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    She
    She
    She
    Ebook391 pages6 hours

    She

    By Murat Ukray and H. Rider Haggard

    3.5/5

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    In giving to the world the record of what, looked at as an adventure only, is I suppose one of the most wonderful and mysterious experiences ever undergone by mortal men, I feel it incumbent on me to explain what my exact connection with it is. And so I may as well say at once that I am not the narrator but only the editor of this extraordinary history, and then go on to tell how it found its way into my hands.


    Some years ago I, the editor, was stopping with a friend, "vir doctissimus et amicus neus," at a certain University, which for the purposes of this history we will call Cambridge, and was one day much struck with the appearance of two persons whom I saw going arm-in-arm down the street. One of these gentlemen was I think, without exception, the handsomest young fellow I have ever seen. He was very tall, very broad, and had a look of power and a grace of bearing that seemed as native to him as it is to a wild stag. In addition his face was almost without flaw—a good face as well as a beautiful one, and when he lifted his hat, which he did just then to a passing lady, I saw that his head was covered with little golden curls growing close to the scalp.


    "Good gracious!" I said to my friend, with whom I was walking, "why, that fellow looks like a statue of Apollo come to life. What a splendid man he is!"
    "Yes," he answered, "he is the handsomest man in the University, and one of the nicest too. They call him 'the Greek god'; but look at the other one, he's Vincey's (that's the god's name) guardian, and supposed to be full of every kind of information. They call him 'Charon.'" I looked, and found the older man quite as interesting in his way as the glorified specimen of humanity at his side.


    He appeared to be about forty years of age, and was I think as ugly as his companion was handsome. To begin with, he was shortish, rather bow-legged, very deep chested, and with unusually long arms. He had dark hair and small eyes, and the hair grew right down on his forehead, and his whiskers grew right up to his hair, so that there was uncommonly little of his countenance to be seen. Altogether he reminded me forcibly of a gorilla, and yet there was something very pleasing and genial about the man's eye. I remember saying that I should like to know him.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereKitap Projesi
    Release dateApr 8, 2015
    ISBN9786155564666
    Author

    Murat Ukray

    YAZAR:MURAT UKRAYYetkinlikler:Aynı zamanda bir yazar olan ve yaklaşık genel araştırma konuları ile fizikle ve birleşik alan kramı ile ilgili 2006’dan beri kaleme aldığı yaklaşık 12 eseri bulunan Murat UKRAY, yine bunları kendi kurmuş olduğu çeşitli web siteleri üzerinden, kitaplarını sadece dijital elektronik ortamda, hem düzenli olarak yılda yazmış veya yayınlamış olduğu diğer eserleri de yayın hayatına e-KİTAP ve POD (Print on Demand -talebe göre yayıncılık-) sistemine göre yayın hayatına geçirerek okurlarına sunmayı ilke olarak edinirken; diğer yandan da, projenin SOSYAL yönü olan doğayı korumak amaçlı başlattığı "e-KİTAP PROJESİ" isimli yayıncılık sistemiyle KİTABINI KLASİK SİSTEMLE YAYINLAYAMAYAN "AMATÖR YAZARLAR" için, elektronik ortamda kitap yayıncılığı ile kitaplarını bu sistemle yayınlatmak isteyen PROFESYONEL yayıncılar ve yazarlar için de hemen hemen her çeşit kitabın (MAKALE, AKADEMİK DERS KİTABI, ŞİİR, ROMAN, HİKAYE, DENEME, GÜNLÜK TASLAK) elektronik ortamda yayıncılığının önünü açan e-YAYINCILIĞA 2010 yılı başlarından beri başlamıştır ve halen daha ilgili projeleri yürütmektedir..Aynı zamanda YAZAR KOÇLUĞU ve KUANTUM & BİRLEŞİK ANA KURAMI doğrultusunda, kişisel gelişim uzmanlığı konularında da faaliyet göstermektedir..Çalışma alanları:Köşe yazarlığı yapmak, Profesyonel yazarlık (12 yıldır), Blog yazarlığı, web sitesi kurulumu, PHP Programlama, elektronik ticaret sistemleri, Sanal kütüphane uygulamaları, e-Kitap Uygulamaları ve Yazılımları, Kişisel gelişim, Kuantum mekaniği ve Birleşik Alan teorisi ile ilgili Kuramsal ve Uygulama çalışmaları..

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    Reviews for She

    3.5/5

    526 ratings34 reviews

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    • 2/5
      "Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten."One evening young Cambridge University professor, Horace Holly, is visited in his rooms by a colleague, Vincey, who tells Holly a fantastical tale of his family's history and that he, Vincey, will die before the night is out. Before his departure Vincey begs Holly to bring up his young son, Leo, with instructions that a locked iron box which he brought along with him should not to be opened until Leo's 25th birthday. Holly agrees, and indeed Vincey is found dead the following day. Holly, with the aid of a male nurse Job, raises Leo as his own and on the boy's 25th birthday they open the iron box. Inside they discover a piece of pottery, the "Sherd of Amenartas", which seems to tally with Vincey's unlikely story.Following the instructions on the Sherd the three men travel to eastern Africa where they are shipwrecked. With the exception of their Arab captain, Mahomed, they are the sole survivors of the wreck and the four men travel towards the interior only to be captured by the savage Amahagger people who speak a form of Arabic and are ruled by a fearsome queen, known as Hiya or "She-who-must-be-obeyed" or simply "She".Holly in particular is befriended by Billali, an elder, who introduces the newcomers into the ways of his people, whilst Ustane, a Amahagger maiden, takes Leo as her husband in accordance with tribal traditions. In contrast, Mahomed is seized by a group natives who intend to eat him. In an attempt to save Mahomed Holly accidentally shoots him dead along with several of the attackers. Leo is seriously wounded in the melee and only saved when Ustane throws herself onto his prostrate body and Billali timely entrance.Fearing for their safety and despite Leo being gravely injured Billani takes the three Englishmen to the home of the queen, which lies inside a dormant volcano near the ruins of the lost city of Kôr, a once mighty civilisation that pre-dated the Egyptians. Once there, Holly is presented to the queen, a white sorceress named Ayesha. Ayesha reveals that she has learned the secret of immortality and has lived in the realm of Kôr for more than two millennia, awaiting the return of her lover, Kallikrates (whom she killed in a fit of jealous rage).The next evening She visits Leo to heal him and declares him to be the reincarnation of her former love Kallikrates. On his recovery Leo becomes bewitched by the beautiful Ayesha who in explaining her own history shows him the perfectly preserved body of Kallikrates, which she has kept.In the climax of the novel, Ayesha takes the three Englishmen to see the Pillar of Fire determined that Leo should bathe in the fire to become immortal and that together they can become the all-powerful rulers of the world. On arrival Leo questions the safety of entering the flame and to allay his fears, Ayesha steps into the flames. However, this second immersion, has the opposite of the intended effect, Ayesha reverts to her true age and dies.This novel was first published at the very end of the 19th century when very little was known about the interior of Africa and shows many of the sadder traits of the day, namely misogyny, racism and sexism. Unpleasant as these are what I really disliked was the author's overwritten style which made large parts of it feel very repetitive. In short this is a boy's own adventure that shouldn't be taken too seriously but be read purely as a piece of literary Victorian history that has seen it's day. "There is no such thing as magic, though there is such a thing of knowledge of the hidden ways of Nature."
    • 4/5
      This novel won me over, but it's not reflected in my initial impression: a quaint 19th century image of Africa as the European adventurer's romantic playground, abounding with MacGuffins to be discovered. The MacGuffin of choice for this outing is a seemingly immortal woman's kingdom, lying somewhere inland from the coast of Zanzibar (now Tanzania) where the swamps are naturally thickest. While there's a long-lasting family grudge to be motivated by, our heroes seem driven mostly by the thought of wandering into the unknown just to see what happens. Solid pacing and detailed narrative are the primary selling features as the Brits tough it out with stiff upper lips, struggling through deadly swamp gases, cannibals and other hazards like men's men. Haggard perilously stakes everything on successfully introducing She to the stage, a build-up that lasts to the halfway point. Surprisingly, She delivers real tension into the story. She has power and presence, her affect on the adventurers is overwhelming, and a sequence of revelations and key plot points are well orchestrated. Aeysha is like Galadriel from Lord of the Rings, but amoral and somewhat maddened by a lost love. Stiff upper lips mean nothing to her, and she rules the story like she rules her kingdom. It only partly ends like I expected, in a way that I doubt would play well if directly translated to a Hollywood screen (I haven't seen any versions) but it has real impact in novel form. It's what it says on the can, a solid adventure story, and it's only somewhat saddled by 19th century style, language and views. I hear at least some of the sequels are also worthwhile.
    • 3/5
      It had been many years since I read this - sometime back in the early '70s at a guess, and my memories of it have also been colored by the Hammer movie that I've watched several times in the interim. The movie is still watchable, but I fear the book hasn't aged well at all. Where it still stands up is in the imaginative sequences - the lost cities, the immense caverns, the pillar of fire and she-who-must-be-obeyed herself, all of which show Haggard to be capable of stirring the blood, which he also does admirably during the early shipwreck scene.

