Transcribed from the 1911 Methuen & Co. (third) edition by David Price,email
[email protected] Proofing by Margaret and David Price.
REGINALD
BYSAKI(H. H. MUNRO)
THIRD EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.36 ESSEX STREET W.C.LONDON
_First Published_ . . . _September 1904_
_Second Edition_ . . . _July 1905_
_Third Edition_ . . . _1911_
_These sketches originally appeared in the_ "_Westminster Gazette_," _tothe courtesy of the Proprietor of which the author is indebted forpermission to republish them_.
Contents:
Reginald
Reginald on Christmas Presents
Reginald on the Academy
Reginald at the Theatre
Reginald's Peace Poem
Reginald's Choir Treat
Reginald on Worries
Reginald on House-Parties
Reginald at the Carlton
Reginald on Besetting Sins
Reginald's Drama
Reginald on Tariffs
Reginald's Christmas Revel
Reginald's Rubaiyat
The Innocence of Reginald
REGINALD
I did it--I who should have known better. I persuaded Reginald to go tothe McKillops' garden-party against his will.
We all make mistakes occasionally.
"They know you're here, and they'll think it so funny if you don't go.And I want particularly to be in with Mrs. McKillop just now."
"I know, you want one of her smoke Persian kittens as a prospective wifefor Wumples--or a husband, is it?" (Reginald has a magnificent scorn fordetails, other than sartorial.) "And I am expected to undergo socialmartyrdom to suit the connubial exigencies"--
"Reginald! It's nothing of the kind, only I'm sure Mrs. McKillop Wouldbe pleased if I brought you. Young men of your brilliant attractions arerather at a premium at her garden-parties."
"Should be at a premium in heaven," remarked Reginald complacently.
"There will be very few of you there, if that is what you mean. Butseriously, there won't be any great strain upon your powers of endurance;I promise you that you shan't have to play croquet, or talk to theArchdeacon's wife, or do anything that is likely to bring on physicalprostration. You can just wear your sweetest clothes and moderatelyamiable expression, and eat chocolate-creams with the appetite of a_blase_ parrot. Nothing more is demanded of you."
Reginald shut his eyes. "There will be the exhaustingly up-to-date youngwomen who will ask me if I have seen _San Toy_; a less progressive gradewho will yearn to hear about the Diamond Jubilee--the historic event, notthe horse. With a little encouragement, they will inquire if I saw theAllies march into Paris. Why are women so fond of raking up the past?They're as bad as tailors, who invariably remember what you owe them fora suit long after you've ceased to wear it."
"I'll order lunch for one o'clock; that will give you two and a halfhours to dress in."
Reginald puckered his brow into a tortured frown, and I knew that mypoint was gained. He was debating what tie would go with whichwaistcoat.
Even then I had my misgivings.
* * * * *
During the drive to the McKillops' Reginald was possessed with a greatpeace, which was not wholly to be accounted for by the fact that he hadinveigled his feet into shoes a size too small for them. I misgave morethan ever, and having once launched Reginald on to the McKillops' lawn, Iestablished him near a seductive dish of _marrons glaces_, and as farfrom the Archdeacon's wife as possible; as I drifted away to a diplomaticdistance I heard with painful distinctness the eldest Mawkby girl askinghim if he had seen _San Toy_.
It must have been ten minutes later, not more, and I had been having_quite_ an enjoyable chat with my hostess, and had promised to lend her_The Eternal City_ and my recipe for rabbit mayonnaise, and was justabout to offer a kind home for her third Persian kitten, when Iperceived, out of the corner of my eye, that Reginald was not where I hadleft him, and that the _marrons glaces_ were untasted. At the samemoment I became aware that old Colonel Mendoza was essaying to tell hisclassic story of how he introduced golf into India, and that Reginald wasin dangerous proximity. There are occasions when Reginald is caviare tothe Colonel.
