# Two Mock Epics/Hanuman

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Hanuman:
A POEM.
Translated, in the original meter, from the Bohemian of Svatopluk Cech.Sestri Levante, Feb. 1893.
I.
Like a desert prophet sighed I For some fairy dreams elysian. Rarach came meanwhile, the tempter, Hopped into my cave, derision In his eyes, and fluttered round me; Straddlewise my nose bespanned, Like a Cupid his pagoda, With the lotus in his hand
Waved the wonder-working floweret, Lo! a thousand imps and nixies, Pucks and gnomes and winged goblins, Fairies, elfin wisps and pixies O’er the mussels swarmed in countless Hosts, and lusty carols sung In the crystal sea’s recesses, And their tinkling handbells rung.
​All in vain I shouted “Hold! and Elsewhere play those skipping jingles On jest’s cymbal with the sistrum, That with sting of satire tingles; For I crave a song whose rhythm From the soul of beauty brims, And with purest ore poetic Choirs enthusiastic hymns.
Thine’s a troop of drolls fantastic, With their false and foreign spangles.” “Nay, but o’er our meadows only Such a charming flower wreath dangles For the poet and such heroes In our own domestic runes, And this fellow must to Bombay Trudge in search of his buffoons.”
All in vain still thrums the timbrel Ceaseless hand and foot as pliant, Moulds the fulsome dance responsive, And the sparkling eye defiant Dares me, and the papery pinions With sham iris colours pearled, Flirt and buzz round like a night-moth: “Let us out into the world.”
“Fly then! on thy gummy vans, in- augurate a furtive Aden, Leading souls poetic, slily To thy jungles, legend-laden. ​Then ensconced in thy liana- Swing, with thumb to nose deride him. Thou hast scandalized full other Brahmins not of Ind beside him.”
II.
“Somewhere in thy jungles Hindostani Relics of a giant city sadly Brood o’er memories of departed glory, Splendors now collapsing to the tomb, Dreaming of the throngs that filled its churches, Of the swarms of worship-loving people And the palaces of haughty Nabobs, Jewelled thrones and flashing presence-room.
Minarets, pagodas, all in ruin And dismantled seats of mighty rajahs, Hide beneath the fans of wavy palm groves And the rank banana’s spacious leaves In a heavy pall of fronds and flowers, Pitiful the virgin woodland shrouds them And a veil of hundred-fold lianas O’er the face of perished glory weaves
All among that web of airy tendrils Like a saucy gang of agile sailors In their rigging, now of sportive apes a Family their giddy dances run, Sacred and descendants of the fabled Hanuman, with whom the great one Vishnu, Taking on himself the form of Rama, Lanek, isle of giants, proudly won.
​Here, in former times, these sacred monkeys In a lordly church were fondly cherished By the tender care of pious Hindoos, ’Neath the goddess Durga’s patron hand: But when Church and city fell to ruin, By the guile of wicked foes deflowered, They remained above the ruined city Only dwellers in that lonely land.
Sated were they with the luscious fruitage Of the forest lords whose green recesses Rang from morn to eve enlivened by the Dance and chatter of their apish fold. These grotesque of body were, a long tail Smartly clasped the branches like a lasso; ’Neath a front of irrepressive bristles Peeped a mask of wholly human mould.
Much as other apes they lived and flourished, Save obedient to divine prescription, One of them was recognised their monarch And the royal dignity began And descended in unbroke succession By inheritance from sire to sire, Handed downward from the half-diving one, Apedom’s glorious hero—Hanuman.
Hanuman the last was now, in childhood, By his gracious mother fondly tended; his virtues kindled every ape-heart With the prescience of his future fame. ​But Parvati, with her dreadful sickle, Shore the leaf, the precious bud that shrouded And a flash of fate unkindly blasted All the proud spun dream of bliss and name.
In the shady leafage of a plane tree Once the queen was lulling him to slumber, Tenderly removing from the soft fur Aught that sucked audacious those blue veins; Sudden from the bamboo thicket issued, In a sailor’s garb, a human monster, Softened not that heart of flint the touching Sight of all that mother’s love and pains.
O’er the woods a musket shot; a piteous Cry; the smoke cleared off and down the princess Toppled headlong from her leafy fastness Overtaken by the fatal lead; From the mother’s dying arms the murderer Tore the child and to his vessel bore him: So to distant lands in galling fetters Apedom’s last surviving promise sped.
