes　unborn　may　be　glad　to　look。　At　least；　such　is　my　hope。
It　is　of　course　impossible　for　anyone；　yes；　even　for　a　nun　in　a　convent；　to　set　down　life’s　every　detail　for　the　world　to　stare　at；　unless　indeed　such　a　person　were　prepared　to　order　the　resulting　book　to　be　buried　for　—　let　us　say　—　five　hundred　years。　Could　such　a　work　be　written　by　a　hand　adequate　to　the　task；　its　interest　as　a　human　document　would　be　supreme。　Also　it　would　be　beautiful　in　the　sense　that　the　naked　truth　is　always　beautiful；　even　when　it　tells　of　evil。　Yet　I　believe　that　it　will　never　be　written。　For　were　the　writer　mean　enough　to　draw　the　veil　from　the　failings　of　others；　he　would　certainly　keep　it　wrapped　about　his　own。　Only　one　man；　so　far　as　my　knowledge　goes；　has　set　down　the　absolute　verity　about　himself；　and　it　is　certain　that　he　did　not　intend　that　it　should　e　to　the　printing…press。　I　refer　to　Samuel　Pepys。
Still　an　enormous　amount　remains　of　which　a　man　may　write　without　injuring　or　hurting　the　feelings　of　anyone；　and　by　aid　of　my　memory　that；　although　weak　enough　in　many　ways；　is　strong　and　clear　where　essentials　are　concerned；　and　of　the　correspondence　which；　as　it　chances；　I　have　preserved　for　years；　with　some　of　this　matter　I　propose　to　deal。　After　all；　a　man　of　normal　ability　and　observation　who　has　touched　life　at　many　points；　cannot　pass　fifty…five　years　in　the　world　without　learning　much；　some　of　which　may　prove　of　use　to　others；　and　if　he　dies　leaving　his　experience　unrecorded；　then　like　water　thrown　upon　sand　it　sinks　into　the　grave　with　him　and　there　is　wasted。
Such　are　the　considerations　that　lead　me　to　attempt　this　task。
I　suppose　that　before　considering　it　further　the　first　question　that　I　should　ask　myself　and　try　to　answer　is；　not　to　what　extent　I　have　achieved　success；　but　by　how　much　I　have　escaped　failure　in　the　world。　No　positive　reply　seems　possible　to　this　query　until　I　have　been　dead　a　good　many　years；　for　in　such　matters　time　is　the　only　true　judge。　Yet　that　final　verdict　is　capable　of　a　certain　amount　of　intelligent；　though　possibly　erroneous　anticipation。
Although　all　my　life　I　have　been　more　or　less　connected　with　the　Law；　for　which　I　have　a　natural　liking；　first　as　the　Master　of　a　High　Court　and　subsequently　in　the　modest　but　I　trust　useful　office　of　the　Chairman　of　a　Bench　of　Magistrates；　I　have　done　nothing　at　all　at　my　profession　at　the　Bar。　In　an　unfortunate　hour；　considered　from　this　point　of　view；　I　employed　my　somewhat　ample　leisure　in　chambers　in　writing　“King　Solomon’s　Mines。”　That；　metaphorically；　settled　my　legal　hash。　Had　it　not　been　for　“King　Solomon’s　Mines；”　if　even　in　imagination　I　may　dwell　upon　such　splendour；　I　might　possibly　have　sat　some　day　where　sits　my　old　friend　and　instructor；　Sir　Henry　Bargrave　Deane；　as　a　judge　of　the　Court　of　Probate　and　Divorce；　in　which　I　proposed　to　practise　like　my　great…uncle；　Doctor　John　Haggard；　famous　for　his　Reports；　before　me。
Well　do　I　remember　how；　when　one　day　I　was　seated　in　this　Division　watching　a　case　or　devilling　for　somebody；　I　unconsciously　inscribed　my　name　on　the　nice　white　blotting…paper　before　me。　Presently　from　behind　me　I　heard　a　whisper　from　some　solicitor　—　I　think　that　was　his　calling　—　whom　business　had　brought　to　the　Court：
