Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1251 page)

Accept this theory, and you will concede that the ‘Tempest’ came to the manager sanely and normally in the course of his daily life. He may have been casting about for a new play; he may have purposed to vamp an old one — say, ‘Aurelio and Isabella’; or he may have been merely waiting on his demon. But it is all Prospero’s wealth against Caliban’s pignuts that to him in a receptive hour, sent by heaven, entered the original Stephano fresh from the seas and half-seas over. To him Stephano told his tale all in one piece, a two hours’ discourse of most glorious absurdities. His profligate abundance of detail at the beginning, when he was more or less sober, supplied and surely establisht the earth-basis of the play in accordance with the great law that a story to be truly miraculous must be ballasted with facts. His maunderings of magic and incomprehensible ambushes, when he was without reservation drunk (and this is just the time when a lesser-minded man than Shakspere would have paid the reckoning and turned him out) suggested to the manager the peculiar note of its supernatural mechanism.

Truly it was a dream, but that there may be no doubt of its source or of his obligation, Shakspere has also made the dreamer immortal.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

NOTES

Mr. Kipling’s letter was originally publisht in the (London)
Spectator
for July 2, 1898. He allowed it to appear as his contribution to ‘A Book of Homage to Shakspere’ (Oxford University Press, 1916, pp. 200-203). But he has not yet included it in any collection of his miscellaneous writings; and for his permission to reprint it in this series the Committee in charge of the Dramatic Museum desires to express its thanks.

Malone’s suggestion was presented in his essay, ‘An Account of the Incidents from which the Title and a Part of the Story of Shakspere’s “Tempest” were derived; and its true date ascertained.’ This was privately printed in 1808 and supplemented by an additional pamphlet in 1809. Both were reprinted in volume XV of the Boswell-Malone Variorum edition of Shakspere in 1821. Malone’s essay gives a careful analysis of the several contemporary accounts of the shipwreck of Sir George Somers, and of their relations to the ‘Tempest.’ In his preface Malone states that his ‘Account’ was written “some years ago” but acknowledges that his discovery had been anticipated by Douce in his ‘Illustrations of Shakspere’ published in 1807.

In his little book, ‘Shakspere’s Sea Forms Explained,’ (Bristol, 1910) Mr. W. B. Whall, master mariner, expresses his belief that Shakspere’s use of sea phrases is copious and accurate. He declares that “Words and phrases of an extremely technical nature are scattered thru” Shakspere’s plays; “and a mistake in their use is never made.” Then he asks: “Could a mere lubber have steered clear of error in the use of such terms?” (p. 6). Mr. Whall had earlier noted that there are seven years of Shakspere’s life as to which we have scarcely any information, and that one of these years was the year of the Armada, 1588, when he had only just attained his majority. Where was Shakspere and what was he doing? “There was a hot press for men to man the fleet. Is it possible that he was among the prest?” (p. 5).

It was a time of exaltation of all things pertaining to sea things; and it is no wonder that the playwrights of the day, Heywood for one, made frequent use of sea words. “The wonder is that without professional acquaintance” Shakspere “should always use these terms correctly,” (p. 18). He abounds in “Elizabethan sailor talk pure and simple.” And a little later Mr. Whall draws attention to the fact that “sea expressions crop up in quite unexpected places” — just as theatrical expressions crop up; “and that they are all phrased
as by a sailor
,” (p. 19). Then Mr. Whall quotes a remark from another master mariner, Captain Basil Hall, who had earlier noticed this striking characteristic: “One would like to know how Shakspere pickt it up.”

When he comes to deal with the ‘Tempest’ Mr. Whall cites the saying of Lord Mulgrave, some time first Lord of the Admiralty: “The first scene of the ‘Tempest’ is a very striking instance of the great accuracy of Shakspere’s knowledge in a professional science.” With this Mr. Whall disagrees: “Now this does not of necessity follow. A playwright with any sense would, if about to write such a scene, obtain professional assistance unless he himself had professional knowledge to steer clear of error. The whole scene is graphic, accurate and correct in the terms of nautical speech.... But it is by no means such a proof of the writer’s sea knowledge as are the scattered and wholly unexpected nautical references in many other plays, every one of which might have been written by an experienced seaman.”

The most recent and the most careful consideration of Shakspere’s acquaintance with seafaring life is contained in Mr. L. G. Carr Laughton’s essay on ‘The Navy: Ships and Sailors,’ contributed to ‘Shakspere’s England,’ (Oxford University Press, 1916), 141-170.