III.
Ah! what anguish smote within thee, luckless Hanuman, as far away Thine ancestral wood and forest fastness Muffled in the mist-wreath lay, And beyond the stern thine eye went ranging Tearful, under foreign skies and changing Stars that bent o’er endless seas of grey.
​Thou, around whose brow primeval legend Wove a starry crown, whose fame Holy Ganges, snow-clad Himalaya Echoed, at whose sacred name Pious Ind low looted, rude born sailors Now art made the butt of: rabble railers Taunt and pelt thee with the words of shame.
Thee who wont’st to be the bright exemplar To all creatures of thy race, And who knewest naught but warm affection In a mother’s fond embrace, And the love her heart alone could offer: Now the stinging lash constrains to proffer Servile bows and tricks of little grace.
Thus the high-born captive sailed the ocean Many a night and many a day; Flashed around him like a spangled dream-land Foreign shores in bright array, Till, at length, the vessel reached the clouded Northworld and by Albion’s mists enshrouded, Moored within the echoing harbour lay.
There within the sailors’ reeking tavern, On a mat of plaited cane, Crouched the ape, disconsolate, when o’er him Those colossi once again Waved their spreading boughs—and lo! the lotus Through the serried gloom flashed out remote as Some wild eyeball from th’ enchanted main.
​O’er his fevered brow the giant palm leaves’ Fringe of green their freshness shower, Like a winged gem the insect quivers In the gloom of branch and flower. Golden through its leaves the date—he graspeth For it—woe!—but empty air he claspeth. All is but a dream’s deceptive power!
In a smart ne suit next morn his master Dressed him: his two-cornered hat baude Cocked in rakish guise with gorgeous top-knot— Sure some gift of fairy that; Ruddy frock all filigree bedizened, Violet ducks, in huge top-boots imprisoned, Loose about his nether person sat.
Seated on a squeaking hurdy-gurdy Which his master’s shoulder bore, Off he set o’er Rhineland, France, Italia, On his artist’s wanderjahr, From the southern vine to Norway’s larches, Half of Europe, covered with his marches, Did that landless prince of apes explore.
Hailed with wild acclaim and children’s laughter, He must show his wit, the slum Of the town amuse, divert the village Tavern bumpkins rude and glum, Take his cap off, courtier-wise on one knee Drop, play cards or smoke the sailors’ honey- Dew, walk on his head and tipple rum,
​Neatly bind the napkin’s snow-white corners Round his neck and eat his food Nicely, bit by bit, with fork impaling And, magnanimous of mood, To the waiter hand a frank and duly Ply his toothpick—crowning wonder truly! Wipe his small moustache with wine imbued,
In his chequered hat collect the pennies; From some generous little hand Sometimes fell some sweet fruit from some orchard For him of that northern land. In his master’s arms he slept: nor more he Moaned his forest home, it seemed the glory Of his heavenly home from thought was banned.
But at last that nomad life the outcast Wearied of, and now once more Yearned to coil the cable and the ocean’s Boundless plain to voyage o’er; And so once he stepped into the haven There the ship stood with the tall masts shaven And the sails set for some foreign shore.
Thus it chanced: a green-room Alexander Caught by a sublime idea, Would, this genius of an impressario, Forth to Himalaya steer; Indus, Ganges, and Nerbudda’s sluices Tap, a virgin soil for thirsty muses, Those to whom the Thespian art is dear,
​What a host of needy mimes flock round him From the east-end and the west, Goddesses of fame and money avid, Ballerine light of vest— With an air or pirouette who ponder All thy diamond shoals to net Golconda, All thy wealth Benares to enchest.
Prima donnas’ golden heads are running On a rain of golden posies In their laps, of topaz, sapphires, rubies, While the ballet sylph in hose is Panting for some spark in pearl-sewn turban, Or with supple thumb prepares suburban Pinches for proud Brahmins’ august noses.
Scarce the ship, that ark of art, suffices In its cells to stow away All that world of lath and plaster fashioned, Which to India now would stray: All that medley—boxes, trunks, portmanteaus, Wardrobes, cases lined with unsold cantos, Rouge pots, hair dyes, wigs red, black and grey.
Ship of Argonauts—with song resounding, Boldly plough the furrowy blue! Hanuman’s new master is thy captain: At his side, a comrade true, Bides the ape, oh! how the small eye sparkles As unfolding free around it darkles nine Ocean’s boundless zones of azure hue.
