the days of my life-第35部分

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k　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　the　sister　ring　that；　from　the　less　amount　of　wear　it　shows；　was　probably　worn　by　the　shorter…lived　Nefertiti；　Khu…en…aten’s　adored　and；　I　believe；　sole　wife。　Both　of　them　were　obtained　by　us　from　the　Rev。　W。　J。　Loftie　in　the　year　1887；　　in　Egypt　when；　about　that　time；　the　mummies　of　these　queens　were　discovered　and　broken　up　by　the　Arabs　at　Tel…el…Amarna。
Chapter　16　
Miss　Ida　Hector　—　H。　R。　H。　dictates　his　works　to　her　—　Wishes　for　change　of　occupation　—　Dream…pictures　—　H。　R。　H。‘s　theory　of　Romance…writing　—　Literary　coincidences　—　Examples　from　the　works　of　H。　R。　H。　—　The　Spectator。
When　I　returned　from　Mexico　in　1891　I　fell　into　very　poor　health。　Everything；　especially　my　indigestion；　went　wrong；　so　wrong　that　I　began　to　think　that　my　bones　would　never　grow　old。　Amongst　other　inconveniences　I　found　that　I　could　no　longer　endure　the　continual　stooping　over　a　desk　which　is　involved　in　the　writing　of　books。　It　was　therefore　fortunate　for　me　that　about　this　time　Miss　Ida　Hector；　the　eldest　daughter　of　Mrs。　Hector；　better　known　as　Mrs。　Alexander；　the　novelist；　became　my　secretary；　and　in　that　capacity；　as　in　those　of　a　very　faithful　friend　and　panion；　to　whose　sound　sense　and　literary　judgment　I　am　much　indebted；　has　so　remained　to　this　day。　From　that　time　forward　I　have　done　a　great　deal　of　my　work　by　means　of　dictation；　which　has　greatly　relieved　its　labour。　Some　people　can　dictate；　and　others　cannot。　Personally　I　have　always　found　the　method　easy；　provided　that　the　dictatee；　if　I　may　coin　a　word；　is　patient　and　does　not　go　too　fast。　I　imagine；　for　instance；　that　it　would　be　impossible　to　dictate　a　novel　to　a　shorthand…writer。　Also；　if　the　person　who　took　down　the　words　irritated　one　in　any　way；　it　would　be　still　more　impossible。　Provided　circumstances　are　congenial；　however；　the　plan　has　merits；　since　to　many　the　mere　physical　labour　of　writing　clogs　the　mind。　So；　at　least；　various　producers　of　books　seem　to　have　found。　Among　them　I　recall　Thackeray　and　Stevenson。
Of　the　next　few　years　of　my　life　there　is　not　much　to　tell。　I　lived　here　at　Ditchingham　in　a　very　quiet　and　retired　fashion；　rarely　visiting　London；　wrote　a　few　novels；　and　for　recreation　occupied　myself　with　farming　and　gardening；　for　which　occupations　I　have　always　had　an　instinctive　taste。　The　work　that　I　did　was　a　good　deal　attacked：　it　was　the　fashion　to　attack　me　in　those　days。　Possibly　owing　to　my　ill…health　some　of　it　may　not　have　been　quite　up　to　the　mark；　I　do　not　know。　What　I　do　know　is　that　I　grew　heartily　tired　of　the　writing　of　stories。　After　the　birth　of　my　youngest　child；　Lilias；　which　to　my　great　joy　happened　at　the　end　of　the　year　1892；　my　health　and　spirits　began　to　mend　and　my　energy　to　return；　largely　owing；　I　think；　to　the　treatment　of　my　friend　Dr。　Lyne　Stivens。　I　was　still　a　youngish　man；　but　had　reached　that　time　of　life　when　I　felt　that　if　I　was　to　make　any　change　of　occupation　it　must　be　done　at　once。　And　I　longed　to　make　a　change；　for　this　humdrum　existence　in　a　country　parish；　staring　at　crops　and　cultivating　flowers；　was；　I　felt；　more　suitable　to　some　aged　man　whose　life’s　work　was　done　than　to　myself。　Also　at　this　time　the　unrealities　of　fiction…writing　greatly　wearied　me；　oddly　enough　much　more　than　they　do　at　present；　when　they　have　bee　a　kind　of　amusement　and　set…off　to　the　more　serious　things　and　thoughts　with　which　my　life　is　occupied。
Still　it　is　true　that　even　now；　if　circumstances　allowed　of　it；　I　do　not　think　I　should　write　much　more　fiction；　at　any　rate　of　the　kind　that　people　would　buy。　With　the　exception　of　certain　stories　that　I　should　like　to　tell　for　their　own　sake；　and　not　to　earn　money　by　them。　I　should　occupy　my　time　with　writings　of　a　different　sort；　connected；　probably；　for　the　most　part　with　the　land；　agriculture；　and　social　matters。　For　instance；　I　should　dearly　like　to　finish　my　survey　of　rural　England；　and　to　undertake　that　of　Scotland；　Wales；　and　Ireland　—　tasks；　I　suppose；　that　I　shall　never　be　able　to　execute。　Only　this　year23　I　had　arranged　to　make　an　effort　to　investigate　and　write　on　the　agriculture　of　Ireland。　But　then；　of　a　sudden；　I　was　appointed　to　the　Dominions　Royal　mission；　and　how　could　I　find　time　for　both？　The　months　that　I　had　proposed　to　devote　to　Ireland　I　have　been　obliged　to　spend　in　writing　a　story。
22　1912。　—　Ed。
I　know　that　folk　—　very　superior　folk　—　exist　who　affect　to　scorn　the　base　person　who　does　one　kind　of　work　when　he　would　like　to　do　another；　merely　because　the　former　does　and　the　latter　does　not　pay。　There　is　something　to　be　said　for　this　position；　but　if　a　man　chances　to　realise　that　he　does　not　live　unto　himself　alone；　and　to　have　many　dependent　upon　him；　directly　or　indirectly；　or　if　he　chances　to　desire　to　render　gratuitous　services　to　his　country；　he　must；　in　such　a　case；　“cut　his　coat　according　to　his　cloth。”
Therefore；　although　I　should　have　dearly　liked　to　place　on　record　my　views　of　Irish　agriculture；　in　place　thereof　I　have　found　myself　obliged　to　edit　certain　of　the　reminiscences　of　Mr。　Allan　Quatermain。　To　be　honest；　these　have　amused　me　not