Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (845 page)

As this was precisely what Beetle had done he looked hurt but forgiving. ‘We will attend to this later,’ said King. ‘Go on, Winton, and retrieve yourself.’

Delubris
happened to be the one word which Winton had not looked out and had asked Beetle for, when they were settling into their places. He forged ahead with no further trouble. Only when he rendered
scilicet
as ‘forsooth,’ King erupted.

‘Regulus,’ he said, ‘was not a leader-writer for the penny press, nor, for that matter, was Horace. Regulus says: “The soldier ransomed by gold will come keener for the fight — will he by — by gum!”
That’s
the meaning of
scilicet
. It indicates contempt — bitter contempt. “Forsooth,” forsooth! You’ll be talking about “speckled beauties” and “eventually transpire” next. Howell, what do you make of that doubled “Vidi ego — ego vidi”? It wasn’t put in to fill up the metre, you know.’

‘Isn’t it intensive, sir?’ said Howell, afflicted by a genuine interest in what he read. ‘Regulus was a bit in earnest about Rome making no terms with Carthage — and he wanted to let the Romans understand it, didn’t he, sir?’

‘Less than your usual grace, but the fact. Regulus
was
in earnest. He was also engaged at the same time in cutting his own throat with every word he uttered. He knew Carthage which (your examiners won’t ask you this so you needn’t take notes) was a sort of God-forsaken nigger Manchester. Regulus was not thinking about his own life. He was telling Rome the truth. He was playing for his side. Those lines from the eighteenth to the fortieth ought to be written in blood. Yet there are things in human garments which will tell you that Horace was a flâneur — a man about town. Avoid such beings. Horace knew a very great deal.
He
knew!
Erit ille fortis
— ”will he be brave who once to faithless foes has knelt?” And again (stop pawing with your hooves, Thornton!)
hic unde vitam sumeret inscius
. That means roughly — but I perceive I am ahead of my translators. Begin at
hic unde
, Vernon, and let us see if you have the spirit of Regulus.’

Now no one expected fireworks from gentle Paddy Vernon, sub-prefect of Hartopp’s House, but, as must often be the case with growing boys, his mind was in abeyance for the time being, and he said, all in a rush, on behalf of Regulus: ‘
O magna Carthago probrosis altior Italiae ruinis
, O Carthage, thou wilt stand forth higher than the ruins of Italy.’

Even Beetle, most lenient of critics, was interested at this point, though he did not join the half-groan of reprobation from the wiser heads of the Form.

‘
Please
don’t mind me,’ said King, and Vernon very kindly did not. He ploughed on thus: ‘He (Regulus) is related to have removed from himself the kiss of the shameful wife and of his small children as less by the head, and, being stern, to have placed his virile visage on the ground.’

Since King loved ‘virile’ about as much as he did ‘spouse’ or ‘forsooth’ the Form looked up hopefully. But Jove thundered not.

‘Until,’ Vernon continued, ‘he should have confirmed the sliding fathers as being the author of counsel never given under an alias.’

He stopped, conscious of stillness round him like the dread calm of the typhoon’s centre. King’s opening voice was sweeter than honey.

‘I am painfully aware by bitter experience that I cannot give you any idea of the passion, the power, the — the essential guts of the lines which you have so foully outraged in our presence. But — ’ the note changed, ‘so far as in me lies, I will strive to bring home to you, Vernon, the fact that there exist in Latin a few pitiful rules of grammar, of syntax, nay, even of declension, which were not created for your incult sport — your Boeotian diversion. You will, therefore, Vernon, write out and bring to me to-morrow a word-for-word English-Latin translation of the Ode, together with a full list of all adjectives — an adjective is not a verb, Vernon, as the Lower Third will tell you — all adjectives, their number, case, and gender. Even now I haven’t begun to deal with you faithfully.’

‘I — I’m very sorry, sir,’ Vernon stammered.

‘You mistake the symptoms, Vernon. You are possibly discomfited by the imposition, but sorrow postulates some sort of mind, intellect,
nous
. Your rendering of
probrosis
alone stamps you as lower than the beasts of the field. Will some one take the taste out of our mouths? And — talking of tastes — ’ He coughed. There was a distinct flavour of chlorine gas in the air. Up went an eyebrow, though King knew perfectly well what it meant.

