the days of my life-第44部分

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care；　and　every　horror。　The　hare　is　not　hunted　half　so　much　or　half　so　endlessly。　However；　anyway；　I　have　not　chevied　a　hare　since　I　was　nine；　and　that　only　on　my　two　little　legs；　all　alone！
Yours　ever；
A。　Lang。
If　I　were　the　Red…faced　Man　I’d　say　that　from　the　beginning　all　my　forbears　were　hunters；　that　it　got　into　the　blood；　and　went　out　of　the　blood　with　advancing　age；　so　that　perhaps　it　might　go　out　altogether；　though　I　hardly　think　it　will。　And　ask　WHO　made　it　so！
By　some　chance　there　is　a　copy　of　my　answer　to　this　letter；　also　of　two　subsequent　ones　which　deal　with　what　might　have　been　a　business　matter。
October　19；　1911。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　Yes；　I　have　hinted　at　this　hunting　of　Man　on　p。　135；　and　at　a　probable　reason。　You　are　right：　hunted　we　are；　and　by　a　large　pack！　Still　I　don’t　know　that　this　justifies　us　in　hunting　other　things。　At　any　rate　the　idea　came　to　me　and　I　expressed　it。　But　I　might　as　well　have　kept　it　to　myself。　I　doubt　whether　the　papers　will　touch　the　thing：　to　notice　an　attack　on　blood　sports　might　not　be　popular！
As　one　grows　old；　I　think　the　sadness　of　the　world　impresses　one　more　and　more。　If　there　is　nothing　beyond　it　is　indeed　a　tragedy。　But；　thank　Heaven！　I　can’t　think　that。　I　think　it　less　and　less。　I　am　engaged　on　writing　（for　publication　AFTER　I　have　walked　“the　Great　White　Road”）　my　reminiscences　of　my　early　life　in　Africa；　etc。　It　is　a　sad　job。　There　before　me　are　the　letters　from　those　dear　old　friends　of　my　youth；　Shepstone；　Osborn；　Clarke　and　many　others；　and　nearly　every　one　of　them　is　dead！　But　I　don’t　believe　that　I　shall　never　see　them　more；　indeed　I　seem　to　grow　nearer　to　them。
When　I　was　a　lad　at　Scoones’　I　had　an　intimate　friend　named　Sheil。　When　I　returned　from　Africa　I　found　that　he　had　bee　a　Trappist　monk。　We　corresponded　and　I　went　to　see　him。　（He　too　is　long　dead。）　In　one　of　his　letters　I　find　this　sentence　written　over　thirty　years　ago：　“What　I　wish　is　that　we　may　all　go　home　together　and　be　together　always。”
This　exactly　expresses　my　sentiments　towards　the　few　for　whom　I　care　—　dead　or　living。
Ever　your　friend；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
October　20；　1911。
Dear　Rider；　—　I　expect　we　shall　meet　our　dogs　and　cats。　They　have　ghosts！　I　don’t　much　bar　fox…hunting：　it　needs　pluck；　and　the　fox；　a　sportsman　himself；　only　takes　his　chances　and　often　gets　away。　It’s　all　a　matter　of　thinking。　Scott　was　a　humane　man；　but　devoted　to　coursing；　which　I　abominate。　Wordsworth　never　thought　of　harm　in　trout…fishing；　with　fly。　Now　I　was　born　to　be　ruthful　to　trout；　as　a　kid；　and　sinned　against　light；　but　I　could　not　use　the　worm。
Why　on　earth　do　you　keep　letters？　I　have　a　very　few　sealed　up；　but　dare　not　look　on　them　。　。　。　。
A　little　later；　either　at　Charles　Longman’s　suggestion　or　with　his　approval；　it　occurred　to　me　to　try　to　cheer　Lang　up　and　take　him　out　of　himself　a　little　by　getting　him　to　collaborate；　or　at　any　rate　to　think　over　collaboration；　in　another　romance。　To　this　end　I　wrote　to　him　as　follows：
