多多读书

手机浏览器扫描二维码访问

第61部分（第1页）

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　a　little；　perhaps　because　I　always　find　it　easy　to　ain；　who；　after　all；　is　only　myself　set　in　a　variety　of　imagined　situations；　thinking　my　thoughts　and　looking　at　life　through　my　eyes。　Indeed　there　are　several　subjects　with　which　I　always　find　it　not　difficult　to　deal　—　for　instance；　Old　Egypt；　Norsemen；　and　African　savages。　Of　these　last；　however；　I　prefer　to　write　in　the　pany　of　the　late　Allan　Quatermain。

At　the　time　of　which　I　am　now　speaking；　the　early　niies；　it　was；　however；　otherwise；　for　then；　being　much　younger；　I　wearied　of　fiction　and　longed　for　the　life　of　action　to　which　I　had　been　bred　and　that；　indeed；　is　native　to　my　character。　In　truth；　the　dislike　and　revolt　of　my　heart　in　those　days　still　haunts　me　as　a　kind　of　nightmare　which　is　perhaps　sufficiently　amusing　to　relate。

Many　people　have　their　favourite　dreams；　and　within　the　last　year　or　so　I　have　developed　a　very　fair　specimen　of　this　class　of　illusion　which　es　to　me　in　an　oft…repeated　vision　of　the　mind。　Who　does　not　know　that　order　of　dream　wherein　we　seem　to　move　among　the　dead　and　in　their　pany；　with　eager　yet　trembling　feet；　to　try　the　cold　waters　of　the　stream　of　Death？

Well；　through　the　ivory　gates　of　such　a　dream　as　this　at　times　I　seem　to　see　my　spiritual　heritage　spread　large　before　me　in　a　world　of　pictured　silence。　There；　at　the　back　of　the　picture；　rises　the　mighty　cliff　whereon；　at　intervals；　the　great　golden　figures；　which　I　take　it　are　images　and　not　alive；　seem　to　keep　watch　and　ward　over　the　illimitable　lands　beneath；　while　between　them；　also　at　intervals　of　scores　or　hundreds　of　leagues；　pour　the　cataracts　gathered　I　know　not　whence。　In　a　fold　of　that　cliff　lie　the　blue　waters　of　the　Holy　Lake；　surrounded　by　wide　cedars　and　huge；　immemorial　pines　that　spring　two　hundred　feet　without　a　bough　and；　at　their　crown；　end　always　in　a　single　bent　plume　of　green；　as　though　up　on　high　some　strong　wind　shaped　them　with　a　steady　hand。　Along　the　foot　of　the　cliff　runs　a　great　river　that；　like　the　Nile；　floods　the　lands　at　certain　seasons；　and　makes　them　bear　a　hundredfold。　Winding　almost　at　right　angles　from　the　mountain　slope；　it　flows　across　the　boundless　plain；　past　a　white　and　wonderful　city　whose　domes　and　palaces　I　only　see　from　far　away；　for　here　my　guide　has　never　led　me。　There　on　its　banks　soar　gracious　palms；　there　willows　weep；　there　spread　aspens　with　leaves　just　about　to　quiver；　and　there；　through　the　sparse　woodlands；　roam　the　wild　things　of　the　New　Creation；　seeking　their　food　from　God　and　fearing　no　hurt　from　aught　that　serves　Him。　Facing　this　river；　to　the　right　as　I　see　it；　but　far　across　the　plain；　are　lovely　mountains　not　so　very　lofty；　where；　from　the　other　river　of　the　lake；　amidst　slender　ferns；　rush　waterfalls　that　descend　in　bursts　of　stirless　spray。

