Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated)

by Rudyard Kipling

  “And I thought of smooth-cut lawns in the gloaming, and tables spread under mighty trees, and men and women, all intimately acquainted with each other, strolling about in the lightest of raiment, and the old dowagers criticising the badminton, and the young men in riding- boots making rude remarks about the claret-cup, and the host circulating through the mob and saying: ‘ Hah, Piggy or Bobby or Flatnose, as the nickname might be, ‘have another peg,’ and the hostess soothing the bashful youngsters and talking khitmatgars with the Judge’s wife, and the last new bride hanging on her husband’s arm and saying : 1 Isn’t it almost time to go home, Dicky, dear? ‘ and the little fat owls chuckling in the bougainvilleas, and the horses stamping and squealing in the carriage-drive ...”

  “My Great and Only” is a humorous account of how a music hall song was produced, and the reception it got in the hall of its period — the early nineties. But the two pieces that bring “Abaft the Funnel” to an end — one a story and the other a fantasy — are so good that they should not be forgotten upon any account. The story is entitled “The New Dispensation, Part I. and Part II.,” but it might be called the “ Glorification of Kadir Baksh, the Khitmatgar,” for that is what Part I. certainly amounts to. In Part II. we find that the writer has secured in London (from the Docks) a native Tamil servant named Rama- sawmy, who, when cleaned and clothed, was a faithful being enough, but had a vendetta upon his mind. Briefly, he was only awaiting the arrival of a certain ship and man, to fight to the death, or commit manslaughter, and the man arrived. The story ends in bloodshed.

  The fantasy, entitled “The Last of the Stories,” is utterly unlike anything I have ever met of Kipling’s. It is in the first person, and narrates that the author, in a dream, was taken by the Devil of Discontent to a literary limbo, the Limbo of Lost Endeavour, where are all the souls of characters drawn in tales, novels, and articles. The author meets his own famous characters : Captain Gadsby and Minnie, Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe, and very many others :

  “One after another they filed by — Trewinnard, the pet of his Department; Otis Yeere, lean and lanthorn-jawed; Crook O’Neil and Bobby Wick arm-inarm; Janki Meah, the blind miner in the Jimahari coal-fields; Afzul Khan, the policeman; the murderous Pathan horse-dealer, Durga Dass; the bunnia, Boh Da Thone; the dacoit, Dana Da, weaver of false magic; the Leander of the Barhwi ford; Peg Barney, drunk as a coot; Mrs. Delville, the dowd; Dinah Shadd, large, red-cheeked, and resolute; Simmons, Slane, and Losson; Georgie Porgie and his Burmese helpmate; a shadow in a high collar, who was all that I had ever indicated of the Hawley Boy — the nameless men and women who had trod the Hill of Illusion and lived in the Tents of Kedar, and last, His Majesty the King.”

  Towards the end of this strange dreamy fantasy — how our G. W. Steevens, who wrote similar brilliant matter in his “Monologues of the Dead,” would have revelled in this — there is a fine unforgettable touch. Rabelais speaks to the writer, touches him and starts :

  “By the Great Bells of Notre Dame, you are in the flesh — the warm flesh! —

  the flesh I quitted so long — ah, so long! And you fret and behave unseemly because of these shadows! Listen now! I, even I, would give my Three, Panurge, Gargantua and Pantagruel, for one little hour of the life that is in you. And I am the Master! . . . “

  The Devil of Discontent is supposed to be the truth that lurks at the bottom of the ink-well and, when the weary writer has finished his story, poem, or essay, appears — only to sneer at whatever the effort was. Great literary names are here rattled off like drumtaps with consummate ease — Bret Harte, Mark Twain, ever - to - be - remembered Walter Besant, with many others — and a sound of light mocking laughter is heard throughout it all.

  “Her Little Responsibility” — with the long sub-title, 4 4 And No Man May Answer for the Soul of His Brother” — is a slight sketch of an English ne’er-do-well encountered in America, a man “ falling down the ladder rung by rung.” It is a dark little picture of a Harrow boy’s degradation lit up, however, by obiter dicta upon the way of a man with a maid :

  “I don’t think some men ought to be allowed to fall in love any more than they ought to be allowed to taste whiskey.”