November　10；　1911。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　I　have　e　across　a　scheme　we　had　（about　a　quarter　of　a　century　ago）　for　collaboration　in　a　novel　of　Old　Kor。
I　think　it　has　been　in　bottle　long　enough　and　should　be　decanted。
What　say　you？　Have　you　any　ideas？　I　see　stuff　in　it；　but　could　not　really　tackle　it　just　at　present。　It　would　be　rather　jolly　to　do　another　job　with　you；　old　fellow。
After　all　“The　World’s　Desire；”　about　which　you　were　rather　melancholy；　has　stood　the　test　of　time　fairly　well　and　many　people　still　like　it　much。
Ever　yours；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
Here　is　the　answer；　written　from　St。　Andrews：
November　11th。
Dear　Rider；　—　Faire　des　objections　c’est　collaborer；　but　I　don’t　think　that　I　could　do　more。　Had　I　any　ideas　of　Kor　long　ago？　“She；”　I　think；　is　not　easily　to　be　raised　again　unless　she　drops　her　＇word　illegible＇　for　some　prehistoric　admirer。　I　like　Kor；　but　have　no　precise　conception　of　it；　unless　the　Egyptians　came　thence。
The　W。D。　＇“World’s　Desire”＇　took　in　despite　of　my　ill…omened　name；　I　brought　you　worse　luck　than　you　would　have　had　alone。
Yours　ever；
A。　Lang。
Do　you　bar　ferreting　rabbits？　I　think　it　damnable。
The　answer　to　this　is　dated　November　13；　1911。
November　13；　1911。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　All　right；　you　shall　“faire　des　objections；”　i。e。　if　we　ever　live　to　get　at　the　thing；　which　I　can’t　do　at　present。
I　think　Kor　was　the　mother　of　Egypt；　which　kept　up　a　filial　correspondence　with　her　oracles。　“She”　smashed　the　place　in　a　rage　because　they　tried　her　for　the　murder　of　Kallikrates。　Foundation　of　history　—　papyrus　records　brought　home　by　Holly　and　sent　with　“Ayesha”　MS。　Entered　up　by　that　old　priest　Junis；　or　someone。
Yes；　ferreting　rabbits　is　beastly；　especially　when　the　ferret　freezes　on　to　the　rabbit　in　the　hole。　But　one　must　get　rid　of　rabbits　somehow。　Now　coursing　—　but　you　know　my　views　on　the　matter。
Ever　yours；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
I　find　among　my　copies　of　letters　one　written　to　Lang　in　1907；　which　also　deals　with　the　question　of　a　further　collaboration　that　we　contemplated　at　this　time。　I　had　quite　forgotten　the　matter；　but　now　I　remember　that　it　came　to　nothing。　Lang　suggested　one　of　the　old　Greek　legends　that　ended　in　the　most　horrible　all…round　tragedy　—　I　do　not　at　the　moment　recall　which　of　them　it　was；　though　I　could　easily　discover　by　consulting　his　letters　of　the　period。
I　said　that　it　would　not　do：　that　a　twentieth…century　audience　ething　a　little　more　cheerful。　I　think　he　was　rather　cross　with　me　about　it　—　if　he　could　be　cross　with　me；　for　no　shadow　of　real　difference　ever　came　between　us。　At　any　rate　the　idea　fell　through；　for　which；　too　late；　I　am　very　sorry　now。　Here　is　my　letter：
Ditchingham　House；　Norfolk：
December　28；　1907。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　I’d　like　to　do　another　book　with　you　before　we　skip　—　awfully。　I　think　you　were　a　bit　discouraged　about　the　“W。　Desire”　because　a　lot　of　ignorant　fools　slated　it；　but　in　my　opinion　you　were　wrong。　That　work　I　believe　will　last。　It　is　extraordinarily　liked　by　many　who　can　understand。　I　told　you　about　the　American　Egyptologist　I　met；　for　instance；　who　reads　it　every　night！