      But it falls down badly on some dreadfully casual racism, the inherently worthy but dull protagonists and some shocking plodding exposition, especially early on. Allan Quartermain lifted several of Haggard's other works above all of this, but in the case of She the old warrior is sorely missed.
    • 4/5
      By all rights I probably should reread this before reviewing--I last read this in my teens. I think I'm a little afraid I might find She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed diminished in my esteem, and I'd hate that. I'd rather remember this not only as a rollicking good adventure to read, but above all Ayesha, the "She" of the title, as one of the kick ass heroines of Victorian fiction. Along with King Solomon's Mines, She is the most famous of H. Rider Haggard's novels, and I like this one more. Indeed, this spawned three sequels. There's even one where the hero of King's Solomon's Mines, Alan Quartermain, meets Ayesha--She and Allan. My favorite of the Ayesha books actually is the prequel Wisdom's Daughter, where Ayesha tells her own story--historical fantasy about Ancient Egypt. This particular is the original, published as a serial from 1896 to 1897. It's set 2,000 years after Ayesha was born in the present day of publication. For Ayesha is immortal--and incredibly powerful. And now she's confronted with an Englishman who bears a uncanny resemblance to her old love. And yes, some of the prose, it is purple. I'm not going to claim this is the same order of classic as the best by Charles Dickens, the Brontes, George Eliot or Thomas Hardy. But like Arthur Conan Doyle or Robert Louis Stevenson or Rudyard Kipling, Haggard really could spin a good yarn.
    • 5/5
      I've read "She" a number of times, it's always a fascinating read. "She" is a compelling character and the supernatural elements are intriguing to me. The philosophical dialogue about the temptation of eternal life is unsettling: I'm not sure if I would want to live forever, but the prospect of being invulnerable to disease/death, and having the resulting power, is not so easily dismissed. I suppose it's irrational to dwell on it, and thus squander what remains of my appointed time.
    • 4/5
      After reading King Solomon's Mines, I was really expecting something quite a bit different. Something more in the physical action / adventure category. Sure enough, it started off quite in this manner, with a journey into Africa, encounters with less-than-hospital natives, etc. But once She-who-must-be-obeyed is introduced, the adventure takes a decidedly deeper and more psychological bent to it. The end result is mezmorizing, much like Ayesha herself is said to be. Quite enjoyable.
    • 5/5
      One of Haggard's three best (with King Solomon's Mines and Allen Quartermain), possibly his best. From the intellectual fascination of the "Shard of Amenardis" through all the adventure of finding "she" and ten the great moral question of accepting her offer, followed by her sudden end, it is quite extraordinary.
    • 4/5
      This is a great story and I would have given this volume 5 stars except that it inexplicably lacks a drawing of the item that starts this adventure going, an item drawn in every other copy of this book I've seen.
    • 4/5
      With more thematic depth than King Solomon's Mines or Alan Quartermain, She is much less of an adventure novel and more of a single character: Ayesha. The scope of the landscape and her character are what make this book what it is. Long dialogue and exposition can drag a bit, but for any fan of ancient history and philosophy it's a fascinating read. The idea of an old immortal is not a new one, and Ayesha invokes some familiar themes from the vampire novels of the time, but the humanity and struggle that comes with immortality is very rarely portrayed as well as in this novel. As a side-note, many descriptions of Ayesha make me think that Tolkien had used Haggard as a reference and in general their stories are very thematically similar, including ancient languages, lost societies, beautiful and terrible landscapes, down-to-earth protagonists – checked wikipedia and turns out I'm not the first person to think so.
    • 4/5
      Fascinating document, but I had high hopes for this book, and it didn't quite live up to them. Much as I love stories about imperious, sexually dominant women, Ayesha just didn't live up to her hype -- she was cold and beautiful, yes, but also irritatingly vapid and coquettish. Hard to root for her. Still, plenty of stuff to mull over here, relating to sex, race, class, etc.
    • 4/5
      Another book I probably would have enjoyed more when I was younger. I could see this being adapted for an Indiana Jones movie (and there are elements of the IJ movies that may have been borrowed from here). Interested me as much for the insight it gives into Victorian England as for the story itself.I probably would have been better off w/o reading the annotations. I wish the notes had been footnotes rather than endnotes (although I can see this being difficult as the novel itself had footnotes), and I wish there were a way to distinguish between explanatory notes, and notes dealing with changes to the manuscript.
    • 4/5
      A Victorian gothic thriller with an element of a lost world scenario, there is both eroticism and adventure, with Haggard intent on placing his novel firmly in the context of his era's fascination with all things archaeological. It has the most marvellous femme fatale with Sigmund Freud claiming it depicted the eternal feminine, the immortality of our emotions (but what did he know). There are reflections on the meaning of life, immortality and death amongst some fine descriptive writing exuding atmosphere, but there is no science fiction and it is not a book for children.It is a Victorian novel written by a man who worked in the colonial apparatus of the time and so by todays standards it is politically incorrect, however within the context of the story I did not find it offensive, (but then I am a white English male, so what do I know) and it is a great story. It starts with a mystery: an old friend turns up at a University professor's (Holly) house, saying he is going to die this very night, but he has one last request. Will he act as guardian to his son and take charge of a casket which must not be opened until Leo comes of age. The years pass and the casket is finally opened and it contains an improbable story of Leo's birth right backed up by hard archaeological evidence. It is too tempting for the two men to resist and they take ship to Africa to search for the lost kingdom of Kor. They and their servant Job, survive a shipwreck and after many vicissitudes they stumble into the land of the Amahaggar tribe; ferocious cannibals ruled by a white queen Ayesha or she-who-must-be-obeyed. Ayesha has discovered the secret of eternal youth and is waiting for the reincarnation of her lover Kallikrates, which of course happens to be Leo. Both Holly and Leo fall in love with Ayesha who is a murdress and has no compunction about killing anyone who gets in her way (one look will do it). The climax of the novel is a perilous journey undertaken by the three men and Ayesha to the pillar of flame that will bestow immortality.Haggard goes to some lengths to lift his novel out of the rut of a typical Victorian gothic romance and I think he is largely successful. He must have realised that with such a fantastic storyline he needed to give it some authenticity, to give it some semblance of reality. Early in chapter III a facsimile of the pottery shard containing the story of Kallikrates is reproduced in uncial Greek, which is translated into classical Greek before being reproduced in English. Haggard takes time to explain the ethnography of the Amahaggar tribe and the lost civilization of the Kors. His central characters discuss religion, morality, the mysteries of the universe, the desire for immortality and the passions of love and desire. This together with an atmospheric depiction of Ayesha's cave complex, a nightmare journey through the swamps and a thrilling edge of the seat climax makes this book fully deserve it's classic status. Haggards characters are reasonably well rounded and in Ayesha he has managed to transmit an eroticism that makes Leo and Holly's actions perfectly understandable.This novel has appeared on lists of early classic science fiction novels, but I did not read it in this way, because Haggard is so intent in placing the story in a contemporary setting with its historicity thoroughly explained that such a reading would in my opinion be perverse. Had this novel been set on another world or had there been any hint of Ayesha not being of this world then I might acknowledge a science fiction element. The novel is nicely structured and I did not mind a more leisurely pace while Haggard filled in the background or took off on one of his more thoughtful, profound passages, it did not feel like info-dumping and it certainly added to the books literary merit. I enjoyed myself with this read and I am tempted to go for [Ayesha: the Return of She] 4 stars
    • 3/5
