the days of my life-第29部分

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or　had　departed　this　unobtrusive　gentleman　addressed　me。
“Mr。　Haggard；”　he　said　in　a　warning　voice；　“if　I　were　you　I　would　take　the　other　agreement。”
Then　hearing　some　noise；　once　more　he　became　absorbed　in　his　work；　and　I　understood　that　the　conversation　was　not　to　be　continued。
Still　a　moment　remained　for　thought。
“Why　the　dickens；”　I　reflected　to　myself；　“did　he　say　that　to　me？　He　must　have　had　some　reason。”　The　business…like　editor　re…entered　the　room　bearing　the　document　in　hand。
“I　have　changed　my　mind；”　I　said　as　he　presented　it　to　me：　“I　will　not　sell　the　copyright；　I　will　take　the　royalty　agreement。”
Undoubtedly　the　quiet　clerk　in　the　corner；　who　was　acquainted　with　the　estimate　that　had　been　formed　of　the　book　by　his　employers；　did　me　a　very　good　turn；　as　did　my　knowledge　of　men　when　I　acted　so　promptly　on　his　hint。
The　royalty　that　I　accepted　might　have　been　higher；　at　any　rate　after　the　sale　of　a　certain　number　of　copies；　but　it　was　infinitely　better　than　the　acceptance　of　a　small　sum　down　for　the　copyright　of　“King　Solomon’s　Mines；”　of　which　the　sale　has　been　very　great　and　at　present　shows　signs　of　increase　rather　than　of　diminution。
Many　years　later　this　gentleman　wrote　reminding　me　of　the　incident　and　forwarding　a　book　that　he　had　published。
“King　Solomon’s　Mines；”　which　was　produced　as　a　five…shilling　book；　proved　an　instant　success。　Published　about　the　beginning　of　October；　on　December　9th　Messrs。　Cassells　wrote　to　me　that　they　had　already　sold　5000　copies　more　or　less；　a　large　sale　for　a　boys’　book　by　a　practically　unknown　man。　I　wonder　how　many　copies　they　have　sold　up　to　Christmas　1911！　In　one　form　and　another　the　total　must　run　to　hundreds　of　thousands。
Before　the　book　appeared　we　had　gone　down　to　Norfolk　for　part　of　the　long　vacation；　not　to　Ditchingham；　which　was　let；　but　to　a　farmhouse　at　Denton　adjoining　a　farm　of　our　own；　where　I　employed　my　holiday　in　ain；”　the　continuation　of　“King　Solomon’s　Mines。”　One　day　I　chanced　to　visit　the　little　town　of　Bungay　and　there　to　see　a　copy　of　the　Saturday　Review　which　contained　a　two…column　notice　of　the　latter　work。　It　was　written　by　Lang；　although　this　I　did　not　know　at　the　time。　With　delight　my　eye　fell　upon　such　sentences　as　“All　through　the　battle　piece；　‘The　Last　Stand　of　the　Greys；’　Mr。　Haggard；　like　Scott　at　Flodden；　‘never　stoops　his　wing’”；　and　“to　tell　the　truth　we　would　give　many　novels；　say　eight　hundred　（that　is　about　the　yearly　harvest）；　for　such　a　book　as　‘King　Solomon’s　Mines。’”
By　the　way；　things　in　this　respect　have　changed　since　1885。　I　believe　that　the　“yearly　harvest”　of　British　novels　now　numbers　nearly　three　thousand。
I　went　back　to　the　farm　that　night　feeling　sure　that　my　book　was　going　to　succeed。　A　week　or　so　later　I　received　a　note　from　Lang　in　which　he　says：　“The　Spectator　in　a　‘middle’　gives　you　more　praise　than　I　did；　and　is　neither　known　personally　to　you；　I　fancy；　nor　an　amateur　of　savages；　like　me。　I　hope　they　will　give　a　review　also。　。　。　。　I　never　read　anything　in　the　Spectator　before　with　such　pleasure。”
