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the days of my life-第章

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Another question: Why cannot the public authorities establish really suitable nursing homes for paying patients? This would be a great boon to thousands; and; I should imagine; self…supporting。
However; of one of these nurses at any rate; a widow; I have grateful recollections。 I amused myself; and; I trust; her; by reading “Ayesha” aloud to her during my long wakeful hours — for she was a night nurse。
This book “Ayesha;” which was published while I was in the nursing home; is a sequel to “She;” which; in obedience to my original plan; I had deliberately waited for twenty years to write。 As is almost always the case; it suffered somewhat from this fact; at any rate at the hands of those critics with whom it is an article of faith to declare that no sequel can be good。 Still; I have met and heard from many people who like “Ayesha” better than they do “She。”
Lang was very doubtful about this book。 He wrote:
You may think me a hound; but I only found out as I went to bed last night that “Ayesha” was in the drawing…room。 Awfully good of you to make me such a nice dedication; grammar right too; which I name because in a very jolly book egalement dedie to me the grammar is wrong; but I could not point that out to the author。
I am almost afraid to read “She;” as at 61;00000 one has no longer the joyous credulity of forty; and even your imagination is out of the fifth form。 However; plenty of boys are about; and I hope they will be victims of the enchantress。 。 。 。
I was therefore correspondingly relieved; believing as I do that Lang’s judgment on imaginative fiction was the soundest of any man of his time; and knowing his habit of declaring the faith that was in him without fear; favour; or prejudice; when on the following day I received another note in which he said:
It is all right: I am Thrilled: so much obliged。 I thought I was too Old; but the Eternal Boy is still on the job。 Unluckily I think the dam reviewers never were boys — most of them the Editor’s nieces。 May it be done into Thibetan。 Dolmen business in Chapter I all right!
I have often been asked; and have been careful never to answer the question; as to what I considered the best passages in my own humble writings。 It is a very favourite query of the casual correspondent; from whom I receive; on an average; a letter a day; and sometimes many; many more。 Now in acknowledgment of them all I reply — Ignosi’s chant in “King Solomon’s Mines;” as it appears in the later editions of that book (the same that Stevenson called “a very noble imitation”); the somewhat similar chant to the Sun in “Allan Quatermain”; the scene where Eric Brighteyes finds his mother dead — which Lang declared was “as good as Homer” — and the subsequent fight in the hall at Middlehof; the description of the wolves springing up at the dead body in the cave in “Nada the Lily”; the transformation in the chapter called “The Change” and “The Loosing of the Powers” in “Ayesha”; a speech made by the heroine Mameena as she dies; in an unpublished work called “Child of Storm;” with the rest of her death scene; the account of the passion of John and Jess as they swung together wrapt in each other’s arms in the sinking waggon on the waters of the flooded Vaal; and; oh! I know not what besides。 When one has written some fifty books the memory is scarce equal to the task of searching for plums amidst the dough。 Also; when one has found them; they seem on consideration to be but poor plums at best。 Also one thinks differently of their relative merits or demerits at different times。 For instance; how about “She’s” speech before she enters the fire? and the holding of the stair by old Umslopogaas? and the escape of the ship in “Fair Margaret”? or the battle of Crecy in “Red Eve”? If I am asked what book of mine I think the best as a whole; I answer that one; yet unpublished; to my mind is the most artistic。 At any rate; to some extent; it satisfies my literary conscience。 It is the book named “Child of Storm;” to which I have alluded above; and is a chapter in the history of “Allan Quatermain。” Of Allan; for obvious reasons; I can always write; and of Zulus; whose true inwardness I understand by the light of Nature; I can always write; and — well; the result pleases at least one reader — myself。 Whether it will please others is a different matter。
So; at last I have tried to answer the inquiries of the all…pervading casual correspondent in a somewhat superficial fashion。 To do so thoroughly would involve weeks of reading of much that I now forget。
When I escaped from that nursing home; very feeble and with much…shattered nerves; I went to stay with my friend Lyne Stivens to recuperate; and then for a day or two to Kipling’s。 Here I remember we pounded the plot of “The Ghost Kings” together; writing down our ideas in alternate sentences upon the same sheet of foolscap。
Among my pleasantest recollections during the last few years are those of my visits to the Kiplings; and one that they paid me here; during which we discussed everything in heaven above and earth beneath。 It is; I think; good for a man of rather solitary habits now and again to have the opportunity of familiar converse with a brilliant and creative mind。 Also we do not fidget each other。 Thus only last year Kipling informed me that he could work as well when I was sitting in the room as though he were alone; whereas generally the presence of another person while he was writing would drive him almost mad。 He added that he supposed the explanation to be that we were both of a trade; and I dare say he is right。 I imagine; however; that sympathy has much to do with the matter。
Of late years Kipling has been much attacked; a fate with which I was once most familiar; since at one time or the other it overtakes the majority of those who have met with any measure of literary; or indeed of other success — unless they happen to be Scotchmen; when they are sure of enthusiastic support from their patriots always and everywhere。 The English; it seems to me; lack this clan feeling; and are generally prepared to rend each other to pieces in all walks of life; perhaps because our race is of such mixe
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