the days of my life-第40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