Well　now：　I　don’t　care　much　for　your　Covenanter　who　would　speak　Scotch；　etc。　（i。e。　at　first　sight）。　He　would　not　have　much　of　a　public　or　enlist　the　heart。　Can　you　not　think　of　something　“big　and　beautiful；”　something　that　has　an　idea　in　it？　Something　for　choice　that　has　to　do　with　old　Greece　（which　you　know）　and　with　old　Egypt　（which　I　know？）。　Something　with　room　in　it　for　a　few　of　your　beautiful　verses　（I　am　not　laying　it　on；　old　fellow；　only　saying　the　truth）。　In　short；　a　real　poetical　romance　such　as　we　might　both　be　proud　of。　Now　don’t　toss　this　aside；　but　think。　You　know　all　the　old　world　legends：　there　must　be　some　that　would　lend　themselves　to　this　general　scheme：　that　of　the　quest　for　the　divine　which　must　（for　the　purpose　of　story）　be　symbolised　by　woman。　You　see　the　thing　must　have　a　heart；　mere　adventures　are　not　enough：　I　can　turn　them　out　by　the　peck。　A　motive；　friend；　a　motive！　that’s　what　we　need；　and　one　that　the　world　knows　of。
How　about　a　variant　of　the　Faust　legend？　How　about　the　Sons　of　God　and　the　Daughters　of　Men？　Something　grand　and　pure　and　simple；　something　to　lift　up！　Now　don’t　be　discouraged；　for　though　we　are　both　antique；　I　know　that　we　can　do　it；　if　only　we　can　find　the　theme。
Where　is　our　Hypatia？　Let’s　do　a　big　thing　for　once　and　die　happy！　Please　answer。
Yours　ever；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
The　last　notes　I　ever　received　from　him　were　written　in　February　of　the　present　year；　just　before　I　went　to　Egypt；　and　in　somewhat　better　spirits　than　those　that　I　have　quoted。　For　instance；　one　begins　“Cher　Monsieur　le　Chevalier。”
At　Longman’s　request　I　had　suggested　to　Lang；　half…jokingly；　that　we　should　go　together　on　a　lecture　tour　to　South　Africa；　as　to　which　some　proposals　had　been　made　to　Longman。
“Me　go　to　South　Africa　to　lecture！”　he　answered。　“Why；　going　from　London　to　Upp”　—　Longman’s　place　in　Hertfordshire　—　“knocks　me　up。”
Evidently　so　long　ago　as　February　he　was　not　feeling　strong。　I　may　add　that　a　week　or　two　since　I　met　our　mutual　friend；　Sir　William　Richmond；　to　whom　“The　World’s　Desire”　was　dedicated。　He　told　me　that　he　thought　seriously　of　Lang’s　health　—　that　he　seemed　very　anxious　to　see　his　friends；　but　when　he　did　see　them　spoke　but　little。
Looking　through　Lang’s　letters　to　me　I　find　one；　written　from　St。　Andrews　on　February　20；　1896；　that　tells　me　of　the　death　of　his　brother　in　moving　terms。　In　that　letter　appears　the　following　passage；　which　on　this　sad　day　I　quote　with　pride　and　gratitude：
“You　have　been　more　to　me　of　what　the　dead　friends　of　my　youth　were；　than　any　other　man；　and　I　take　the　chance　to　say　it；　though　not　given　to　speaking　of　such　matters。”
With　this　letter　is　a　draft　of　my　answer；　rough　and　cut　about；　from　which　I　extract　a　passage　or　two。
“No；　there　is　nothing　to　be　said；　except　what　I　once　put　into　the　mouth　of　a　character　in　‘Montezuma’　—　that　no　affection　is　perfect　until　it　is　sealed　and　sanctified　by　death。”
