the days of my life-第27部分

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Dear　Sir；　—　Can’t　you　arrange　to　dine　with　us　at　seven　o’clock　on　the　10th　of　next　month？　We　could　talk　all　round　the　literary　question　over　a　cigar　in　my　study　after　dinner。　Could　you　succeed　in　literature？　Certainly　up　to　a　certain　point：　unquestionably　up　to　the　point　you　indicate；　though　you　might　never　earn　as　much　money　as　the　two　novelists　you　mention；　for　in　that　respect　they　have　been　singularly　fortunate。　But　you　may　not　hope　to　succeed　in　a　day。　You　might　bee　famous　in　a　morning；　but　you　may　not　entertain　the　hope　of　doing　so。　You　must　hope　only　to　succeed　by　degrees；　—　by　steady　work；　slow　advances；　and　after　several　disappointments。　Moderate　success　in　literature　is　easily　attainable　by　a　man　of　energy；　culture；　and　resoluteness　who　can　afford　to　work　steadily　and　play　a　waiting　game。　At　twenty…one　a　man　is　necessarily　impatient；　at　twenty…six　a　man　has　neither　the　excuse　of　youth　nor　the　excuse　of　advancing　age　for　impatience。　How　I　envy　you　for　being　only　twenty…six。　I　am　old　enough　to　be　your　father。　I　could　not　have　written　as　good　a　novel　as　Angela’s　story　when　I　was　twenty…six。　I　have　already　perused　your　“Cetewayo。”　It　is　a　far　more　difficult　thing　to　interest　readers　in　imaginary　persons　and　incidents　than　to　entertain　them　with　writing　about　facts　and　characters　in　which　they　are　already　interested。　It　was　because　I　saw　you　really　knew　your　characters　that　I　urged　you　to　make　the　most　of　them。　Do　e　and　see　me。
Yours　cordially；
John　Cordy　Jeaffreson。
The　following　letter　from　myself　to　my　sister　Mary；　which　she　found　and　returned　to　me　a　few　years　ago；　throws　some　light　upon　the　above：
Ditchingham　House：　May　5　＇1883＇。
My　dearest　Mary；　—　The　enclosed　letters　may　interest　you。　I　consider　Jeaffreson’s　very　encouraging　on　the　whole；　though　he　is　inflicting　a　lot　of　extra　labour　on　me。　However；　after　I　have　been　up　for　this　examination　I　will　go　at　it；　and　hope　to　finish　the　book　in　from　two　to　three　months。　I　do　not　altogether　agree　with　Mr。　Jeaffreson’s　ideas　as　to　changing　the　end　of　the　book；　indeed　my　own　sentiments　about　it　are　much　the　same　as　those　expressed　by　Miss　Barber　＇a　schoolfellow　of　my　wife’s　who　was　more　or　less　living　with　us　at　the　time。　She　is　a　sister　of　the　late　Marjorie　Barber；　“Michael　Faireless；”　the　well…known　author　of　“The　Road…Mender；”　etc。；　and　afterwards　married　my　brother；　John　G。　Haggard；　R。N。＇　in　the　letter　that　I　forward　you；　because　it　puts　the　other　side　of　the　question　very　well。　I　wrote　and　asked　Jeaffreson　what　he　meant　when　he　said　that　I　could　succeed　in　literature；　and　if　in　his　opinion　I　could　hope　to　pete　with　men　like　Payn　and　Blackmore；　and　in　the　very　nice　letter　that　he　sent　me　in　answer　he　said　that　“unquestionably　I　could　succeed　to　the　point　I　indicated。”　This　is　of　course　encouraging；　but　I　am　not　so　sure　about　it。
I　am　going　to　dine　with　him　on　the　10th；　when　I　shall　try　to　modify　his　views　about　changing　the　end　of　the　book。　。　。　。
To　this　day　I　often　wonder　whether　Jeaffreson　was　right　in　making　me　turn　my　story　inside　out　and　give　it　a　happy　ending。　My　idea　was　to　present　the　character　of　a　woman　already　sweet　and　excellent　in　mind　and　body；　and　to　show　it　being　perfected　by　various　mortal　trials；　till　at　length　all　frailties　were　burnt　out　of　it　by　the　fires　of　death。　In　the　second　version　I　continued　to　carry　out　this　scheme　as　well　as　I　could；　only　the　final　fires　through　which　the　heroine　had　to　pass　were　those　of　marriage　to　a　not　very　interesting　young　man。　I　have　always　found　young　men　—　and；　if　they　are　to　fill　the　position　of　heroes；　the　novel…reader　insists　that　they　must　be　rather　young　—　somewhat　difficult　to　draw。　Young　men；　at　any　rate　to　the　male　eye；　have　a　painful　similarity　to　each　other；　whereas　woman　is　of　an　infinite　variety　and　therefore　easier　to　depict。　