  “Never you make a woman swear oaths of eternal constancy. She’ll break every one of them as soon as her mind changes, and call you unjust for making her swear them.”

  “You can tell nothing from a woman’s letter, though. If they want to hide anything, they just double the ‘ dears ‘ and ‘darlings.’ “

  “A Menagerie Aboard,” “It,” “A Smoke of Manila,” and “A Little More Beef” are most amusing sketches, but “Griffiths, the Safe Man,” is the best thing in the way of droll exaggeration since Twain made us laugh at “The Jumping Frog of Calavaras County.”

  Griffiths and the teller of the tale went to Japan together. But, first, here is Griffiths etched for us by his Tormentor : “ He (Griffiths) says : “ ‘ Safe bind is safe find.’ That, rather, is what he used to say. He has seen reason to alter his views. Everything about Griffiths is safe — entirely safe. His trunk is locked by two hermetical gun-metal double-end Chubbs; his bedding-roll opens to a letter padlock capable of two million combinations; his hat- box has a lever patent safety on it; and the grief of his life is that he cannot lock up the ribs of his umbrella safely. If you could get at his soul you would find it ready strapped up and labelled for heaven. That is Griffiths.”

  They were travelling from Kyoto to Otsu. When they arrived, Griffiths, the Safe Man, could not find their passports or open his bag. The hotel proprietor fetched a policeman. Then more police came plus soldiers, hotel staff, and about fifty children, most of them directed to the hotel by the mocking malice of Griffiths’ travelling companion. The fun became fast, if not furious, until the passport was found in the pocket of an overcoat!

  “When Griffiths wanted to speak to me I was on the other side of the regiment of children in the passage, and he had time to reflect before he could work his way through them.

  “They formed his guard-of-honour when he took the bag to the locksmith.

  “I abode on the mountains of Otsu till dinner-time. ...”

  PART II. SOME LESS FAMILIAR KIPLINGANA.

  EPIGRAPH.

  King Priyadarsin, Beloved of the Gods, has caused this righteous edict to be written, here plainly, there moderately, and in a third place at full length. Thus is everything expressed everywhere known to the great. Much has been caused to be written, and he shall cause again to write. Repetitions occur also in a certain measure on account of the agree- ableness of various points, in order that the people in that way be persuaded to understand and follow them. . . .

  — ”History of Kathiawad”

  (Bell, 1916).

  The United Service Colleges’ Chronicle. Twenty-nine numbers, quarto size, dated Bideford, October, 1878 — December, 1894. This set contains all of the numbers to which Rudyard Kipling contributed. He edited the paper from its fourth to its tenth number inclusive, and all of these issues contained verse or prose by him. The only other numbers to which he contributed are twelve, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, and twenty-eight. Some of the later issues contained matter reprinted from his works, but no contributions. The set above named consists of numbers two to twenty-eight inclusive, and numbers forty-one and fifty-eight. Number eight is the proof copy with corrections by Kipling. These are exceeding scarce.

  “Schoolboy Lyrics,” by Rudyard Kipling. (Printed for private circulation only.) Small i2mo size. Original plain white covers. Lahore, 1881. First Edition of Kipling’s first book, printed in India by his parents while he was at school in England. Very few copies are known.

  “Echoes.” By Two Writers. Small i2mo size. Lahore, 1884. This is the First Edition of an exceedingly rare little work. It was written by Rudyard Kipling and his sister Beatrice, and contains imitations of the modern English poets for the most part. This copy bears an inscription in the handwriting of Kipling. Before the title of each poem, in the index, th
ere is written the name of the poet whose style had been imitated, and there are a number of notes on the margins, all in the handwriting of Kipling. It will be remembered that a set of imitations of great poets, by Kipling also, were published in the Daily Mailf Lord North- cliffe’s astounding paper. These appeared a few years ago and should have been treasured, in case they are never reprinted.

  A fine copy of “Echoes,” by Two Writers, in the original paper covers, brought in nearly fioo for the Red Cross Sale at Christies about a year ago. It had an original unpublished poem inserted of twenty-eight lines, “ To the Ladies of Warwick Gardens, by Rudy and Trix,” in the holograph of Rudyard Kipling, and the name “ Trix “ written in the Index against the poems by that writer. Published, of course, at Lahore, The Civil and Military Gazette Press (1884). In The Athenczum for October 30th, 1897, this work is especially referred to.

