Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated)

by Rudyard Kipling

  ‘That?’ said Dan and Una, and stared, and stared, and stared. Mr Culpeper made impatient noises in his throat and went on.

  ‘I am at these pains to be particular, good people, because I would have you follow, so far as you may, the operations of my mind. That plague which I told you I had handled outside Wallingford in Oxfordshire was of a watery nature, conformable to the brookish riverine country it bred in, and curable, as I have said, by drenching in water. This plague of ours here, for all that it flourished along watercourses — every soul at both Mills died of it, — could not be so handled. Which brought me to a stand. Ahem!’

  ‘And your sick people in the meantime?’Puck demanded. ‘We persuaded them on the north side of the street to lie out in Hitheram’s field. Where the plague had taken one, or at most two, in a house, folk would not shift for fear of thieves in their absence. They cast away their lives to die among their goods.’

  ‘Human nature,’ said Puck. ‘I’ve seen it time and again. How did your sick do in the fields?’

  ‘They died not near so thick as those that kept within doors, and even then they died more out of distraction and melancholy than plague. But I confess, good people, I could not in any sort master the sickness, or come at a glimmer of its nature or governance. To be brief, I was flat bewildered at the brute malignity of the disease, and so — did what I should have done before — dismissed all conjectures and apprehensions that had grown up within me, chose a good hour by my Almanac, clapped my vinegar-cloth to my face, and entered some empty houses, resigned to wait upon the stars for guidance.’

  ‘At night? Were you not horribly frightened?’ said Puck.

  ‘I dared to hope that the God who hath made man so nobly curious to search out His mysteries might not destroy a devout seeker. In due time — there’s a time, as I have said, for everything under the sun — I spied a whitish rat, very puffed and scabby, which sat beneath the dormer of an attic through which shined our Lady the Moon. Whilst I looked on him — and her — she was moving towards old cold Saturn, her ancient ally — the rat creeped languishingly into her light, and there, before my eyes, died. Presently his mate or companion came out, laid him down beside there, and in like fashion died too. Later — an hour or less to midnight — a third rat did e’en the same; always choosing the moonlight to die in. This threw me into an amaze, since, as we know, the moonlight is favourable, not hurtful, to the creatures of the Moon; and Saturn, being friends with her, as you would say, was hourly strengthening her evil influence. Yet these three rats had been stricken dead in very moonlight. I leaned out of the window to see which of Heaven’s host might be on our side, and there beheld I good trusty Mars, very red and heated, bustling about his setting. I straddled the roof to see better.

  ‘Jack Marget came up street going to comfort our sick in Hitheram’s field. A tile slipped under my foot.

  Says he, heavily enough, “Watchman, what of the night?”

  ‘“Heart up, Jack,” says I. “Methinks there’s one fighting for us that, like a fool, I’ve forgot all this summer.” My meaning was naturally the planet Mars.

  ‘“Pray to Him then,” says he. “I forgot Him too this summer.”

  ‘He meant God, whom he always bitterly accused himself of having forgotten up in Oxfordshire, among the King’s men. I called down that he had made amends enough for his sin by his work among the sick, but he said he would not believe so till the plague was lifted from ‘em. He was at his strength’s end — more from melancholy than any just cause. I have seen this before among priests and overcheerful men. I drenched him then and there with a half-cup of waters, which I do not say cure the plague, but are excellent against heaviness of the spirits.’

  ‘What were they?’ said Dan.

  ‘White brandy rectified, camphor, cardamoms, ginger, two sorts of pepper, and aniseed.’ ‘Whew!’ said Puck. ‘Waters you call ‘em!’

  ‘Jack coughed on it valiantly, and went downhill with me. I was for the Lower Mill in the valley, to note the aspect of the Heavens. My mind had already shadowed forth the reason, if not the remedy, for our troubles, but I would not impart it to the vulgar till I was satisfied. That practice may be perfect, judgment ought to be sound, and to make judgment sound is required an exquisite knowledge. Ahem! I left Jack and his lantern among the sick in Hitheram’s field. He still maintained the prayers of the so-called Church, which were rightly forbidden by Cromwell.’