With　elderly　men；　such　as　old　Allan　Quatermain；　to　take　an　instance；　the　case　is　different。　With　these　I　have　had　no　trouble；　perhaps　because　from　my　boyhood　my　great　friends　have　always　been　men　much　older　than　myself；　if　I　except　the　instances　of　Sheil　or　Brother　Basil；　and　that　other　friend　who　died；　of　whom　I　have　already　written。　Now　I　am　reaping　the　sad　fruits　of　this　idiosyncrasy；　since　nearly　all　of　those　to　whom　I　was　deeply　attached　have　gone　before　me；　although；　thank　Heaven！　a　few　still　remain；　such　as　Arthur　Cochrane；　Andrew　Lang；　and　Charles　Longman。
My　criticism　on　“Dawn”　considered　as　a　whole　—　that　is；　so　far　as　I　recollect　it；　for　I　have　not　reread　the　book　for　many　years　—　is　that　it　ought　to　have　been　cut　up　into　several　stories。　However；　it　has　pleased；　and　apparently　still　continues　to　please；　a　vast　number　of　persons；　and　not　long　ago　I　was　much　amused　to　see　in　an　article　in　The　Times　that　at　Pekin　—　or　Hong…Kong　—　it　is　one　of　the　favourite　subjects　of　study　among　the　Chinese　students　of　English　literature。　Perhaps　an　old　aunt　of　mine；　who　still　lives　at　the　age　of　nearly　a　hundred；　was　right　when　she　declared　that　the　book　was　too　full　of　“amateur　villains。”
However；　in　due　course　it　appeared　in　charming　type；　such　as　we　do　not　get　in　novels　nowadays；　and　three　nice　volumes　bound　in　green；　which　I　admire　as　I　write。　Certain　of　the　reviews　of　it　still　remain　pasted　in　a　book。　They　were　not　very　many　nearly　thirty　years　ago；　or　perhaps；　as　there　were　no　Press…cutting　agencies；　one　did　not　see　them。　On　the　whole；　however；　they　seem　to　have　been　fairly　favourable。　Since　1883　I　have　read　hundreds；　if　not　thousands；　of　reviews　of　my　books；　good；　bad；　and　indifferent；　but　I　can　safely　say　that　few　if　any　of　them　have　pleased　me　more　than　that　which　appeared　of　“Dawn”　in　The　Times。
“Dawn”　＇said　The　Times＇　is　a　novel　of　merit　far　above　the　average。　From　the　first　page　the　story　arrests　the　mind　and　arouses　the　expectation。　。　。　。　This　is；　we　repeat；　a　striking　and　original　novel；　breathing　an　elevated　if　somewhat　exaggerated　tone。
I　wonder　who　wrote　that　notice！　Be　he　living；　which　is　scarcely　probable；　or　dead；　I　offer　him　my　gratitude。　And　yet　I　know　not　whether　I　should　be　grateful　to　this　kindly　critic；　since　his　words；　more　than　any　other　circumstances；　encouraged　me　to　try　another　novel。
As　regards　“Dawn”　itself；　it　was　more　or　less　of　a　failure　—　of　course　I　mean　at　that　time；　for　in　after　years　it　became　extraordinarily　successful。
One　of　the　most　appreciative　and　indeed　enthusiastic　readers　of　this　tale　at　the　time　was　old　Mr。　Trubner；　whose　advice　had　encouraged　me　to　make　the　attempt　of　its　writing。　Indeed　I　was　told　by　one　of　his　relatives　that　he　continued　its　perusal　to　within　a　few　hours　of　his　actual　death。　Whether　he　finished　it　or　not　I　cannot　now　remember。　Scoffers　might　say　that　it　finished　him。
The　new　novel　upon　which　I　embarked　ultimately　appeared　under　the　title　of　“The　Witch’s　Head。”　Failing　to　find　any　magazine　that　would　undertake　it　serially；　in　the　end　I　published　it　with　Messrs。　Hurst　and　Blackett　on　practically　the　same　terms　as　they　had　offered　me　for　“Dawn。”　Although；　except　for　the　African　part；　it　is　not　in　my　opinion　so　good　a　story　as　“Dawn；”　it　was　extremely　well　received　and　within　certain　limits　very　successful。　Indeed；　some　of　the　reviews　were　quite　enthusiastic；　although；　as　I　may　here　remark；　I　was　unacquainted　with　a　single　person　who　made　a　business　of　reviewing　fiction；　or　indeed　with　anyone　connected　with　the　Press。　Never　did　a　writer　begin　less　equipped　with　friends　who　were　likely　to　be　able　to　do　him　a　good　turn。　All　I　could　do　was　to　cast　my　fictional　bread　upon　the　literary　waters。