One　day　I　took　the　manuscript　of　“King　Solomon’s　Mines”　to　be　bound　by　Mr。　H。　Glaisher　the　bookseller。　In　the　carriage　of　the　Underground　Railway　I　perceived　an　old　lady　engaged　in　a　close；　indeed　an　almost　ferocious　study　of　the　map　printed　at　the　beginning　of　the　printed　volume　which　rested　on　her　knees。　This　was　too　much　for　me。　Drawing　the　original　map　from　my　pocket；　I　placed　it　on　my　knee　—　we　were　seated　opposite　to　each　other　—　and　began　to　study　it　with　like　attention。　The　old　lady　looked　up　and　saw。　She　stared　first　at　her　map　and　then　at　mine；　and　stared；　and　stared。　Twice　she　opened　her　mouth　to　speak；　but　I　suppose　was　too　shy；　nor　did　I；　apparently　absorbed　in　the　contemplation　of　my　map；　written　in　blood　upon　a　dirty　piece　of　torn　linen；　the　shirt…tail　of　Don　Jose　de　Silvestra；　give　her　the　slightest　encouragement。　The　end　of　it　was　that　she　seemed　to　e　to　the　conclusion　that　that　railway　carriage　in　which　we　were　alone　together　was　no　place　for　her。　Suddenly；　as　we　were　about　to　leave　a　station；　she　sprang　up　and　leapt　from　the　train；　at　which；　the　unfolded　map　still　in　her　hand；　she　gazed　bewildered　until　it　vanished　into　the　tunnel。
Among　the　many　letters　that　I　received　about　“King　Solomon’s　Mines；”　perhaps　the　most　interesting　that　I　can　find　are　from　Robert　Louis　Stevenson。　The　first　of　these；　undated；　as　they　all　are；　is　written　from　Skerryvore；　Bournemouth；　where　he　was　living　at　the　time。　Here　I　should　state　that　to　my　sorrow　I　never　met　Stevenson　face　to　face：　always　we　just　missed　each　other。
Dear　Sir；　—　Some　kind　hand　has　sent　me　your　tale　of　Solomon’s　Mines；　I　know　not　who　did　this　good　thing　to　me；　and　so　I　send　my　gratitude　to　headquarters　and　the　fountainhead。　You　should　be　more　careful；　you　do　quite　well　enough　to　take　more　trouble；　and　some　parts　of　your　book　are　infinitely　beneath　you。　But　I　find　there　flashes　of　a　fine　weird　imagination　and　a　fine　poetic　use　and　mand　of　the　savage　way　of　talking：　things　which　both　thrilled　me。　The　reflections　of　your　hero　before　the　battle　are　singularly　fine；　the　King’s　song　of　victory　a　very　noble　imitation。　But　how；　in　the　name　of　literature；　could　you　mistake　some　lines　from　Scott’s　“Marmion”　—　ay；　and　some　of　the　best　—　for　the　slack…sided；　clerical…cob　effusions　of　the　Rev。　Ingoldsby？　Barham　is　very　good；　but　Walter　Scott　is　vastly　better。　I　am；　dear　sir；
Your　obliged　reader；
Robert　Louis　Stevenson。
Of　course　I　answered　Stevenson’s　letter　—　by　the　way；　I　have　not　the　least　idea　who　sent　him　the　book　—　thanking　him　and　pointing　out　that　he　had　overlooked　the　fact　that　Allan　Quatermain’s　habit　of　attributing　sundry　quotations　to　the　Old　Testament　and　the　Ingoldsby　Legends；　the　only　books　with　which　he　was　familiar；　was　a　literary　joke。
Stevenson　wrote　back；　again　in　an　undated　letter　from　Bournemouth　and　on　a　piece　of　manuscript　paper：
Dear　Mr。　Haggard；　—　Well；　yes；　I　have　sinned　against　you；　that　was　the　part　of　a　bad　reader。　But　it　inclines　me　the　more　to　explain　my　dark　saying。　As　thus：