​Oh! how throbbed his heart as thro’ the grating Criss-cross yard and rigging made him, Through warm nights again the Southern Cross’s Gleam of welcome calm surveyed him As the ship, on Heaven’s blue vault designing, Once again the slender palm-stems twining, Nearer, nearer to his home conveyed him.
And the nearer, ofter sank in pensive Dreams and reveries the ape. Once he started—sure, there, in the distance ’Twas his homeland’s wooded cape! But swift tempest’s fury long impending Sudden burst with thunder music blending Earth and sea and sky in one wild shape.
Oh! then on that ill-starred bark heartrending, Were the tragedies achieved By those wan-eyed singers, actors—ghastly Fair the opera they weaved, To which into drum and trumpet storming Tempest played the ouverture performing; Feats of art e’en Wagner ne’er conceived.
Hanuman from that wild tumult clambered To the main mast—terrors blight— Thunder deafens—stoops the groaning top-mast, It the surge-foams drift and bite; And with that small ape, firm hold maintaining, Wrathful ocean’s deep, as if disdaining, Spat it forth on India’s shores of light.
IV.
Oh! forest world, thou gorgeous affluence Of beauty, grandeur, magic, horror, wonder, Infinite treasures of form and sense, Light, color, shadow, scent and sound, as under Day’s glowing kiss awoke to consciousness How passing fair! how clothe them in its sheen, Haughty, the veterans of thy wilderness, Waving their tropic wealth of glowing green, Flashing in emerald waves, a sea of splendour. But to the lower cycles of the grove Day from its crowned monarchs deigns to rove Down to where yet a second forest tenders (Being but itself those giants’ undergrowth,) Shelter to thickets lower yet and blending Leaves great and small in wealth of forms unending, Fantastic groups you here may see of both Plumes and enormous fans which all around Spread from the palms’ slim crowns a feather frond Massed into stately vault or ribbed network, Here emerald blades, here fringe of fairy fretwork; And amid all those feather-forms unending Sportively night here battles with the daylight, ’Mid a myriad shadows, exquisitely blending, Till, lower chased, she walks the dusky grey light, Free and unchallenged, in perpetual shades Where through her poisoned weeds entangled waste Slime and morass and serpent root enlaced No glance of curious day her gloom invades. But up above light strings a hundred bows And iris sparks. There, spreading in a rose ​Yon targe of fronds, whose drooping tips around it, Like ornamental lace their fringes roll Flames lonely through the leafy shades that bound it, Some great Mogul’s emblazoned parasol. Here the liana garland-wise festooning Platane and mango in its plaited maze, Swings the light blooms, their spotted bells attuning Into an arabesque of colour; blaze Ruby with sapphire, topaz, agate, banded: Here in full pomp the spacious dawn expanded.
Now freshly through the woods a spirit heaves As from dawn’s bosom, bearing, pleasure-laden, A hundred odours, murmurs in all leaves, And wakes to myriad life the forest Aden. Here hails the sun the parrot’s shrill acclaiming, As o’er his fluttering wing, with purple flaming, Light’s tracery glints, he preens his emerald side, The woodland peacock flashing through the gloom, A glowing meteor, irridescent-eyed: The butterfly there poises on the bloom, A winged fire aloft the apes in guise Of demons scare repose, in bough and trailer Entanglement ensconced, with dismal cries: Lower head-downward fly, hang by the tail or Swarm, lightning-like, o’er tree trunks, swarm or scatter: Daring upon festooned lianas swing In attitudes grotesque: while all sides ring, Above, below, with endless buzz and chatter.
To-day, a strange report in fits has flung ’em, Their Hanuman’s alive, nay, he’s among ’em, Sudden returned from distant lands in might And such a strange costume—their god of light,— ​He they so long bewailed in orphan station. Now, at his bidding troop from every side In mighty conclave all the apish nation; With gibbering goblins all the jungles chide As all rush off where stands ’mid ruins hoary all Their Parliament House from times immemorial.
’Mid most the ruined cities’ crumbling eaves O’er which the wood a second roofage weaves A grey pagoda stands, all weather battered, Girdled with hosts of countless images, Cupids and animals and turrets scattered Concentric, mosses hide a ruined frieze, And on four trunks of elephants converging, Is seen a little spike-crowned dome emerging.