The　notices　of　“The　Witch’s　Head”　naturally　delighted　me；　indeed；　after　the　lapse　of　more　than　a　quarter　of　a　century　they　still　make　pleasant　reading。　Also　they　caused　the　book　to　go　quickly　out　of　print　and　to　be　pirated　in　America。　But　this　success　would　not　tempt　my　publishers　to　reissue　it　in　a　cheaper　form；　a　venture　that　they　thought　too　risky。　I　hawked　the　work　about　and　eventually　found　some　other　publishers　—　who　have　long　since　ceased　to　publish　—　who　agreed　to　bring　it　and　“Dawn”　out　each　in　a　two…shilling　edition；　and　nobly　promised　me　one…third　of　the　profits。　But　in　that　generous　agreement　was　a　little　clause　that　afterwards　nearly　proved　my　ruin。　It　bound　me　to　allow　this　firm　to　republish　any　other　novel　I　might　write　during　the　five　following　years；　in　the　same　form　and　on　the　same　terms。　To　such　a　document　as　this　in　my　ignorance　—　there　was　no　Authors’　Society　in　those　days　—　did　I　set　my　hand；　with　results　that　shall　be　told　later。　These；　however；　did　not　alarm　me　at　the　time；　if　I　really　considered　them；　as；　having　then　passed　my　final　examination　for　the　Bar　without　any　assistance　in　the　way　of　coaching；　I　determined　to　abandon　the　writing　of　fiction　and　devote　myself　entirely　to　my　profession。
Three　works　had　I　produced；　namely；　one　history　and　two　long　novels。　The　history　had　cost　me　50　pounds　to　publish；　and　for　the　two　novels　I　had　received　exactly　the　same　sum　in　all；　in　short；　the　　returns　were　at　that　time　nothing；　and　this　for　books　that　have　since　sold　by　the　ten　thousand　copies；　not　to　mention　pirated　editions。　Thus　I　find　that；　during　six　months　of　the　present　year；　4204　copies　of　“Dawn”　and　5656　copies　of　“The　Witch’s　Head”　were　sold　in　a　cheap　edition；　besides　others　at　a　higher　price；　which；　as　these　works　were　written　about　twenty…eight　years　ago；　is　not　a　total　to　be　despised。
To　return：　had　it　not　been　for　a　curious　chance　my　literary　efforts　would　have　ended　with　the　publication　of　“The　Witch’s　Head；”　and　probably　by　now　my　labours　at　the　Bar　in　this　or　some　other　land　would　almost　have　obliterated　them　from　my　memory。　But；　as　it　happened；　I　read　in　one　of　the　weekly　papers　a　notice　of　Stevenson’s　“Treasure　Island”　so　laudatory　that　I　procured　and　studied　that　work；　and　was　impelled　by　its　perusal　to　try　to　write　a　book　for　boys。
Outside　of　this　matter　of　my　attempts　at　fiction　I　have　little　to　add　as　to　our　life　at　Ditchingham　before　we　migrated　to　London　when　I　began　to　practise　at　the　Bar。　We　lived　very　quietly；　for　we　were　not　well　off；　and　an　estate　which　used　to　produce　sufficient　to　support　a　country　place　of　the　smaller　sort　and　those　who　dwelt　on　it；　began　to　show　greatly　lessened　returns。　The　bad　years　were　upon　us；　and　rents　fell　rapidly；　moreover　the　repairs　required　were　legion。　Also；　from　one　cause；　and　another；　little　or　nothing　came　out　of　the　African　property；　which　shared　in　the　depression　that　followed　on　the　giving　back　of　the　Transvaal。
Under　these　circumstances；　outside　members　of　my　own　family　our　visitors　were　few；　and　in　the　main　we　had　to　rely　on　ourselves　and　our　little　children　for　pany。　I　should　add　that　in　1884　another　daughter　was　born　to　us；　who　is　now　Mrs。　Cheyne。　She　was　named　Dorothy；　after　the　heroine　of　“The　Witch’s　Head；”　or　in　full；　Sybil　Dorothy　Rider。　My　recollection　of　this　period　is　that　it　was　rather　lonely；　at　any　rate　for　me；　since　my　friends　were　African；　and　Africa　was　far　away。　However；　I　worked　very　hard；　as　indeed　I　have　done　without　intermission　since　I　was　a　rather　idle　boy　at　school；　both　at　writing　and　the　study　of　the　Law。　Between　the　intervals　of　work　I　took　walks　with　a　dear　old　bulldog　I　had；　named　Caesar；　who　appears　in　“Dawn；”　and　a　tall　Kaffir　stick　made　of　the　black　and　white　umzimbeet　wood；　which　I　still　have；　that　reminded　me　of　Africa。　At　times；　too；　I　got　a　day’s　shooting　on　our　own　land　or　elsewhere。
