the days of my life-第60章
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beside us； while the Arab； streaming with perspiration； danced round and objurgated him and us in his native tongue until he was appeased with large baksheesh。 Brownrigg； who will never be nearer to a dreadful death than he was that day； told me afterwards that； strong as his head was； he found it impossible to attempt the descent face outwards； since the thickness of the cap hid the sides of the pyramid from his sight； so that all he saw beneath him was some three hundred feet of empty space。 Therefore he turned and soon found himself quite helpless； since he could neither find any foothold beneath him； nor could he reascend。 Had not the watchful Arab seen him and his case； in another few minutes he must have fallen and been dashed to pieces at our feet。 The memory of that scene still makes my back feel cold and my flesh creep。 I have tried to reproduce it in “Ayesha；” where Holly falls from the rock to the ice…covered river far beneath。
From Egypt I sailed to Cyprus in a tub of a ship； where a rat had its nest behind my bunk。 It was my first visit to that delightful and romantic isle； over which all the civilisations have poured in turn； wave by wave； till at length came the Turk； beneath whose foot “the grass does not grow；” and； by the special mercy of Providence； after the Turk the English。
Here I was the guest of my old chief； Sir Henry Bulwer； who at that time was High missioner for the island。
From Government House at Nicosia I made various delightful expeditions in the pany of Mrs。 Caldwell； Sir Henry Bulwer’s sister； and her daughters。 For instance we visited Famagusta； that marvellous mediaeval； walled town； built and fortified by the Veians； that the Turks took after a terrible siege； for the details of which I will refer the reader to my book； “A Winter Pilgrimage；” written many years later after a second visit to Cyprus。
In 1887； strange as it may seem； the debris of this siege were still very much in evidence。 Thus after about three centuries the balls fired by the Turkish cannon lay all over the place。 I hold one of them in my hand as I write； slightly pit…marked by the passage of time； or more probably by flaws in the casting。
Here in this beautiful island of Venus I trusted； before turning to my tasks again； to have a little real holiday after a good many years of very hard work。 But； as it happened； holidays have never been for me。 At the age of nieen； to say nothing of the preliminary toils of education； I began to labour； and at the age of fifty…six I still find myself labouring with the firm and； so far as I can judge； well…grounded prospect that I shall continue to labour on public and private business till health and intelligence fail me； or； as I hope； death overtakes me while these still remain。
Here I must go back a little。 In the winter of 1886； as I remember very much against my own will； I was worried into writing an article about “Fiction” for the Contemporary Review。
It is almost needless for me to say that for a young writer who had suddenly e into some kind of fame to spring a dissertation of this kind upon the literary world over his own name was very little short of madness。 Such views must necessarily make him enemies； secret or declared； by the hundred。 There are two bits of advice which I will offer to the youthful author of the future。 Never preach about your trade； and； above all； never criticise other practitioners of that trade； however profoundly you may disagree with them。 Heaven knows there are critics enough without your taking a hand in the business。 Do your work as well as you can and leave other people to do theirs； and the public to judge between them。 Secondly； unless you are absolutely driven to it； as of course may happen sometimes； never enter into a controversy with a newspaper。
To return： this unfortunate article about “Fiction” made me plenty of enemies； and the mere fact of my remarkable success made me plenty more。 Through no fault of mine； also； these foes found a very able leader in the person of Mr。 Stead； who at that time was the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette。 I should say； however； that of late years Mr。 Stead has quite changed his attitude towards me and has indeed bee very plimentary； both with reference to my literary and to my public work。 For my part； too； I have long ago forgiven his onslaughts； as I can honestly say I have forgiven everybody else for every harm that they have done； or tried to do me。
To go back to “Jess。” Being somewhat piqued by the frequent descriptions of myself as “a mere writer of romances and boys’ books；” I determined to try my hand at another novel （if one es to think of it “Dawn” and “The Witch’s Head” were novels； but these had been obliterated by “King Solomon’s Mines”）。 So after I had finished “Allan Quatermain” I set to as I have already described； and wrote “Jess。”
It is a gloomy story and painful to an Englishman； so gloomy and painful that Lang could scarcely read it； having a nature susceptible as a sensitive plant。 I feel this myself； for except when I went through it some fifteen years ago to correct it for a new illustrated edition； I too have never reread it； and I think that I never mean to do so。 The thing is a living record of our shame in South Africa； written by one by whom it was endured。 And therefore it lives； for it is a bit of history put into tangible and human shape。 At any rate； the other day the publishers kindly sent me a copy of the twenty…seventh edition of the work； which of course has been circulated in countless numbers in a cheap form。 I believe that in South Africa they think highly of “Jess”； even the Boers of the new generation read it。 I remember that when some of their trenches were stormed in the last war； the special correspondents reported that the only book found in them was “Jess。”
I returned to England by long sea； avoiding the train journey across Europe。 This I undertook when I went out in order to study the Egyptian collections at the Louvre and Turin。 As it happened I never saw that at Turin。 When I arrived there； purposing to spend an afternoon at the museum； my cabman drove me to a distant circus； and when at length I did reach the said museum； it was to find that on this particular day it was closed。
On my arrival in England what between success and attacks I found myself quite a celebrity； one whose name was in everybody’s mouth。 I made money； for instance I sold “Cleopatra” for a large sum in cash； and also “Colonel Quaritch； V。C。；” a tale of English country life which Longman liked — it was dedicated to him — and Lang hated it so much that I think he called it the worst book that ever was written。 Or perhaps it was someone else who favoured it with that description。 Some of this money I lost； for really I had not time to look after it； and the investments suggested by kind friends connected with the City were apt to prove disappointing。 Some of it I spent in paying off back debts and mortgages on our property； and in doing up this house which it sadly needed； as well as countless farm buildings； and a proportion was absorbed by our personal expenditure。 For instance we moved into a larger house in Radcliffe Square and there entertained a little； though not to any great extent； for we never were extravagant。 Also I became what is called famous； which in practice means that people are glad to ask you out to dinner； and when you enter a room everyone turns to look at you。 Also it means that bores of the most appalling description write to you from all over the earth； and expect answers。
Therefore； although I had the affection of my old friends and made one or two new ones； such as Charles Longman； with whom； to my great good fortune； I began to grow intimate about this time； it came about that I was much envied and not a little hated by many who made my life bitter with constant attacks in the Press； which； being somewhat sensitive by nature； I was foolish enough to feel。 Indeed there came a time when for a good many years I would read no reviews of my books； unless chance thrust them under my eyes。 Therefore of those years there are few literary records。
In addition to much worry； my work at this time was truly overwhelming。 The unf