On this small cupola, as on a throne, is Already seated Hanuman, in clusters On statuettes and turrets lower down is All that of birth and breeding apedom musters; Already, too, through all its precincts bustle, From tree and ruin, members here assembling, And o’er it all the waving branches rustle Forming a vault, some palace choir resembling. But now the cupola seems all alive, And by the little satans wondrous dances, Buzzing and swarming like a monkey hive, Changed to a waving world of mango plants is, Bread trees, bananas, banyans and filling Fast with live fruits that dangle from the ceiling. Lo! all the branches round are swaying, spinning With swarms grotesque of bodies frizzed and furry, And with a hundred monkey masks are grinning: Down by the pendent, spreading creepers hurry ​Groups thicker yet, and from its trellis dangling, Down swings another heavy vintage wrangling.
How fix in words that hubbub and those japes, Buzz, chatter, shrieks, the Parliament of apes Rent all the wood with proffering its delight At the lost king’s return: and, heavenly sight! There calmly sat the king on the pagoda: That vaulted forest opening o’er his head, A quivering stream of light upon him shed, That like a glory round his person glowed—ah! But what rare sight amidst it all was that? A scarlet frock with golden frippery rigid And violet breeks it wore, a costume pat For kings designed: its head erect and frigid, A hat of mighty mould and wondrous build, hid In form and style like that so felted, wadded, Thy brows, famed son of Corsica, once shielded, Save that o’er this a plume stupendous nodded, Of gilded wire, beads, feathers dyed and spangled, While from each horn a golden tassel dangled, ’Faith, ’twas a costume worthy of a godhead!
The Parliament of apes, at all astounded, Gazed, and full many a raptured cry resounded, Though ’mid the tendrils, too, may be some blockhead A stupid smile at that quaint little frock hid. Until at length from all sides thundering ran: “Be welcome home, prince, mighty Hanuman.” Then Apedom’s chief took off the hat and, bowing, Opened the Session with a speech as glowing.
“To Vishnu praise! and hearty thanks to thee, Great ancestor, for sure thine interceding With him who rules yon cloud-wrought canopy ​(Past services to Rama tendered pleading With Vishnu) ’twas through rolling seas upbore me To where the star of destiny shone o’er me; Now mine uncurtained gaze the truth descrieth, And opened wide before me, like a scroll, The book of apish fates and human lieth, I read each secret sign and judge the whole.
Ape, of creation diadem and pride, Issued from hands divine, dowered in full measure, And multiplied, his seats expanding wide; But one part of that mighty brotherhood In unprogressive state stagnated, having Its dwelling in the trees—their fruits for food, The gift of nature—without labour craving, Neglecting its rare talents’ cultivation, So that some atrophied, some wholly perished, And evermore approaching the base station Of those brute beasts, whose comradeship it cherished. Not so the other part; this higher still Its gifts developed accent with each fresh endeavour, Earth, beings’ empire, subjected to its will, Keeping along the road of progress ever. Of countless ages thus he reaped the promise So far excelled, his reason schooled so soundly, In grace of life and outward polish from his Arboreal brethren differed so profoundly, That now, if face and body’s conformations Had not announced it, hard ’twere to believe in The common origin of those two nations: But our poor language fails to paint, O! Heaven! My raptures when I think of thee, Europa; Thou loveliest land of full-formed apedom proper! ​To paint those cities, full of glittering treasure, Those fine turns-out, that swarm of smart costumes, That joy of life, its comfort, grace and leisure, Those polished manners and assembly rooms. Oh! I confess with shame, alas! we hairy ’uns, Compared with them, are little but barbarians. Like the brute beasts, who with us haunt the woods, We’re only skilled to skip and climb and gobble. On us, no ray of Progress e’er intrudes, Nor poetry nor music us ennoble. To us, the theatre’s scarce e’en a name; And as for politics, saloons—O! Brahm! What wonder if those apes of progress—or rest E’en the mere name ape’s now tabooed as shocking. The cultured race of man, then, looks down mocking Upon his uncouth brethren of the forest: Nay, ’tis but yesterday Cam’s glorious son dared, After long ages, scornful, had denied it, To own the kinship, by his great heart guided, And what a storm of protest ’gainst him thundered! But better I than he intend to show ’em Our birth is one, and that the present chasm That scorned, degraded brother now below ’em Can span with ease and reach or perhaps surpass ’em. When first, out yonder, pain and shame at heart, I Compared our wretched lot with that of man, A sudden flash within my temples ran, And, in an instant, warmed my every part: ay, That flash the germ was of a great idea Which with the breath of blessed hope grew clear; And now my guiding star before me burneth, To which my glance enthusiastic turneth; ​My race neglected, from its degradation, I’d raise by culture and civilization; I’d till the glebe for spiritual sowing My ancestors, in secular neglect, had Let fallow: by my glorious deed bestowing On mine, the self-same rights the race elect had.