‘Mr. Hartopp’s st — science class next door,’ said Malpass.

‘Oh yes. I had forgotten. Our newly established Modern Side, of course. Perowne, open the windows; and Winton, go on once more from
interque maerentes
.’

‘And hastened away,’ said Winton, ‘surrounded by his mourning friends, into — into illustrious banishment. But I got that out of Conington, sir,’ he added in one conscientious breath.

‘I am aware. The master generally knows his ass’s crib, though I acquit
you
of any intention that way. Can you suggest anything for
egregius exul
? Only “egregious exile”? I fear “egregious” is a good word ruined. No! You can’t in this case improve on Conington. Now then for
atqui sciebat quae sibi barbarus tortor pararet
. The whole force of it lies in the
atqui
.’

‘Although he knew,’ Winton suggested.

‘Stronger than that, I think.’

‘He who knew well,’ Malpass interpolated.

‘Ye-es. “Well though he knew.” I don’t like Conington’s “well-witting.” It’s Wardour Street.’

‘Well though he knew what the savage torturer was — was getting ready for him,’ said Winton.

‘Ye-es. Had in store for him.’

‘Yet he brushed aside his kinsmen and the people delaying his return.’

‘Ye-es; but then how do you render
obstantes
?’

‘If it’s a free translation mightn’t
obstantes
and
morantem
come to about the same thing, sir?’

‘Nothing comes to “about the same thing” with Horace, Winton. As I have said, Horace was not a journalist. No, I take it that his kinsmen bodily withstood his departure, whereas the crowd —
populumque
— the democracy stood about futilely pitying him and getting in the way. Now for that noblest of endings —
quam si clientum
,’ and King ran off into the quotation:

‘As though some tedious business o’er
Of clients’ court, his journey lay
Towards Venafrum’s grassy floor
Or Sparta-built Tarentum’s bay.

All right, Winton. Beetle, when you’ve quite finished dodging the fresh air yonder, give me the meaning of
tendens
— and turn down your collar.’

‘Me, sir?
Tendens
, sir? Oh! Stretching away in the direction of, sir.’

‘Idiot! Regulus was not a feature of the landscape. He was a man, self-doomed to death by torture.
Atqui, sciebat
— knowing it — having achieved it for his country’s sake — can’t you hear that
atqui
cut like a knife? — he moved off with some dignity. That is why Horace out of the whole golden Latin tongue chose the one word “tendens” — which is utterly untranslatable.’

The gross injustice of being asked to translate it, converted Beetle into a young Christian martyr, till King buried his nose in his handkerchief again.

‘I think they’ve broken another gas-bottle next door, sir,’ said Howell. ‘They’re always doing it.’ The Form coughed as more chlorine came in.

‘Well, I suppose we must be patient with the Modern Side,’ said King. ‘But it is almost insupportable for this Side. Vernon, what are you grinning at?’

Vernon’s mind had returned to him glowing and inspired. He chuckled as he underlined his Horace.

‘It appears to amuse you,’ said King. ‘Let us participate. What is it?’

‘The last two lines of the Tenth Ode, in this book, sir,’ was Vernon’s amazing reply.

‘What? Oh, I see.
Non hoc semper erit liminis aut aquae caelestis patiens latus
.’ King’s mouth twitched to hide a grin. ‘Was that done with intention?’

 ‘This side will not always be patient of rain and waiting on the threshold.’

‘I — I thought it fitted, sir.’

‘It does. It’s distinctly happy. What put it into your thick head, Paddy?’

‘I don’t know, sir, except we did the Ode last term.’

‘And you remembered? The same head that minted
probrosis
as a verb! Vernon, you are an enigma. No! This Side will
not
always be patient of unheavenly gases and waters. I will make representations to our so-called Moderns. Meantime (who shall say I am not just?) I remit you your accrued pains and penalties in regard to
probrosim, probrosis, probrosit
and other enormities. I oughtn’t to do it, but this Side is occasionally human. By no means bad, Paddy.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Vernon, wondering how inspiration had visited him.

