Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (844 page)

‘My dear fellow!’ said the Reverend John to Macrea, on the first night of the latter’s return. ‘I do hope there was nothing in my letters to you-you asked me to keep you posted-that gave you any idea King wasn’t doing his best with your House according to his lights?’

‘Not in the least,’ said Macrea. ‘I’ve the greatest respect for King, but after all, one’s House is one’s House. One can’t stand it being tinkered with by well-meaning outsiders.’

To Mr. Brownell on Bideford station-platform, the Reverend John’s last words were:

‘Well, well. You mustn’t judge us too harshly. I dare say there’s a great deal in what you say. Oh, Yes! King’s conduct was inexcusable, absolutely inexcusable! About the smoking? Lamentable, but we must all bow down, more or less, in the House of Rimmon. We have to compete with the Crammers’ Shops.’

To the Head, in the silence of his study, next day: ‘He didn’t seem to me the kind of animal who’d keep to advantage in our atmosphere. Luckily he lost his temper (King and he are own brothers) and he couldn’t withdraw his resignation.’

‘Excellent. After all, it’s only a few pounds to make up. I’ll slip it in under our recent-er-barrack damages. And what do We think of it all, Gillett?’

‘We do not think at all-any of us,’ said the Reverend John. ‘Youth is its own prophylactic, thank Heaven.’

And the Head, not usually devout, echoed, ‘Thank Heaven!’

‘It was worth it,’ Dick Four pronounced on review of the profit-and- loss account with Number Five in his study.

‘Heap-plenty-bong-assez,’ Stalky assented.

‘But why didn’t King ra’ar up an’ cuss Tar Baby?’ Beetle asked.

‘You preter-pluperfect, fat-ended fool!’ Stalky began-

‘Keep your hair on! We all know the Idolaters wasn’t our Uncle Stalky’s idea. But why didn’t King — ’

‘Because Dick took care to paint Brer Terrapin King’s House-colours. You can always conciliate King by soothin’ his putrid esprit-de- maisong. Ain’t that true, Dick?’

Dick Four, with the smile of modest worth unmasked, said it was so.

‘An’ now,’ Turkey yawned. ‘King an’ Macrea’ll jaw for the rest of the term how he ran his house when Macrea was tryin’ to marry fat widows in Switzerland. Mountaineerin’! ‘Bet Macrea never went near a mountain.’

‘‘One good job, though. I go back to Macrea for Maths. He does know something,’ said Stalky.

‘Why? Didn’t “Mister” know anythin’?’ Beetle asked.

‘‘Bout as much as you,’ was Stalky’s reply.

‘I don’t go about pretending to. What was he like?’

‘“Mister”? Oh, rather like King-King and water.’

Only water was not precisely the fluid that Stalky thought fit to mention.

THE CENTAURS

UP came the young Centaur-colts from the plains they were fathered in —

  Curious, awkward, afraid.

Burrs on their hocks and their tails, they were branded and gathered in

  Mobs and run up to the yard to be made.

Starring and shying at straws, with sidlings and plungings.

  Buckings and whirlings and bolts;

Greener than grass, but full-ripe for their bridling and lungings.

  Up to the yards and to Chiron they bustled the colts...

First the light web and the cavesson; then the linked keys

  To jingle and turn on the tongue. Then, with cocked ears.

The hours of watching and envy, while comrades at ease

  Passaged and backed, making naught of these terrible gears.

Next, over-pride and its price at the low-seeming fence

  Too oft and too easily taken-the world-beheld fall!

And none in the yard except Chiron to doubt the immense.

  Irretrievable shame of it all!...

Last, the trained squadron, full-charge-the sound of a going

  Through dust and spun clods, and strong kicks, pelted in as they went.

And repaid at top-speed; till the order to halt without slowing

  Showed every colt on his haunches-and Chiron content!

REGULUS

(1917)

Regulus, a Roman general, defeated the Carthaginians 256 B.C., but was next year defeated and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, who sent him to Rome with an embassy to ask for peace or an exchange of prisoners. Regulus strongly advised the Roman Senate to make no terms with the enemy. He then returned to Carthage and was put to death.

The Fifth Form had been dragged several times in its collective life, from one end of the school Horace to the other. Those were the years when Army examiners gave thousands of marks for Latin, and it was Mr. King’s hated business to defeat them.

Hear him, then, on a raw November morning at second lesson.

‘Aha!’ he began, rubbing his hands. ‘
Cras ingens iterabimus aequor.
Our portion to-day is the Fifth Ode of the Third Book, I believe — concerning one Regulus, a gentleman. And how often have we been through it?’

‘Twice, sir,’ said Malpass, head of the Form.

Mr. King shuddered. ‘Yes, twice, quite literally,’ he said. ‘To-day, with an eye to your Army
viva-voce
examinations — ugh! — I shall exact somewhat freer and more florid renditions. With feeling and comprehension if that be possible. I except’ — here his eye swept the back benches — ’our friend and companion Beetle, from whom, now as always, I demand an absolutely literal translation.’ The form laughed subserviently.

‘Spare his blushes! Beetle charms us first.’

Beetle stood up, confident in the possession of a guaranteed construe, left behind by M’Turk, who had that day gone into the sick-house with a cold. Yet he was too wary a hand to show confidence.

‘
Credidimus
, we — believe — we have believed,’ he opened in hesitating slow time, ‘
tonantem Joven
, thundering Jove —
regnare
, to reign —
caelo
, in heaven.
Augustus
, Augustus —
habebitur
, will be held or considered —
praesens divus
, a present God —
adjectis Britannis
, the Britons being added —
imperio
, to the Empire —
gravibusque Persis
, with the heavy — er, stern Persians.’

