Still, this fourth novel was going well. It opened with the youngest member of the Whiteoak clan, an eight-year-old rascal named Wakefield, running through a field on a beautiful spring day: “Wakefield Whiteoak ran on and on, faster and faster, till he could run no farther. He did not know why he had suddenly increased his speed. He did not even know why he ran.”
Mazo invented details and scenes and even people. She also added things from her immediate surroundings. But in large measure the fictional Whiteoak family was modelled on a combination of the families of Mazo and Caroline.
Grandfather Whiteoak built a handsome red-brick house on his land because Mazo’s Great-great-grandfather Lundy had built a handsome, red-brick house on his land. Great-grandfather Whiteoak was killed during the Battle of Waterloo because Carolines Great-grandfather Clement had been killed during the War of 1812. The grandparents of Renny and Meg Whiteoak pioneered in the wilderness of Canada because the grandparents of Caroline had pioneered in the wilderness of Canada, as had the great-great-grandparents of Mazo.
Many generations of Clements had been officers in the British army, so many generations of Whiteoaks would be officers too. Grandpa Lundy’s ancestors were of English origin before they were American, so Grandfather Whiteoak’s ancestors were English. Grandma Lundy had Irish connections, and Grandmother Roche had been born in Ireland, so Gran Whiteoak was Irish.
That summer at Trail Cottage, Mazo lived with the Whiteoaks, completely absorbed by them. To create the Whiteoaks, she wove together present and past, here and there, real and imagined.
At present she was staying beside Lake Ontario, but Mazo often recalled her past vacations beside Lake Simcoe, as well as her earliest years in Newmarket. She had good reason to be nostalgic, for the places and people of her childhood and youth had disappeared almost entirely.
The farm south of Newmarket where Mazo’s Grandpa Lundy had been born and raised had been sold out of the family in 1920 while Mazo and Caroline were mourning the deaths of Bertie Roche and James Harvey Clement. Three years later, in 1923, Mazo’s Uncle Danford Roche had died, as had the last of Caroline’s paternal uncles, Uncle David Clement.
And now Uncle David Clement’s widow and children were selling his land, which included the frame house that Grandfather Clement had built almost one century earlier. Uncle David’s children did not want to farm.
The last of the Willson sisters, Aunt Mary (Willson) Rogerson, had died in 1924. And now Aunt Mary’s only son was selling that land too. He did not want to farm either.
Uncle David Clement and Aunt Mary Rogerson both lay in the pioneer Clement Cemetery now. How well Mazo remembered the view from the gates of that cemetery!
Mazo imagined herself standing at the gates of the Clement Cemetery with her back to the frame house built by Grandfather Clement. She imagined that the old red-brick house of Great-great-grandfather Lundy was behind her back instead. She imagined that the 1828 Lundy house was superimposed on the property that Grandfather Clement had acquired from the Crown in 1828.
Combining the Lundy house and Clement land was a way of expressing the sisterhood that Mazo and Caroline felt and lived, even though they were just cousins. It was a way of saying that Caroline Clement had become a Lundy – almost.
Mazo remembered that in the old days in Cherry Creek, there was Willsons’ Hill and Clements’ Hill. She imagined that the Willsons were called the Vaughans, and the Clements, blended with the Lundys, were called the Whiteoaks.
Mazo remembered that there was still one last Clement grandson and one last Willson grandson farming in the old Cherry Creek district of Innisfil Township – now called Fennell.
The Clement grandson, Robert Clement, farmed half of Grandfather Clement’s original eighty-hectare grant from the Crown. The Willson grandson, Norman Willson, farmed the forty hectares of Grandfather Willson.
These last grandsons – cousins of Mazo and Caroline – were symbols to Mazo of a passing way of life. The other grandchildren were scattered from Buffalo, New York to Vancouver, British Columbia. They were working as everything from marine engineer to forester.
The fictional characters, Renny Whiteoak and Maurice Vaughan, would also be symbols for a passing way of life. A traditional life. A life that revolved around the seasons of the year. A life that was tied to the land. Land that was handed down from father to son…
The Clements loved horses… Of course Will Roche had loved horses too. And dogs even more than horses…
That clinched it! Renny Whiteoak must be a horse-and-dog man! He must raise thoroughbred horses! And he must own purebred dogs.
Renny would not hunt foxes like the wealthy did. He would be fox-like himself, lodged in his comfortable old home as a fox is lodged in his burrow. Renny would not be rich. He would be hounded by creditors…
Mazo also thought about the place where she and Caroline were now staying and the people who lived there. Trail Cottage, which was little more than a shack, was located near a stately house called Benares. Benares, named after a military station in India, had been built about seventy years earlier by a Captain James Harris. Oddly, Benares reminded Mazo of the lost past of Caroline and herself.
Like the home of Grandfather Clement, Benares was located a few kilometres away from an Anglican church named St. Peter’s. Also like the home of Grandfather Clement, Benares was located a few kilometres away from a large lake. Like the home of Great-great-grandfather Lundy (and that of Great-grandfather Clement in Niagara), Benares was of Georgian or Colonial style. Actually, Benares had a similar floor plan to the home of Great-great-grandfather Lundy; it was also made of red brick; and its grounds were very similar in size, shape, and topography!
Mazo decided that, like the real Captain James Harris, the fictional Captain Philip Whiteoak had named his Canadian home after his home in India. Mazo’s Great-great-grandfather Bryan might have gone to India with the British army. After all, he had been in the Royal Artillery. So why not have Grandfather Philip Whiteoak stationed in India before he emigrated to Canada? It sounded exotic and suggested the vastness of the British Empire in the nineteenth century. What’s more, it offered a possibility for a catchy title.