You　rise　in　the　course　of　your　book　to　pages　of　eloquence　and　poetry；　and　it　is　quite　true　that　you　must　rise　from　something　lower；　and　that　the　beginning　must　infallibly　（？）　be　pitched　low　and　kept　quiet。　But　you　began　（pardon　me　the　word）　slipshod。　If　you　are　to　rise；　you　must　prepare　the　mind　in　the　quiet　parts；　with　at　least　an　acplished　neatness。　To　this　you　could　easily　attain。　In　other　words；　what　you　have　still　to　learn　is　to　take　trouble　with　those　parts　which　do　not　excite　you。
Excuse　the　tone　of　a　damned　schoolmaster；　and　believe　me；
Yours　truly；
Robert　Louis　Stevenson。
The　next　letter；　also　from　Skerryvore；　Bournemouth；　which；　because　of　its　allusions　to　“King　Solomon’s　Mines；”　although　undated；　must　have　been　written　at　this　time；　is　an　enigma　to　me。　I　have　not　the　faintest　idea　to　what　it　refers。
Dear　Mr。　Haggard；　—　Is　it　not　possible　to　make　a　gratuitous　donation　inter　vivos？　Could　not　that　be　done　in　a　separate　instrument？　I　know　not　if　it　matters；　but　if　there　were　any　ready　way　of　gaining　the　point；　I　might　adopt　it。　My　law　is　all　to　the　wind；　and　indeed　I　never　knew　but　a　taste。
I　thank　you　at　least　for　the　remark。
I　e　rarely　to　town；　and　am　usually　damned　sick　when　I　do。　But　if　I　can；　I’ll　try　to　see　you。　（I　know　a　cousin　of　yours　here　by　the　way。）
What　are　you　about？　I　am　again　at　a　boys’　story；　but　I’ve　been　a　year　at　it　already　and　may　be　longer。
Yours　very　truly；
R。　L。　Stevenson。
P。S。　—　Further　reflection　on　“K。S。M。”　makes　me　think　you　are　one　who　gets　up　steam　slowly。　In　that　case；　when　you　have　your　book　finished；　go　back　and　rewrite　the　beginning　up　to　the　mark。
My　case　is　the　reverse：　I　always　begin　well；　and　often　finish　languidly　or　hurriedly。
P。P。S。　—　How　about　a　deed　of　partnership？
This　“deed　of　partnership”　on　the　face　of　it　would　seem　to　suggest　some　scheme　of　collaboration。　Yet　I　do　not　think　that　this　could　have　been　the　case　—　for　the　following　reason。　I　remember　that　my　late　brother　Bazett；　who　was　afterwards　an　intimate　friend　of　Stevenson’s　in　Samoa；　told　me　that　someone；　I　know　not　who；　had　written　to　him　suggesting　that　he　and　I　should　collaborate　in　a　story；　and　that　he　had　returned　an　angry　and　offensive　answer　to　the　suggestion；　as　I　dare　say　it　was　quite　natural　that　he　should　do。　This　answer；　it　seems；　had　however　weighed　upon　his　mind。　At　any　rate　Bazett　informed　me　that　Stevenson　on　several　occasions　spoke　to　him　with　deep　regret　as　to　his　petulant　reply。　This　is　all　I　know；　or　at　any　rate　all　that　I　can　recollect；　of　the　matter。　Yet　what　else　can　have　been　referred　to　in　the　above　letter　I　am　at　a　loss　to　guess。