（I　feel　the　truth　of　that　statement　today　when　dear　Lang　seems　nearer　to　me　than　he　has　been　for　many　a　year　—　than　he　has　ever　been！）
After　all；　what　is　it；　this　death？　As　I　grow　older　I　seem　to　understand　the　hope　and　beauty　of　it；　and　though　doubtless　I　shall　recoil　afraid；　to　rejoice　that　life　should　close　so　soon。　Better　to　die　than　to　see　those　we　love　die。　For　to　most　of　us　existence　here　at　the　best　is　unhappy。　Goodness　and　the　desire　to　better　the　state　of　others　are　the　only　happy　things　in　it；　and　the　first　in　our　half…brutal　nature　is　hard　to　attain。　But　I　think　it　can　be　attained　if　opportunity　and　space　endure；　and　then；　our　many　past　sins；　errors　and　foulness　of　thought　and　deed　notwithstanding；　why　should　we　fear　to　die？　Surely　those　men　are　mad　who　in　their　little　day　reject　the　offerings　of　religion；　for　through　faith　the　munion　of　the　creature　with　his　Maker　is　real　and　possible　to　him　who　seeks　it；　whatever　the　fashion　of　his　seeking；　and　without　that　munion　light　is　not。　Love　also　is　real　and　immortal；　not　lust；　but　the　love　of　children　and　friends　and　fellow…beings　—　that　light　shall　always　shine。　For　myself　I　hope　to　live　long　enough　to　win　sufficient　success　and　money　to　do　some　little　good　to　others。　If　I　fail　in　the　attempt　。　。　。　may　the　earnest　endeavour　be　accepted！　At　least　we　should　try；　since　all　we　have；　intelligence；　attributes；　means；　is　but　lent　to　us。　I　wonder　if　you　will　set　me　down　as　a　simple　religious　enthusiast　or　as　a　little　mad　with　my　notions　of　the　efficacy　of　faith　and　prayer。　Perhaps　I　am　the　latter　—　sorrow　breeds　it　—　but　at　least　my　madness　is　a　star　to　follow　。　。　。　。
My　dear　Lang；　that　friendship　to　which　you　make　such　touching　allusion　always　has　been；　is　and　will　be　returned　by　myself。　I　will　say　no　more。
In　the　letter　to　which　the　above　e　verses　by　Lockhart　to　exemplify　his　own　state　of　mind；　which；　as　he　says；　“are　good　and　simple”　—　so　good；　and　at　this　moment　so　appropriate　indeed；　that　I　cannot　end　these　remarks　better　than　by　copying　them。
It　is　an　old　belief
？That　on　some　solemn　shore
Beyond　the　sphere　of　grief
？Dear　friends　shall　meet　once　more。
Beyond　the　sphere　of　Time；
？And　Sin；　and　Fate’s　control；
Serene　in　changeless　prime
？Of　body　and　soul。
That　creed　I　fain　would　keep；
？This　hope　I’ll　not　forgo；
Eternal　be　the　sleep；
？Unless　to　waken　so。
And　so　to　Andrew　Lang；　among　men　my　best　friend　perhaps；　and　the　one　with　whom　I　was　most　entirely　in　tune；　farewell　for　a　while。　Of　his　character　and　gifts　I　have　already　written　while　he　was　still　living；　so　I　will　say　no　more　of　them　now。　There　are　few　such；　and　today　the　world　is　poorer　and　greyer　for　the　loss　of　a　pure　and　noble　nature。　For　myself　I　am　more　lonely；　since　of　those　men；　not　of　my　kin；　whom　I　knew　and　loved　while　I　still　was　young；　now　Charles　Longman　and　Arthur　Cochrane　alone　are　left。
I　find　also　another　letter　from　Lang　dated　June　2；　1902；　in　which　he　informs　me　of　the　death　of　a　second　brother　—　“my　little　brother；　he　was　always　little；　and　ten　years　younger　than　I。　。　。　。　I　tell　you　because　you　are　a　good　fellow　if　ever　there　was　one；　and　so　was　he；”　etc。