"When I was at Poona in '76"--
"My dear Colonel," purred Reginald, "fancy admitting such a thing! Sucha give-away for one's age! I wouldn't admit being on this planet in'76." (Reginald in his wildest lapses into veracity never admits tobeing more than twenty-two.)
The Colonel went to the colour of a fig that has attained great ripeness,and Reginald, ignoring my efforts to intercept him, glided away toanother part of the lawn. I found him a few minutes later happilyengaged in teaching the youngest Rampage boy the approved theory ofmixing absinthe, within full earshot of his mother. Mrs. Rampageoccupies a prominent place in local Temperance movements.
As soon as I had broken up this unpromising _tete-a-tete_ and settledReginald where he could watch the croquet players losing their tempers, Iwandered off to find my hostess and renew the kitten negotiations at thepoint where they had been interrupted. I did not succeed in running herdown at once, and eventually it was Mrs. McKillop who sought me out, andher conversation was not of kittens.
"Your cousin is discussing _Zaza_ with the Archdeacon's wife; at least,he is discussing, she is ordering her carriage."
She spoke in the dry, staccato tone of one who repeats a French exercise,and I knew that as far as Millie McKillop was concerned, Wumples wasdevoted to a lifelong celibacy.
"If you don't mind," I said hurriedly, "I think we'd like our carriageordered too," and I made a forced march in the direction of the croquet-ground.
I found everyone talking nervously and feverishly of the weather and thewar in South Africa, except Reginald, who was reclining in a comfortablechair with the dreamy, far-away look that a volcano might wear just afterit had desolated entire villages. The Archdeacon's wife was buttoning upher gloves with a concentrated deliberation that was fearful to behold. Ishall have to treble my subscription to her Cheerful Sunday Evenings Fundbefore I dare set foot in her house again.
At that particular moment the croquet players finished their game, whichhad been going on without a symptom of finality during the wholeafternoon. Why, I ask, should it have stopped precisely when a counter-attraction was so necessary? Everyone seemed to drift towards the areaof disturbance, of which the chairs of the Archdeacon's wife and Reginaldformed the storm-centre. Conversation flagged, and there settled uponthe company that expectant hush that precedes the dawn--when yourneighbours don't happen to keep poultry.
"What did the Caspian Sea?" asked Reginald, with appalling suddenness.
There were symptoms of a stampede. The Archdeacon's wife looked at me.Kipling or someone has described somewhere the look a foundered camelgives when the caravan moves on and leaves it to its fate. Thepeptonised reproach in the good lady's eyes brought the passage vividlyto my mind.
I played my last card.
"Reginald, it's getting late, and a sea-mist is coming on." I knew thatthe elaborate curl over his right eyebrow was not guaranteed to survive asea-mist.
* * * * *
"Never, never again, will I take you to a garden-party. Never . . . Youbehaved abominably . . . What did the Caspian see?"
A shade of genuine regret for misused opportunities passed overReginald's face.
"After all," he said, "I believe an apricot tie would have gone betterwith the lilac waistcoat."
REGINALD ON CHRISTMAS PRESENTS
I wish it to be distinctly understood (said Reginald) that I don't want a"George, Prince of Wales" Prayer-book as a Christmas present. The factcannot be too widely known.
There ought (he continued) to be tec
hnical education classes on thescience of present-giving. No one seems to have the faintest notion ofwhat anyone else wants, and the prevalent ideas on the subject are notcreditable to a civilised community.
There is, for instance, the female relative in the country who "knows atie is always useful," and sends you some spotted horror that you couldonly wear in secret or in Tottenham Court Road. It _might_ have beenuseful had she kept it to tie up currant bushes with, when it would haveserved the double purpose of supporting the branches and frightening awaythe birds--for it is an admitted fact that the ordinary tomtit ofcommerce has a sounder aesthetic taste than the average female relativein the country.
