THE LONGMAN LETTERS.
Mr. Charles Longman, who for the last eight years of Jefferies' life was
one of his most constant friends, has lent me a packet of letters
written to him by Jefferies between the years 1878 and 1886. They form
by themselves, like the previous letters to Mrs. Harrild, a kind of
diary of his life during that period.
"The papers on the 'Gamekeeper at Home,' in the _Pall Mall Gazette_,"
Mr. Longman writes, "were the first things of Jefferies' that attracted
me. I thought at once that they seemed to me written by a man who could
see more of the secrets of nature than anyone whose work I had ever come
across. I wrote to Mr. George Smith, asking him to forward a letter to
the writer of the papers, whose name I did not know. In the letter I
proposed that he should write a complete work on Shooting, to be what
Hawker's work was forty years ago. He never did it; but this was the
beginning of my friendship with this most interesting man."
"He never did it." Jefferies could never do anything which did not
spring from his own brain. He has written admirable pages on kindred
subjects--he was the very man to write such a book--and it would
undoubtedly have proved a most popular book. Why, there is not a
gentleman's house in the three kingdoms or the colonies which would not
desire to have a copy of such a work. But the work was proposed to him
by another man, therefore Jefferies could not see his way to put his
heart in it. However, he did think of it; he even went so far as to draw
up a scheme of the work. He would have chapters on the gun, the
gun-room, the art of shooting, etiquette of the field, the dog, the
various kinds of game, and so forth. Presently, we hear that the book is
actually begun; that there are difficulties about getting information
as to various points; that he has been occupied with the various kinds
of game, and so on. He also mentions with complacency pardonable and
even praiseworthy that he has received a proposal to write two books
from a leading Edinburgh firm. Nothing apparently came of this proposal.
It is, however, noticeable, and to young writers it should be very
encouraging, that no sooner did his first really good book appear--the
"Gamekeeper at Home"--than his genius was at once recognised, and the
best publishers began inviting him to write for them. He then offers a
novel--always a novel!--which Messrs. Longmans' reader does not advise
the house to accept. What was that novel? Perhaps one of those which had
already been refused by one publisher, if not by more. Pending the
writing and completion of the book on Shooting, he submits another
proposal. He says:
"To carry out this volume I must partly lay aside some MSS. which I
had previously begun, and before writing it I should like to hear
your opinion on the subject. The provisional title of one for
which I have accumulated materials and ideas for some time is 'The
Proletariate: the Power of the Future.' It has been my lot to see a
great deal of the Labour Question, not only agricultural, but also
urban." Really? Urban? Where, how, and in what period of his life
did he get his urban experience? Was it on the streets of Swindon,
that great centre of life and thought? "And it seems to me that all
politics are slowly resolving into this one great point." He means
that the condition of the people all over the world is rapidly
becoming the dominant question. He was right; but he spoke ten
years too soon. "Religion, society, institutions of every kind are
affected. No doubt you saw the extraordinary account in the _Times_
recently of the burial of a Socialist in Germany, and the marked
progress of their doctrines. There are several books on wages,
capital and labour, etc., but it seems to me that most thinkers and
writers treat the subject on grounds too narrow. Of wages I propose
to say very little. My idea is to point out how proletarian
influences are at work everywhere under the surface. The Church,
the Chapel, the Houses of Parliament, legislation, society, at
home; abroad, the same. Note the Nihilism in Russia, and the
railway insurrection in the United States lately. Everywhere the
masses are heaving and fermenting. In our own rural districts I
clearly foresee changes in the future through the education now
beginning of the cottagers. Personally, I have little feeling, and
my book will be absolutely free of party politics. I look at it
much as I should dissect and analyze a given period in the history
of ancient Rome."
Nothing came of this proposal, and, indeed, one feels that Jefferies was
not the man to write such a book. Of the people in other countries he
knew nothing but what he read in the papers; of the people at home he
knew only the agricultural portion; and though he had read a great many
books he was in no sense an historical student. But he was still young,
and it still seemed to him, as to all young writers, that he could write
a book upon any subject which it interested him to read about in the
papers or elsewhere.