  ‘You should have told your cousin at Wigsell,’ said Puck, ‘and Jack would have been fined for it, and you’d have had half the money. How did you come so to fail in your duty, Nick?’

  Mr Culpeper laughed — his only laugh that evening — and the children jumped at the loud neigh of it.

  ‘We were not fearful of men’s judgment in those days,’ he answered. ‘Now mark me closely, good people, for what follows will be to you, though not to me, remarkable. When I reached the empty Mill, old Saturn, low down in the House of the Fishes, threatened the Sun’s rising-place. Our Lady the Moon was moving towards the help of him (understand, I speak astrologically). I looked abroad upon the high Heavens, and I prayed the Maker of ‘em for guidance. Now Mars sparkingly withdrew himself below the sky. On the instant of his departure, which I noted, a bright star or vapour leaped forth above his head (as though he had heaved up his sword), and broke all about in fire. The cocks crowed midnight through the valley, and I sat me down by the mill-wheel, chewing spearmint (though that’s an herb of Venus), and calling myself all the asses’ heads in the world! ‘Twas plain enough now!’

  ‘What was plain?’ said Una.

  ‘The true cause and cure of the plague. Mars, good fellow, had fought for us to the uttermost. Faint though he had been in the Heavens, and this had made me overlook him in my computations, he more than any of the other planets had kept the Heavens — which is to say, had been visible some part of each night wellnigh throughout the year. Therefore his fierce and cleansing influence, warring against the Moon, had stretched out to kill those three rats under my nose, and under the nose of their natural mistress, the Moon. I had known Mars lean half across Heaven to deal our Lady the Moon some shrewd blow from under his shield, but I had never before seen his strength displayed so effectual.’

  ‘I don’t understand a bit. Do you mean Mars killed the rats because he hated the Moon?’ said Una.

  ‘That is as plain as the pikestaff with which Blagge’s men pushed me forth,’Mr Culpeper answered. ‘I’ll prove it. Why had the plague not broken out at the blacksmith’s shop in Munday’s Lane? Because, as I’ve shown you, forges and smithies belong naturally to Mars, and, for his honour’s sake, Mars ‘ud keep ‘em clean from the creatures of the Moon. But was it like, think you, that he’d come down and rat-catch in general for lazy, ungrateful mankind? That were working a willing horse to death. So, then, you can see that the meaning of the blazing star above him when he set was simply this: “Destroy and burn the creatures Of the moon, for they are the root of your trouble. And thus, having shown you a taste of my power, good people, adieu.”‘

  ‘Did Mars really say all that?’ Una whispered.

  ‘Yes, and twice so much as that to any one who had ears to hear. Briefly, he enlightened me that the plague was spread by the creatures of the Moon. The Moon, our Lady of ill-aspect, was the offender. My own poor wits showed me that I, Nick Culpeper, had the people in my charge, God’s good providence aiding me, and no time to lose neither.

  ‘I posted up the hill, and broke into Hitheram’s field amongst ‘em all at prayers.

  ‘“Eureka, good people!” I cried, and cast down a dead mill-rat which I’d found. “Here’s your true enemy, revealed at last by the stars.”

  ‘“Nay, but I’m praying,” says Jack. His face was as white as washed silver.

  ‘“There’s a time for everything under the sun,” says I. “If you would stay the plague, take and kill your rats.”

  ‘“Oh, mad, stark mad!” says he, and wrings his hands.

  ‘
A fellow lay in the ditch beside him, who bellows that he’d as soon die mad hunting rats as be preached to death on a cold fallow. They laughed round him at this, but Jack Marget falls on his knees, and very presumptuously petitions that he may be appointed to die to save the rest of his people. This was enough to thrust ‘em back into their melancholy. ‘“You are an unfaithful shepherd, jack,” I says. “Take a bat” (which we call a stick in Sussex) “and kill a rat if you die before sunrise. ‘Twill save your people.”