  The autograph above mentioned is interesting as a rare instance of the use of the diminutive “ Rudy.” Elsewhere “ Nickson “ is to be found as a nickname for Mr. Kipling. “ Nicknames and whippings when they are once laid on, no one has discovered how to take off,” said Landor in his “ Imaginary Conversations.”

  The foregoing were referred to in a recent Literary Supplement to The Times as follows : —

  “£20 each offered, 4 Schoolboy Lyrics,’ Lahore, 1881, and ‘Echoes,’ by Two Writers, Lahore, no date (1884). Kipling Letters and MSS. also wanted.”

  “The Quartette.’’ The Christmas Annual of the Civil and Military Gazette. By Four Anglo-Indian Writers. Octavo size. Lahore, 1885. This constitutes the First Edition, and the four writers were Rudyard Kipling, his father, John Lock- wood Kipling, his mother and his sister, Beatrice. Truly a literary quadrille d’honneur! Kipling’s contributions were “The Phantom Rickshaw” and “The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes.” These two stories were afterwards reprinted in the Indian Railway Library Series, in the first instance, then, of course, in every edition all over the hemispheres. A copy of “The Quartette,”

  with the inscription “ To the Ladies of Warwick Gardens, from the Four K’s, 21.12.85,” in Rudyard Kipling’s writing, obtained £20 at a Red Cross Sale at Christies.

  “The Week’s News.” From the commencement, January 7th, 1888, to September 15th, of that year. Published at Allahabad, 1888. Some of Kipling’s best- known stories and studies “ in Indian ink “ first had the light of print in the above paper. A few of these stories appear not to have been reprinted.

  Among those that we know and love are to be seen “Wee Willie Winkie,” “The Big Drunk Draf,” “The Solid Muldoon,” etc., etc. Each issue contained a tale by Kipling and also original contributions by writers as loudly proclaimed as Bret Harte, Clark Russell, and John Strange Winter.

  “Turnovers,” from the Civil and Military Gazette. Lahore, 1888. Kipling wrote in the first nine numbers of this publication, and some of the contributions have not been reprinted in any of his later collections that are obtainable upon the usual demand.

  Extract from Title and Preface.

  “We have rescued from our columns . . . some literary trifles, in the hope that, like flies in amber, a few may be found still to retain an interest . . . for certain saving clauses : First, that many kind friends have desired me to have it done; second, that, unlike resurrection pie at school, this is no compulsory dish, for those that like it not may leave it alone . . . Except for expansion into columns of more seemly width, and some slight supervision of late-discovered misprints, these are the same articles printed again from the same type as those which, I trust, in the Civil and Military Gazette gave their sympathetic readers some excuse for smiles; . . . and speaking on behalf of ‘ Smith,’ 4 The Reveller/ 4 Elianus,’ ‘ Centurion,’ 4 The Subaltern,’ ‘ Outis,’ and others — and still concealing my own among those pseudonyms — I hope that in this modest intention we are not to be disappointed.”

  The Indian editions of “In Black and White” contain at the end of the volume a delightful piece of the writer’s craft, headed “The Dedication. To My Most Deare Father.” This dedication is in old English of the time of Chaucer or Gower, and is one of the many tricky literary feats that Kipling is capable of, and evidently delights in. His work in literary parody that appeared some years ago in Lord Northcliffe’s front rank paper will be recalled by all true Kip- lingites. The Father of the Dedication is of course John Lockwood Kipling, who designed the covers of the book when he was at the School of Art, Lahore. The book was printed at the Pioneer Press, Allahabad. Certain extracts here follow :

  “To My Moft Deare Father, “When I was in your Houfe and we went abroade together, in the out- fkirtes of the Citie, among the Gentoo Wreftlours, you had poynted me how in all E,pryzes he gooing forth flang backe alwaies a Word to hym that had inftruct hym in his Crafte to the better Sneckynge of a Victorie or at the leafte the auoidance of anie greate Defeate : And prefentlie each man wolde run to his Vjtad (which is as we fhoulde fay Mafter) and geat fuch as he deferued of Admonefhment, Reprouf, and Council, concernynge the Gripp, the Houlde, Crofs-buttock and Fall, and then lay to afrefhe.