      Found it somehow not as entertaining as the other AQ novels I have read. Seemed a tad laboured. Also the conception of love went way past obsession into insanity.
    • 4/5
      She, along with King Solomon's Mine, are the most famous works by H. Rider Haggard. Considered to be one of the first "Lost World" adventure stories, She is a fun read. The story is centered around She which is short for She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, a nearly immortal queen who presides over the ruins of Kor. The story starts with a mysterious legacy left with Horace Holly who is asked to raise a young boy and give him a locked trunk when he reaches 25. The box contains a potsherd with the fragments of of a story that quickly results in the ward and guardian venturing into southern Africa. Their journey to Kor and what they find there is the heart of the story. It should be recognized that She was published in 1886 and its characters come from the Victorian Age. As such, the native Africans are depicted as cannibals. The ruined glories of Kor are the product of a vanished civilization strongly implied to be something other than African. In addition to the depiction of Africans, the interaction between men and women is also far from modern. She herself is white and such a vision of loveliness so as to be dangerous for any man to look upon unveiled. She is also cruel. Yet that cruelty is somehow forgiven due to her beauty. My favorite quote explaining this phenomena reads "No doubt she was a wicked person . . . but then she was very faithful, and by a law of nature man is apt to think but lightly of a woman's crimes, especially if that woman be beautiful, and the crime be committed for the love of him." She is a fun story set in a time that still had blank spaces on the maps that could be filled in with imagination. Haggard unleashes that imagination to tell a heck of a tale.
    • 2/5
      A bit too feministy for my taste. I get it...She-who-must-be-obeyed is a powerful woman. But I just didn't care that much.
    • 4/5
      We all need a ripping yarn in our life. These are the rippiest.
    • 4/5
      More a tale of supernatural horror then a ripping yarn. It reminded me of the cycle of Mummy films from the 1930's onwards with a dash of Indiana Jones. The Caves of Kor, the main setting, is a vast labyrinthine but claustrophobic sepulchre, reined over by a terrifyingly despotic queen. She is a distant relative of that other seductive member of the Victorian Undead, Count Dracula. This time though the male of the species are the victims of her erotic allure. She certainly has the two main characters, typical representatives of upper-crust 19th Century manhood, wrapped around her little finger. The narrative is fast paced but surprisingly well written, although the fake archaic dialogue, especially when Ayesha (She Who Must Be Obeyed) speaks, slows the pace down in a slightly irritating fashion.
    • 3/5
      the author said a little to often that words could not describe the scenes, not a compelling read, I got bored with it near the end.
    • 5/5
      This is a gripping read, quite a horrific and violent novel, much more so than the famous film starring Ursula Andress and Peter Cushing. While the overall plot and names of the characters are the same, there are many other differences, particularly in the character of the narrator Holly (the Peter Cushing character), who in the book is hairy and ugly (nicknamed "the Baboon" by Billali) and so strong that at one point he quite graphically crushes two people to death with his bare hands. There is also a lot of dialogue between Holly and She, discussing philosophy and history in a way that could probably not have been commercially realised on film. The book delivers quite a strong emotional impact and is well worth reading. (The only note of caution I would add is that, as a novel of its time, the characters hold assumptions about the racial superiority of the white man that we do not today, which results in some slightly jarring comments early on in the novel.)
    • 4/5
      An interesting book indeed. This book, along with King Solomon's Mines, established the universe in which seemingly every subsequent adventure story would be set. Everything you need is here, the Victorian era, lost civilizations, gentlemen explorers, and mysteries that time should have forgotten. The climatic ending of the novel involves a harrowing underground adventure that would make for a good summer blockbuster. Every time you see Indiana Jones or Lara Croft leap across a bottomless pit, know that this is the source.One hundred and twenty-five years on, style can be a potential roadblock. Like many popular Victorian novelists, Haggard can be damned slow sometimes. Stop apologizing that your pen is inadequate to describe the indescribable and get on with it! The book is not near as bad as Sir Walter Scott can be, since Haggard wrote after the invention of photography; he had no need to describe things in exhaustive detail for people who had never been more than 50 miles from home. The thing to know is you can just skip or skim parts that seem slow, and that will keep your interest up without harming the narrative.However, for all that thick prose, you can see a different world through Haggard's works. Some of the things I enjoy about Victorian adventure novels are the places one can visit in the imagination, and the shift in perspective to see the world as the Victorians did. Here we have a work of popular literature with large sections of Greek and Latin, implying both the author had the capacity to compose it, and at least some of the readers to understand it. When our gentlemen adventurers meet the titular She, a great deal of time is spent in philosophical discourse. Since Ayesha has been roughing it for 2500 years, she is in dire need of intellectual stimulation. How different this feels than Robert E. Howard!The lost civilization is located 10 days journey from the coast between Delagoa [Maputo] Bay and the Zambesi river, inside the rift valley volcanoes therein. Rift valleys always make for dramatic landscapes. Also, the history of Arab trade on the east coast of Africa becomes important to the story. I never knew there was a distinction between original Arabs, al-'Arab al-'Ariba, and the descendants of Ishmael, al-'Arab al-mostareba.The dramatic action of the book is most moral. There are harrowing escapes and acts of derring-do, but the true conflict arises from the irresistible attraction our gentlemen explorers feel towards She. She is a creature of supernatural beauty and wisdom, but one who still shares the weaknesses of human nature. Both men love her, almost against their will. I say almost, because they are of divided minds. She is a wicked creature, but they are so smitten with her that they excuse her wrongs even against themselves. They know this, but cannot resist her charms. It is the characteristic sin of males, writ large upon a fantastic backdrop. How many powerful men have been ruined by a pretty face?Ayesha herself is remarkably flawed. She has been given unnaturally long life and superior powers of reasoning, but her conscience has not grown to match. Like a Greek goddess, she is powerful, yet strangely petty. She can have anything she wants, the problem is what she wants. The wicked acts she commits are indeed small, the problem is that she has no sense of the responsibilities that go with great power, and that great things are expected of those who have been given much.While I do like Haggard's work, I would be interested to see this same idea in another author's hands, Tim Powers for example. The cause of this whole expedition was Ayesha's murder of the remote ancestor of one of our gentlemen heroes. This remarkable man refused to abandon his wife for Ayesha in her glorified state, and in a rage she slew him. Twenty-three centuries later, his ancestor simply acquiesces. He is literally powerless against Ayesha. Why was his ancestor made of sterner stuff? There is a mystery here that goes unexplored.While Robert E. Howard may not have philosophical discourses between his characters, Solomon Kane at least would find the grace to resist She.
    • 3/5
      A rip-roaring adventure story set in East Africa in the mid-Victorian period. As might be expected from the time it was written and the prevailing colonial mores, there are what now seem some unacceptable attitudes towards native African races, though these are less prevalent than in many books from this period. As an adventure story it fairly races along, and encompasses shipwreck, kidnap, brushes with cannibals and a beautiful, ageless African queen with Helen-like powers to captivate men with a single glance.It may all sound somewhat ropey but in vact it hangs together surprisingly well, and certainly kept me reading eagerly through to the end.
    • 3/5
      I'd never read this classic of adventure-fantasy before. For some reason, I'd always assumed the the author was a contemporary of Robert E. Howard, and that it was published sometime in the 1930s or thereabouts. Not so! It was published in 1887!