The same letter contains another idea. It is that of a book on "The
History of the English Squire." This seems a very good subject for a
competent person. Perhaps someone will take up the idea and write the
history of the English squire before he becomes extinct. One would like
to see how, first, the yeoman added acre to acre, ousting his neighbour,
and so became the squire; then how, gradually, all over the country,
owing to the action of forces too strong for him, the yeoman began to
disappear; how the squire was able to add more acres, buying out yeoman
after yeoman, always on the look-out to buy more land, and therefore
always becoming more important; and how, presently, he got a title,
which he now "enjoys," claiming superiority of blood and descent, while
the ex-yeoman, once his equal, is now his tenant, and humbly doffs his
hat. Jefferies, one feels convinced, ought to have written a most
interesting and instructive volume upon this subject, if--which he has
never shown--he had the patience for historical research and
investigation.
He presently forwards a specimen chapter for the Shooting-Book. That was
in September, 1878. In October he formally accepted the business
arrangements offered by the firm, undertook the work, and signed the
agreement. There follows here a gap of three years. When the letters are
resumed, Jefferies is living at West Brighton (December, 1882). He
offers to contribute to the new _Longman's Magazine_, and proposes an
article consisting of three short sketches. (1) The Acorn-gatherer; (2)
The Legend of a Gateway; and (3) A Roman Brook. This article, in fact,
appeared under the title of "Bits of Oak Bark."
He presently speaks of his long illness, which has kept him out of the
world. "I see," he says, "that you have got out the Shooting-Book under
the title of 'The Dead Shot.'" This, however, was a reprint of an old
book. Mr. Longman's idea of a complete manual for shooting has since
been carried out in "The Badminton Library." "No wonder; I could not
expect anyone to be more patient than you were. But even now I hope some
day to send in a manuscript."
He is also ready to write another book. This time it is to be a series
of "short story-sketches of life and character, incident and nature. I
want to express the deeper feelings with which observation of
life-histories has filled me, and I assure you I have as large a
collection of these facts and incidents--the natural history of the
heart--as I have ever written about birds and trees." In short, he
proposes to write a series which shall take the place in the magazine of
the novel, and says that he has enough material to carry him along until
the year 1890, or longer. "Why not let other contributors, besides the
novelist, occasionally give you a series? For myself, I have given up
English novels and taken to the French, which are at least bright,
short, dramatic, and amusing." The poor English novelist! He has to
endure a great deal. Whenever an editor is in want of a subject for a
leading article, or a critic for something to talk about, he has a fling
at the English novelist. The greatest artist and the smallest, most
insignificant story-teller; the master and the apprentice; the observer
of manners and the school-girl--all are lumped together by the critic
who has nothing else to write about, and discussed under the title of
"the English Novelist." And to think that Jefferies--Richard
Jefferies--should throw his stone! Oh! 'tis too much! But Nemesis fell
upon him, for he presently wrote "Green Ferne Farm," which is neither
short, bright, dramatic, nor amusing. That proposed series did not
appear. He says, a few days afterwards, that he has begun a paper asked
for by Mr. Longman on "The County Suffrage." This paper subsequently
appeared under the title of "After the County Suffrage."
It was in June, 1883, that _Longman's Magazine_ contained the article
called "The Pageant of Summer." This fine paper, the best thing ever
written by Jefferies, glorified the whole of that number. There has
never been, I think, in any magazine any article like unto it, so
splendid in imagery and language, so perfectly truthful, so overflowing
with observation, so full of the deepest feeling, so tender and so
touching, so generous of thought and suggestion. In this paper Jefferies
reached his highest point. There are plenty of single pages and
detached passages in which he has equalled the "Pageant of Summer;" but
there is no one chapter, no single article, in which he has sustained
throughout the elevation of this noble paper. I will return to "The
Pageant of Summer" later on.
Although he wrote this paper while in dire straits of poverty; although
he had already entered that valley whose gloomy sides continually
narrow; where the slopes become, little by little, precipices; where the
light grows dim, and where the spectre of death slowly rises before the
eyes and takes shape: although he lived poorly; although he continued
unknown to the mass of the reading world, who passed him by, everything,
to us, seems compensated by the splendid power which he had now acquired
of thinking such thoughts and expressing them in such language. I have
heard it said by some that Jefferies wrote too much. Not a single page
too much, beginning from the "Gamekeeper at Home," and thinking only of
the "Gamekeeper's" legitimate successors! That is to say, we are
prepared to surrender portions, but not all--saving great pieces, huge
cantles, here and there whole chapters--of "Bevis," "Wood Magic," "After
London," "Green Ferne Farm," "The Dewy Morn," and even "Amaryllis." We
will blot out everything that has to do with the ordinary figures,
conversations, and situations of what the writer called a novel. But of
the rest we will not part with one single line. Year after
year--generation after generation--the truth and fidelity and beauty of
these pages will sink deeper and deeper into the heart of the world. So
deeply will they sink, so long will they live, that he who writes a
memoir of this man trembles for thinking that when future ages ask who
and what was the man who wrote these things, the pages which contain his
life may seem unequal to the subject--too low, pedestrian, and creeping
for the greatness of the author he commemorates.
