idle ideas in 1905-第11节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


putty　after　reading　our　description　of　it。

〃Her　forehead！〃　　It　was　always　〃low　and　broad。〃　　I　don't　know　why　it
was　always　low。　　Maybe　because　the　intellectual　heroine　was　not　then
popular。　　For　the　matter　of　that　I　doubt　if　she　be　really　popular
now。　　The　brainless　doll；　one　fears；　will　continue　for　many　years　to
come　to　be　man's　ideal　womanand　woman's　ideal　of　herself　for
precisely　the　same　period；　one　may　be　sure。

〃Her　chin！〃　　A　less　degree　of　variety　was　permissible　in　her　chin。
It　had　to　be　at　an　angle　suggestive　of　piquancy；　and　it　had　to
contain　at　least　the　suspicion　of　a　dimple。

To　properly　understand　her　complexion　you　were　expected　to　provide
yourself　with　a　collection　of　assorted　fruits　and　flowers。　　There　are
seasons　in　the　year　when　it　must　have　been　difficult　for　the
conscientious　reader　to　have　made　sure　of　her　complexion。　　Possibly
it　was　for　this　purpose　that　wax　flowers　and　fruit；　carefully　kept
from　the　dust　under　glass　cases；　were　common　objects　in　former　times
upon　the　tables　of　the　cultured。

Nowadays　we　content　ourselvesand　our　readers　also；　I　am　inclined　to
thinkwith　dashing　her　off　in　a　few　bold　strokes。　　We　say　that
whenever　she　entered　a　room　there　came　to　one　dreams　of　an　old　world
garden；　the　sound　of　far…off　bells。　　Or　that　her　presence　brought
with　it　the　scent　of　hollyhocks　and　thyme。　　As　a　matter　of　fact　I
don't　think　hollyhocks　do　smell。　　It　is　a　small　point；　about　such　we
do　not　trouble　ourselves。　　In　the　case　of　the　homely　type　of　girl　I
don't　see　why　we　should　not　borrow　Mr。　Pickwick's　expression；　and
define　her　by　saying　that　in　some　subtle　way　she　always　contrived　to
suggest　an　odour　of　chops　and　tomato　sauce。

If　we　desire　to　be　exact　we　mention；　as　this　particular　author　seems
to　have　done；　that　she　had　an　〃elusive　expression；〃　or　a　penetrating
fragrance。　　Or　we　say　that　she　moved；　the　centre　of　an　indefinable
nuance。

But　it　is　not　policy　to　bind　oneself　too　closely　to　detail。　　A　wise
friend　of　mine；　who　knows　his　business；　describes　his　hero　invariably
in　the　vaguest　terms。　　He　will　not　even　tell　you　whether　the　man　is
tall　or　short；　clean　shaven　or　bearded。

〃Make　the　fellow　nice；〃　is　his　advice。　　〃Let　every　woman　reader
picture　him　to　herself　as　her　particular　man。　　Then　everything　he
says　and　does　becomes　of　importance　to　her。　　She　is　careful　not　to
miss　a　word。〃

For　the　same　reason　he　sees　to　it　that　his　heroine　has　a　bit　of　every
girl　in　her。　　Generally　speaking；　she　is　a　cross　between　Romola　and
Dora　Copperfield。　　His　novels　command　enormous　sales。　　The　women　say
he　draws　a　man　to　the　life；　but　does　not　seem　to　know　much　about
women。　　The　men　like　his　women；　but　think　his　men　stupid。

Of　another　famous　author　no　woman　of　my　acquaintance　is　able　to　speak
too　highly。　　They　tell　me　his　knowledge　of　their　sex　is　simply
marvellous；　his　insight；　his　understanding　of　them　almost　uncanny。
Thinking　it　might　prove　useful；　I　made　an　exhaustive　study　of　his
books。　　I　noticed　that　his　women　were　without　exception　brilliant
charming　creatures　possessed　of　the　wit　of　a　Lady　Wortlay　Montagu；
combined　with　the　wisdom　of　a　George　Eliot。　　They　were　not　all　of
them　good　women；　but　all　of　them　were　clever　and　all　of　them　were
fascinating。　　I　came　to　the　conclusion　that　his　lady　critics　were
correct：　　he　did　understand　women。　　But　to　return　to　our　synopsis。