      The story is fairly simple: An ugly, rather reclusive academic is asked to become ward of a young boy. When the boy, Leo, comes of age, he opens a package left to him by his dead father, and discovers a tale that he is descended from a fabulously long line of Greco-Egyptians, and that somewhere in darkest Africa, there is an immortal goddess who is somehow bound up in his life. Although taking this with a grain of salt, the two are compelled to go investigate the tale - and indeed, they find the fabled, immortal SHE, Ayesha, who believes that Leo is the reincarnation of her long-dead love - who, incidentally, she murdered in a jealous fit.

      Although, for his time period, Haggard was apparently considered to be remarkably tolerant and broad-minded, a lot of this book wound be found quite shocking in may ways to most modern audiences.
      Haggard does go out of his way to be clear that many of the prejudices in the book are those of his characters - but prejudices of his own (or of the society of his times) can also be found coming through loud and clear. There are definite racist, anti-Semitic and very non-feminist views voiced, as well as the fact that the lower-class Englishman, their servant, is basically a humorous sidekick, his class used for laughs. (which, now that I'm thinking about it, has really kinda become a cliche in this whole genre, even in recent times.)

      My copy of the book was from 1972, and I was a bit surprised that it was published unexpurgated, as I know that a bunch of Robert E. Howard's works were censored in their publications from around that time (eliminating references to 'subhuman black savages' and that sort of thing.) (I have mixed feelings about that... I'm generally against censorship, but I'd rather read stories without such content, obviously.)

      However, I did enjoy reading this book. It IS an entertaining story, subtexts aside. And it's also interesting, historically, to see the attitudes of the 19th century through the lens of a story like this. It's also interesting to see how much philosophizing, poetics, & etc are included in what was unapologetically written as a sensationalist adventure story - a 'wild romance', as it's referred to in the opening of the sequel!

