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！
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 e