Then King, with a few brisk remarks about Science, headed them back to Regulus, of whom and of Horace and Rome and evil-minded commercial Carthage and of the democracy eternally futile, he explained, in all ages and climes, he spoke for ten minutes; passing thence to the next Ode —
Delicta Majorum
— where he fetched up, full-voiced, upon — ’
Dis te minorem quod geris imperas
’ (Thou rulest because thou bearest thyself as lower than the Gods) — making it a text for a discourse on manners, morals, and respect for authority as distinct from bottled gases, which lasted till the bell rang. Then Beetle, concertinaing his books, observed to Winton, ‘When King’s really on tap he’s an interestin’ dog. Hartopp’s chlorine uncorked him.’

‘Yes; but why did you tell me
delubris
was “deluges,” you silly ass?’ said Winton.

‘Well, that uncorked him too. Look out, you hoof-handed old owl!’ Winton had cleared for action as the Form poured out like puppies at play and was scragging Beetle. Stalky from behind collared Winton low. The three fell in confusion.

‘
Dis te minorem quod geris imperas
,’ quoth Stalky, ruffling Winton’s lint-white locks. ‘Mustn’t jape with Number Five study. Don’t be too virtuous. Don’t brood over it. ‘Twon’t count against you in your future caree-ah. Cheer up, Pater.’

‘Pull him off my — er — essential guts, will you?’ said Beetle from beneath. ‘He’s squashin’ ‘em.’

They dispersed to their studies.

No one, the owner least of all, can explain what is in a growing boy’s mind. It might have been the blind ferment of adolescence; Stalky’s random remarks about virtue might have stirred him; like his betters he might have sought popularity by way of clowning; or, as the Head asserted years later, the only known jest of his serious life might have worked on him, as a sober-sided man’s one love colours and dislocates all his after days. But, at the next lesson, mechanical drawing with Mr. Lidgett who as drawing-master had very limited powers of punishment, Winton fell suddenly from grace and let loose a live mouse in the form-room. The whole form, shrieking and leaping high, threw at it all the plaster cones, pyramids, and fruit in high relief — not to mention ink-pots — that they could lay hands on. Mr. Lidgett reported at once to the Head; Winton owned up to his crime, which, venial in the Upper Third, pardonable at a price in the Lower Fourth, was, of course, rank ruffianism on the part of a Fifth Form boy; and so, by graduated stages, he arrived at the Head’s study just before lunch, penitent, perturbed, annoyed with himself and — as the Head said to King in the corridor after the meal — more human than he had known him in seven years.

‘You see,’ the Head drawled on, ‘Winton’s only fault is a certain costive and unaccommodating virtue. So this comes very happily.’

‘I’ve never noticed any sign of it,’ said King. Winton was in King’s House, and though King as pro-consul might, and did, infernally oppress his own Province, once a black and yellow cap was in trouble at the hands of the Imperial authority King fought for him to the very last steps of Caesar’s throne.

‘Well, you yourself admitted just now that a mouse was beneath the occasion,’ the Head answered.

‘It was.’ Mr. King did not love Mr. Lidgett. ‘It should have been a rat. But — but — I hate to plead it — it’s the lad’s first offence.’

‘Could you have damned him more completely, King?’

‘Hm. What is the penalty?’ said King, in retreat, but keeping up a rear-guard action.

‘Only my usual few lines of Virgil to be shown up by tea-time.’

The Head’s eyes turned slightly to that end of the corridor where Mullins, Captain of the Games (‘Pot,’ ‘old Pot,’ or ‘Potiphar’ Mullins), was pinning up the usual Wednesday notice — ’Big, Middle, and Little Side Football — A to K, L to Z, 3 to 4.45 P.M.’

You cannot write out the Head’s usual few (which means five hundred) Latin lines and play football for one hour and three-quarters between the hours of 1.30 and 5 P.M. Winton had evidently no intention of trying to do so, for he hung about the corridor with a set face and an uneasy foot. Yet it was law in the school, compared with which that of the Medes and Persians was no more than a non-committal resolution, that any boy, outside the First Fifteen, who missed his football for any reason whatever, and had not a written excuse, duly signed by competent authority to explain his absence, would receive not less than three strokes with a ground-ash from the Captain of the Games, generally a youth between seventeen and eighteen years, rarely under eleven stone (‘Pot’ was nearer thirteen), and always in hard condition.