      The attitudes, and the different levels of them, seen in this book could fuel quite a lot of analysis - I'm not surprised that it's been studied in college classes - but right now I'm too tired to get into an extended essay!
    • 3/5
      The story follows the journey of Horace Holly and his ward Leo Vincey to a lost kingdom in the African interior. There they encounter a primitive race of natives and a mysterious white queen named Ayesha who reigns as the all-powerful "She", or "She-who-must-be-obeyed". From wikipedia.I liked [King Solomon’s Mines] but I couldn’t get into this late-Victorian adventure story. Ayesha is indeed a terrifying and fascinating goddess, but I didn’t really care about the characters fate. The story set aside, there’s a lot of philosophical reflections about immortality and miracles set over against the modernist ideas of naturalism - quite interesting. There’s also several meanderings on male and female fight for domination. I’m don’t think Haggards reflections would fare well in todays climate. Let me end with a quote that made me laugh: True, in uniting himself to this dread woman, he would place his life under the influence of a mysterious creature of evil tendencies, but then that would be likely enough to happen to him in an ordinary marriage.
    • 5/5
      This is the first novel I have read as a young girl, I've read it over and over again a lot of times, I bought a new edition because mine was worn out, I love it!! I always wonder why didn't they make it into a movie (A new adaption I mean)?!? It's the best fantasy novel ever!!!
    • 4/5
      Very imaginative story that is a little too concerned with female power for my taste.
    • 4/5
      Bill Homewood's narration really added to my enjoyment of this classic.
    • 4/5
      I read this as an eBook on my Nook Color. I notice that that version includes some text not in my hardcopy edition. A check on the Internet shows that Haggard revised the book more than few times after its initial publication in serial form.So - given that a book like this should probably be read when you are in your teens - how does it hold up for a *somewhat* older reader? Pretty well, I would say. The books deficits are very clear, including lots of long-winded speeches and descriptions in flowery terms that wouldn't be out of place in an early John D. MacDonald attempt at a love scene. However, the essence of what these speeches and narration are trying to convey is pretty good stuff, philosophically, so we plunge right through it fairly easily. At no time does it become quite as exaggerated as Lovecraft or other writers who were inspired by Haggard's work. The other most annoying part of the book is the narrator's constant statements (one per chapter I would say) that something is too fantastic to be described or that words fail him, or more proclamations to that effect. That gets a little old after a while, but in every case the descriptions the narrator is able to provide are pretty good.On the plus side, this book, while an archetype for the lost world type of adventure story, doesn't read like a tired series of cliches. Putting aside the routine though not pervasive racism and the typical English attitudes of its narrator and his adopted son, Leo, who is the impetus of the story, the narrative is less predictable than I expected. Its success, of course, depends upon the character of She, and Haggard succeeds in creating a creature who is a mix of tenderness and coldbloodedness. She leads the narrator and Leo on a journey to a place of fire that is the source of her longevity (over 2000 years!). I won't offer any spoilers as to what happens. Elsewhere in the book, there are scenes that I will certainly continue to recall from time to time for years to come, the unique torches for instance, or my favorite new verb--hotpot!
    • 2/5
      She by H. Rider Haggard is one of the worst books I've ever enjoyed. The writing is stilted, the dialogue is ridiculously both overwrought and formal, the plot is absurd, the characters are two dimensional, the laughs are unintentional. I loved it.The story follows an aging Oxford don, "on the wrong side of 40" as he says, Horace Holly and his young ward the handsome Leo Vincey, called the Lion because of his wonderful golden curls. The two set out with their man servant Job in search of a lost African kingdom ruled by a powerful, undying woman, Ayesha called She Who Must Be Obeyed by her terrified subjects. Leo's father, whom he never knew, left him an iron box to be opened on his 21st birthday. The box contains evidence written and physical linking Leo back through a long lineage to a ruler of ancient Egypt who loved Ayesha only to die by her hand. Aeysha is cursed with long life, forced to live over 2000 years alone while she waits for the reincarnation of her beloved Kallikrates to appear. Leo, of course, looks just like the paintings of Kallikrates.Then story starts to get ludicrous. I can understand why She was huge a success when it was first published in 1887. I can even understand why it would spawn three successful sequels. (It has sold over 83 million copies and been translated into 44 languages. I just wish one of them had been English.) At the end of the 19th century powerful women were a major concern among English authors. The New Woman was asserting herself all over the place making more than a few male authors very nervous. Africa was of great interest to the reading public in the 19th century, and Haggard is credited with inventing the lost kingdom genre of adventure fiction with his very popular stories of Allan Quartermain the hero of King Solomon's Mines. (The phrase She Who Must Be Obeyed later resurfaced as the "name" John Mortimer's Rumpole used to call his long-suffering wife.) All this makes sense to me given the culture of the time, but why She and its sequels should still be in print today is a mystery to me. Maybe just for the laughs. Take this passage:"Ah, so!" he answered. "Thou seest, my son, here there is a custom that if a stranger comes into this country, he may be slain by 'the pot' and eaten.""That is hospitality turned upside down," I answered feebly. "In our country we entertain a stranger, and give him food to eat. Here you eat him, and are entertained.""It is a custom," he answered, with a shrug. "Myself, I think it an evil one; but then," he added by an afterthought, "I do not like the taste of strangers, especially after they have wandered through the swamps and lived on waterfowl."Or this one:"My love! my love! my love! Why did that stranger bring thee back to me after this sort? For five long centuries I have not suffered thus. Oh, if I sinned against thee, have I not wiped away the sin? When wilt thou come back to me who have all, and yet without thee have naught? What is there that I can do? What? What? What? And perchance she--perchance that Egyptian doth abide with thee where thou are, and mock my memory. Oh, why could I not die with tjee, I who slew thee? Alas, that I cannot die! Alas! Alas!" and she flung herself prone upon the ground, and sobbed and wept till I thought that her heart must burst.Or this one:"I want a Black Goat, I must have a Black Goat, bring me a Black Goat!" and down she fell upon the rocky floor, foaming and writhing, and shrieking for a Black Goat, affording as hideous a spectacle as can be conceived.See what I mean. In spite of this there were a few scenes in She that came close to brilliant. One in particular described a ritual sacrifice She presided over in one of the many temple chambers in her underground palace. Slaves enthralled to her mysterious powers brought forth the mummified bodies of kings left for centuries in the tombs. Some they threw on a large bonfire while others the put inside holders along the walls lighting their heads as though they were torches. There's an image to haunt your dreams and something a Freudian analyst could really sink his teeth in to.The main reason I was able to enjoy reading this book was not to read it but to listen to it. If you've not discovered it yet Librivox.org is an excellent site for free downloadable audio books. It's an organization run by volunteers. People from all over the world can sign up to read a chapter from a wide selection of works in the public domain. These chapters are then collected and posted as downloadable zip files. Hearing She read by so many different people and with so many different accents made it much more fun. I heard male and female voices from America, England, India, New Zealand and one who struck me as having a Russian accent. Some readers were better than others and each came up with their own way to pronounce Kallikrates, but this added to the overall charm of the project. It was like having your parents read to you, a kind of outsider audio art. I've downloaded several more books, none of them sequels to She.
    • 4/5
      I'm not sure where I got the idea to read this book, but I'm glad I did. It is a good, classic adventure through Africa and the mysteries that lie therein. Realistic thrills and adventure with a smidgen of the supernatural I can see why it was so popular 120 years ago. If you like Indiana Jones or Allan Quartermaine(also by the same author) you'll enjoy this one.
    • 2/5
      This book will simultaneously amuse and annoy you. It's Victorian origins positively ooze from the pages, filled as they are with British machismo, casual bigotry, and baffling melodrama. And yet, all that is part of what makes this story fun. It's the kind of book you love to hate.

    Book preview

    She - Murat Ukray

    pages.

    I: My Visitor

    There are some events of which each circumstance and surrounding detail seems to be graven on the memory in such fashion that we cannot forget it, and so it is with the scene that I am about to describe. It rises as clearly before my mind at this moment as though it had happened but yesterday.

    It was in this very month something over twenty years ago that I, Ludwig Horace Holly, was sitting one night in my rooms at Cambridge, grinding away at some mathematical work, I forget what. I was to go up for my fellowship within a week, and was expected by my tutor and my college generally to distinguish myself. At last, wearied out, I flung my book down, and, going to the mantelpiece, took down a pipe and filled it. There was a candle burning on the mantelpiece, and a long, narrow glass at the back of it; and as I was in the act of lighting the pipe I caught sight of my own countenance in the glass, and paused to reflect. The lighted match burnt away till it scorched my fingers, forcing me to drop it; but still I stood and stared at myself in the glass, and reflected.

    Well, I said aloud, at last, it is to be hoped that I shall be able to do something with the inside of my head, for I shall certainly never do anything by the help of the outside.

    This remark will doubtless strike anybody who reads it as being slightly obscure, but I was in reality alluding to my physical deficiencies. Most men of twenty-two are endowed at any rate with some share of the comeliness of youth, but to me even this was denied. Short, thick-set, and deep-chested almost to deformity, with long sinewy arms, heavy features, deep-set grey eyes, a low brow half overgrown with a mop of thick black hair, like a deserted clearing on which the forest had once more begun to encroach; such was my appearance nearly a quarter of a century ago, and such, with some modification, it is to this day. Like Cain, I was branded—branded by Nature with the stamp of abnormal ugliness, as I was gifted by Nature with iron and abnormal strength and considerable intellectual powers. So ugly was I that the spruce young men of my College, though they were proud enough of my feats of endurance and physical prowess, did not even care to be seen walking with me. Was it wonderful that I was misanthropic and sullen? Was it wonderful that I brooded and worked alone, and had no friends—at least, only one? I was set apart by Nature to live alone, and draw comfort from her breast, and hers only. Women hated the sight of me. Only a week before I had heard one call me a monster when she thought I was out of hearing, and say that I had converted her to the monkey theory. Once, indeed, a woman pretended to care for me, and I lavished all the pent-up affection of my nature upon her. Then money that was to have come to me went elsewhere, and she discarded me. I pleaded with her as I have never pleaded with any living creature before or since, for I was caught by her sweet face, and loved her; and in the end by way of answer she took me to the glass, and stood side by side with me, and looked into it.