  “In lyke manner I, drawynge back a lytel, from this my Rabble and Encom- pafment of Labour, have runn afyde to you who were euer my Vjtad and Speake as it were in your priuie Eare (yet that others may knowe) that if I have here done aught of Faire Crafte and Reverentiall it is come from your hande as trewly (but by i. Degree remouen) as though it had been the coperture of thys Booke that you haue made for me in loue . . . Your Charitie and the large Tendernels that I haue nowhere founde fenfe I haue gone from your Houfe shall look upon it fauorably and ouerpafs the Blemyfhes, Spottes, Foul Crafte, and Maculations that do as throughly marke it as anie Toil of Me. None the lefs it is fett prefomptoully before that Wilde Beafte the Publick which, though when aparte and one by one examined is but compolt of such meere Men and Women as you in theyr outwarde form peynt and I would fayne peynt in theyr inward workynges, yet in totaltie, is a Great and thanklefse God (like unto Dagon) upon whofe Altars a man muft offer of his Befte alone or the Prieltes (which they caul Reuiewers) pack hym emptie awai.

  ***

  “But thys I knowe, that if I fail or if I geat my Wage from the God afore- fayd; and thus dance perpetually before the Altar till He be wearyed, the Wifdom that made in my Vfe, when I was neere to liften, and the Sweep and Swing temperate of the Pen that, when I was afarr, gaue me alwaies and untyryng the moft delectable Tillage of that Wildom shall neuer be lackynge to me in Lyfe.

  “And though I am more rich herein than the richeft, my prefent Pouertie can but make return in thys lytel Booke which your owne Toil has nobilitated beyon the deferuynge of the Writer your Son.”

  Extract from the Introduction to “In Black and White,” by Kadir Baksh, Khitmatgar.

  These stories “In Black and White”

  were reprinted in chief from “The Week’s News,” published at Allahabad. The Introduction is supposed to be written by Rudyard Kipling’s Khitmatgar, or general man, Friday: —

  “Hazur — Excellency —

  “Through your favour this is a book written by my Sahib. I know that he wrote it because it was his custom to write far into the night; I greatly desiring to go to my house.

  “But there was no order: therefore it was my fate to sit without the door until the work was accomplished. Then came I and made shut all the papers in the office-box, and these papers, by the peculiar operation of Time and owing to the skilful manner in which I picked them up from the floor, became such a book as you now see. God alone knows what is written therein, for I am a poor man and the Sahib is my father and my mother, and I have no concern with his writings until he has left his table and gone to bed.

  “Even as I picked the pages one by- one with great trouble from the floor, when the Sahib had gone to bed, so have they been placed : and there is not a fault in the whole account. And this is my work. It was a great burden, but I accomplished it; and if the Sahib gains izzat by that which he has written — and God k
nows what he is always writing about — I, Kadir Baksh, his servant, also have a claim to honour.”

  Extract from the Preface to “ Under the Deodars “ : —

  “Strictly speaking, there should be no preface to this, because it deals with things that are not pretty and ugliness that hurt. But it may be as well to try to assure the ill-informed that India is not entirely inhabited by men and women playing tennis with the Seventh Commandment. . . . The drawback of collecting dirt in one corner is that it gives a false notion of the filth of the room. Folk who understand and have knowledge of their own will be able to strike fair averages. The opinions of people who do not understand are somewhat less valuable.

  “In regard to the idea of the book, I have no hope that the stories will be of the least service to anyone. They are meant to be read in railway trains and are arranged and adorned for that end. They ought to explain that there is no particular profit in going wrong at any time, under any circumstances or for any consideration. But that is a large text to handle at popular prices ...”

  “The Declaration of London.” Five stanzas in the Morning Post of June 29th, 1911, beginning, “We were all of one heart and one race.” A few lines are quoted here :

  THE DECLARATION OF LONDON.

  [On the reassembly of Parliament after the Coronation, the Government have no intention of allowing their followers to vote according to their individual convictions on the Declaration of London, but insist on a strictly party vote. — Daily- Paper.]

  “We were all of one heart and one race

  When the Abbey trumpets blew,

  For a moment’s breathing space

  We had forgotten you.

  Now you return to your honoured place

  Panting to shame us anew.

  “The light is still on our eyes