‘What?’

‘The grave or stern Persians.’ Beetle pulled up with the ‘Thank-God-I-have-done-my-duty’ air of Nelson in the cockpit.

‘I am quite aware,’ said King, ‘that the first stanza is about the extent of your knowledge, but continue, sweet one, continue.
Gravibus
, by the way, is usually translated as “troublesome.”‘

Beetle drew a long and tortured breath. The second stanza (which carries over to the third) of that Ode is what is technically called a ‘stinker.’ But M’Turk had done him handsomely.

‘
Milesne Crassi
, had — has the soldier of Crassus —
vixit
, lived —
turpis maritus
, a disgraceful husband — ’

‘You slurred the quantity of the word after
turpis
,’ said King. ‘Let’s hear it.’

Beetle guessed again, and for a wonder hit the correct quantity. ‘Er — a disgraceful husband —
conjuge barbara
, with a barbarous spouse.’

‘Why do you select
that
disgustful equivalent out of all the dictionary?’ King snapped. ‘Isn’t “wife” good enough for you?’

‘Yes, sir. But what do I do about this bracket, sir? Shall I take it now?’

‘Confine yourself at present to the soldier of Crassus.’

‘Yes, sir.
Et
, and —
consenuit
, has he grown old —
in armis
, in the — er — arms —
hositum socerorum
, of his father-in-law’s enemies.’

‘Who? How? Which?’

‘Arms of his enemies’ fathers-in-law, sir.’

‘Tha-anks. By the way, what meaning might you attach to
in armis
?’

‘Oh, weapons — weapons of war, sir.’ There was a virginal note in Beetle’s voice as though he had been falsely accused of uttering indecencies. ‘Shall I take the bracket now, sir?’

‘Since it seems to be troubling you.’

‘
Pro Curia
, O for the Senate House —
inversique mores
, and manners upset — upside down.’

‘Ve-ry like your translation. Meantime, the soldier of Crassus?’

‘
Sub rege Medo
, under a Median King —
Marsus et Apulus
, he being a Marsian and an Apulian.’

‘Who? The Median King?’

‘No, sir. The soldier of Crassus.
Oblittus
agrees with
milesne Crassi
, sir,’ volunteered too-hasty Beetle.

‘Does it? It doesn’t with
me
.’

‘
Oh-blight-us
,’ Beetle corrected hastily, ‘forgetful —
anciliorum
, of the shields, or trophies —
et nominis
, and the — his name —
et togae
, and the toga —
eternaeque Vestae
, and eternal Vesta —
incolumi Jove
, Jove being safe —
et urbe Roma
, and the Roman city.’ With an air of hardly restrained zeal — ’Shall I go on, sir?’

Mr. King winced. ‘No, thank you. You have indeed given us a translation! May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to your so-called mind?’

‘Oh, I think so, sir.’ This with gentle toleration for Horace and all his works.

‘We envy you. Sit down.’

Beetle sat down relieved, well knowing that a reef of uncharted genitives stretched ahead of him, on which in spite of M’Turk’s sailing-directions he would infallibly have been wrecked.

Rattray, who took up the task, steered neatly through them and came unscathed to port.

‘Here we require drama,’ said King. ‘Regulus himself is speaking now. Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, will you kindly oblige?’

Winton of King’s House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteen forward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect like an earnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among other things, that he had seen ‘signs affixed to Punic deluges.’ Half the Form shouted for joy, and the other half for joy that there was something to shout about.

Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness. ‘
Signa adfixa delubris
,’ he gasped. ‘So
delubris
is “deluges” is it? Winton, in all our dealings, have I ever suspected you of a jest?’

‘No, sir,’ said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Form rocked about him.

‘And yet you assert
delubris
means “deluges.” Whether I am a fit subject for such a jape is, of course, a matter of opinion, but.... Winton, you are normally conscientious. May we assume you looked out
delubris
?’

‘No, sir.’ Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerous to all who stand before Kings.

‘‘Made a shot at it then?’

Every line of Winton’s body showed he had done nothing of the sort. Indeed, the very idea that ‘Pater’ Winton (and a boy is not called ‘Pater’ by companions for his frivolity) would make a shot at anything was beyond belief. But he replied, ‘Yes,’ and all the while worked with his right heel as though he were heeling a ball at punt-about.

Though none dared to boast of being a favourite with King, the taciturn, three-cornered Winton stood high in his House-Master’s opinion. It seemed to save him neither rebuke nor punishment, but the two were in some fashion sympathetic.

‘Hm!’ said King drily. ‘I was going to say —
Flagito additis damnum
, but I think — I think I see the process. Beetle, the translation of
delubris
, please.’

Beetle raised his head from his shaking arm long enough to answer: ‘Ruins, sir.’

There was an impressive pause while King checked off crimes on his fingers. Then to Beetle the much-enduring man addressed winged words:

‘Guessing,’ said he. ‘Guessing, Beetle, as usual, from the look of
delubris
that it bore some relation to
diluvium
or deluge, you imparted the result of your half-baked lucubrations to Winton who seems to have been lost enough to have accepted it. Observing next, your companion’s fall, from the presumed security of your undistinguished position in the rear-guard, you took another pot-shot. The turbid chaos of your mind threw up some memory of the word “dilapidations” which you have pitifully attempted to disguise under the synonym of “ruins.”‘