    Now, she said, if I am Beauty, who are you? That was when I was only twenty.

    And so I stood and stared, and felt a sort of grim satisfaction in the sense of my own loneliness; for I had neither father, nor mother, nor brother; and as I did so there came a knock at my door.

    I listened before I went to open it, for it was nearly twelve o'clock at night, and I was in no mood to admit any stranger. I had but one friend in the College, or, indeed, in the world—perhaps it was he.

    Just then the person outside the door coughed, and I hastened to open it, for I knew the cough.

    A tall man of about thirty, with the remains of great personal beauty, came hurrying in, staggering beneath the weight of a massive iron box which he carried by a handle with his right hand. He placed the box upon the table, and then fell into an awful fit of coughing. He coughed and coughed till his face became quite purple, and at last he sank into a chair and began to spit up blood. I poured out some whisky into a tumbler, and gave it to him. He drank it, and seemed better; though his better was very bad indeed.

    Why did you keep me standing there in the cold? he asked pettishly. You know the draughts are death to me.

    I did not know who it was, I answered. You are a late visitor.

    Yes; and I verily believe it is my last visit, he answered, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. I am done for, Holly. I am done for. I do not believe that I shall see to-morrow.

    Nonsense! I said. Let me go for a doctor.

    He waved me back imperiously with his hand. It is sober sense; but I want no doctors. I have studied medicine and I know all about it. No doctors can help me. My last hour has come! For a year past I have only lived by a miracle. Now listen to me as you have never listened to anybody before; for you will not have the opportunity of getting me to repeat my words. We have been friends for two years; now tell me how much do you know about me?

    I know that you are rich, and have had a fancy to come to College long after the age that most men leave it. I know that you have been married, and that your wife died; and that you have been the best, indeed almost the only friend I ever had.

    Did you know that I have a son?

    No.

    I have. He is five years old. He cost me his mother's life, and I have never been able to bear to look upon his face in consequence. Holly, if you will accept the trust, I am going to leave you that boy's sole guardian.

    I sprang almost out of my chair. "Me!" I said.

    Yes, you. I have not studied you for two years for nothing. I have known for some time that I could not last, and since I realised the fact I have been searching for some one to whom I could confide the boy and this, and he tapped the iron box. "You are the man, Holly; for, like a rugged tree, you are hard and sound at core. Listen; the boy will be the only representative of one of the most ancient families in the world, that is, so far as families can be traced. You will laugh at me when I say it, but one day it will be proved to you beyond a doubt, that my sixty-fifth or sixty-sixth lineal ancestor was an Egyptian priest of Isis, though he was himself of Grecian extraction, and was called Kallikrates.[*] His father was one of the Greek mercenaries raised by Hak-Hor, a Mendesian Pharaoh of the twenty-ninth dynasty, and his grandfather or great-grandfather, I believe, was that very Kallikrates mentioned by Herodotus.[+] In or about the year 339 before Christ, just at the time of the final fall of the Pharaohs, this Kallikrates (the priest) broke his vows of celibacy and fled from Egypt with a Princess of Royal blood who had fallen in love with him, and was finally wrecked upon the coast of Africa, somewhere, as I believe, in the neighbourhood of where Delagoa Bay now is, or rather to the north of it, he and his wife being saved, and all the remainder of their company destroyed in one way or another. Here they endured great hardships, but were at last entertained by the mighty Queen of a savage people, a white woman of peculiar loveliness, who, under circumstances which I cannot enter into, but which you will one day learn, if you live, from the contents of the box, finally murdered my ancestor Kallikrates. His wife, however, escaped, how, I know not, to Athens, bearing a child with her, whom she named Tisisthenes, or the Mighty Avenger. Five hundred years or more afterwards, the family migrated to Rome under circumstances of which no trace remains, and here, probably with the idea of preserving the idea of vengeance which we find set out in the name of Tisisthenes, they appear to have pretty regularly assumed the cognomen of Vindex, or Avenger. Here, too, they remained for another five centuries or more, till about 770 A.D., when Charlemagne invaded Lombardy, where they were then settled, whereon the head of the family seems to have attached himself to the great Emperor, and to have returned with him across the Alps, and finally to have settled in Brittany. Eight generations later his lineal representative crossed to England in the reign of Edward the Confessor, and in the time of William the Conqueror was advanced to great honour and power. From that time to the present day I can trace my descent without a break. Not that the Vinceys—for that was the final corruption of the name after its bearers took root in English soil—have been particularly distinguished—they never came much to the fore. Sometimes they were soldiers, sometimes merchants, but on the whole they have preserved a dead level of respectability, and a still deader level of mediocrity. From the time of Charles II. till the beginning of the present century they were merchants. About 1790 by grandfather made a considerable fortune out of brewing, and retired. In 1821 he died, and my father succeeded him, and dissipated most of the money. Ten years ago he died also, leaving me a net income of about two thousand a year. Then it was that I undertook an expedition in connection with that, and he pointed to the iron chest, which ended disastrously enough. On my way back I travelled in the South of Europe, and finally reached Athens. There I met my beloved wife, who might well also have been called the 'Beautiful,' like my old Greek ancestor. There I married her, and there, a year afterwards, when my boy was born, she died."

    [*] The Strong and Beautiful, or, more accurately, the Beautiful in strength.

    [+] The Kallikrates here referred to by my friend was a

    Spartan, spoken of by Herodotus (Herod. ix. 72) as being

    remarkable for his beauty. He fell at the glorious battle of

    Platæa (September 22, B.C. 479), when the Lacedæmonians

    and Athenians under Pausanias routed the Persians, putting

    nearly 300,000 of them to the sword. The following is a

    translation of the passage, "For Kallikrates died out of the

    battle, he came to the army the most beautiful man of the

    Greeks of that day—not only of the Lacedæmonians

    themselves, but of the other Greeks also. He when Pausanias

    was sacrificing was wounded in the side by an arrow; and

    then they fought, but on being carried off he regretted his

    death, and said to Arimnestus, a Platæan, that he did not

    grieve at dying for Greece, but at not having struck a blow,

    or, although he desired so to do, performed any deed worthy

    of himself." This Kallikrates, who appears to have been as

    brave as he was beautiful, is subsequently mentioned by

    Herodotus as having been buried among the ἰρένες

    (young commanders), apart from the other Spartans and the

    Helots.—L. H. H.

    He paused a while, his head sunk upon his hand, and then continued—

    My marriage had diverted me from a project which I cannot enter into now. I have no time, Holly—I have no time! One day, if you accept my trust, you will learn all about it. After my wife's death I turned my mind to it again. But first it was necessary, or, at least, I conceived that it was necessary, that I should attain to a perfect knowledge of Eastern dialects, especially Arabic. It was to facilitate my studies that I came here. Very soon, however, my disease developed itself, and now there is an end of me. And as though to emphasise his words he burst into another terrible fit of coughing.