I　quote　no　more；　according　to　the　rule　I　have　made　as　to　certain　matters　which　belong　to　the　private　lives　of　others。　My　answer；　however；　which　is　pinned　to　the　letter；　may　be　printed；　as　that　is　my　affair　and　only　portrays　my　private　views。
June　6；　1902。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　Very　well　I　won’t　write　about　it；　but　try　to　take　fort。　I　am　sure　that　no　affections　are　so　perfect　as　those　which　have　passed　through　the　fires　of　death；　and　often　I　think　that　as　sometimes　we　grow　away　from　the　living；　so　always　do　we　grow　nearer　to　the　desired　dead　—　in　spirit；　I　mean。
It　is　a　strange　world；　especially　to　those　who　feel　much；　but　the　only　things　to　do　seem　to　be　to　work　on　to　the　best　of　one’s　ability；　to　be　very　sorry　for　one’s　sins；　and　in　great　humbleness　to　wait　till　the　mortal　tide　engulfs　us　also　—　hoping　that　beneath　or　beyond　it　we　may　find　peace；　understanding　and　our　perfect　part。　If　I　am　sure　of　anything　I　am　sure　that　Man　has　a　living　Spirit；　and　that　he　does　not　suffer　so　much　to　please　the　laws　of　Matter　or　a　god　called　Chance。　With　true　sympathy；
Your　affec。　friend；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
Some　days　after　Lang’s　death　I　received　a　letter　from　Charles　Longman　of　which　I　will　quote　a　passage　that　deals　with　the　character　of　Andrew　Lang　and　the　friendship　we　both　had　for　him。
Yes；　you　and　I　will　always　feel　a　blank　when　we　think　of　Andrew　Lang。　He　was　of　all　men　the　most　loyal　to　his　friends　—　it　was　one　of　his　most　marked　characteristics；　and　there　had　been　a　bond　between　us　three　which　nothing　could　break。　As　you　know；　I　had　been　anxious　about　him　this　spring；　though　not　about　his　heart；　which　the　doctor　had　lately　examined　without　finding　anything　wrong。　But　his　eyesight　was　threatened；　and　there　was　this　strange　depression　about　public　affairs；　which　seemed　as　though　it　might　grow　worse。　In　old　days　when　he　was　bright　and　cheerful　it　is　little　he　troubled　himself　about　strikes　and　such…like。　So　it　may　be　that　he　—　and　those　who　loved　him　—　have　been　spared　something　by　his　swift　end。　But　the　breaking　of　an　unclouded　friendship　of　five…and…forty　years　is　no　light　thing：　as　you　say；　one　must　hope　that　the　break　is　but　a　temporary　one　and　that　there　is　some　other　meeting…place　for　friends。　Matt。　Arnold　says：
“Sad　fate　of　every　mortal　lot
Which　man；　proud　man；　finds　hard　to　bear；
And　builds　himself；　I　know　not　what
Of　second　life；　I　know　not　where。”
At　some　date　before　he　died　Lang　asked　his　wife　to　give　to　me　a　certain　ring　in　token　of　remembrance。　I　have　now　received　and　shall　always　wear　this　ring。　It　belonged　to　Queen　Taia；　the　wife　of　Amenophis　III；　or　perhaps　to　Nefertiti；　her　daughter…inlaw；　who　married　the　famous　Khu…en…aten；　the　fourth　Amenophis　and　the　remarkable　Pharaoh　who　inaugurated　what　the　priests　of　Amen　considered　the　heresy　of　the　worship　of　the　Sun’s　Disc；　by　which；　I　take　it；　he　symbolised　the　one　Almighty　God　who　made　the　world。　On　this　ring；　which；　I　think；　from　the　length　of　time　that　it　had　evidently　been　worn；　must　have　adorned　the　hand　of　Taia　some　3500　years　ago；　is　engraved　a　cat　adoring　Ra　or　the　Sun；　or　perhaps　the　“Aten”　or　Disc。　I　already　possess　th