Then there are aunts. They are always a difficult class to deal with inthe matter of presents. The trouble is that one never catches themreally young enough. By the time one has educated them to anappreciation of the fact that one does not wear red woollen mittens inthe West End, they die, or quarrel with the family, or do somethingequally inconsiderate. That is why the supply of trained aunts is alwaysso precarious.
There is my Aunt Agatha, _par exemple_, who sent me a pair of gloves lastChristmas, and even got so far as to choose a kind that was being wornand had the correct number of buttons. But--_they were nines_! I sentthem to a boy whom I hated intimately: he didn't wear them, of course,but he could have--that was where the bitterness of death came in. Itwas nearly as consoling as sending white flowers to his funeral. Ofcourse I wrote and told my aunt that they were the one thing that hadbeen wanting to make existence blossom like a rose; I am afraid shethought me frivolous--she comes from the North, where they live in thefear of Heaven and the Earl of Durham. (Reginald affects an exhaustiveknowledge of things political, which furnishes an excellent excuse fornot discussing them.) Aunts with a dash of foreign extraction in themare the most satisfactory in the way of understanding these things; butif you can't choose your aunt, it is wisest in the long-run to choose thepresent and send her the bill.
Even friends of one's own set, who might be expected to know better, havecurious delusions on the subject. I am _not_ collecting copies of thecheaper editions of Omar Khayyam. I gave the last four that I receivedto the lift-boy, and I like to think of him reading them, withFitzGerald's notes, to his aged mother. Lift-boys always have agedmothers; shows such nice feeling on their part, I think.
Personally, I can't see where the difficulty in choosing suitablepresents lies. No boy who had brought himself up properly could fail toappreciate one of those decorative bottles of liqueurs that are soreverently staged in Morel's window--and it wouldn't in the least matterif one did get duplicates. And there would always be the supreme momentof dreadful uncertainty whether it was _creme de menthe_ orChartreuse--like the expectant thrill on seeing your partner's handturned up at bridge. People may say what they like about the decay ofChristianity; the religious system that produced green Chartreuse cannever really die.
And then, of course, there are liqueur glasses, and crystallised fruits,and tapestry curtains, and heaps of other necessaries of life that makereally sensible presents--not to speak of luxuries, such as having one'sbills paid, or getting something quite sweet in the way of jewellery.Unlike the alleged Good Woman of the Bible, I'm not above rubies. Whenfound, by the way, she must have been rather a problem at Christmas-time;nothing short of a blank cheque would have fitted the situation. Perhapsit's as well that she's died out.
The great charm about me (concluded Reginald) is that I am so easilypleased. But I draw the line at a "Prince of Wales" Prayer-book.
REGINALD ON THE ACADEMY
"One goes to the Academy in self-defence," said Reginald. "It is the onetopic one has in common with the Country Cousins."
"It is almost a religious observance with them," said the Other. "A kindof artistic Mecca, and when the good ones die they go"--
"To the Chantrey Bequest. The mystery is _what_ they find to talk aboutin the country."
"There are two subjects of conversation in the country: Servants, and Canfowls be made to pay? The first, I believe, is compulsory, the secondoptional."
"As a function," resumed Reginald, "the Academy is a failure."
"You think it would be tolerable without the pictures?"
"The pictures are all right, in their way; after all, one can always_look_ at them if one is bored with one's surroundings, or wants to avoidan imminent acquaintance."
"Even that doesn't always save one. There is the inevitable female whomyou met once in Devonshire, or the Matoppo Hills, or somewhere, whocharges up to you with the remark that it's funny how one always meetspeople one knows at the Academy. Personally, I _don't_ think it funny."
"I suffered in that way just now," said Reginald plaintively, "from awoman whose word I had to take that she had met me last summer inBrittany."
"I hope you were not too brutal?"
"I merely told her with engaging simplicity that the art of life was theavoidance of the unattainable."
"Did she try and work it out on the back of her catalogue?"