  ‘“Aye, aye. Take a bat and kill a rat,” he says ten times over, like a child, which moved ‘em to ungovernable motions of that hysterical passion before mentioned, so that they laughed all, and at least warmed their chill bloods at that very hour — one o’clock or a little after — when the fires of life burn lowest. Truly there is a time for everything; and the physician must work with it — ahem! — or miss his cure. To be brief with you, I persuaded ‘em, sick or sound, to have at the whole generation of rats throughout the village. And there’s a reason for all things too, though the wise physician need not blab ‘em all. Imprimis, or firstly, the mere sport of it, which lasted ten days, drew ‘em most markedly out of their melancholy. I’d defy sorrowful job himself to lament or scratch while he’s routing rats from a rick. Secundo, or secondly, the vehement act and operation of this chase or war opened their skins to generous transpiration — more vulgarly, sweated ‘em handsomely; and this further drew off their black bile — the mother of sickness. Thirdly, when we came to burn the bodies of the rats, I sprinkled sulphur on the faggots, whereby the onlookers were as handsomely suffumigated. This I could not have compassed if I had made it a mere physician’s business; they’d have thought it some conjuration. Yet more, we cleansed, limed, and burned out a hundred foul poke-holes, sinks, slews, and corners of unvisited filth in and about the houses in the village, and by good fortune (mark here that Mars was in opposition to Venus) burned the corn-handler’s shop to the ground. Mars loves not Venus. Will Noakes the saddler dropped his lantern on a truss of straw while he was rat-hunting there.’

  ‘Had ye given Will any of that gentle cordial of yours, Nick, by any chance?’ said Puck.

  ‘A glass — or two glasses — not more. But as I would say, in fine, when we had killed the rats, I took ash, slag, and charcoal from the smithy, and burnt earth from the brickyard (I reason that a brickyard belongs to Mars), and rammed it with iron crowbars into the rat-runs and buries, and beneath all the house floors. The Creatures of the Moon hate all that Mars hath used for his own clean ends. For example — rats bite not iron.’

  ‘And how did poor stuttering Jack endure it?’ said Puck.

  ‘He sweated out his melancholy through his skin, and catched a loose cough, which I cured with electuaries, according to art. It is noteworthy, were I speaking among my equals, that the venom of the plague translated, or turned itself into, and evaporated, or went away as, a very heavy hoarseness and thickness of the head, throat, and chest. (Observe from my books which planets govern these portions of man’s body, and your darkness, good people, shall be illuminated — ahem!) None the less, the plague, qua plague, ceased and took off (for we only lost three more, and two of ‘em had it already on ‘em) from the morning of the day that Mars enlightened me by the Lower Mill.’ He coughed — almost trumpeted — triumphantly.

  ‘It is proved,’ he jerked out. ‘I say I have proved my contention, which is, that by Divine Astrology and humble search into the veritable causes of things — at the proper time — the sons of wisdom may combat even the plague.’

  H’m!’ Puck replied. ‘For my own part I hold that a simple soul — ’

  ‘Mine? Simple, forsooth?’ said Mr Culpeper.

  ‘A very simple soul, a high courage tempered with sound and stubborn conceit, is stronger than all the stars in their courses. So I confess truly that you saved the village, Nick.’

  ‘I stubborn? I stiff-necked? I ascribed all my poor success, under God’s good providence, to Divine Astrology. Not to me the glory! You talk as that dear weeping ass Jack Marget preached before I went back to my work in Red Lion House, Spitalfields.’

  ‘Oh! Stammering Jack preached, did he? They say he loses his stammer in the pulpit.’

