Say one thing of H. Rider Haggard: Say he wrote with
range.
When we think of Haggard, we typically think of the man who gave us King Solomon’s Mines, She, and Eric Brighteyes. A writer of two-fisted adventure.
So thought I as well, until I read Smith and the Pharaohs and Other Stories.
This is a “new” collection of 10 short stories assembled by Stark House for their Adventure Classics line. And it opened my eyes to Haggard as a writer of greater breadth and sensitivity than I anticipated.
In the first half of the collection there is nary a saber drawn nor a shot fired. Five stories of interrupted romances, lost loves, or marital strife. Jilted lovers, wounded husbands, grieving widows. And no wonder. Per Wikipedia, Haggard as a young man apparently lost the love of his life:
At about that time, Haggard fell in love with Mary Elizabeth "Lilly" Jackson, whom he intended to marry once he obtained paid employment in Africa. In 1878, he became Registrar of the High Court in the Transvaal, and wrote to his father informing him that he intended to return to England and marry her. His father forbade it until Haggard had made a career for himself, and by 1879 Jackson had married Frank Archer, a well-to-do banker.
I know very little about Haggard the man (I have an unread biography by Morton N. Cohen sitting on my shelf, another brick in the wall of my groaning TBR) but such an event cannot fail to leave a mark. My guess is these stories have something of the biographical in them. They hit hard. Don’t think the lack of blood and thunder means a lack of drama or tension. We get plenty of that from Haggard even as he reveals a sensitive side to his art.
Putting on my English degree nerd hat for a minute, Haggard (1856-1925) bridged the Victorian and Edwardian eras of English literature but is generally placed within the latter school. We get in his stories something of a fading of empire and critiques of old institutions. Strict religious doctrine cracking in the face of Darwinian evolution, and social critique amid the rise of increasingly independent women.
These stories are rich with the air of the era: quiet stories seasoned with supernatural elements and exotic locations, romance and visions of heaven contrasted with period realism, consumption and death. In “Little Flower” a hard-headed Christian missionary is portrayed as unthinking and obstinate next to an evolutionist, and is ultimately shown up by a Zulu witch-doctor.
In “The Blue Curtains” a woman declares her undying love, but her “faithfulness” proves skin-deep; she turns to other men for surer income and a more comfortable lifestyle.
Haggard could write, which is a big part of the reason why he endures, and so many others who toiled in the pages of Adventure and other popular magazines of the day have faded into history. This sequence of the jilted ex-lover Bottles discovering his old flame is suddenly widowed, and available, after 14 years, and making his way to her home, in the driving rain, swept up in the romance, took my breath away:
“He crossed over to the other side of the street, and looked up at the house, but could scarcely make it out through the driving rain. There was no light in the house, and no sign of life about the street. But there were both light and life in the heart of this watcher. All the pulses of his blood were astir, keeping time with the commotion of his mind. He stood there in the shadow, gazing at the murky house, heedless of the bitter wind and pelting rain, and felt his life and spirit pass out of his control into an unknown dominion. The storm that raged around him was nothing to the convulsion of his inner self in that hour of madness, which was yet happiness.”
In the title story of the volume, “Smith and the Pharaohs,” James Smith falls in love with an image of an ancient Egyptian queen, raises money for an archeological dig in search of her tomb, and discovers her resting place—and much more. Love runs deep, spanning the ages in this ghostly little historical romance.
“Only a Dream” is a powerful little shocker of a story, almost like something Roald Dahl might have written. This time it is a wife, deceased, who … returns to her husband on the eve of his second marriage.
There are literal trips to heaven and the return of deceased souls to earth. It is the stuff of romance, of fancy, and beauty.
What about my adventure bro?
Keep it in your pants, lovers of adventure: the second half the collection delivers on the action. We get four short stories of Alan Quatermain, the famous hunter and treasure-seeker. Although these are technically prequel stories of a character well-established in King Solomon’s Mines, these are largely told from the perspective of an older Quatermain. They had just a bit of flavor of the tall-tale stories of Commander McBragg (remember that pith-helmeted dude from Saturday mornings, fellow Gen-Xers?), save that Quatermain is reserved, and his stories, real. Yet like McBragg his exploits are so incredible everyone is left spellbound—including us, the reader.
Haggard is a fantastic storyteller and his considerable talents are on display here. It’s no wonder Robert E. Howard was among the millions of readers and dozens of famous writers that fell under his spell. Haggard’s influence on Robert E Howard is plain, IMO. A couple lines jumped out at me; hard to say if these are a direct influence, especially “sere and yellow leaf,” which also appears in Macbeth, but
Howard used that line in a conversation with Novalyne Price and I was surprised to see it also appear here:
And this one:
“Mashune was, I think, one of the bravest men I ever knew in the daytime, but he had more than civilized dread of the supernatural.”
Haggard is truly in his element these Quartermain stories, conveying the tension of big-game hunts, the palpable danger of hungry lions on the prowl. It pulls you straight in.
Again in reference to Howard, Haggard’s description of lions’ blazing eyes just outside the camp firelight reminded me of Howard’s descriptions from "The Tower of the Elephant."
Speaking of elephants … we get elephant hunting, tusks harvested for trade, Zulu servants, and the “n” word making appearances, so be prepared for all of this.
The last story in the volume is worth mentioning, as is the introduction.
“The Mahatma and the Hare” is unlike any of the preceding entries and at least at the moment I probably would call it the best of the lot. It is something great; something of the Grail is in it. Think
Watership Down condensed into 45 pages, focused on a single rabbit rather than a troupe, with more period horse and hound hunting and a clearer vision of heaven and divine judgement. It contains much truth about human cruelty and ignorance of the “other.” It really is a fantastic little story and
you can read it in full here, free on Gutenberg.
But do support the publisher, too.
Finally, Deuce Richardson provides a wonderful introduction to the volume, “H. Rider Haggard: Imagination, Death and Immortality,” summing up Haggard’s influence, the big picture of his literacy legacy, and a thematic tie-in to all the stories that follow.
In short, highly recommended. These stories are old, but startlingly imaginative and vital and graceful. While Haggard died more than 100 years ago, he has much to teach any modern writer—and can still bind the modern reader with a potent spell.