"Not there and then. She murmured something about being 'so clever.'Fancy coming to the Academy to be clever!"
"To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in theevening."
"Which reminds me that I can't remember whether I accepted an invitationfrom you to dine at Kettner's to-night."
"On the other hand, I can remember with startling distinctness not havingasked you to."
"So much certainty is unbecoming in the young; so we'll consider thatsettled. What were you talking about? Oh, pictures. Personally, Irather like them; they are so refreshingly real and probable, they takeone away from the unrealities of life."
"One likes to escape from oneself occasionally."
"That is the disadvantage of a portrait; as a rule, one's bitterestfriends can find nothing more to ask than the faithful unlikeness thatgoes down to posterity as oneself. I hate posterity--it's so fond ofhaving the last word. Of course, as regards portraits, there areexceptions."
"For instance?"
"To die before being painted by Sargent is to go to heaven prematurely."
"With the necessary care and impatience, you may avoid that catastrophe."
"If you're going to be rude," said Reginald, "I shall dine with you to-morrow night as well. The chief vice of the Academy," he continued, "isits nomenclature. Why, for instance, should an obvious trout-stream witha palpable rabbit sitting in the foreground be called 'an evening dreamof unbeclouded peace,' or something of that sort?"
"You think," said the Other, "that a name should economise descriptionrather than stimulate imagination?"
"Properly chosen, it should do both. There is my lady kitten at home,for instance; I've called it Derry."
"Suggests nothing to my imagination but protracted sieges and religiousanimosities. Of course, I don't know your kitten"--
"Oh, you're silly. It's a sweet name, and it answers to it--when itwants to. Then, if there are any unseemly noises in the night, they canbe explained succinctly: Derry and Toms."
"You might almost charge for the advertisement. But as applied topictures, don't you think your system would be too subtle, say, for theCountry Cousins?"
"Every reformation must have its victims. You can't expect the fattedcalf to share the enthusiasm of the angels over the prodigal's return.Another darling weakness of the Academy is that none of its luminariesmust 'arrive' in a hurry. You can see them coming for years, like aBalkan trouble or a street improvement, and by the time they have painteda thousand or so square yards of canvas, their work begins to berecognised."
"Someone who Must Not be Contradicted said that a man must be a successby the time he's thirty, or never."
"To have reached thirty," said Reginald, "is to have failed in life."
REGINALD AT THE THEATRE
"After all," said the Duchess vaguely, "there are certain things youcan't get away from. Right and wrong, good conduct and moral rectitude,have certain w
ell-defined limits."
"So, for the matter of that," replied Reginald, "has the Russian Empire.The trouble is that the limits are not always in the same place."
Reginald and the Duchess regarded each other with mutual distrust,tempered by a scientific interest. Reginald considered that the Duchesshad much to learn; in particular, not to hurry out of the Carlton asthough afraid of losing one's last 'bus. A woman, he said, who iscareless of disappearances is capable of leaving town before Goodwood,and dying at the wrong moment of an unfashionable disease.
The Duchess thought that Reginald did not exceed the ethical standardwhich circumstances demanded.
"Of course," she resumed combatively, "it's the prevailing fashion tobelieve in perpetual change and mutability, and all that sort of thing,and to say we are all merely an improved form of primeval ape--of courseyou subscribe to that doctrine?"
"I think it decidedly premature; in most people I know the process is farfrom complete."
"And equally of course you are quite irreligious?"
"Oh, by no means. The fashion just now is a Roman Catholic frame of mindwith an Agnostic conscience: you get the mediaeval picturesqueness of theone with the modern conveniences of the other."
The Duchess suppressed a sniff. She was one of those people who regardthe Church of England with patronising affection, as if it were somethingthat had grown up in their kitchen garden.
"But there are other things," she continued, "which I suppose are to acertain extent sacred even to you. Patriotism, for instance, and Empire,and Imperial responsibility, and blood-is-thicker-than-water, and allthat sort of thing."