_RALPH THE HEIR_--_THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS_--_LADY ANNA_--_AUSTRALIA_.
In the spring of 1871 we,--I and my wife,--had decided that we would
go to Australia to visit our shepherd son. Of course before doing so
I made a contract with a publisher for a book about the Colonies. For
such a work as this I had always been aware that I could not fairly
demand more than half the price that would be given for the same
amount of fiction; and as such books have an indomitable tendency
to stretch themselves, so that more is given than what is sold,
and as the cost of travelling is heavy, the writing of them is not
remunerative. This tendency to stretch comes not, I think, generally
from the ambition of the writer, but from his inability to comprise
the different parts in their allotted spaces. If you have to deal
with a country, a colony, a city, a trade, or a political opinion,
it is so much easier to deal with it in twenty than in twelve pages!
I also made an engagement with the editor of a London daily paper to
supply him with a series of articles,--which were duly written, duly
published, and duly paid for. But with all this, travelling with the
object of writing is not a good trade. If the travelling author can
pay his bills, he must be a good manager on the road.
Before starting there came upon us the terrible necessity of coming
to some resolution about our house at Waltham. It had been first
hired, and then bought, primarily because it suited my Post Office
avocations. To this reason had been added other attractions,--in the
shape of hunting, gardening, and suburban hospitalities. Altogether
the house had been a success, and the scene of much happiness. But
there arose questions as to expense. Would not a house in London be
cheaper? There could be no doubt that my income would decrease, and
was decreasing. I had thrown the Post Office, as it were, away, and
the writing of novels could not go on for ever. Some of my friends
told me already that at fifty-five I ought to give up the fabrication
of love-stories. The hunting, I thought, must soon go, and I would
not therefore allow that to keep me in the country. And then, why
should I live at Waltham Cross now, seeing that I had fixed on that
place in reference to the Post Office? It was therefore determined
that we would flit, and as we were to be away for eighteen months,
we determined also to sell our furniture. So there was a packing up,
with many tears, and consultations as to what should be saved out of
the things we loved.
As must take place on such an occasion, there was some heart-felt
grief. But the thing was done, and orders were given for the letting
or sale of the house. I may as well say here that it never was let,
and that it remained unoccupied for two years before it was sold. I
lost by the transaction about £800. As I continually hear that other
men make money by buying and selling houses, I presume I am not well
adapted for transactions of that sort. I have never made money by
selling anything except a manuscript. In matters of horseflesh I am
so inefficient that I have generally given away horses that I have
not wanted.
When we started from Liverpool, in May 1871, _Ralph the Heir_ was
running through the _St. Paul's_. This was the novel of which Charles
Reade afterwards took the plot and made on it a play. I have always
thought it to be one of the worst novels I have written, and almost
to have justified that dictum that a novelist after fifty should not
write love-stories. It was in part a political novel; and that part
which appertains to politics, and which recounts the electioneering
experiences of the candidates at Percycross, is well enough.
Percycross and Beverley were, of course, one and the same place.
Neefit, the breeches-maker, and his daughter, are also good in their
way,--and Moggs, the daughter's lover, who was not only lover, but
also one of the candidates at Percycross as well. But the main thread
of the story,--that which tells of the doings of the young gentlemen
and young ladies,--the heroes and the heroines,--is not good. Ralph
the heir has not much life about him; while Ralph who is not the
heir, but is intended to be the real hero, has none. The same may be
said of the young ladies,--of whom one, she who was meant to be the
chief, has passed utterly out of my mind, without leaving a trace of
remembrance behind.
I also left in the hands of the editor of _The Fortnightly_, ready
for production on the 1st of July following, a story called _The
Eustace Diamonds_. In that I think that my friend's dictum was
disproved. There is not much love in it; but what there is, is good.
The character of Lucy Morris is pretty; and her love is as genuine
and as well told as that of Lucy Robarts or Lily Dale.
But _The Eustace Diamonds_ achieved the success which it certainly
did attain, not as a love-story, but as a record of a cunning little
woman of pseudo-fashion, to whom, in her cunning, there came a series
of adventures, unpleasant enough in themselves, but pleasant to the
reader. As I wrote the book, the idea constantly presented itself to
me that Lizzie Eustace was but a second Becky Sharpe; but in planning
the character I had not thought of this, and I believe that Lizzie
would have been just as she is though Becky Sharpe had never been
described. The plot of the diamond necklace is, I think, well
arranged, though it produced itself without any forethought. I had no
idea of setting thieves after the bauble till I had got my heroine to
bed in the inn at Carlisle; nor of the disappointment of the thieves,
till Lizzie had been wakened in the morning with the news that her
door had been broken open. All these things, and many more, Wilkie
Collins would have arranged before with infinite labour, preparing
things present so that they should fit in with things to come. I
have gone on the very much easier plan of making everything as it
comes fit in with what has gone before. At any rate, the book was
a success, and did much to repair the injury which I felt had come
to my reputation in the novel-market by the works of the last few
years. I doubt whether I had written anything so successful as _The
Eustace Diamonds_ since _The Small House at Allington_. I had written
what was much better,--as, for instance, _Phineas Finn_ and _Nina
Balatka_; but that is by no means the same thing.
