the days of my life-第68章

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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　it　admirably　when　answering　some　onslaught　on　myself　in　connection　with　“Montezuma’s　Daughter”：　“There　is　but　one　bag　of　tricks　in　romance。”
The　love　interest；　at　least　among　the　English…speaking　peoples；　must　be　limited　and　restrained　in　tone；　must　follow　the　accepted　lines　of　thought　and　what　is　defined　as　morality。　Indeed　it　may　even　be　omitted；　sometimes　with　advantage。　The　really　needful　things　are　adventure　—　how　impossible　it　matters　not　at　all；　provided　it　is　made　to　appear　possible　—　and　imagination；　together　with　a　clever　use　of　coincidence　and　an　ordered　development　of　the　plot；　which　should；　if　possible；　have　a　happy　ending；　since　few　folk　like　to　be　saddened　by　what　they　read。　If　they　seek　melancholy；　it　can　be　found　in　ample　measure　in　real　life　or　in　the　daily　papers。　Still；　the　rule　of　the　happy　ending　is　one　that　may　be　broken　at　times；　at　least　I　have　dared　to　do　so　on　some　occasions；　and　notably　in　the　instance　of　“Eric　Brighteyes。”　I　remember　that　Charles　Longman　remonstrated　with　me　on　this　matter　at　the　time；　but　I　showed　him　that　the　story　demanded　it　—　that；　although　I　too　wept　over　the　evil　necessity；　it　must　be　so！
Now　adventure　in　this　narrow　world　of　ours　is　a　limited　quantity；　and　imagination；　after　all；　is　hemmed　in　by　deductions　from　experience。　When　we　try　to　travel　beyond　these　the　results　bee　so　unfamiliar　that　they　are　apt　to　lack　interest　to　the　ordinary　mind。　I　think　I　am　right　in　saying　that　no　one　has　ever　written　a　really　first…class　romance　dwelling　solely；　for　example；　upon　the　utterly　alien　life　of　another　world　or　pla　with　which　human　beings　cannot　possibly　have　any　touch。　Homer　and　others　bring　such　supernormal　life　into　the　circle　of　our　own　surroundings　and　vivify　it　by　contact；　or　by　contrast；　with　the　play　of　human　nature　as　exemplified　in　their　characters。　But　it　will　not　stand　alone。　We　are　not　strong　and　skilled　enough　to　carve　out　of　quite　unknown　material　figures　so　life…like　that　even　in　a　dreaming　hour　they　can　pass　as　real。　I　repeat；　therefore；　that　the　lines　which　close　in　the　kingdom　of　romance　are　very　narrow；　and　that　the　material　which　must　be　used　is　so　much　handled　that　nowadays　it　has　bee　difficult　to　fashion　from　it　any　shape　that　is　novel　enough；　or　sufficiently　striking　to　catch　the　attention　of　the　world。
What　is　there　that　has　not　been　used？　Who；　to　take　a　single　instance；　can　hope　to　repeat　the　effect　of　Robinson　Crusoe　on　his　desert　island；　or　the　thrill　of　that　naked　footprint　in　the　sand？　Defoe　exhausted　these　long　ago；　everything　of　the　sort　that　follows　must　be　a　mere　pastiche。
To　pass　over　other　salient　and　familiar　examples；　I　may　with　humility　remark　that　even　a　second　“She”　would　offer　difficulties　to　her　originator。　In　my　own　day　some　have　been　tried；　and　proved　very　ephemeral　creations。　The　stock　of　such　ideas；　in　short；　is　being　rapidly　used　up。　There　are　only　a　certain　number　of　pieces　of　glass　in　the　kaleidoscope；　and　the　total　of　the　patterns　that　these　can　form　is；　after　all；　but　limited。　With　all　the　world　explored　and　exhausted；　I　feel　sorry　for　the　romance　writers　of　the　future；　for　I　know　not　whither　they　will　turn　without　bringing　themselves　into　petition　with　the　efforts　of　dead　but　still　remembered　hands　and　exposing　themselves　to　the　sneers　of　the　hunters…out　of　“plagiarisms。”
History　remains　to　them；　it　is　true；　but　that　ground　has　already　been　well　tilled。　Also　historical　romances　seem　at　present　to　be　losing　their　hold；　perhaps　because　the　reader　of　today　fears　lest　he　should　be　acquiring　some　useful　information　against　his　will。　The　holiday　task；　or　reminiscences　of　it；　looms　largely　in　his　mind。　Still；　new　avenues　may　open　to　those　unborn　scribes　of　which　at　present　we　can　catch　no　glimpse。　In　a　day　to　e　there　may　even　be　romances　of　microbes　which　will　fix　the　attention　and　engage　the　imaginative　faculties　of　dim　and　distant　generations。
