Delphi Complete Works of Jerome K. Jerome (Illustrated) (Series Four) (522 page)

In the last chapter of this book Jerome stands out as the preacher and prophet. In advance of his time perhaps, but ever seeking after truth and with a steadfast desire to make religion a reality. He never hesitated to contest conventional beliefs that ran counter to his convictions. He did not avail himself, as some did, of “the spirit of the age”. This is the very thing that prophets and leaders of thought change.

He recognized as Plato did “The power which the soul has of loving truth, and doing all things for the sake of truth”.

AS A SERIOUS WRITER

Here are a few brief extracts:

Not what I am — but what I strove to be — that comforts me.

The joy of labour — the joy of giving, are the wages of God.

It is from the struggle, not the victory, that we gain strength.

CHAPTER IX. JEROME THE MAN

“The workman still is greater than his work.”

MENANDER, 300 B.C.

IN appearance J. K. J. resembled the late Lord Oxford and Asquith, and was occasionally mistaken for that statesman. During the Suffragette agitation Mr. Asquith was often subjected to undignified treatment at the hands of the militant ladies. On one occasion Jerome was walking along Whitehall, when two policemen courteously took him by each arm and escorted him to a place of safety. They had mistaken him for Mr. Asquith. On discovering their mistake they released him with many apologies.

Jerome was a handsome man, with a well-knit, robust frame; his expression was always open and benevolent. Added to these physical advantages, he had keen popular sympathies, a lovable and benignant character and a brilliant intelligence, but he possessed a higher greatness than that of intellect; higher because more influential and more abiding — namely, greatness of soul. He had always before him the maintenance of vital principles, and a great spiritual end.

His homely and simple habits

Like most tender-hearted men Jerome was fond of his home. It was dear to him because it was a shrine of love. He rarely went away from home without his wife. If for any reason she had to remain at home he would continually write and send little presents to her.

He could look back upon the time when he had no home. The death of his father and mother not only left him alone in the world, but the old home was broken up. When he had a home of his own it was a sacred place to him, and there was an entire absence of ostentation. Many famous men visited him — H. G. Wells, Coulson Kernahan, W. W. Jacobs, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Pett Ridge, Eden Phillpotts, I. Zangwill, and others. They had, no doubt, many happy hours in their country walks, at golf, tennis, and in the play of wit and humour; but Jerome’s highest happiness was in helping the poor, he cheerfully sacrificed his own comfort in order that he might take comfort into their homes. Especially was he anxious about those who were thrown out of work through no fault of their own.

When the family removed to “Monk’s Corner”, Marlow, there was the same homeliness and the same family affection. A lady who for several years acted as Jerome’s private secretary writes from Marlow:

I had the honour of working for J. K. J. at his picturesque home in Buckinghamshire. My duties enabled me to see him, I think, at his best — namely, in his simple, unaffected home life. To the casual observer he would give the impression as being an extremely alert and clever business man, but I, who saw him day by day, in his quieter moments and at his work, knew him to be the most gentle and kindest man I ever met.

The reason why the simple life appealed to him is best expressed in his own words in a brief passage from “Anthony John”:

It was what one felt, not what one had, that was the source of our pleasures. It was the schoolboy’s appetite, not a Rockfeller’s wealth that purchased the good dinner. The healthy child had no need of expensive toys in the nursery. It was the old rag doll, clutched tight to our bosom, that made the attic into Heaven. It was astride on the wooden horse without a head that we shouted our loudest.

Again in “Three Men in a Boat”:

Throw your lumber overboard! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need — a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends worth the name, someone to love, someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two; enough to eat, enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink.

After removing to Belsize Park, London, each year the family spent their summer holidays at Dunwich. They always lodged with Mrs. Scarlett, who kept a little shop. This house had been made famous by Edward Fitzgerald, who a few years previously wrote his inspired translation of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam” in the same room in which Jerome wrote “My Life and Times”. Fitzgerald was remembered by the villagers, said Jerome, as a “somewhat eccentric gentleman with side whiskers; who wore a stove-pipe hat on the back of his head, and would take midnight walks along the shore, and talk to himself”.

The Scarletts were always glad to have Jerome. He was a godsend to them. Always kind, generous and thoughtful. He would never give anybody trouble if he could help it. He got up regularly at 6.30 a m., had an early cup of tea, went for a walk with his dog, returning for breakfast about 8.30. He would then work at his books, his daughter acting as his amanuensis. Dunwich being quiet, he could work so much better there than in London.

The Vicar of Dunwich, The Rev. A. Scott Thompson, with whom J. K. J. became very friendly, writes:

There is in Jerome one outstanding feature, viz., his love and tenderness to little children. During his annual visits he constantly gave the schoolchildren treats and prizes for essays. He was so interested in their welfare that they will miss his kind face, his bright and cheery words. They will long remember his generous actions. Mr and Mrs. Jerome were great lovers of birds and animals. Personally, I ever found him a true and sincere friend.

It was during one of Jerome’s holidays that His Majesty the King, anxious that the beautiful fields and lanes of the country should not be defaced, issued a public entreaty about refuse and litter in the roads and country-side. Dunwich was occasionally visited by holiday-makers, and waste paper, bags, and other remnants were scattered about. Jerome called a meeting to arrange for some local action, but it fell flat. He was alone in his loyal enthusiasm. He thereupon had a special stick made with a sharpened length of steel projecting from the lower end; this he took with him in his walks, and with it pierced and picked up all pieces of paper he saw lying about and buried them out of sight.

The villagers had sincere respect and affection for him. Anyone who asked for his autograph or photograph always got it. On one occasion some people called very late at night for his autograph. “Tell them,” he said, “to come again to-morrow morning, and they shall have it.” This was done, and they went away highly delighted.