I return to the packet of letters. They go on to offer articles, and to
explain how promised papers are getting on. He wrote nine papers in all
for _Longman's Magazine_--namely, three in 1883, two in 1884, one in
1885, one in 1886, and two, which appeared after his death, in the year
1887.
In June of 1883 he offers a manuscript which, he says, he has been
meditating for seventeen years. In that case he must have begun to think
of it at eighteen. This, if one begins to consider, is by no means
improbable. On the contrary, I think it is extremely probable, and that
Jefferies meant his words to be taken literally. The thoughts of a boy
are long thoughts. Sometimes one remembers, by some strange trick of
memory--it shows how the past never dies, but may be recalled at any
moment--a train of thought which filled the mind on some day long passed
away, when one was a lad of eighteen; a child; almost an infant. At such
a moment one is astonished to remember that this thought filled the
brain so early. As for the age of adolescence, there is no time when the
brain is more active to question, to imagine, to create, to inform;
none, when the mind is more eager to arrive at certainty; none, more
hopeful of the future; none, more anxious to arrive at the truth.
Therefore, when Jefferies tells Mr. Longman that he has meditated "The
Story of My Heart" for eighteen years, I believe him: not that he then
consciously called the work by that or by any other name, but that the
book is the outcome of so long a period of thought and questioning. "It
is," he says, "a real record--unsparing to myself as to all
things--absolutely and unflinchingly true."
The book was published with Longman's autumn list in October, 1883. I
have something to say about it in another chapter.
Jefferies' industry at this time seems superhuman. The MS. of "The Story
of My Heart" is no sooner out of his hands, than he asks Mr. Longman if
he will look at another. This time it is his "Red Deer," which I really
believe to be the very best book of the kind ever produced. This is what
he says himself about it:
"The title is 'Red Deer,' and it is a minute account of the natural
history of the wild deer of Exmoor, and of the modes of hunting
them. I went all over Exmoor a short time since on foot in order to
see the deer for myself, and in addition I had the advantage of
getting full information from the huntsman himself, and from others
who have watched the deer for twenty years past. The chase of the
wild stag is a bit out of the life of the fifteenth century brought
down to our own times. Nothing has ever interested me so much, and
I contemplate going down again. In addition, there are a number of
Somerset poaching tricks which were explained to me by gamekeepers
and by a landowner there, besides a few curious superstitions.
There seem to be no books about the deer--I mean the wild deer. A
book called 'Collyer's Chase of the Wild Red Deer' was published
many years ago, but is not now to be had."
"Red Deer" was brought out by Longmans in 1884.
In December, 1883, he offers "The Dewy Morn." The proposal came to
nothing. The book was published in the following year by Messrs. Chapman
and Hall. In February, 1884, he speaks of a letter written to him by
Lord Ebrington, master of the Devon and Somerset staghounds, upon his
"Red Deer." Certain small errors were pointed out for correction, but,
as he points out with satisfaction, no serious omission or fault had
been discovered.
In a letter written in March he mentions that an anonymous correspondent
has been scourging him with Scripture texts on account of the "Story of
My Heart." That anonymous correspondent! How he lieth in wait for
everybody! how omniscient he is! how unsparing! how certain and sure of
everything! The texts which this person used to belabour poor Jefferies
were, however, singularly inappropriate. "O Lord," he quotes, "how
glorious are Thy works! Thy thoughts are very deep. An unwise man doth
not consider this, and a FOOL doth not understand it." The word "fool"
was doubly underlined, so that there should be no mistake as to the
practical application of the passage. The anonymous correspondent is,
indeed, always very particular on this point. But Jefferies had been all
his life commenting on the glory of those works, and endeavouring to
apprehend and to realize, if only a little, the meaning and the depth
of these thoughts. The cry of his heart all through the book is for
fuller insight--for a deeper understanding.
He goes on to speak of his illness. It is not, he says, at all serious;
but it will make him go to London to see a physician, and it is likely
to prevent him from getting about. There is a paper (not one of these
letters) among his literary remains, in which he describes the symptoms
at length.