Stevenson’s　remark　as　to　his　finishing　languidly　is　interesting；　and；　so　far　as　my　judgment　goes；　his　romantic　work　shows　its　truth。　Thus　to　my　fancy　the　first　part　of　“Treasure　Island”　is　far　and　away　better　than　its　end。　In　an　adventure　story　what　is　called　style；　however　brilliant；　is　not　enough：　the　living　interest　must　be　kept　up　to　the　last　page；　it　should　increase　to　the　very　end。　Of　course　I　know　that　many　of　our　critics；　like　those　of　Alexandria　in　the　first　centuries　of　our　era；　think　and　preach　that　style　is　the　really　important　thing；　much　more　important　than　the　substance　of　the　story。　I　cannot　believe　that　they　are　right。　The　substance　is；　as　it　were；　the　soul　of　the　matter；　the　style　is　its　outward　and　visible　body。　I　prefer　a　creation　with　a　great　soul；　even　if　its　form　is　somewhat　marred；　to　one　with　a　beautifully　finished　form　and　very　little　soul。　Of　course　when　the　two　are　found　together；　a　rare　event；　there　is　perfection。　Also　people　differ　in　their　ideas　of　what　style　really　is。　By　it　some　understand　inverted　sentences；　unusual　words　and　far…fetched　metaphors　or　allusions；　making　up　a　whole　that　is　difficult　to　prehend。　Others　hold　that　the　greater　the　simplicity　of　the　language；　the　better　the　style。　I　am　not　an　authority；　but　my　own　view　is　that　above　all　things　the　written　word　should　be　clear　and　absolutely　readable；　and　that　work　which　does　not　fulfil　these　conditions　can　scarcely　be　expected　to　endure。　It　runs　a　grave　risk　of　passing　with　the　fashion　of　the　hour。　To　take　a　single　instance；　the　Authorised　version　of　the　Old　Testament；　considered　as　literature；　seems　to　me　to　fulfil　all　the　requisites　of　good　writing；　in　fact　to　be　style　in　the　truest　sense。　Yet　the　meaning　remains　perfectly　clear；　and　were　those　books　to　cease　to　be　studied　for　their　religious　contents；　they　would　still　always　be　read　as　a　model　of　plain　and　vigorous　English。
But　to　return　to　Stevenson。　Here　I　will　add　the　last　letter　save　one　that　I　received　from　him；　though　again　I　do　not　know　to　what　it　refers；　since　the　enclosure　of　which　he　speaks　is　missing；　or　at　any　rate　has　not　been　found　at　present。　Like　the　others　it　is　undated；　but　the　allusion　to　“Nada　the　Lily”　shows　that　it　must　have　been　written　about　twenty　years　ago；　at　the　beginning　of　1892。
Valima　Plantation；　Samoan　Islands。
Rider　Haggard；　Esq。
Dear　Haggard；　—　In　cleaning　up　the　hideous　mess　which　accumulates　about　the　man　of　letters　I　came　on　the　enclosed　sheet。　Its　filthiness　will　indicate　its　age。　But　there　is　internal　evidence　which　to　me　dates　it　still　further　back；　and　that　is　the　reference　to　your　brother　Bazett。　I　now　know　him　well　and　regard　him　with　the　most　sincere　and　lively　affection　and　respect。　Indeed　we　are　panions　in　arms　and　have　helped　each　other　back　and　forth　in　some　very　difficult　and　some　very　annoying　affairs。　This　has　given　a　wonderful　jog　to　my　sense　of　intimacy　with　yourself　until　I　have　a　difficulty　in　remembering　that　I　have　never　seen　you。　Two　remarks　and　I　leave　my　filthy　enclosure　to　speak　for　itself。　First；　the　equations　on　the　fly…leaf　were　not　in　the　least　intended　for　you　—　they’re　pieces　of　a　lesson　in　the　Samoan　language　—　and　you　must　kindly　regard　them　as　non…existent。　Second；　“Nada　the　Lily”　is　A1。
Sincerely　yours；
Robert　Louis　Stevenson。
I　only　wish　I　could　find　the　“filthy　enclosure；”　or　at　least　remember　with　what　it　had　to　do。
I　have　one　more　allusion　to　my　brother　besides　the　letter　which　came　to　me　with　“The　Man　Haggard。”　It　is　written　on　a　little　triangular　bit　of　foolscap　pinned　into　the　manuscript　of　“Nada　the　Lily。”　I　suppose　that　Lang　must　have　sent　it　to　me。