The　second　chapter；　it　appeared；　transported　us　to　Yorkshire　where：
〃Basil　Longleat；　a　typical　young　Englishman；　lately　home　from
college；　resides　with　his　widowed　mother　and　two　sisters。　　They　are　a
delightful　family。〃

What　a　world　of　trouble　to　both　writer　and　to　reader　is　here　saved。
〃A　typical　young　Englishman！〃　　The　author　probably　wrote　five　pages；
elaborating。　　The　five　words　of　the　sub…editor　present　him　to　me　more
vividly。　　I　see　him　positively　glistening　from　the　effects　of　soap
and　water。　　I　see　his　clear　blue　eye；　his　fair　crisp　locks；　the
natural　curliness　of　which　annoys　him　personally；　though　alluring　to
everybody　else；　his　frank　winning　smile。　　He　is　〃lately　home　from
college。〃　　That　tells　me　that　he　is　a　first…class　cricketer；　a　first…
class　oar；　that　as　a　half…back　he　is　incomparable；　that　he　swims　like
Captain　Webb；　is　in　the　first　rank　of　tennis　players；　that　his　half…
volley　at　ping…pong　has　never　been　stopped。　　It　doesn't　tell　me　much
about　his　brain　power。　　The　description　of　him　as　a　〃typical　young
Englishman〃　suggests　more　information　on　this　particular　point。　　One
assumes　that　the　American　girl　with　the　elusive　expression　is　going
to　have　sufficient　for　both。

〃They　are　a　delightful　family。〃　　The　sub…editor　does　not　say　so；　but
I　imagine　the　two　sisters　are　likewise　typical　young　Englishwomen。
They　ride　and　shoot　and　cook　and　make　their　own　dresses；　have　common
sense　and　love　a　joke。

The　third　chapter　is　〃taken　up　with　the　humours　of　a　local　cricket
match。〃

Thank　you；　Mr。　Sub…editor。　　I　feel　I　owe　you　gratitude。

In　the　fourth；　Ursula　Bart　（I　was　beginning　to　get　anxious　about　her）
turns　up　again。　　She　is　staying　at　the　useful　Lady　Mary's　place　in
Yorkshire。　　She　meets　Basil　by　accident　one　morning　while　riding
alone。　　That　is　the　advantage　of　having　an　American　girl　for　your
heroine。　　Like　the　British　army：　　it　goes　anywhere　and　does　anything。

In　chapter　five　Basil　and　Ursula　meet　again；　this　time　at　a　picnic。
The　sub…editor　does　not　wish　to　repeat　himself；　otherwise　he　possibly
would　have　summed　up　chapter　five　by　saying　it　was　〃taken　up　with　the
humours　of　the　usual　picnic。〃

In　chapter　six　something　happens：

〃Basil；　returning　home　in　the　twilight；　comes　across　Ursula　Bart；　in
a　lonely　point　of　the　moor；　talking　earnestly　to　a　rough…looking
stranger。　　His　approach　over　the　soft　turf　being　unnoticed；　he　cannot
help　overhearing　Ursula's　parting　words　to　the　forbidding…looking
stranger：　　'I　must　see　you　again！　　To…morrow　night　at　half…past　nine！
In　the　gateway　of　the　ruined　abbey！'　　Who　is　he？　　And　why　must　Ursula
see　him　again　at　such　an　hour；　in　such　a　spot？〃

So　here；　at　cost　of　reading　twenty　lines；　I　am　landed；　so　to　speak；
at　the　beginning　of　the　seventh　chapter。　　Why　don't　I　set　to　work　to
read　it？　　The　sub…editor　has　spoiled　me。