In April he writes a long letter about many things, but especially his
"After London."
"I have just put the finishing touch to my new book. It is in three
volumes." As published by Cassell and Co. it was in one volume, and
it leaves off with the story only half told. Perhaps the author cut
it down, perhaps the publishers refused to bring it out unless as a
short one-volume work. "It is called," he says, "'After London,'
with a second title, 'Chronicles of the House of Aquila.' The first
part describes the relapse of England into barbarism; how the roads
are covered with grass, how the brambles extend over the fields,
and in time woods occupy the country. These woods are filled with
wild animals--descendants of the dogs, cats, swine, horses, and
cattle that were left, and gradually returned to their original
wild nature. The rivers are choked, and a great lake forms in the
centre of the island.
"Such inhabitants as remain are resident about the shores of the
lake--the forest being without roads, and their only communication
being by water. They have lost printing and gunpowder; they use the
bow and arrow, and wear armour, but retain some traces of the arts
and of civilization. At the same time, slavery exists, and moral
tyranny. There are numerous petty kingdoms and republics at war
with each other. Knights and barons possess fortified dwellings,
and exercise unbounded power within their stockaded
estates--stockaded against bushmen, forest savages, against bands
of gipsies, and against wild cattle and horses.
"The Welsh issue from their mountains, claiming England as having
belonged to their ancestors. They succeed in conquering a section,
but are confronted by other invaders, for the Irish, thinking that
now is the time for their revenge, land at Chester. These invaders
to some degree neutralize each other, yet they form a standing
menace to the South, and more civilized portion.
"The state of the site of London is fully described. It is, I
think, an original picture.
"The second part, or 'Chronicles of the House of Aquila,' treats of
the manner of life, the hunting journeys through the forest, the
feasts and festivals, and, in short, the entire life of the time.
Ultimately, one of them starts on a voyage round the great inland
lake, and his adventures are followed. He assists at a siege, and
visits the site of London.
"All these matters are purposely dealt with in minute detail so
that they may appear actual realities, and the incidents stand out
as if they had just happened. There is a love affair, but it is in
no sense a novel; more like a romance, but no romance of a real
character.
"First, you see, I have to picture the condition of the country
'After London,' and then to set my heroes to work, and fight, and
travel in it."
This book was brought out, as stated above, by Cassell and Co. in 1886.
The idea is indeed truly original. Had it been more of a novel, with an
end, as well as a beginning, it would have proved more successful.
"You tell me," Jefferies continues, "that I write too much. To me it
seems as if I wrote nothing, more especially since my illness; for this
is the third year I have been so weakened. To me, I say, it seems as if
I wrote nothing, for my mind teems with ideas, and my difficulty is to
know what to do with them. I not only sketch out the general plan of a
book almost instantaneously, but I can see every little detail of it
from the first page to the last. The mere writing--the handwriting--is
the only trouble; it is very wearying. At this moment I have several
volumes quite complete in my mind. Scarce a day goes by but I put down a
fresh thought. I have twelve note-books crammed full of ideas, plots,
sketches of papers, and so on."
These are probably the note-books of which I have spoken, and from which
I have quoted.
The following, dated January 29, 1885, refers to a copy of the Badminton
hunting-book sent him by Mr. Longman:
"You have made me pretty miserable. I have just read the otter
chapter, and I can see it all so plainly--the rocks and the rush of
water, and the oaks of June above. Have you ever seen the Exe and
Barle? It is a land of Paradise. So you have made me miserable
enough, being on all-fours; literally not able to go even on three,
as the Sphynx said, but on four, crawling upstairs on hands and
knees, and nailed to the uneasy chair."
He offers more work from Crowborough (May 1, 1884 or 1885, uncertain).
There is a new novel of which he speaks, called "A Bit of Human Nature,"
which never appeared, and was probably never written. The rest of the
letters belong to the last few months of his life, and must be reserved
for the last chapter.
Enough has been quoted from these letters to show the extraordinary
mental activity of the man. He is continually planning new work. He sees
a whole book spread out before him complete in all its details. To make
a book--that is to say, to imagine a book already made,--is nothing;
what troubles him is the writing it. This temperament, however, is fatal
to novel-writing, because characters cannot be seen at once; they must
be studied, they require time to grow in the brain. But Jefferies cannot
write enough. It seems to his fertile brain, fevered with long sickness,
as if he did nothing.