Now　as　to　the　method　of　romance…writing。　It　should；　in　my　judgment；　be　swift；　clear；　and　direct；　with　as　little　padding　and　as　few　trappings　as　possible。　The　story　is　the　thing；　and　every　word　in　the　book　should　be　a　brick　to　build　its　edifice。　Above　all；　no　obscurity　should　be　allowed。　Let　the　characters　be　definite；　even　at　the　cost　of　a　little　crudeness；　and　so　with　the　meaning　of　each　sentence。　Tricks　of　“style”　and　dark　allusions　may　please　the　superior　critic；　they　do　not　please　the　average　reader；　and　—　though　this　seems　to　be　a　fact　that　many　forget；　or　only　remember　to　deplore　—　a　book　is　written　that　it　may　be　read。　The　first　duty　of　a　story　is　to　keep　him　who　peruses　it　awake；　if　he　is　a　tired　man　and　it　succeeds　in　doing　this；　then；　within　its　limitations；　it　is　a　good　tale。　For　instance；　when　a　year　or　so　ago　Mr。　Kipling；　who　as　a　rule　goes　to　bed　early；　told　me　that　he　had　sat　up　to　I　know　not　what　hour　and　got　chilled　through　reading　“The　Ghost　Kings”　because　he　could　not　lay　it　down；　it　gave　me　a　higher　opinion　of　that　work　than　I　could　boast　before。　In　romance　“grip”　is　almost　everything。　Whatever　its　faults；　if　a　book　has　grip；　these　may　be　forgiven。
Again；　such　work　should　be　written　rapidly　and；　if　possible；　not　rewritten；　since　wine　of　this　character　loses　its　bouquet　when　it　is　poured　from　glass　to　glass。　It　should　be　remembered；　also；　that　the　writer　of　a　romance　must；　so　far　as　it　is　concerned；　live　during　its　progress　in　an　atmosphere　quite　alien　to　that　of　everyday　life。　Now　this　in　a　workaday　world　is　not　easy　to　grown　people；　who　perhaps　have　many　affairs　and　anxieties　to　distract　them；　even　if　they　possess　or　have　acquired　the　power　of　dividing　their　brains　into　more　or　less　watertight　partments。　Indeed；　for　longer　than　a　certain　period　it　bees　almost　impossible。　Therefore；　as　the　quality　of　the　resulting　story　will　depend　upon　the　preservation　of　this　atmosphere　of　romance　while　it　is　being　evolved；　it　is　highly　desirable　that　the　actual　period　of　evolution　should　be　short。　Personally　I　have　proved　this；　again　and　again；　almost　to　the　extent　that；　in　the　case　of　my　own　books；　I　can　judge　how　long　they　have　taken　to　ay　long　have　forgotten　the　amount　of　time　I　spent　on　each。
So　it　es　to　this：　the　way　to　write　a　good　romance　is　to　sit　down　and　write　it　almost　without　stopping。　Of　course　some　preliminary　reflection　is　desirable　to　realise　a　central　idea　round　which　the　story　must　revolve。　For　example；　in　“She”　that　central　idea　was　a　ortality；　but　who　found　that　her　passions　remained　immortal　too。　In　“The　Holy　Flower；”　which　I　finished　yesterday；　to　take　another　case；　the　central　idea　is　that　of　a　gorilla　which　is　worshipped　as　a　god　and　periodically　slays　the　king　who　holds　his　office　as　the　brute’s　priest　and　servant；　with　all　the　terrors　that　result　from　such　a　situation。　In　the　case　of　both　these　books；　as　of　many　others；　I　had　nothing　more　in　my　mind　when　I　set　myself　to　face　them。　Of　course　in　such　circumstances　beginnings　are　hard　—　c’est　le　premier　pas　qui　coute　—　but　after　the　thing　will　generally　evolve　itself。　It　is　merely　a　case　of　what　Anthony　Trollope　used　to　call　“cobbler’s　wax。”　Or；　if　it　“will　not　do　so；”　the　author　had　better　give　up　romance…writing　and　take　up　some　useful　occupation　that　is　more　congenial。
Of　course　these　are　only　my　views；　but　they　are　based　upon　an　experience　that　is　now　painfully　extended。　Other　men　may　have　other　and　better　methods　so　far　as　they　are　concerned。　They　presuppose；　however；　that　the　writer　is　to　a　sufficient　degree　possessed　by　the　Spirit　of　Romance；　without　which　he　will　do　nothing　of　any　permanent　or　even　of　immediate　value。　The　faculty　of　imaginative　insight　must　be　a　part　of　his　intellectual　outfit。　He　must　be　able；　as　he　creates；　to　summon　each　scene　whereof　he　treats　before　the　eyes　of　his　mind。　He　must　see　the　characters　and　their　surroundings：　the　lion　springing；　the　Zulu　regiments　rushing　with　uplifted　spears；　the　fire　eating　into　the　grass　of　the　hillside；　while　before　it　the　scorched　snakes　glide　and　hiss。　He　must　share　the　every　hope　and　care　of　those　whom　he　begets：　the　rich；　low　voice　of　Ayesha　must　thril