The Recessional

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　Clovis sat in the hottest zone but two of a Turkish bath,alternately inert in statuesque contemplation and rapidlymanoeuvring a fountain-pen over the pages of a note-book."Don't interrupt me with your childish prattle," he observed toBertie van Tahn, who had slung himself languidly into aneighbouring chair and looked conversationally inclined; "I'mwriting deathless verse."Bertie looked interested."I say, what a boon you would be to portrait painters if youreally got to be notorious as a poetry writer. If they couldn'tget your likeness hung in the Academy as 'Clovis Sangrail, Esq.,at work on his latest poem,' they could slip you in as a Study ofthe Nude or Orpheus descending into Jermyn Street. They alwayscomplain that modern dress handicaps them, whereas a towel and afountain-pen--""It was Mrs. Packletide's suggestion that I should write thisthing," said Clovis, ignoring the bypaths to fame that Bertie vanTahn was pointing out to him. "You see, Loona Bimberton had aCoronation Ode accepted by the NEW INFANCY, a paper that has beenstarted with the idea of making the NEW AGE seem elderly andhidebound. 'So clever of you, dear Loona,' the Packletideremarked when she had read it; 'of course, anyone could write aCoronation Ode, but no one else would have thought of doing it.'Loona protested that these things were extremely difficult to do,and gave us to understand that they were more or less the provinceof a gifted few. Now the Packletide has been rather decent to mein many ways, a sort of financial ambulance, you know, thatcarries you off the field when you're hard hit, which is afrequent occurrence with me, and I've no use whatever for LoonaBimberton, so I chipped in and said I could turn out that sort ofstuff by the square yard if I gave my mind to it. Loona said Icouldn't, and we got bets on, and between you and me I think themoney's fairly safe. Of course, one of the conditions of thewager is that the thing has to be published in something or other,local newspapers barred; but Mrs. Packletide has endeared herselfby many little acts of thoughtfulness to the editor of the SMOKYCHIMNEY, so if I can hammer out anything at all approaching thelevel of the usual Ode output we ought to be all right. So farI'm getting along so comfortably that I begin to be afraid that Imust he one of the gifted few.""It's rather late in the day for a Coronation Ode, isn't it?" saidBertie."Of course," said Clovis; "this is going to be a DurbarRecessional, the sort of thing that you can keep by you for alltime if you want to.""Now I understand your choice of a place to write it in," saidBertie van Tahn, with the air of one who has suddenly unravelled ahitherto obscure problem; "you want to get the local temperature.""I came here to get freedom from the inane interruptions of thementally deficient," said Clovis, "but it seems I asked too muchof fate."Bertie van Tahn prepared to use his towel as a weapon ofprecision, but reflecting that he had a good deal of unprotectedcoast-line himself, and that Clovis was equipped with a fountain-pen as well as a towel, he relapsed pacifically into the depths ofhis chair."May one hear extracts from the immortal work?" he asked. "Ipromise that nothing that I hear now shall prejudice me againstborrowing a copy of the SMOKY CHIMNEY at the right moment.""It's rather like casting pearls into a trough," remarked Clovispleasantly, "but I don't mind reading you bits of it. It beginswith a general dispersal of the Durbar participants: 'Back to their homes in Himalayan heights The stale pale elephants of Cutch Behar Roll like great galleons on a tideless sea--'" "I don't believe Cutch Behar is anywhere near the Himalayanregion," interrupted Bertie. "You ought to have an atlas on handwhen you do this sort of thing; and why stale and pale?""After the late hours and the excitement, of course," said Clovis;"and I said their HOMES were in the Himalayas. You can haveHimalayan elephants in Cutch Behar, I suppose, just as you haveIrish-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 theusual thing out there to turn elephants loose in the hills, justas we put horses out to grass in this country."Clovis could at least flatter himself that he had infused some ofthe reckless splendour 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 onCutch Behar.""There is more connection between geographical place-names andpoetical inspiration than is generally recognized; one of thechief reasons why there are so few really great poems about Russiain our language is that you can't possibly get a rhyme to nameslike 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; "infact, they seem to be there for that purpose, but the publicwouldn't stand that sort of thing indefinitely.""The public will stand a good deal," said Bertie malevolently,"and so small a proportion of it knows Russian that you couldalways have an explanatory footnote asserting that the last threeletters in Smolensk are not pronounced. It's quite as believableas your statement about putting elephants out to grass in theHimalayan range.""I've got rather a nice bit," resumed Clovis with unruffledserenity, "giving an evening scene on the outskirts of a junglevillage: 'Where the coiled cobra in the gloaming gloats, And prowling panthers stalk the wary goats.'" "There is practically no gloaming in tropical countries," saidBertie indulgently; "but I like the masterly reticence with whichyou treat the cobra's motive for gloating. The unknown isproverbially the uncanny. I can picture nervous readers of theSMOKY CHIMNEY keeping the light turned on in their bedrooms allnight out of sheer sickening uncertainty as to WHAT the cobramight have been gloating about.""Cobras gloat naturally," said Clovis, "just as wolves are alwaysravening from mere force of habit, even after they've hopelesslyovereaten themselves. I've got a fine bit of colour paintinglater on," he added, "where I describe the dawn coming up over theBrahma-putra river: 'The amber dawn-drenched East with sun-shafts kissed, Stained sanguine apricot and amethyst, O'er the washed emerald of the mango groves Hangs in a mist of opalescent mauves, While painted parrot-flights impinge the haze With scarlet, chalcedon and chrysoprase.'" "I've never seen the dawn come up over the Brahma-putra river,"said Bertie, "so I can't say if it's a good description of theevent, but it sounds more like an account of an extensive jewelrobbery. Anyhow, the parrots give a good useful touch of localcolour. I suppose you've introduced some tigers into the scenery?An Indian landscape would have rather a bare, unfinished lookwithout a tiger or two in the middle distance.""I've got a hen-tiger somewhere in the poem," said Clovis, huntingthrough his notes. "Here she is: 'The tawny tigress 'mid the tangled teak Drags to her purring cubs' enraptured ears The 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 andmade for the glass door leading into the next compartment."I think your idea of home life in the jungle is perfectlyhorrid," he said. "The cobra was sinister enough, but theimprovised rattle in the tiger-nursery is the limit. If you'regoing to make me turn hot and cold all over I may as well go intothe steam room at once.""Just listen to this line," said Clovis; "it would make thereputation of any ordinary poet: 'and overhead The pendulum-patient Punkah, parent of stillborn breeze.'" "Most of your readers will think 'punkah' is a kind of iced drinkor half-time at polo," said Bertie, and disappeared into thesteam.. . . . . . . . . .The SMOKY CHIMNEY duly published the "Recessional," but it provedto be its swan song, for the paper never attained to anotherissue.Loona Bimberton gave up her intention of attending the Durbar andwent into a nursing-home on the Sussex Downs. Nervous breakdownafter a particularly strenuous season was the usually acceptedexplanation, but there are three or four people who know that shenever really recovered from the dawn breaking over the Brahma-putra river.