The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (668 page)

Mazo did not photograph well because she was at ease only in private. “In privacy I can find myself,” she explained once, “and the creative impulse in me can move unhampered.”

Despite her need for privacy, Mazo kept on accepting invitations to party or to speak. Partying fatigued her because of the smoke-filled rooms and late hours. Public speaking perturbed her because of her nervous disposition.

For days before she had to give a speech, Mazo sank into gloom. At the moment when she had to rise to her feet in front of the audience, her heart pounded painfully. Once she began speaking, she became calm and inevitably she gave a good talk – usually quite funny. But for days afterwards she could not concentrate well enough to write.

She now received many letters to which she must reply. Ambitious writers sent her manuscripts to critique, or they actually brought the manuscripts to her home, and they did not know when to leave. Reporters came from newspapers.

Soon Mazo was sliding into another breakdown.

Goodbye Canada!

There followed exciting times for us
.

Mazo wanted to finish writing the sequel to
Jalna
. But she could not.

Exhaustion and strain were not her only problems. Grief also prevented her from writing. In June of 1927 the last of the Roche brothers, Uncle Francis, had died at only sixty-two. (Uncle Danford had died at seventy-two, and Mazo was now supporting his widow, Aunty Ida, whom he had left destitute.) Uncle Francis had become an extremely successful lawyer. He had married the daughter of a United States senator. He had run for political office, twice contesting Toronto seats in Canada’s federal Parliament. Sadly, however, his health had deteriorated.

Caroline Clement in London In 1937.

Then on Boxing Day that year, Bunty died. Mazo and Caroline took her body to Trail Cottage, and John Bird, a local man who was their gardener and woodcutter, dug a grave beneath the snow. The women erected a stone in Bunty’s memory, for which Mazo borrowed a line from the great English poet, Lord Byron: “Virtue of man, without his vices.”

That winter, Mazo was plagued by acute pains that constantly crawled over her forehead and down the back of her neck. She could hardly write a word.

A doctor recommended that she rest and drink a glass of Scotch whisky and hot water each night before going to bed.

Mazo could not rest. The whisky aggravated her rather than soothing her.

The doctor recommended that she go to the hospital “for electrical treatments.”

After each treatment Mazo was worse.

A nurse recommended that Mazo stop the treatments.

She stopped.

Caroline, who had risen to Chief Statistician of the Fire Marshall’s office, left her job with the provincial government. Because her salary was not needed now, she could stay home with Mazo and help her. Caroline read aloud to Mazo. She gently massaged Mazo’s forehead and neck. She politely dealt with people who made demands on Mazo’s time and energy.

Spring came. The pair went for a holiday at a guest house in the Niagara Peninsula where Mazo was unknown. Then, refreshed, they went to Trail Cottage.

One June morning Mazo began to work once again on
Whiteoaks of Jalna
. She had blank paper. She had a new pencil. She had Johnsons
Dictionary
. She had seclusion. Now all she had to do was to put pencil to paper. To write!

She wrote one line. Then her nerves went rigid. She stared at the paper helplessly. One line! Ten words! And she could not write another line.

She was not depressed, she was hopeful. One line was a beginning. Tomorrow she would try again.

The next day she wrote one more line.

The third day she wrote six lines.

The fourth day she wrote half a page.

By the end of the week she had written only one whole page.

“You are getting along very slowly in writing this book,” said Caroline. “I am wondering if it would be possible for you to dictate a little of it every morning to me. Even if it were only half a page, it would be something to help you till your nerves are quite well again.”

The next morning Mazo placed a blank sheet of paper on the table. Caroline moved a chair to the table. Mazo sat beside Caroline and waited for the words to come. They came, with hesitancy at first, then as fast as Caroline could write. A few hours later the page was covered with writing.

Once again Mazo was absorbed by her characters. Sometimes she was Finch. Sometimes she was old Adeline. Sometimes she agreed with Renny. Sometimes she disagreed.