“Are　you　Rider　Haggard；　the　man　who　wrote　‘King　Solomon’s　Mines’？”　he　said；　staring　at　the　tell…tale　blotting…paper。
I　intimated　that　such　was　really　my　name。
“Then；　confound　you！　Sir；　you　kept　me　up　till　three　o’clock　this　morning。　But　what　are　you　doing　here　in　a　wig　and　gown　—　what　are　you　doing　here？”
Very　soon　I　found　cause　to　echo　the　question　and　to　answer　it　in　the　words；　“No　good。”　The　British　solicitor；　and　indeed　the　British　client；　cannot　be　induced　to　put　confidence　in　anyone　who　has　bee　well　known　as　an　author。　If　he　has　confined　his　attention　to　the　writing　of　law…books；　he　may　be　tolerated；　though　hardly；　but　if　his　efforts　have　been　on　the　imaginative　side　of　literature；　then　for　that　man　they　have　no　use。　That　such　a　person　should　bine　gifts　of　imagination　with　forensic　aptitude　and　sound　legal　knowledge　is　to　them　a　thing　past　all　belief。
A　page　or　so　back　I　said　that　my　experience　might　possibly　be　of　use　to　others；　and　already　the　suggestion　seems　in　the　way　of　proof。　If　what　I　write　should　prevent　even　one　young　barrister　who　hopes　to　make　a　mark　in　his　profession；　from　being　beguiled　into　the　fatal　paths　of　authorship；　I　shall　not　have　laboured　in　vain。
Next；　I　have　never　been　able　to　gratify　a　very　earnest　ambition　of　my　younger　years；　namely；　to　enter　Parliament　and　shine　as　a　statesman。　Once　I　tried：　it　was　at　the　1895　election；　and　I　almost　carried　one　of　the　most　difficult　seats　in　England。　But　almost　is　not　quite；　and　the　awful　expense　attendant　upon　contesting　a　seat　in　Parliament　（in　a　county　division　it　costs；　or　used　to　cost；　over　2000　pounds）　showed　me　clearly　that；　unless　they　happen　to　be　Labour　members；　such　a　career　is　only　open　to　rich　men。　Also　I　came　to　understand　that　it　would　be　practically　impossible　for　me　both　to　earn　a　living　by　the　writing　of　books　and　to　plunge　eagerly　into　Parliamentary　work；　as　I　know　well　that　I　should　have　done。　Even　if　I　could　have　found　the　time　by　writing　in　the　mornings　—　which；　where　imaginative　effort　is　concerned；　has　always　been　distasteful　to　me　—　my　health　would　never　have　borne　the　double　strain。
So　that　dream　had　to　be　abandoned；　for　which　I　am　sorry。　Indeed；　a　legislative　career　is　about　the　only　one　of　which　the　doors　are　not　shut　to　the　writer　of　fiction；　as　is　proved　by　many　instances；　notably　that　of　Disraeli。
Thus　it　cames　about　that　on　these　lines　I　have　failed　to　make　any　mark。　Fate　has　shut　those　doors　in　my　face。　The　truth　is　that　“man　knoweth　not　his　own　way”：　he　must　go　where　his　destiny　leads　him。　Either　so　or　he　is　afloat　upon　an　ocean　of　chance；　driven　hither　and　thither　by　its　waves；　till　at　length　his　frail　bark　is　overset　or　sinks　worn　out。　This；　however；　I　do　not　believe。　If　everything　else　in　the　universe　is　governed　by　law；　why　should　the　lot　of　man　alone　be　excepted　from　the　workings　of　law？
However　this　may　be；　as　heralds　say　in　talking　of　a　doubtful　descent；　whether　through　appointment　or　accidentally；　it　has　so　e　about　that；　although　I　have　done　o