However；　I　had　so　many　resources　in　my　own　mind；　and　so　much　more　to　do　than　I　could　possibly　pass；　that　all　these　matters　troubled　me　not　at　all。　I　was　determined　to　make　a　success　in　the　world　in　one　way　or　another；　and　that　of　a　sort　which　would　cause　my　name　to　be　remembered　for　long　after　I　had　departed　therefrom；　and　my　difficulty　was　to　discover　in　which　way　this　could　best　be　done　—　in　short；　to　search　out　the　line　of　least　resistance。　So　I　possessed　my　soul　in　patience　and　worked　and　worked　and　worked。　Often　I　wonder　what　estimate　those　who　lived　about　me；　and　whom　I　met　from　time　to　time；　formed　of　the　studious　young　man　who　was　understood　to　have　been　somewhere　in　Africa。　I　imagine　that　it　was　not　plimentary；　for　if　I　understood　them　they　did　not　understand　me。
Some　pleasures　I　had；　however。　My　journeys　to　London　to　eat　my　dinners　at　Lincoln’s　Inn　were　a　change。　So　were　the　examinations；　though　these　I　faced　with　fear　and　trembling；　having　read　up　for　them　entirely　by　myself；　which　I　imagine　few　people　do。　Occasionally　some　of　my　old　African　friends　came　to　see　me　when　they　were　on　visits　to　England。　Thus　Sir　Theophilus　Shepstone　came；　and　with　what　delight　did　I　wele　him！　Here　is　an　extract　from　a　letter　of　his；　in　which　he　alludes　to　his　proposed　visit；　dated　from　London　on　May　26；　1883：
I　have　only　just　received　your　note　of　the　23rd。　I　see　that　you　sent　it　to　the　Colonial　Office；　but　I　have　not　yet　been　there；　for　I　don’t　think　they　care　much　for　me；　except　perhaps　a　few　personal　friends；　and　with　the　same　exception　the　feeling　is　mutual　as　far　as　I　am　concerned。　I　think　I　shall　make　my　number　there　about　noon　on　Monday　for　the　purpose　of　seeing　those　I　care　for；　but　for　nothing　else。　I　shall　be　very　glad　indeed　to　have　a　look　at　you　again。　How　is　your　good　wife？　I　hope　well　and　strong。
Another　letter　from　Sir　Theophilus　in　this　year　has　some　allusions　of　more　general　interest；　so　I　ost　of　it：
1　Charles　Street；　London：　August　21；　1883。
My　dear　Rider；　—　Your　warm…hearted　and　to　me　most　touching　farewell　letter　reached　me　last　night　on　my　return　from　a　few　days’　rushing　about　the　country　to　say　some　good…byes。
I　am　sure　I　need　not　say；　although　it　is　pleasant　to　me　to　say　it；　that　all　the　affectionate　feeling　which　I　know　you　entertain　for　me　fills　a　warm　place　in　my　heart　for　you　and　for　your　dear　wife。　May　God　bless　and　prosper　you　both！　Of　course　no　one　can　tell　what　may　happen　in　the　future；　or　whether　this　is　a　permanent　or　only　a　temporary　parting。　At　the　dinner　which　was　given　me　by　the　Empire　Club　Sir　Robert　Herbert　spoke　of　me　and　of　my　services　in　the　most　remarkable　language；　and　said　plainly　that　I　was　still　a　young　man　so　far　as　capacity　for　work　went；　and　that　he　hoped　soon　to　see　me　discharging　some　high　function；　etc。　for　the　good　of　the　country；　and　so　on。　It　appeared　as　if　he　spoke　from　some　intention　of　which　he　had　knowledge；　but　my　friend　W。　Sergeaunt；　who　sat　next　to　me；　said　that　if　such　a　speech　had　been　made　by　anyone　else　it　would　have　meant　a　good　deal；　as　it　was　it　meant　nothing；　perhaps　so。　Of　course　every　day　I　have　in　England　adds　to　my　consciousness　of　the　influence　that　I　could　exert　if　I　tried；　but　what　is　the　use　of　it　with　such　an　abject　Government　as　now　rules　and　will　for　years　to　e；　I　fear；　rule　England？
I　am　glad　that　my　speech　did　not　wholly　disgust　you；　I　had　no　idea　that　the　dinner　was　to　be　what　it　was；　still　less　did　I　expect　that　reporters　would　be　there；　so　I　congratulated　myself　when　I　sat　down。　I　shall　look　forward　to　the　publication　of　your　book　with　a　great　deal　of　interest；　the　trouble　is　that　the　real　merits　of　a　book　are　not　the　measure　by　which　it　is　meted；　as　crushed　strawberry　is　preferred　to　the　beautiful　natural　colour　of　the　fruit　because　it　happens　to　be　the　fashion　of　the　season；　so　with　books：　even　they　must　pander　to　the　taste　of　the　hour　whether　it　be　good　or　bad；　or　they　will　not　be　read　and　the