    I gave him some more whisky, and after resting he went on—

    I have never seen my boy, Leo, since he was a tiny baby. I never could bear to see him, but they tell me that he is a quick and handsome child. In this envelope, and he produced a letter from his pocket addressed to myself, I have jotted down the course I wish followed in the boy's education. It is a somewhat peculiar one. At any rate, I could not entrust it to a stranger. Once more, will you undertake it?

    I must first know what I am to undertake, I answered.

    You are to undertake to have the boy, Leo, to live with you till he is twenty-five years of age—not to send him to school, remember. On his twenty-fifth birthday your guardianship will end, and you will then, with the keys that I give you now (and he placed them on the table) open the iron box, and let him see and read the contents, and say whether or no he is willing to undertake the quest. There is no obligation on him to do so. Now, as regards terms. My present income is two thousand two hundred a year. Half of that income I have secured to you by will for life, contingently on your undertaking the guardianship—that is, one thousand a year remuneration to yourself, for you will have to give up your life to it, and one hundred a year to pay for the board of the boy. The rest is to accumulate till Leo is twenty-five, so that there may be a sum in hand should he wish to undertake the quest of which I spoke.

    And suppose I were to die? I asked.

    Then the boy must become a ward of Chancery and take his chance. Only be careful that the iron chest is passed on to him by your will. Listen, Holly, don't refuse me. Believe me, this is to your advantage. You are not fit to mix with the world—it would only embitter you. In a few weeks you will become a Fellow of your College, and the income that you will derive from that combined with what I have left you will enable you to live a life of learned leisure, alternated with the sport of which you are so fond, such as will exactly suit you.

    He paused and looked at me anxiously, but I still hesitated. The charge seemed so very strange.

    For my sake, Holly. We have been good friends, and I have no time to make other arrangements.

    Very well, I said, I will do it, provided there is nothing in this paper to make me change my mind, and I touched the envelope he had put upon the table by the keys.

    Thank you, Holly, thank you. There is nothing at all. Swear to me by God that you will be a father to the boy, and follow my directions to the letter.

    I swear it, I answered solemnly.

    Very well, remember that perhaps one day I shall ask for the account of your oath, for though I am dead and forgotten, yet I shall live. There is no such thing as death, Holly, only a change, and, as you may perhaps learn in time to come, I believe that even that change could under certain circumstances be indefinitely postponed, and again he broke into one of his dreadful fits of coughing.

    There, he said, I must go, you have the chest, and my will will be found among my papers, under the authority of which the child will be handed over to you. You will be well paid, Holly, and I know that you are honest, but if you betray my trust, by Heaven, I will haunt you.

    I said nothing, being, indeed, too bewildered to speak.

    He held up the candle, and looked at his own face in the glass. It had been a beautiful face, but disease had wrecked it. Food for the worms, he said. Curious to think that in a few hours I shall be stiff and cold—the journey done, the little game played out. Ah me, Holly! life is not worth the trouble of life, except when one is in love—at least, mine has not been; but the boy Leo's may be if he has the courage and the faith. Good-bye, my friend! and with a sudden access of tenderness he flung his arm about me and kissed me on the forehead, and then turned to go.

    Look here, Vincey, I said, if you are as ill as you think, you had better let me fetch a doctor.

    No, no, he said earnestly. Promise me that you won't. I am going to die, and, like a poisoned rat, I wish to die alone.

    I don't believe that you are going to do anything of the sort, I answered. He smiled, and, with the word Remember on his lips, was gone. As for myself, I sat down and rubbed my eyes, wondering if I had been asleep. As this supposition would not bear investigation I gave it up and began to think that Vincey must have been drinking. I knew that he was, and had been, very ill, but still it seemed impossible that he could be in such a condition as to be able to know for certain that he would not outlive the night. Had he been so near dissolution surely he would scarcely have been able to walk, and carry a heavy iron box with him. The whole story, on reflection, seemed to me utterly incredible, for I was not then old enough to be aware how many things happen in this world that the common sense of the average man would set down as so improbable as to be absolutely impossible. This is a fact that I have only recently mastered. Was it likely that a man would have a son five years of age whom he had never seen since he was a tiny infant? No. Was it likely that he could foretell his own death so accurately? No. Was it likely that he could trace his pedigree for more than three centuries before Christ, or that he would suddenly confide the absolute guardianship of his child, and leave half his fortune, to a college friend? Most certainly not. Clearly Vincey was either drunk or mad. That being so, what did it mean? and what was in the sealed iron chest?

    The whole thing baffled and puzzled me to such an extent that at last I could stand it no longer, and determined to sleep over it. So I jumped up, and having put the keys and the letter that Vincey had left away into my despatch-box, and stowed the iron chest in a large portmanteau, I turned in, and was soon fast asleep.

    As it seemed to me, I had only been asleep for a few minutes when I was awakened by somebody calling me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes; it was broad daylight—eight o'clock, in fact.

    Why, what is the matter with you, John? I asked of the gyp who waited on Vincey and myself. You look as though you had seen a ghost!

    Yes, sir, and so I have, he answered, leastways I've seen a corpse, which is worse. I've been in to call Mr. Vincey, as usual, and there he lies stark and dead!

    II: The Years Roll By

    As might be expected, poor Vincey's sudden death created a great stir in the College; but, as he was known to be very ill, and a satisfactory doctor's certificate was forthcoming, there was no inquest. They were not so particular about inquests in those days as they are now; indeed, they were generally disliked, because of the scandal. Under all these circumstances, being asked no questions, I did not feel called upon to volunteer any information about our interview on the night of Vincey's decease, beyond saying that he had come into my rooms to see me, as he often did. On the day of the funeral a lawyer came down from London and followed my poor friend's remains to the grave, and then went back with his papers and effects, except, of course, the iron chest which had been left in my keeping. For a week after this I heard no more of the matter, and, indeed, my attention was amply occupied in other ways, for I was up for my Fellowship, a fact that had prevented me from attending the funeral or seeing the lawyer. At last, however, the examination was over, and I came back to my rooms and sank into an easy chair with a happy consciousness that I had got through it very fairly.

    Soon, however, my thoughts, relieved of the pressure that had crushed them into a single groove during the last few days, turned to the events of the night of poor Vincey's death, and again I asked myself what it all meant, and wondered if I should hear anything more of the matter, and if I did not, what it would be my duty to do with the curious iron chest. I sat there and thought and thought till I began to grow quite disturbed over the whole occurrence: the mysterious midnight visit, the prophecy of death so shortly to be fulfilled, the solemn oath that I had taken, and which Vincey had called on me to answer to in another world than this. Had the man committed suicide? It looked like it. And what was the quest of which he spoke? The circumstances were uncanny, so much so that, though I am by no means nervous, or apt to be alarmed at anything that may seem to cross the bounds of the natural, I grew afraid, and began to wish I had nothing to do with them. How much more do I wish it now, over twenty years afterwards!

