the days of my life-第84章

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　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　to　the　subject　no　more；　I　will　add　a　word　on　the　general　matter　of　the　writing　of　romances。　This；　I　gather；　from　remarks　that　have　been　made　to　me　and　many　letters　that　I　have　received；　is　supposed　to　be　a　very　easy　art；　if　indeed　it　is　worthy　to　be　classified　under　that　high　name。　As　a　matter　of　fact　it　is　difficult。　In　a　novel；　as　the　word　is　generally　understood；　the　author　may　discourse　upon　a　thousand　topics；　nothing；　or　at　any　rate　very　little；　is　barred　to　him。　He　may　burrow　in　the　obscene　depths　of　human　nature；　he　may　discuss　politics；　religion；　metaphysics；　socialism；　“love”　in　all　its　forms；　the　elemental　or　artificial　divisions　between　the　sexes　—　oh！　what　is　there　that　he　may　not　and　does　not　discuss？　Nothing　that　appears　in　the　columns　of　the　daily　papers；　nothing　that　is　within　the　range　of　the　human　intellect；　lies　beyond　his　legitimate；　or　illegitimate；　scope。
In　romance　all　this　is　different；　the　lines　between　which　he　must　move　are　by　parison　extremely　narrow：　as　I　remember；　Besant　put