To-day, upon that glorious task I enter; But ere to spheres of higher thought I venture, I’ll touch on three things where the outward shape Differs most strikingly in man and ape. First, there’s our tails, which only in derision Stream out behind us. This is my decision: Dock the superfluous adjunct with a chopper At once; ’tis not nice, not to say improper. And then our foot, which long disuse degrading To be the hands’ mere helpmate, blindly stumbles, Nor knows the art of orderly parading, But for its bough, with thumb inconstant fumbles Shall reach at last its natural destination And real top boots, its toes compressing tightly, Conform it promptly to the latest fashion. And then—woe’s me! that matters so unsightly In open Parliament should e’er be treated With unflushed cheeks-things scarce to be repeated. Woe’s me! your feelings have been so neglected— So dreadfully—my nation most respected, You’ll hear, perhaps unflinching, what half-speechless I—nay, my modest tongue—words fail—you’re breechless. Nay, never point for your more deep discredit On that coarse fur—that brute-beasts’ vesture tedded That only muffles—shame if man now caught us! Enough about this object. Brief, I vow, sirs, ​We’ll into pourpoints, petticoats and trowsers; Ay, promptly, too, and humanwise comport us. Our faith firm pinned on human dress, reliance On that shall soon conduct us to the van, O’er stepping-stones of morals, art and science— The glorious Church of brotherhood and man!”
The king has ceased; around, the apish clusters Also hang motionless. Like meteor showers, Those grand conceptions blind their puny powers, Those glittering vistas—unimagined lustres. Then, by degrees, the rustling storm prevails, And wonder thrills those clumps of heads and tails. A hundred brandished hands through mid air flutter, A hundred polls go swagging up and down, A hundred figures dance and clutch and splutter, A hundred faces gibber, grin and frown; But as to what they think, a dismal hum is The only oral clue—all mute and mum is; And many a puzzled Chatham keeps his seat, And scratches both his ears with both his feet.
At length an aged ape of aspect sour, Grey eld with silver threads his scarce fur raying, His face a map of wrinkles, stubborn, dour, A mango fruit in one fist, th’ other playing With the blue honors of his beard, and tightly An aery tendril with the third embracing Among the tropic creeper’s interlacing, Wherein, as on a swing, he dangled lightly, Now stretched his fourth hand to the monarch breeched, And thus for rhetoric’s crown of laurels reached: “I say out plain; I can’t assent, great sire, That men than we—nay, we than men stand higher, ​As stood our ancestors from earliest ages. Here’s a clear proof from old world History’s pages: When gracious Sita once was borne away By Ravanas to Lanek, to retrieve her, His bride, the god, then wearing human clay, Turned not for aid to men but us—Sugriva He summoned, and on Hanuman relied: And how those glorious apish chiefs achieved True miracles of valour; how the bride Of Rama from the ogre was retrieved By Hanuman; how one bold archway bended Across the sea to Ceylon’s isle, suspended By hands of apes:—of this the lustrous story Is graved on History’s slabs in deathless glory. And once e’en man our prior claim confessed: That half-divine Ind deems our race, the shrines Scattered from Simla to the sea attest, Where choirs of apes religious life refines. Oh! just let us live on as lived our sires. The mango fruit—what sweeter in the wide world? And life on boughs with scented blooms, this pied world Of woods—what nearer to the heart’s desires? ’Tis just sheer folly and not worth a tittle, This progress, science, culture and the rest of it— For me this mango stone outweighs the best of it. I, too, have looked into the world a little, Have been as far as Bombay and Calcutta And watched the life of this mad western species How starched it sits in circles—not a flutter! But like a puppet carved in boxwood each is, How anxiously its every movement weighed is! What gestures, vapid phrases, formal, flat, ​Chewed and rechewed; what stiff bows to the ladies! My humble thanks for such a life as that! No, no, these mountebanks had reason greater To fly to us, here rocked in freedom’s arms From empty care and self-inflicted fetter To mother Nature’s breast and life’s pure charms.