    As I sat and thought, there came a knock at the door, and a letter, in a big blue envelope, was brought in to me. I saw at a glance that it was a lawyer's letter, and an instinct told me that it was connected with my trust. The letter, which I still have, runs thus:—

    "Sir,—Our client, the late M. L. Vincey, Esq., who died on the 9th instant in —— College, Cambridge, has left behind him a Will, of which you will please find copy enclosed and of which we are the executors. Under this Will you will perceive that you take a life-interest in about half of the late Mr. Vincey's property, now invested in Consols, subject to your acceptance of the guardianship of his only son, Leo Vincey, at present an infant, aged five. Had we not ourselves drawn up the document in question in obedience to Mr. Vincey's clear and precise instructions, both personal and written, and had he not then assured us that he had very good reasons for what he was doing, we are bound to tell you that its provisions seem to us of so unusual a nature, that we should have bound to call the attention of the Court of Chancery to them, in order that such steps might be taken as seemed desirable to it, either by contesting the capacity of the testator or otherwise, to safeguard the interests of the infant. As it is, knowing that the testator was a gentleman of the highest intelligence and acumen, and that he has absolutely no relations living to whom he could have confided the guardianship of the child, we do not feel justified in taking this course.

    "Awaiting such instructions as you please to send us as regards the delivery of the infant and the payment of the proportion of the dividends due to you,

    "We remain, Sir, faithfully yours,

    "Geoffrey and Jordan.

    Horace L. Holly, Esq.

    I put down the letter, and ran my eye through the Will, which appeared, from its utter unintelligibility, to have been drawn on the strictest legal principles. So far as I could discover, however, it exactly bore out what my friend Vincey had told me on the night of his death. So it was true after all. I must take the boy. Suddenly I remembered the letter which Vincey had left with the chest. I fetched and opened it. It only contained such directions as he had already given to me as to opening the chest on Leo's twenty-fifth birthday, and laid down the outlines of the boy's education, which was to include Greek, the higher Mathematics, and Arabic. At the end there was a postscript to the effect that if the boy died under the age of twenty-five, which, however, he did not believe would be the case, I was to open the chest, and act on the information I obtained if I saw fit. If I did not see fit, I was to destroy all the contents. On no account was I to pass them on to a stranger.

    As this letter added nothing material to my knowledge, and certainly raised no further objection in my mind to entering on the task I had promised my dead friend to undertake, there was only one course open to me—namely, to write to Messrs. Geoffrey and Jordan, and express my acceptance of the trust, stating that I should be willing to commence my guardianship of Leo in ten days' time. This done I went to the authorities of my college, and, having told them as much of the story as I considered desirable, which was not very much, after considerable difficulty succeeded in persuading them to stretch a point, and, in the event of my having obtained a fellowship, which I was pretty certain I had done, allow me to have the child to live with me. Their consent, however, was only granted on the condition that I vacated my rooms in college and took lodgings. This I did, and with some difficulty succeeded in obtaining very good apartments quite close to the college gates. The next thing was to find a nurse. And on this point I came to a determination. I would have no woman to lord it over me about the child, and steal his affections from me. The boy was old enough to do without female assistance, so I set to work to hunt up a suitable male attendant. With some difficulty I succeeded in hiring a most respectable round-faced young man, who had been a helper in a hunting-stable, but who said that he was one of a family of seventeen and well-accustomed to the ways of children, and professed himself quite willing to undertake the charge of Master Leo when he arrived. Then, having taken the iron box to town, and with my own hands deposited it at my banker's, I bought some books upon the health and management of children and read them, first to myself, and then aloud to Job—that was the young man's name—and waited.

    At length the child arrived in the charge of an elderly person, who wept bitterly at parting with him, and a beautiful boy he was. Indeed, I do not think that I ever saw such a perfect child before or since. His eyes were grey, his forehead was broad, and his face, even at that early age, clean cut as a cameo, without being pinched or thin. But perhaps his most attractive point was his hair, which was pure gold in colour and tightly curled over his shapely head. He cried a little when his nurse finally tore herself away and left him with us. Never shall I forget the scene. There he stood, with the sunlight from the window playing upon his golden curls, his fist screwed over one eye, whilst he took us in with the other. I was seated in a chair, and stretched out my hand to him to induce him to come to me, while Job, in the corner, was making a sort of clucking noise, which, arguing from his previous experience, or from the analogy of the hen, he judged would have a soothing effect, and inspire confidence in the youthful mind, and running a wooden horse of peculiar hideousness backwards and forwards in a way that was little short of inane. This went on for some minutes, and then all of a sudden the lad stretched out both his little arms and ran to me.

    I like you, he said: you is ugly, but you is good.

    Ten minutes afterwards he was eating large slices of bread and butter, with every sign of satisfaction; Job wanted to put jam on to them, but I sternly reminded him of the excellent works that we had read, and forbade it.

    In a very little while (for, as I expected, I got my fellowship) the boy became the favourite of the whole College—where, all orders and regulations to the contrary notwithstanding, he was continually in and out—a sort of chartered libertine, in whose favour all rules were relaxed. The offerings made at his shrine were simply without number, and I had serious difference of opinion with one old resident Fellow, now long dead, who was usually supposed to be the crustiest man in the University, and to abhor the sight of a child. And yet I discovered, when a frequently recurring fit of sickness had forced Job to keep a strict look-out, that this unprincipled old man was in the habit of enticing the boy to his rooms and there feeding him upon unlimited quantities of brandy-balls, and making him promise to say nothing about it. Job told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself, at his age, too, when he might have been a grandfather if he had done what was right, by which Job understood had got married, and thence arose the row.

    But I have no space to dwell upon those delightful years, around which memory still fondly hovers. One by one they went by, and as they passed we two grew dearer and yet more dear to each other. Few sons have been loved as I love Leo, and few fathers know the deep and continuous affection that Leo bears to me.

    The child grew into the boy, and the boy into the young man, while one by one the remorseless years flew by, and as he grew and increased so did his beauty and the beauty of his mind grow with him. When he was about fifteen they used to call him Beauty about the College, and me they nicknamed the Beast. Beauty and the Beast was what they called us when we went out walking together, as we used to do every day. Once Leo attacked a great strapping butcher's man, twice his size, because he sang it out after us, and thrashed him, too—thrashed him fairly. I walked on and pretended not to see, till the combat got too exciting, when I turned round and cheered him on to victory. It was the chaff of the College at the time, but I could not help it. Then when he was a little older the undergraduates found fresh names for us. They called me Charon, and Leo the Greek god! I will pass over my own appellation with the humble remark that I was never handsome, and did not grow more so as I grew older. As for his, there was no doubt about its fitness. Leo at twenty-one might have stood for a statue of the youthful Apollo. I never saw anybody to touch him in looks, or anybody so absolutely unconscious of them. As for his mind, he was brilliant and keen-witted, but not a scholar. He had not the dulness necessary for that result. We followed out his father's instructions as regards his education strictly enough, and on the whole the results, especially in the matters of Greek and Arabic, were satisfactory. I learnt the latter language in order to help to teach it to him, but after five years of it he knew it as well as I did—almost as well as the professor who instructed us both. I always was a great sportsman—it is my one passion—and every autumn we went away somewhere shooting or fishing, sometimes to Scotland, sometimes to Norway, once even to Russia. I am a good shot, but even in this he learnt to excel me.

    When Leo was eighteen I moved back into my rooms, and entered him at my own College, and at twenty-one he took his degree—a respectable degree, but not a very high one. Then it was that I, for the first time, told him something of his own story, and of the mystery that loomed ahead. Of course he

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