64 THE LIFE OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



it would be different ; but they are conventional, and as 

 little related to the real man as ' Masked ' and the ' History 

 of Malmesbury.' He was an irregular church-goer, except 

 when later he used to go to Chisledon with the Misses 

 Baden after his engagement to one of thera. A man 

 who remembers him well at church recalls that he used 

 to enter by the ' Devil's door ' — the door now, I think, 

 blocked up, through which the exorcised Devil fled once 

 upon a time from the baptized. As he recovered, his 

 letters gradually lost the religious phrasing. He read the 

 Greek Testament, and his thoughts seem to have travelled 

 perversely not to Judaea, but to Greece. ' Everything 

 beautiful is Greek,' he writes ; ' the greatest poet was a 

 Greek — Homer. The most beautiful statues — those at 

 Rome in the Vatican — were sculptured by Greeks. The 

 Greek cast of countenance is the most beautiful ; when 

 perfect, it is almost divine.' He wrote four letters to his 

 aunt in September. In the first he can walk about his 

 room with a stick ; his Bible is a great consolation, but he 

 wants more faith. He wishes to get away from Coate for a 

 while. ' It seems tainted ' by his illness, just as nearly 

 twenty years later he remembered the violet bank of ' My 

 Old Village ' to have been tainted by disease. Three days 

 later he has been out of doors : ' I know not how to thank 

 God sufliciently for thus raising me up.' He wants to 

 write a pious memoir of his Uncle Harrild. He is writing a 

 tragedy, ' Caesar Borgia ; or. The King of Crime,' and hopes 

 to see it at Drury Lane. Some day he will strike the 

 right string, and get into public notice ; he is persuaded 

 he will ultimately succeed. He has bought a history of 

 the Popes, interesting now to him, ' when Romanism and 

 ritualism seem once again lifting their heads.' Later he is 

 amusing himself with books and writing, and walks about 

 his room, enjoying his meals, especially tea ; all his old 

 tastes return, including his fondness for sweet things. 

 All the villagers have inquired after him, and sent him 

 honey and other gifts ; he will see more of the people now 

 — ' too much study is selfish, almost sinful, perhaps quite.' 