I also left behind, in a strong box, the manuscript of _Phineas
Redux_, a novel of which I have already spoken, and which I
subsequently sold to the proprietors of the _Graphic_ newspaper. The
editor of that paper greatly disliked the title, assuring me that
the public would take Redux for the gentleman's surname,--and was
dissatisfied with me when I replied that I had no objection to them
doing so. The introduction of a Latin word, or of a word from any
other language, into the title of an English novel is undoubtedly in
bad taste; but after turning the matter much over in my own mind, I
could find no other suitable name.
I also left behind me, in the same strong box, another novel, called
_An Eye for an Eye_, which then had been some time written, and of
which, as it has not even yet been published, I will not further
speak. It will probably be published some day, though, looking
forward, I can see no room for it, at any rate, for the next two
years.
If therefore the Great Britain, in which we sailed for Melbourne,
had gone to the bottom, I had so provided that there would be new
novels ready to come out under my name for some years to come. This
consideration, however, did not keep me idle while I was at sea. When
making long journeys, I have always succeeded in getting a desk put
up in my cabin, and this was done ready for me in the Great Britain,
so that I could go to work the day after we left Liverpool. This I
did; and before I reached Melbourne I had finished a story called
_Lady Anna_. Every word of this was written at sea, during the two
months required for our voyage, and was done day by day--with the
intermission of one day's illness--for eight weeks, at the rate of 66
pages of manuscript in each week, every page of manuscript containing
250 words. Every word was counted. I have seen work come back to an
author from the press with terrible deficiencies as to the amount
supplied. Thirty-two pages have perhaps been wanted for a number,
and the printers with all their art could not stretch the matter to
more than twenty-eight or -nine! The work of filling up must be very
dreadful. I have sometimes been ridiculed for the methodical details
of my business. But by these contrivances I have been preserved
from many troubles; and I have saved others with whom I have
worked--editors, publishers, and printers--from much trouble also.
A month or two after my return home, _Lady Anna_ appeared in _The
Fortnightly_, following _The Eustace Diamonds_. In it a young girl,
who is really a lady of high rank and great wealth, though in her
youth she enjoyed none of the privileges of wealth or rank, marries
a tailor who had been good to her, and whom she had loved when she
was poor and neglected. A fine young noble lover is provided for her,
and all the charms of sweet living with nice people are thrown in her
way, in order that she may be made to give up the tailor. And the
charms are very powerful with her. But the feeling that she is bound
by her troth to the man who had always been true to her overcomes
everything,--and she marries the tailor. It was my wish of course to
justify her in doing so, and to carry my readers along with me in my
sympathy with her. But everybody found fault with me for marrying her
to the tailor. What would they have said if I had allowed her to jilt
the tailor and marry the good-looking young lord? How much louder,
then, would have been the censure! The book was read, and I was
satisfied. If I had not told my story well, there would have been no
feeling in favour of the young lord. The horror which was expressed
to me at the evil thing I had done, in giving the girl to the tailor,
was the strongest testimony I could receive of the merits of the
story.
I went to Australia chiefly in order that I might see my son among
his sheep. I did see him among his sheep, and remained with him for
four or five very happy weeks. He was not making money, nor has he
made money since. I grieve to say that several thousands of pounds
which I had squeezed out of the pockets of perhaps too liberal
publishers have been lost on the venture. But I rejoice to say that
this has been in no way due to any fault of his. I never knew a man
work with more persistent honesty at his trade than he has done.
I had, however, the further intentions of writing a book about the
entire group of Australasian Colonies; and in order that I might be
enabled to do that with sufficient information, I visited them all.
Making my head-quarters at Melbourne, I went to Queensland, New South
Wales, Tasmania, then to the very little known territory of Western
Australia, and then, last of all, to New Zealand. I was absent in all
eighteen months, and think that I did succeed in learning much of the
political, social, and material condition of these countries. I wrote
my book as I was travelling, and brought it back with me to England
all but completed in December, 1872.