  ‘And his wits with it. He delivered a most idolatrous discourse when the plague was stayed. He took for his text: “The wise man that delivered the city.” I could have given him a better, such as: “There is a time for — ”‘

  ‘But what made you go to church to hear him?’ Puck interrupted. ‘Wail Attersole was your lawfully appointed preacher, and a dull dog he was!’

  Mr Culpeper wriggled uneasily.

  ‘The vulgar,’ said he, ‘the old crones and — ahem! — -the children, Alison and the others, they dragged me to the House of Rimmon by the hand. I was in two minds to inform on Jack for maintaining the mummeries of the falsely-called Church, which, I’ll prove to you, are founded merely on ancient fables — ’

  ‘Stick to your herbs and planets,’ said Puck, laughing. ‘You should have told the magistrates, Nick, and had Jack fined. Again, why did you neglect your plain duty?’

  ‘Because — because I was kneeling, and praying, and weeping with the rest of ‘em at the Altar-rails. In medicine this is called the Hysterical Passion. It may be — it may be.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Puck. They heard him turn the hay. ‘Why, your hay is half hedge-brishings,’ he said. ‘You don’t expect a horse to thrive on oak and ash and thorn leaves, do you?’

  Ping-ping-ping went the bicycle bell round the corner. Nurse was coming back from the mill.

  ‘Is it all right?’ Una called.

  ‘All quite right,’ Nurse called back. ‘They’re to be christened next Sunday.’

  ‘What? What?’ They both leaned forward across the half-door. It could not have been properly fastened, for it opened, and tilted them out with hay and leaves sticking all over them.

  ‘Come on! We must get those two twins’ names,’ said Una, and they charged uphill shouting over the hedge, till Nurse slowed up and told them. When they returned, old Middenboro had got out of his stall, and they spent a lively ten minutes chasing him in again by starlight.

  ‘Our Fathers of Old’

  Excellent herbs had our fathers of old —

  Excellent herbs to ease their pain —

  Alexanders and Marigold,

  Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane,

  Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,

  (Almost singing themselves they run)

  Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you —

  Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.

  Anything green that grew out of the mould

  Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

  Wonderful tales had our fathers of old —

  Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars —

  The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,

  Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.

  Pat as a sum in division it goes —

  (Every plant had a star bespoke) —

  Who but Venus should govern the Rose?

  Who but Jupiter own the Oak?

  Simply and gravely the facts are told

  In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

  Wonderful little, when all is said,

  Wonderful little our fathers knew.

  Half their remedies cured you dead —

  Most of their teaching was quite untrue —

  ‘Look at the stars when a patient is ill,

  (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,)

  Bleed and blister as much as you will,

  Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.’

  Whence enormous and manifold

  Errors were made by our fathers of old.

  Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,

  And neither planet nor herb assuaged,

  They took their lives in their lancet-hand

  And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!

  Yes, when the crosses wer
e chalked on the door —

  Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,

  Excellent courage our fathers bore —

  Excellent heart had our fathers of old.

  Not too learned, but nobly bold,

  Into the fight went our fathers of old.

  If it be certain, as Galen says,

  And sage Hippocrates holds as much —

  ‘That those afflicted by doubts and dismays

  Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,’

  Then, be good to us, stars above!

  Then, be good to us, herbs below!

  We are afflicted by what we can prove;

  We are distracted by what we know —

  So — ah, so!

  Down from your Heaven or up from your mould,

  Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!

  SIMPLE SIMON

  The Thousandth Man

  One man in a thousand, Solomon says,

  Will stick more close than a brother.

  And it’s worth while seeking him half your days

  If you find him before the other.

  Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend

  on what the world sees in you,

  But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend

  With the whole round world agin you.

  ‘Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show

  Will settle the finding for ‘ee.

  Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em go

  By your looks or your acts or your glory.

  But if he finds you and you find him,

  The rest of the world don’t matter;

  For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim

  With you in any water.

  You can use his purse with no more shame

  Than he uses yours for his spendings;

  And laugh and mention it just the same

  As though there had been no lendings.

  Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em call

  For silver and gold in their dealings;