the days of my life-第54章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　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　manus