It was a better book than that which I had written eleven years
before on the American States, but not so good as that on the West
Indies in 1859. As regards the information given, there was much more
to be said about Australia than the West Indies. Very much more is
said,--and very much more may be learned from the latter than from
the former book. I am sure that any one who will take the trouble to
read the book on Australia, will learn much from it. But the West
Indian volume was readable. I am not sure that either of the other
works are, in the proper sense of that word. When I go back to them
I find that the pages drag with me;--and if so with me, how must it
be with others who have none of that love which a father feels even
for his ill-favoured offspring. Of all the needs a book has the chief
need is that it be readable.
Feeling that these volumes on Australia were dull and long, I was
surprised to find that they had an extensive sale. There were, I
think, 2000 copies circulated of the first expensive edition; and
then the book was divided into four little volumes, which were
published separately, and which again had a considerable circulation.
That some facts were stated inaccurately, I do not doubt; that many
opinions were crude, I am quite sure; that I had failed to understand
much which I attempted to explain, is possible. But with all these
faults the book was a thoroughly honest book, and was the result of
unflagging labour for a period of fifteen months. I spared myself
no trouble in inquiry, no trouble in seeing, and no trouble in
listening. I thoroughly imbued my mind with the subject, and wrote
with the simple intention of giving trustworthy information on
the state of the Colonies. Though there be inaccuracies,--those
inaccuracies to which work quickly done must always be subject,--I
think I did give much valuable information.
I came home across America from San Francisco to New York, visiting
Utah and Brigham Young on the way. I did not achieve great intimacy
with the great polygamist of the Salt Lake City. I called upon
him, sending to him my card, apologising for doing so without an
introduction, and excusing myself by saying that I did not like to
pass through the territory without seeing a man of whom I had heard
so much. He received me in his doorway, not asking me to enter, and
inquired whether I were not a miner. When I told him that I was not
a miner, he asked me whether I earned my bread. I told him I did.
"I guess you're a miner," said he. I again assured him that I was
not. "Then how do you earn your bread?" I told him that I did so by
writing books. "I'm sure you're a miner," said he. Then he turned
upon his heel, went back into the house, and closed the door. I was
properly punished, as I was vain enough to conceive that he would
have heard my name.
I got home in December, 1872, and in spite of any resolution made to
the contrary, my mind was full of hunting as I came back. No real
resolutions had in truth been made, for out of a stud of four horses
I kept three, two of which were absolutely idle through the two
summers and winter of my absence. Immediately on my arrival I bought
another, and settled myself down to hunting from London three days a
week. At first I went back to Essex, my old country, but finding that
to be inconvenient, I took my horses to Leighton Buzzard, and became
one of that numerous herd of sportsmen who rode with the "Baron"
and Mr. Selby Lowndes. In those days Baron Meyer was alive, and the
riding with his hounds was very good. I did not care so much for Mr.
Lowndes. During the winters of 1873, 1874, and 1875, I had my horses
back in Essex, and went on with my hunting, always trying to resolve
that I would give it up. But still I bought fresh horses, and, as
I did not give it up, I hunted more than ever. Three times a week
the cab has been at my door in London very punctually, and not
unfrequently before seven in the morning. In order to secure this
attendance, the man has always been invited to have his breakfast in
the hall. I have gone to the Great Eastern Railway,--ah! so often
with the fear that frost would make all my exertions useless, and so
often too with that result! And then, from one station or another
station, have travelled on wheels at least a dozen miles. After the
day's sport, the same toil has been necessary to bring me home to
dinner at eight. This has been work for a young man and a rich man,
but I have done it as an old man and comparatively a poor man. Now at
last, in April, 1876, I do think that my resolution has been taken.
I am giving away my old horses, and anybody is welcome to my saddles
and horse-furniture.
"Singula de nobis anni prædantur euntes;
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum;
Tendunt extorquere poëmata."
"Our years keep taking toll as they move on;
My feasts, my frolics, are already gone,
And now, it seems, my verses must go too."
This is Conington's translation, but it seems to me to be a little
flat.
"Years as they roll cut all our pleasures short;
Our pleasant mirth, our loves, our wine, our sport.
And then they stretch their power, and crush at last
Even the power of singing of the past."
I think that I may say with truth that I rode hard to my end.
"Vixi puellis nuper idoneus,
Et militavi non sine gloria;
Nunc arma defunctumque bello
Barbiton hic paries habebit."
"I've lived about the covert side,
I've ridden straight, and ridden fast;
Now breeches, boots, and scarlet pride
Are but mementoes of the past."