The Recessional

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Clovis sat in the hottest zone but two of a Turkish bath, alternately inert instatuesque contemplation and rapidly manoeuvring a fountain-pen over the pagesof a note-book."Don't interrupt me with your childish prattle," he observed to Bertie van Tahn,who had slung himself languidly into a neighbouring chair and lookedconversationally inclined; "I'm writing death-less verse."Bertie looked interested."I say, what a boon you would be to portrait painters if you really got to benotorious as a poetry writer. If they couldn't get your likeness hung in theAcademy as 'Clovis Sangrail, Esq., at work on his latest poem,' they could slipyou in as a Study of the Nude or Orpheus descending into Jermyn Street. Theyalways complain that modern dress handicaps them, whereas a towel and afountain-pen--""It was Mrs. Packletide's suggestion that I should write this thing," saidClovis, ignoring the bypaths to fame that Bertie van Tahn was pointing out tohim. "You see, Loona Bimberton had a Coronation Ode accepted by the New Infancy,a paper that has been started with the idea of making the New Age seem elder andhidebound. 'So clever of you, dear Loona,' the Packletide remarked when she hadread it; 'of course, any one could write a Coronation Ode, but no one else wouldhave thought of doing it.' Loona protested that these things were extremelydifficult to do, and gave us to understand that they were more or less theprovince of a gifted few. Now the Packletide has been rather decent to me inmany ways, a sort of financial ambulance, you know, that carries you off thefield when you're hard hit, which is a frequent occurrence with me, and I've nouse whatever for Loona Bimberton, so I chipped in and said I could turn out thatsort of stuff by the square yard if I gave my mind to it. Loona said I couldn't,and we got bets on, and between you and me I think the money's fairly safe. Ofcourse, one of the conditions of the wager is that the thing has to be publishedin something or other, local newspapers barred; but Mrs. Packletide has endearedherself by many little acts of thoughtfulness to the editor of the SmokyChimney, so if I can hammer out anything at all approaching the level of theusual Ode output we ought to be all right. So far I'm getting along socomfortably that I begin to be afraid that I must be one of the gifted few.""It's rather late in the day for a Coronation Ode, isn't it?" said Bertie."Of course," said Clovis; "this is going to be a Durbar Recessional, the sort ofthing that you can keep by you for all time if you want to.""Now I understand your choice of a place to write it in," said Bertie van Tahn,with the air of one who has suddenly unravelled a hitherto obscure problem; "youwant to get the local temperature.""I came here to get freedom from the inane interruptions of the mentallydeficient," said Clovis, "but it seems I asked too much of fate."Bertie van Tahn prepared to use his towel as a weapon of precision, butreflecting that he had a good deal of unprotected coast-line himself, and thatClovis was equipped with a fountain-pen as well as a towel, he relapsedpacifically into the depths of his chair."May one hear extracts from the immortal work?" he asked. "I promise thatnothing that I hear now shall prejudice me against borrowing a copy of the SmokyChimney at the right moment.""It's rather like casting pearls into a trough," remarked Clovis pleasantly,"but I don't mind reading you bits of it. It begins with a general dispersal ofthe Durbar participants: " 'Back to their homes in Himalayan heightsThe stale pale elephants of Cutch BeharRoll like great galleons on a tideless sea--' ""I don't believe Cutch Behar is anywhere near the Himalayan region," interruptedBertie. "You ought to have an atlas on hand when you do this sort of thing; andwhy stale and pale?""After the late hours and the excitement, of course," said Clovis; "and I saidtheir homes were in the Himalayas. You can have Himalayan elephants in CutchBehar, I suppose, just as you have Irish-bred horses running at Ascot.""You said they were going back to the Himalayas," objected Bertie."Well, they would naturally be sent home to recuperate. It's the usual thing outthere to turn elephants loose in the hills, just as we put horses out to grassin this country."Clovis could at least flatter himself that he had infused some of the recklesssplendour of the East into his mendacity."Is it all going to be in blank verse?" asked the critic."Of course not; 'Durbar' comes at the end of the fourth line.""That seems so cowardly; however, it explains why you pitched on Cutch Behar.""There is more connection between geographical place-names and poeticalinspiration than is generally recognized; one of the chief reasons why there areso few really great poems about Russia in our language is that you can'tpossibly get a rhyme to names like Smolensk and Tobolsk and Minsk."Clovis spoke with the authority of one who has tried."Of course, you could rhyme Omsk with Tomsk," he continued; "in fact, they seemto be there for that purpose, but the public wouldn't stand that sort of thingindefinitely.""The public will stand a good deal," said Bertie malevolently, "and so small aproportion of it knows Russian that you could always have an explanatoryfootnote asserting that the last three letters in Smolensk are not pronounced.It's quite as believable as your statement about putting elephants out to grassin the Himalayan range.""I've got rather a nice bit," resumed Clovis with unruffled serenity, "giving anevening scene on the outskirts of a jungle village:" 'Where the coiled cobra in the gloaming gloats, And prowling panthers stalk the wary goats.' ""There is practically no gloaming in tropical countries," said Bertieindulgently; "but I like the masterly reticence with which you treat the cobra'smotive for gloating. The unknown is proverbially the uncanny. I can picturenervous readers of the Smoky Chimney keeping the light turned on in theirbedrooms all night out of sheer sickening uncertainty as to what the cobra mighthave been gloating about.""Cobras gloat naturally," said Clovis, "just as wolves are always ravening frommere force of habit, even after they've hopelessly overeaten themselves. I'vegot a fine bit of colour painting later on," he added, "where I describe thedawn coming up over the Brahmaputra river:" 'The amber dawn-drenched East with sun-shafts kissed,Stained sanguine apricot and amethyst,O'er the washed emerald of the mango grovesHangs in a mist of opalescent mauves,While painted parrot-flights impinge the hazeWith scarlet, chalcedon and chrysoprase.' ""I've never seen the dawn come up over the Brahmaputra river," said Bertie, "soI can't say if it's a good description of the event, but it sounds more like anaccount of an extensive jewel robbery. Anyhow, the parrots give a good usefultouch of local colour. I suppose you've introduced some tigers into the scenery?An Indian landscape would have rather a bare, unfinished look without a tiger ortwo in the middle distance.""I've got a hen-tiger somewhere in the poem," said Clovis, hunting through hisnotes. "Here she is:" 'The tawny tigress 'mid the tangled teakDrags to her purring cubs' enraptured earsThe harsh death-rattle in the pea-fowl's beak,A jungle lullaby of blood and tears.' "Bertie van Tahn rose hurriedly from his recumbent position and made for theglass door leading into the next compartment."I think your idea of home life in the jungle is perfectly horrid," he said."The cobra was sinister enough, but the improvised rattle in the tiger-nurseryis the limit. If you're going to make me turn hot and cold all over I may aswell go into the steam room at once.""Just listen to this line," said Clovis; "it would make the reputation of anyordinary poet:" 'and overheadThe pendulum-patient Punkah, parent of stillborn breeze.' ""Most of your readers will think 'punkah' is a kind of iced drink or half-timeat polo," said Bertie, and disappeared into the steam.The Smoky Chimney duly published the "Recessional," but it proved to be its swansong, for the paper never attained to another issue.Loona Bimberton gave up her intention of attending the Durbar and went into anursing-home on the Sussex Downs. Nervous breakdown after a particularlystrenuous season was the usually accepted explanation, but there are three orfour people who know that she never really recovered from the dawn breaking overthe Brahmaputra river.

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