To think of us going mimicking these flunkeys! Rather should they conform to us,—to monkeys! We’ve stayed as Nature’s soul—as wisest essence Has fashioned us; why fash ourselves because Man’s farcicalities in effervescence Have marred the jollier scheme of heavenly laws. Disdain your tail, my lord, if you think fit, I wear mine with delight—I’m proud of it: Look at its tapering form so gently sportive, The grace and softness of each supple motion, In every one it wakens warm devotion Whose natural sense of beauty’s not abortive. Its use for life on trees can’t be denied, ’Tis sanctioned, too, by countless generations. Sires, grandsires, gloried in this train’s gyrations: ’Twas Hanuman the Mighty’s joy and pride E’en fairest stars through night’s autumnal trail In lines of glittering light a sparkling tail: And this choice decoration—we’re to flout it Merely because mankind is now without it? And feet, whose fingers free and unimpeded Are capable of touch, and work if needed, Why must their poor maimed thumbs, all knobs and sores Be cramped in Spanish pumps, to slip and fumble Through mire and dust, with many an awkward tumble; Nay, rather we, intrepid on all fours, ​Above the clods of earth, where man sticks bestial, Will climb to higher heights and realms celestial; And quite content let’s wear these furs delicious Wherewith, where need is, Nature kindly wraps us. This cant ’gainst nakedness is all fictitious— Man’s prudishness—a mere eccentric lapsus; Our members’ forms,—’twas Nature’s hand applied ’em, They’re known;—why hypocritically hide ’em? You’ll ne’er drill me into these chequered tatters; I have grown grey untrowsered—by all hatters! I won’t rig my old age in rags and motley!”
“Enough, enough,” broke in the prince here hotly, “So untrimmed a discourse, one so provocative, No Senate’s annals sure have e’er confessed. All’s Greek to him-the Parliament’s prerogative, And how ’tis meet that kings should be addressed! Forth from our Senate! Off! and be right glad We’ve not yet called our Law Courts—if we had The wheel those caitiff limbs had seen disjointed For gross offence against high heaven’s anointed.”
The aged ape, aghast, perused him storming, Then turned its back upon his Senate, slowly Hand over hand o’er high lianas swarming, Sought the thick foliage of a pipal holy, And sucked its mango there, snarled wrathful, shifted, And flung the kernels down from palm uplifted.
And now the king had quite a host of reasons With which to quench the opposition treasons. “My mighty grandsire from yon starry height Looks down, methinks, with no contented eye On such an advocate, and small delight To be the ancestor of such a guy. ​’Tis well to reverence our great departed; But when our comic side is thus paraded In sire’s cast suits of fame, by sons degraded Who clash their swords, themselves being chicken-hearted, Like windbags puff themselves with those sires’ fame: Methinks that fleas can boast themselves the same, A lion tolerates in his royal mane, That lion’s blood is circling in their vein!
This bungler has to journey many a rood To fetch his proofs, to times before the flood; For charlatans are more at home and able Where all clear outlines ’neath a dappled haze Subtract themselves from critics’ serious gaze. But let us soberly review this fable: I honour Hanuman, his fame assert, Truth, though, will ne’er diminish his desert; In Rama, in man’s form, god being embodied, And not in ape, to man the preference gave. This man a warrior was, with whom a brave But mere ally, the apish hero plodded. Apes’ prior claims! ’tis a mere craze that haunts him, And in the magic bridge he vainly vaunts him; ’Twas, true enough, by apish hands erected But Samudra, the sea god, first projected The whole design; we ape folk, to complete it, Brought nought but sturdy thews, which I’ve admitted, Nor wit nor mind—i’faith, a feeble nimbus— E’en trunks of elephants bear joists and timbers.
’Tis ludicrous to boast the modest share is Ours in the Hindoos’ Pantheistic ritual When every loon can claim a place in it. You all Have heard how bulls are sacred in Benares.