“If　you　see　Haggard；　tell　him　we　have　a　great　affection　for　his　brother。　Our　home　rejoices　when　we　see　him　ing；　and　that　Chaka　mourning　for　his　mother　is　great。”
Here　is　this　last　letter　pinned　into　the　first　of　the　two　acpanying；　parchment…bound　volumes；　that　which　is　entitled　“An　Object　of　Pity；　or；　The　Man　Haggard。　A　Romance。　By　Many　petent　Hands。　Imprinted　at　Amsterdam。”　These　volumes　were　sent　to　me　by　Stevenson　in　July　1893。
Tivoli　Hotel；　Apia；　Samoa；
South　Paci。
Dear　Rider　Haggard；　—　I　send　you　herewith　a　couple　of　small　（and；　so　to　speak；　indecent）　volumes　in　which　your　brother　and　I　have　been　indulging　in　the　juvenile　sport　of　shying　bricks　at　each　other。　Honi　soit　qui　mal　y　pense；　say　I。　And　I　hope　you　will　say　the　same。　We　are　a　large　party；　with　nothing　to　do　—　Lady　Jersey；　my　wife；　Captain　Leigh；　your　brother　and　I；　and　Mrs。　Strong；　my　daughter…inlaw　—　and　that　which　we　wrote　was　not　according　to　wisdom。　I　have　heard　some　of　yours　called　in　question　for　steepness；　here　is　your　revenge。
Yours　very　truly；
Robert　Louis　Stevenson。
The　panion　volume　is　entitled　“Objects　of　Pity；　or；　Self　and　pany。　By　a　Gentleman　of　Quality。　Imprinted　at　Amsterdam。”　It　is　corrected　throughout　in　my　brother　Bazett’s　handwriting。　I　should　judge　that　it　went　to　press　without　his　having　the　advantage　of　seeing　proofs。　Pinned　to　the　title…page　is　the　following　letter　to　me　from　Bazett。
Apia；　Samoa：　July　17；　1893。
Dear　Rider；　—　Enclosed　letter　from　R。　L。　Stevn。　speaks　for　itself。　He　says　we　all　had　nothing　to　do。　He　is　wrong　there。　They　wrote　the　“Object　of　Pity”　on　the　days　I　was　at　work　at　n。　I　did　not　write　my　letter　till　3　＇word　illegible＇　after；　when　Stevenson　insisted　on　having　it　printed　and　took　it　to　Sydney　and　had　it　printed。　I　was　riled　at　being　called　“an　object　of　Pity”　rather；　so　set　to　and　gave　them　a　Roland　for　their　Oliver。
We　have　had　a　very　bad　time　here。　I　have　seen　sights　of　“The　French　Revolution”　—　heads　carried　about　in　the　streets　with　yells　and　shouts　—　wounded　and　dead　carried　along。　Also　a　beastly　bloody　axe　which　decapitated　“young　Mataafa”　shoved　under　my　nose　to　admire　and　adore。　I　told　my　friend　“Safolu”　to　take　his　beastly　thing　away　and　he　seemed　quite　surprised　。　。　。　。　These　books　are　R。　L。　S。‘s　gift　to　you　—　write　him　a　line　。　。　。　。
Your　loving　brother；
Bazett　M。　Haggard。
Stevenson　and　I　are　great　friends；　he　is　such　a　good　chap；　but　as　I　say　of　him　in　my　book。
As　regards　the　volumes　themselves；　which　seem　to　fetch　a　great　deal　of　money　when　they　e　on　the　market；　I　am　only　able　to　say　that　I　have　studied　them　with　great　zeal　but　am　unable　to　make　head　or　tail　of　them。　Perhaps　this　is　because　I　do　not　possess　the　key　to　the　joke　or　understand　the　local　allusions。
I　have　only　one　more　relic　of　Stevenson；　a　very　amusing　poem　which　he　wrote　to　Lang　and　myself　on　“The　World’s　Desire；”　or　rather　a　copy　of　it；　for　I　believe　that　Lang　has　lost　the　original。　Again　I　must　express　my　sorrow　th