A. H. T.

The Speeches

Kipling’s American home ‘Naulakha’, in Dummerston, Vermont – now a Kipling museum

THE BOOK OF WORDS

This collection of thirty-one speeches was published in 1928. Although Kipling disliked public appearances, some of his most deeply personal and revealing statements can be found in his speeches.  He spoke on varied topics, but was most notable for his hard-hitting pro-war speeches at the time of the Great War.

Kipling, 1889

CONTENTS

Literature

The Claims of Art

Values in Life

Imperial Relations

Growth and Responsibility

The Handicaps of Letters

A Doctor’s Work

The Spirit of the Navy

The Ritual of Government

The Verdict of Equals

The Uses of Reading

Some Aspects of Travel

The War and the Schools

The Magic Square

The First Sailor

England and the English

The Scot and the War

The Virtue of France

A Thesis

A Return to Civilisation

The Trees and the Wall

Waking From Dreams

Surgeons and the Soul

Independence

The Classics and the Sciences

Work in the Future

Shipping

Stationery

Fiction

The Spirit of the Latin

Our Indian Troops in France

Literature

A GREAT
, and I frankly admit, a somewhat terrifying, honour has come to me; but I think, compliments apart, that the most case-hardened worker in letters, speaking to such an assembly as this, must recognise the gulf that separates even the least of those who do things worthy to be written about from even the best of those who have written things worthy of being talked about.

There is an ancient legend which tells us that when a man first achieved a most notable deed he wished to explain to his Tribe what he had done. As soon as he began to speak, however, he was smitten with dumbness, he lacked words, and sat down. Then there arose — according to the story — a masterless man, one who had taken no part in the action of his fellow, who had no special virtues, but who was afflicted — that is the phrase — with the magic of the necessary word. He saw; he told; he described the merits of the notable deed in such a fashion, we are assured, that the words “became alive and walked up and down in the hearts of all his hearers”. Thereupon, the Tribe seeing that the words were certainly alive, and fearing lest the man with the words would hand down untrue tales about them to their children, took and killed him. But, later, they saw that the magic was in the words, not in the man.

We have progressed in many directions since the time of this early and destructive criticism, but, so far, we do not seem to have found a sufficient substitute for the necessary word as the final record to which all achievement must look. Even to-day, when all is done, those who have done it must wait until all has been said by the masterless man with the words. It is certain that the overwhelming bulk of those words will perish in the future as they have perished in the past; but it is true that a minute fraction will continue to exist, and by the light of these words, and by that light only, will our children be able to judge of the phases of our generation. Now we desire beyond all things to stand well with our children; but when our story comes to be told we do not know who will have the telling of it. We are too close to the tellers; there are many tellers and they are all talking together; and, even if we know them, we must not kill them. But the old and terrible instinct which taught our ancestors to kill the original story-teller warns us that we shall not be far wrong if we challenge any man who shows signs of being afflicted with the magic of the necessary word. May not this be the reason why, without any special legislation on its behalf, Literature has always stood a little outside the law as the one calling that is absolutely free — free in the sense that it needs no protection? For instance, if, as occasionally happens, a Judge makes a bad law, or a surgeon a bad operation, or a manufacturer makes bad food, criticism upon their actions is by law and custom confined to comparatively narrow limits. But if a man, as occasionally happens, makes a book, there is no limit to the criticism that may be directed against it. And this is perfectly as it should be. The world recognises that little things like bad law, bad surgery, and bad food, affect only the cheapest commodity that we know about — human life. Therefore, in these circumstances, men can afford to be swayed by pity for the offender, by interest in his family, by fear, or loyalty, or respect for the organisation he represents, or even by a desire to do him justice. But when the question is of words — words that may become alive and walk up and down in the hearts of the hearers — it is then that this world of ours, which is disposed to take an interest in its future, feels instinctively that it is better that a thousand innocent people should be punished rather than that one guilty word should be preserved, carrying that which is an untrue tale of the Tribe. The chances, of course, are almost astronomically remote that any given tale will survive for so long as it takes an oak to grow to timber size. But that guiding instinct warns us not to trust to chance a matter of the supremest concern. In this durable record, if anything short of indisputable and undistilled truth be seen there, we all feel, “How shall our achievements profit us?” The Record of the Tribe is its enduring literature.