​And vulgar taste it is to eulogise—h’m! This good-for-naught posterior appendage— This obvious lapse of nature—this loose endage That flaps slap in thy face, Æstheticism! Man’s foot, I’m told, constrains him to the mire, While ours, instead, to heaven exalts us higher. Yon foolish parrots reach yet higher regions; Are we, for that, below those spottled pigeons? The fashion of our feet—say, ’tis degenerate— For climbing’s now adapted best, at any rate? Yes; but we’ve no desire with squirrels, thrushes, Henceforth to skip and hop o’er trees and bushes; Nor scurry down lianas’ high festoons, But nicely sit in orderly saloons. Last, as concerns our nudity—oh! let Us thank our stars that to these woodland quarters, From Europe have not penetrated yet The Argus-eyes of newspaper reporters; (That Europe where, in these days, in some places, Of fair maid’s bosoms ’tis a crime to warble, And whose police scarce suffer naked graces In goddesses, though they’re antiques and marble;) For if he overheard our so immoral Debate and to his paper gave it entry, And added comic cuts, as well as oral,— As is the way with journalistic gentry— Our Senate’s session would become the sport Of the whole world of cultivated thought.
Enough of words. But of this vow take heed: Let folly, let indifference resist, Obscurist, tailist, or reactionist, On with undaunted courage I’ll proceed ​Where bright above me beams the goal transcendent: An apedom dressed, un-tailed and independent.”
Applausive cries and clappings hailed the royal Harangue, ay, one ape wishing, all too loyal, To clap with all four palms at once, was found After a thundering fall, upon the ground. (For courtiers’ arts e’en apes have not neglected.) But well the quick-eyed monarch’s glance detected Not from the heart those cries applausive flowed; And therefore vexed, for sympathy he searches Where lower, and most near the throne, bestrode A trunk of elephant, ’neath the little church’s Domelet, an ape, as Bhandragura noted, Noblest of all for lofty lineage voted; Of this rare magnate, then, the prince inquired: “Our well loved Bhandragura, say, in verity, What think’st thou of our plan? and be inspired In thy reply with frank, complete sincerity.”
Then bowing low responded Bhandragura: “Flattery apart, thy speech, O Majesty! Ah! ’twas one string of splendid thoughts, ay, sure a Necklace—each word a pearl of wisdom high. Blots on the sun I easier could detect Than on the work thy genius has created. A miracle of wit it must be rated, And perfect through and through in each respect. Above all, as to dress, in me, O Sire! You’ll find a preacher full of faith and fire. Ah, me! with what delight I, too, had ruffled In that brave hat of thine; my body muffled In that fine frock, those picturesque cut breeches; But where to find ’em—that the one small hitch is.”
​Here in accord the Senate cheered revealing This doubt respondent to the general feeling; And eager looks upon the king all rivet, To see what satisfaction he would give it.
But now o’er all the king emerged thrice glorious, And round and round the Senate glanced victorious, “Thrice honored be that word, so frank, so human, Without the useless gloss of flattery’s spangle. Thee, forthwith, my prime minister I summon: But know our august work from every angle In all its parts we’ve marked with diligence. Not far from here, where round our forest fastness The sea beach winds and depths of ocean vastness, Upon a spot to which I’ll lead you hence, As if in homage, Ocean’s waves have brought us Of different suits a countless choice, a banquet Of gems and diamonds of the rarest waters, That from this store each one of you may prank it From head to heels in gold galoons and samet, Lace, silks—whate’er you will—you’ve but to name it.”
This last announcement did indeed occasion Wild throes of joy to all the apish nation, From wold and ruin loud the cries were bruited, Tempests of praise through all the foliage ran, And thus the king in thunder tones saluted: “Long live our monarch, mighty Hanuman” Then, not a moment waiting for his guidance, Like the wild huntsman’s pack of phantoms chiding Through wintry woods, that mass of apes roll, gliding O’er branch and creeper, skip and hop and fly, dance Through the dense thickets, leap from trees to trees In one wild avalanche of deafening roar, all ​Converging to where into depths of seas The old wood’s selvage peers from cliffs of coral.
V.
The rolling main, where yestreen’s storm suspended Its vapoury hills o’er myriad valleys blended Where surge and thunder-peal rang forth and vivid Heaven’s cloud-born arrows leapt from darkness livid, To-day, in tranquil majesty reposing Beneath the gorgeous dome of southern skies, A mighty sapphire half of space enclosing, Flecked with the gold of myriad sparkles, lies. Blue robe of Ocean, which the wavelets plashing, Scarce heard, in crispy bands of snowy laces ’Neath the low shore-line fringe and, gorgeous, graces A diadem of palms, with emerald flashing; Such the proud vanguard of that wood’s recesses, With sprays superb of towering growths, in motion, And garlands drooping to a painted ocean And flower bright wreaths entwined in darkling tresses: And from the waves’ transparent shield, far under Glows, strangely fair, the sub-marine wrought Aden, Girdling the shore with wealth of flower forms laden, The tender polypes’ patient work of wonder, Those stems in ruby carved and turquoise blue, Whose threads enamelled many a whorl embowers Of slender-fashioned bells and living flowers In hundred-fold delight of varying hues:— Those globed Medusa’s colours, the slim mould Of other beings, that glassy microcosms’ Still insect life, that circles round its blossoms ​Coralline:—bivalves strewn o’er sands of gold, Whose iris sheen at every moment varies,— ’Tis like a glance on some bright haunt of fairies.