Mazo chose the name “Jalna” from a list of British military stations in India provided by a man in Caroline’s government department. “Jalna” was short and looked good when Mazo wrote it out.
In 1925 and 1926, while Mazo was working on the novel she titled Jalna, she was not altogether isolated. In both Toronto and Clarkson, Mazo and Caroline had friends whom they visited regularly. In Toronto, Mazo was still a member of several writers’ organizations, including the Canadian Authors Association, and by now she was acquainted with well-known writers such as Morley Callaghan, Raymond Knister, and Charles G.D. Roberts. In Clarkson, there were the Livesays for companionship: not only Fred and Florence but also Dorothy, their precocious older daughter, a poet. Dorothy Livesay, born in 1909, began attending university in Toronto in the fall of 1926. She would go on to become one of Canada’s foremost poets.
Mazo finished Jalna late in 1926, shortly after she and Caroline moved to a new, upstairs flat at 86 Yorkville Avenue in Toronto, a house owned by Gertrude Pringle, a niece of Ernest Thompson Seton, the famous Canadian author of Wild Animals I Have Known. Pringle herself was the author of a book about etiquette.
Mazo ended Jalna with a scene featuring the oldest member of the Whiteoak clan, Gran Whiteoak. The old matriarch, Adeline Whiteoak, is celebrating her onehundredth birthday. Surrounded by her family, she is sitting in a “pool of serene radiance.” Over her shoulders is a “black velvet cloak, lined with crimson silk.” Her hands, “glittering with rings,” are “resting on the top of her gold-headed ebony stick.”
Gran Whiteoak is rich and cunning, as well as old. Throughout the novel she has kept her family in suspense as to who will inherit her fortune.
Renny Whiteoak, almost forty and Gran’s oldest grandson, is the prime candidate to inherit. He has already inherited
the house and grounds from his deceased father, Gran’s third and youngest son, Philip Whiteoak Junior. Renny is the manager of the estate and the head of the family. But is Renny worthy of his authoritative position? True, the other candidates all have obvious flaws: Eden is unfeeling and unfaithful, Piers is ignorant and headstrong, Finch is strange and awkward, and Wakefield is selfish and insincere. But Renny is not perfect either. He seems to care more about horses and dogs than people. He has not been tested in love.
In the early chapters of Jalna, two of the younger Whiteoak brothers, both in their twenties, suddenly marry. Farmer Piers elopes with lovely Pheasant Vaughan, the girl next door whom he secretly meets in the wooded ravine. But Pheasant is the illegitimate daughter of Maurice Vaughan, who was once engaged to Meg Whiteoak, when he and Meg were young. Meg had called off her marriage to Maurice because of the birth of Pheasant!… Then poet Eden wins the sophisticated Alayne Archer in New York City. But Eden is a cynical scoundrel.
Outraged at Piers’s betrayal, Meg, now middleaged but still angry with Maurice, leaves Jalna in protest. Then Finch, an intense, artistic adolescent, is horrified to discover that Eden is dallying with Pheasant. Finch tells on the adulterers. Piers’s marriage to Pheasant is damaged, and Eden’s marriage to Alayne is destroyed. Piers forgives Pheasant, and Eden flees. Now Renny can openly express his secret love for Alayne. But will he?
Mazo sent the manuscript of Jalna to Macmillan, her usual publisher, and it was accepted. But before the type was set, Mazo heard about an international competition being jointly sponsored by the Atlantic Monthly (a magazine) and Little, Brown, and Company (a book publisher), both based in Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A. The closing date of the competition was February 17, 1927. Macmillan released the manuscript so Mazo could enter the competition.
In Boston, the first reader of Mazo’s manuscript was a librarian from the Boston Public Library. She did not like Jalna.
“This is the story of a large love-making family in Canada, dominated by the old grandmother,” reported the librarian. “The brothers have unseemly affairs with their sisters-in-law, and there is quite a lot about the stable, including the odour. Not recommended.”
Jalna became a contender for the prize only after Edward Weeks, a member of the editorial board of the Atlantic Monthly, picked up the manuscript because he was intrigued by its title and impressed by its professional typing. He read it and liked it. He passed it to the other readers.
Over the next two months, the field of 1117 entries was narrowed to twelve, then six, and then one unanimous choice.
In the spring of 1927, Mazo received congratulations in the form of telegrams and bouquets from acquaintances, a letter from Prime Minister Mackenzie King, and dinner invitations from important institutions. At the most impressive dinner, the City of Toronto gave Mazo a silver tea service. Mazo thanked the City of Toronto, and called it the city of her birth. (This was a little white lie.) Then Charles CD. Roberts toasted Mazo and thanked her for having “proved beyond a doubt that there actually is something called Canadian literature.”
At another dinner, the Arts and Letters Club gave Mazo a life-sized portrait of Bunty. (Mazo cherished the portrait for years.)
In the fall of the same year, Jalna was advertised in every important newspaper in the United States and Canada. On October 7, the book was published. Within a month, eighty-five thousand copies sold. Jalna went on selling extraordinarily well. Mazo, already rich from the prize, rapidly earned a fortune from royalties. Happily, her money troubles were over.
Unhappily, her nervous troubles soon returned. After her 1927 win, Mazo became a public figure. This meant she had to deal with many people very often, something she found difficult.
When her publishers asked for a photo of her, Mazo sent a snapshot taken when she was in hiding in Niagara Falls before the Jalna win was announced. Bunty in the foreground and the Spirella Corset factory in the background looked fine, but Mazo in the middle did not look like a winner.
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.
9
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.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 547
