The Weavers | Page 2

mind a warning which was given
me similar to that on my entering new fields outside the one in which I

first made a reputation in fiction. When, in a certain year, I determined
that I would enter the House of Commons I had many friends who, in
effect, wailed and gnashed their teeth. They said that it would be the
death of my imaginative faculties; that I should never write anything
any more; that all the qualities which make literature living and
compelling would disappear. I thought this was all wrong then, and I
know it is all wrong now. Political life does certainly interfere with the
amount of work which an author may produce. He certainly cannot
write a book every year and do political work as well, but if he does not
attempt to do the two things on the same days, as it were, but in blocks
of time devoted to each separately and respectively, he will only find,
as I have found, that public life the conflict of it, the accompanying
attrition of mind, the searching for the things which will solve the
problems of national life, the multitudinous variations of character with
which one comes in contact, the big issues suddenly sprung upon the
congregation of responsible politicians, all are stimulating to the
imagination, invigorating to the mind, and marvellously freshening to
every literary instinct. No danger to the writer lies in doing political
work, if it does not sap his strength and destroy his health. Apart from
that, he should not suffer. The very spirit of statesmanship is
imagination, vision; and the same quality which enables an author to
realise humanity for a book is necessary for him to realise humanity in
the crowded chamber of a Parliament.
So far as I can remember, whatever was written of The Weavers, no
critic said that it lacked imagination. Some critics said it was too
crowded with incident; that there was enough incident in it for two
novels; some said that the sweep was too wide, but no critic of
authority declared that the book lacked vision or the vivacity of a living
narrative. It is not likely that I shall ever write again a novel of Egypt,
but I have made my contribution to Anglo-Egyptian literature, and I do
not think I failed completely in showing the greatness of soul which
enabled one man to keep the torch of civilisation, of truth, justice, and
wholesome love alight in surroundings as offensive to civilisation as
was Egypt in the last days of Ismail Pasha--a time which could be well
typified by the words put by Bulwer Lytton in the mouth of Cardinal
Richelieu:
"I found France rent asunder, Sloth in the mart and schism in the

temple; Broils festering to rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with
rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of
the old feudal and decrepit carcase, Civilisation on her luminous wings
Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove!"
Critics and readers have endeavoured to identify the main
characteristics of The Weavers with figures in Anglo-Egyptian and
official public life. David Claridge was, however, a creature of the
imagination. It has been said that he was drawn from General Gordon. I
am not conscious of having taken Gordon for David's prototype, though,
as I was saturated with all that had been written about Gordon, there is
no doubt that something of that great man may have found its way into
the character of David Claridge. The true origin of David Claridge,
however, may be found in a short story called 'All the World's Mad', in
Donovan Pasha, which was originally published by Lady Randolph
Churchill in an ambitious but defunct magazine called 'The
Anglo-Saxon Review'. The truth is that David Claridge had his origin
in a fairly close understanding of, and interest in, Quaker life. I had
Quaker relatives through the marriage of a connection of my mother,
and the original of Benn Claridge, the uncle of David, is still alive, a
very old man, who in my boyhood days wore the broad brim and the
straight preacher-like coat of the old-fashioned Quaker. The
grandmother of my wife was also a Quaker, and used the "thee" and
"thou" until the day of her death.
Here let me say that criticism came to me from several quarters both in
England and America on the use of these words thee and thou, and
statements were made that the kind of speech which I put into David
Claridge's mouth was not Quaker speech. For instance, they would not
have it that a Quaker would say, "Thee will go with me"--as though
they were ashamed of the sweet inaccuracy of the objective pronoun
being used in the nominative; but hundreds of times I have myself