the days of my life-第48章

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hich　at　that　time　only　eight　or　nine　white　people　had　ever　ascended；　of　course　with　the　help　of　guides。　To　our　astonishment　here　we　suddenly　saw　him　take　off　his　boots。　The　next　thing　we　saw　was　Brownrigg　climbing　up　the　polished　granite　of　the　cap。　Up　he　went　from　crack　to　crack　till　at　last　he　reached　the　top　in　safety；　and　there　proceeded　to　execute　a　war　dance　of　triumph。　Then　after　a　rest　he　began　to　descend。
I　noticed　from　the　desert；　some　hundreds　of　feet　below；　that　although　he　menced　his　descent　with　face　outwards；　which　is　the　right　method；　presently　he　turned　so　that　it　was　against　the　sloping　pyramid。　Then　I　began　to　grow　frightened。　When　he　had　done　about　thirty　or　forty　feet　of　the　descent　I　saw　him　stretch　down　his　stockinged　foot　seeking　some　cranny；　and　draw　it　up　again　—　because　he　could　not　reach　the　cranny　without　falling　backwards。　Twice　or　thrice　he　did　this；　and　then　remained　quite　still　upon　the　cap　with　outstretched　arms　like　one　crucified。　Evidently　he　could　move　neither　up　nor　down。
While　I　stared；　horrified　—　we　three　were　quite　alone　in　the　place　—　a　white…robed　Arab　rushed　past　me。　He　was　the　Sheik　of　the　Pyramids；　which　without　a　word　he　began　to　climb　with　the　furious　activity　of　a　frightened　cat。　Up　he　went　over　the　lower　and　easy　part　onto　the　cap；　which　seemed　to　present　no　difficulties　to　him；　for　he　knew　exactly　where　to　set　his　toes　and　had　the　head　of　an　eagle　or　a　mountain　goat。　Now　he　was　just　underneath　Brownrigg　and　saying　something　to　him。　And　now　from　that　great　height　came　a　still　small　voice。
“If　you　touch　me　I’ll　knock　you　down！”　said　the　voice。
Yes；　crucified　there　upon　this　awful　cap　he　declared　in　true　British　fashion　that　he　would　knock　his　saviour　down。
I　shut　my　eyes；　and　when　I　looked　again　the　sheik　had　got　Brownrigg’s　foot　down　into　the　crack　below；　how　I　never　discovered。　Well；　the　rest　of　the　sickening　descent　was　acplished　in　safety；　thanks　to　that　splendid　sheik。　In　a　few　more　minutes　a　very　pale　and　shaking　Brownrigg　was　gasping　on　the　sand　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