Whiteoaks of Jalna
began to develop more and more rapidly. Mazo and Caroline stayed late at Trail Cottage. At last, in early October 1928, the novel was completed. The finished manuscript, on which the women’s handwriting appeared turn and turn about, was a testament to their perfect harmony.

Caroline was the leader of the pair, yet she was not domineering. Caroline helped Mazo accomplish much more than she could have otherwise. She gave Mazo more confidence in herself. She did this by being exquisitely receptive, like a crystal goblet held beneath a golden tap.

Always Caroline could be a perfect partner in Mazo’s creative process, able to set aside her dominant nature and lose herself in Mazo’s imaginings. Also, Caroline had a clear critical mind. She could act as an editor for Mazo. Theirs was one of the most remarkable literary partnerships of all time.

The American magazine
Cosmopolitan
wanted to publish
Whiteoaks of Jalna
as a serial. The editor offered Mazo twenty-five thousand dollars, but said that she would have to change the ending.

Mazo wavered.

Caroline looked Mazo firmly in the eyes.

“You are not to attempt it,” Caroline said. “It would ruin the story. It would be madness.”

“But twenty-five thousand dollars…” moaned Mazo.

“What is twenty-five thousand dollars?” Caroline demanded scornfully. “I won’t let you do it.”

Whiteoaks of Jalna
, its ending unchanged, was serialized in the
Atlantic Monthly
.

When the
Atlantic Monthly
editor read the manuscript of
Whiteoaks of Jalna
he was jubilant. He thought the sequel was superior to the original. He felt Mazo’s abilities were increasing. When the editor at the Canadian branch of Macmillan read it, he called it a “stunning performance.”

Within two weeks of its publication in book form in 1929,
Whiteoaks of Jalna
was in second place on the national bestseller list in the United States. For Mazo the triumph was personal as well as literary. Her gratitude to Caroline was profound and lasting.

By April 4, 1928, the day Caroline turned fifty, Mazo and Caroline were talking of travelling abroad. At last they could see for themselves places they had only read about and imagined. At last they could get away from the glare of publicity in Toronto and just be themselves. By January 15, 1929, the day Mazo turned fifty, the pair were enjoying the summer-like temperatures of Italy.

Mazo and Caroline had embarked from New York City on the steamship
Vulcania
. Unfortunately, Mazo had to endure more publicity before she found blissful anonymity. Her American publishers, eager to make use of her presence to generate extra sales of
Whiteoaks of Jalna
, arranged an elaborate lunch on board the ship just before it left. Mazo was the guest of honour. The sixty-five invited guests included prominent journalists, representatives of the Literary Guild and the Book of the Month Club, and all the important book buyers in the city. After the lunch, a photographer from the
New York Times
took pictures of Mazo on the deck.

Mazo kept the photograph in which she was wearing a great bunch of violets and looking rather like a movie star. But that night in her stateroom she cast herself on her berth completely exhausted and burst into tears.
Now I know how movie stars feel when they take an overdose of sleeping tablets and end all publicity!
thought Mazo.

Fortunately, the thrill of her first Atlantic crossing soon lifted her spirits. Despite several days of seasickness, Mazo enjoyed the voyage. Mazo and Caroline spent six weeks in Naples and three months in Taormina, and then they took a slow boat to England. After a short stay in London, they moved to Devon, the ancient home of Grandpa Lundy’s paternal ancestors. Soon Mazo was writing a book-length biography of Bunty. Her mind turned to those painful days in Bronte.

Mazo felt as though Devon were protecting her. She felt happy and secure. But as she recalled those scenes in Canada, all else faded. Those scenes were her reality.

Writing and remembering brought back the pains in her head and neck, so once again Caroline did the actual writing when Mazo could not put pencil to paper. Mazo just spoke aloud the words that occurred to her. As the months passed, and Mazo and Caroline moved from one rented house to another in Devon, the book progressed. Finally, in October 1929, while the women were living in a splendid old farmhouse called Seckington,
Portrait of a Dog
was finished. The very same day, Mazo began a new novel:
Finch’s Fortune
. The new novel would be the third installment of the Jalna series.