There；　too；　in　the　east　—　can　it　be　the　east；　I　wonder？　—　is　the　very　well　and　fount　of　light：　a　soft　but　radiant　light　that　casts　no　shadow；　since　it　grows　and　flows　above；　beneath；　around；　and　everywhere。　Its　shape　is　that　of　a　luminous　fan。　While　the　day　increases　—　how　long　that　day　is　I　do　not　know　—　so　does　the　glory　of　that　fan　extend　till　it　fills　all　those　celestial　skies：　till　it　bends　across　them　beyond　the　mighty　cliff　where　stand　the　golden　guards；　as　in　the　funeral　paintings　of　Old　Egypt　the　image　of　the　goddess　Nout　bends　across　the　heavens　and　holds　the　earth　in　her　embracing　arms。　Then；　as　at　length　the　night　draws　on；　this　wondrous　fan　folds　itself　again　to　a　cluster　of　jewelled　stars；　large　as　young　moons　and　of　every　lovely　hue；　varying　from　that　of　a　kind　of　shining　blackness　to　those　of　steel　blue；　and　scarlet；　and　red　fire；　that　girdle　the　firmament　with　a　glittering　belt　as　might　do　the　Milky　Way　drawn　near。

Overlooking　all　these　wonders；　at　the　foot　of　the　cliff；　beyond　the　borders　of　the　lake　but　at　a　lower　level；　in　this　fantastic　dream　of　mine　stands　a　strange　and　silent　house　built　for　me　by　hands　that　I　have　known。　I　see　its　central　hall；　where　all　those　I　loved　or　love　in　life　steal　in　and　out。　I　see　a　certain　chamber；　low　and　large；　which　overlooks　the　dreaming　landscape；　and；　more　nearly；　the　walks　of　garden　trees　hung　with　bells　of　white　and　purple　blossom；　with　unknown；　golden　fruits　and　creeping　strands　of　vine。　Standing　in　the　recessed　doorway　of　this　chamber；　I　see　in　its　far　corner；　seated　at　a　desk　above　a　covered　terrace；　myself；　younger　than　I　am　now；　wearing　some　sort　of　white　garments　and　bending　over　the　desk　at　work；　with　papers　spread　before　me。

At　the　sight　a　kind　of　terror　seizes　me　lest　this　fair　place　should　be　but　a　scented　purgatory　where；　in　payment　for　my　sins；　I　am　doomed　to　write　fiction　for　ever　and　a　day！

“At　what　do　I　work？”　I　ask；　alarmed；　of　the　guide　who；　shining　steadily；　stands　at　my　side　and　shows　me　all。

“You　write　the　history　of　a　world”　（or　was　it　“of　the　world”？　—　I　am　not　sure）；　is　the　answer；　and　in　my　dream　I　breathe　again。

For　truly　it　would　be　a　horrible　fate　to　be　doomed　from　aeon　to　countless　aeons　to　the　position　of　romance。

Of　course　what　I　have　set　down　is　but　a　fancy　such　as　might　e　to　an　imaginative　child。　Still；　that　landscape；　which　I　know　as　well　as；　if　not　better　than；　any　on　the　earth；　has　charms　and　glories　of　its　own。　Therefore　I　have　wasted　half　an　hour　of　my　time　and　some　few　minutes　of　my　reader’s　in　attempting　very　briefly　to　describe　that　which　in　truth　no　words　can　carry。

I　confess　that　in　any　other　life　I　should　prefer　some　change　of　employment；　but　if　I　should　be　doomed　to　write　there　I　hope　that　the　subject…matter　of　my　toil　may；　as　in　the　vision；　prove　to　be　not　fiction　but　history；　which　I　love。　In　all　the　worlds　above　us　there　must　be　much　history　to　record。　Also　there　must　be　much　good　work　to　do；　which　is　fortunate。　At　least　I　can　conceive　no　idle　heaven　—　where　it　“is　always　afternoon。”　To　me　such　a　place　would　be　the　reverse　of　heaven。　To　me　happiness　and　work　well　done；　or　service　faithfully　acplished；　are　words　with　a　like　meaning。

And　now；　with　many　apologies；　I　will　turn　to　mundane　things　again。　Before　I　do　so；　however；　as　I　dare　say　I　shall　allude