〃You　read　it；〃　I　want　to　say　to　him。　　〃Tell　me　to…morrow　morning　what
it　is　all　about。　　Who　was　this　bounder？　　Why　should　Ursula　want　to
see　him　again？　　Why　choose　a　draughty　place？　　Why　half…past　nine
o'clock　at　night；　which　must　have　been　an　awkward　time　for　both　of
themlikely　to　lead　to　talk？　　Why　should　I　wade　though　this　seventh
chapter　of　three　columns　and　a　half？　　It's　your　work。　　What　are　you
paid　for？〃

My　fear　is　lest　this　sort　of　thing　shall　lead　to　a　demand　on　the　part
of　the　public　for　condensed　novels。　　What　busy　man　is　going　to　spend
a　week　of　evenings　reading　a　book　when　a　nice　kind　sub…editor　is
prepared　in　five　minutes　to　tell　him　what　it　is　all　about！

Then　there　will　come　a　dayI　feel　itwhen　the　business…like　Editor
will　say　to　himself：　　〃What　in　thunder　is　the　sense　of　my　paying　one
man　to　write　a　story　of　sixty　thousand　words　and　another　man　to　read
it　and　tell　it　again　in　sixteen　hundred！〃

We　shall　be　expected　to　write　our　novels　in　chapters　not　exceeding
twenty　words。　　Our　short　stories　will　be　reduced　to　the　formula：
〃Little　boy。　　Pair　of　skates。　　Broken　ice；　Heaven's　gates。〃　　Formerly
an　author；　commissioned　to　supply　a　child's　tragedy　of　this　genre　for
a　Christmas　number；　would　have　spun　it　out　into　five　thousand　words。
Personally；　I　should　have　commenced　the　previous　springgiven　the
reader　the　summer　and　autumn　to　get　accustomed　to　the　boy。　　He　would
have　been　a　good　boy；　the　sort　of　boy　that　makes　a　bee…line　for　the
thinnest　ice。　　He　would　have　lived　in　a　cottage。　　I　could　have　spread
that　cottage　over　two　pages；　the　things　that　grew　in　the　garden；　the
view　from　the　front　door。　　You　would　have　known　that　boy　before　I　had
done　with　himfelt　you　had　known　him　all　your　life。　　His　quaint
sayings；　his　childish　thoughts；　his　great　longings　would　have　been
impressed　upon　you。　　The　father　might　have　had　a　dash　of　humour　in
him；　the　mother's　early　girlhood　would　have　lent　itself　to　pretty
writing。　　For　the　ice　we　would　have　had　a　mysterious　lake　in　the
wood；　said　to　be　haunted。　　The　boy　would　have　loved　o'　twilights　to
stand　upon　its　margin。　　He　would　have　heard　strange　voices　calling　to
him。　　You　would　have　felt　the　thing　was　coming。

So　much　might　have　been　done。　　When　I　think　of　that　plot　wasted　in
nine　words　it　makes　me　positively　angry。

And　what　is　to　become　of　us　writers　if　this　is　to　be　the　new　fashion
in　literature？　　We　are　paid　by　the　length　of　our　manuscript　at　rates
from　half…a…crown　a　thousand　words；　and　upwards。　　In　the　case　of
fellows　like　Doyle　and　Kipling　I　am　told　it　runs　into　pounds。　　How
are　we　to　live　on　novels　the　serial　rights　of　which　to　most　of　us
will　work　out　at　four　and　nine…pence。

It　can't　be　done。　　It　is　no　good　telling　me　you　can　see　no　reason　why
we　should　live。　　That　is　no　answer。　　I'm　talking　plain　business。

And　what　about　book…rights？　　Who　is　going　to　buy　novels　of　three
pages？　　They　will　have　to　be　printed　as　leaflets　and　sold　at　a　penny
a　dozen。　　Marie　Corelli　an