Success had not hardened him, neither had fame made him inaccessible. On the contrary, he possessed what a great poetess has happily called “the genius to be loved”. Not only was he loved by those who were admitted to his private friendship, but his tenderness of heart, his warm affections and integrity of purpose endeared him to all with whom he came into contact.

“His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’”

 — JULIUS Cæsar.

Method of Wording

In Jerome’s early days there were no typewriters and he did all his writing with his own hand. Some of the work which he sent to editors was not even returned so that he would have to write it all out again, and with wonderful persistence he would stick to it until it was re-written. Mrs. Jerome still has the little desk on which he wrote “Three Men in a Boat” when living at Chelsea Gardens.

Most of his work was done in the country, being quieter. At “Monks’ Corner” the study was at the far end of the house, so that he could work without being disturbed. His wife and daughter understood and fell in with his desire for solitude and did all they could to ensure this. He would take long walks, and many were the plots that were woven during his walks on Marlow Common with his dog. He would then draft the main outlines of a story or play in shorthand notes himself. The following is his secretary’s account of a morning’s work:

He usually commenced work with his secretary about ten o’clock a m., and, unless anything unforeseen occurred, would spend the morning in fairly strenuous work. He opened his correspondence first. He would deal with requests for autographs, letters from agents and various minor matters; every detail was carefully considered. It was his peculiarity that he liked his letters to be answered in handwriting instead of typewriting. When the time came to commence his creative work, he would walk up and down the study floor with his hands behind his back and dictate with marvellous ease page after page of humour and pathos. He would occasionally refer to his shorthand notes, and he would often rearrange the ornaments on the mantelpiece while dictating.

Here is Jerome’s own version of a morning’s work:

The girl (secretary) becomes a sort of conscience; after a time you get ashamed of yourself, muddling about the room and trying to look as if you were thinking. She yawns, has pins and needles, begs your pardon every five minutes — was under the impression that you said something. A girl who knows her business can, without opening her mouth, bully a man into working.

Tenacity of Purpose

This quality was conspicuous even in his boyhood. At school he was a pugnacious little fellow and had a way of nailing his colours to the mast. All through his life, when once he had decided upon a certain course, he was unyielding, and was always ready and willing to fight for his principles. His spirit was humble and contented, but with dogged determination he bore such hardships and bufferings as rarely fall to the lot of any man.

The following letter from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle confirms this:

Dear Sir, Unhappily my “Jerome” letters have been lost. I had a number. I send one, however, which is characteristic, in the part where he says he loved fighting for its own sake — and why? Courage was always one of his outstanding qualities. I remember in Norway he was never happy if he went to a rock or a waterfall until he had perched himself on the most dangerous pinnacle.

A fine example was his protesting before a Southern (U.S.A.) audience about the lynching of negroes. You will find the account in his “Memoirs”. This courage made him a little aggressive and hotheaded at times, but it was always in an unselfish cause. I think he liked to be in a minority often, for the fighting it would bring him.

I may add that he has come back to me in a very convincing way since his death, but the world is still too ignorant to understand these things.

Yours sincerely, A. Conan Doyle.

To Mr. Alfred Moss.

The following is the U.S.A. incident referred to by Sir Arthur:

Jerome was to lecture at Chattanooga. He had been told of negroes being roasted alive; of mere boys, and sometimes women, being tortured to death, and the whole appalling horror being planned for the purpose of amusing a mob. Two negroes had been lynched just before he arrived. After the lecture, he asked permission to refer to a matter which was troubling his conscience; without waiting for permission he fearlessly condemned lynching as inhuman.

He afterwards said he could almost visualize the anger of the audience which seemed to be increasing. Mrs. Jerome was deadly pale, he had not told her of his intention. It was a wonder he was not attacked by the infuriated crowd, but when he had finished, he sat down amid silence. His fine courage and downright sincerity told on the people, who quietly left the hall.

The “Jerome” letter sent by Conan Doyle is as follows:

Mr. Dear Doyle, I received your “white” edition about a month ago and I was fascinated by it. You know I love fights for fights’ own sake. (It’s my shameful old ancestors’ Norse blood.) And I loved to read about that gentle knight of yours. I borrowed Burgin’s copy. If you have a copy to spare it will save my buying one, as I know I shall want to read it again....

Kindest regards, Yours ever, J. K. J.

In the late ‘Nineties he expressed in
To-day
his righteous indignation against “Abdul the Damned”, as William Watson called the Sultan of Turkey. So forcible was his condemnation of the massacre of Armenians by the Turks that his articles were the subject of diplomatic negotiating between the British and Turkish Governments. He was sent for by the Foreign Office and an Act of Parliament was read to him, but that did not prevent his continuing to write powerful articles in condemnation of Turkish brutalities until they began to diminish.

He also attacked the Belfast Corporation for cruelty to tram horses. When dealing with cruelty to animals, Jerome forgot nothing relevant. He took his coat off, and fought until the dumb animals had more humane treatment.

George Wingrave relates an incident which reveals Jerome’s utter fearlesness in the face of danger:

He and Jerome spent a week-end at Scarborough; they decided to walk along the coast to Filey. They went on until they came to a notice, beyond which it was dangerous to go. “Oh, come on,” said Jerome. “That is only put up to frighten old women.” So on they went, and soon found the water was up to the rocks. They determined, however, to get round the next bend. Their position was then extremely dangerous. Fortunately, some fishermen saw them and pointed out a way of escape.

Jerome’s remarkable assiduity and determination were not used for the purpose of becoming rich. That does not appear to have been his ambition. He apparently cared less for the fruits of his labour than for the pleasure and relish of fighting to reach some goal. With each fulfilment of an ambition, came the resolution to achieve something fresh.