But yestreen’s storm which with the Muses’ Ark So many a proud hope at one blow had shattered Left ’mid those beauties, its dread power to mark, More than one piteous trace at random scattered. Upon the beach a medley strange is strewn Heaped up in sand and hither, thither bandied By force of waves and salt surf spoiled and stranded, Lie chest, case, hamper in disorder thrown.
And in the sea itself, a stone’s throw farther, Lo! by the splintered reefs and crags surrounded, That blacken where the snowy foam-wreaths gather, Half fallen on one side the ship’s hull grounded.
Hark! ’tis as though above the wooded reach Some sudden squall has burst with hundred guns, And hurrying near and nearer to the beach With gathering roar of crackling branches, runs: And in that din may be distinguished cries And yells from numerous throats: now, high in air Above the palms the frighted parrot flies, A tulip of the clouds, and vibrates there Its Iris plumes: from leafy covert lair An ape has sprung and down its tree trunk stair Slid lightning-like to earth: behind him follow, One, two, three, four: whole packs in full cry hollow; Now from the brakes of pleated leaves is spilling A perfect cloud of these wild apish swarms, Down the lianas jerked, as if distilling A waterfall of fawn-furred pygmy forms.
Each to the chests and packing cases scampers, ​Rends the portmanteau-straps and tugs the hampers.
Now, hellish Breughle, lend thy pincers’ aid That I, from far, may catch that mad parade; My feeble pen can offer of that scene a Mere shade of mummeries, tricks a record scanty Over the relics of those drowned cantanti, Those mimers, prime-donne, ballerine; A whirlwind of impatient, apish pickers ’Tis now that dips and rages in that frippery Of tinsel robes;—with what grotesques it flickers, What comic postures as they tug the heap awry! Here with fantastic casque that frames in her face A cat ape’s gibbering from the mirror’s surface; One in Mephisto’s ruddy trowsers sticketh Her ape’s hand: here a foot, in gauntlet shod, is Thrust through the sleeve of Margarita’s bodice: On triangle with sceptre here one clicketh; And here’s an ape, his fur with snow-drift crowned, From full fist flings the puff powder around, Till all’s just like a shop of Paris plaster: Behind him one, a mimic modern master, Stripes all his back, a brush assiduous plying Well charged with chalk and ruddle: here one, eyeing The scene through pince-nez, flourished to and fro, Dressed half antique-wise, half in rokoko, Head over heels above the drums goes flying. Some type here of all lands’, all nations’ clothes is, Arms that have threatened death in every age, Wigs and moustachios, with all sorts of noses, Masks, padded calves for sylph or ballet page. Here laurel wreaths with ribbon, goblet, fan, are Once more alive, scores wave and many a banner ​Unrolls above the gibbering demon host, This way and that, in wild disorder tossed: And strains to match accompany the racket, A crash of tones, earth had not heard as yet, Apes’ chatter, tom-toms’ deafening thuds to back it, Crisp, tinkling bells, and clattering castanet.
And from the palms yet other throngs come showering That scarce the close-packed strip of beach will hold, That reckless rout of carnival, unrolled, Like some bright ball of ribbon, where go scouring The apish maskers: o’er the plunder tussle: Show sharp toothed gums, in one another’s muzzle And challenge strife. Here one keen pair of eyes have Flown to the shipwreck on the reef; the cries of Their owner summoned others. Swift to leeward A troop of apes has scrambled up the plane tree That stiffens ’mid the palms—a lonely sentry, And one strong arm points furthest out to seaward. From this, in shorter time than takes to write it, Of apes and cat-apes swings a girdle dappled, Upon the branch, with feet and tail united. The first, head prone to earth, is firmly grappled, And, with both hands, the ape below it claspeth Fast by the tail; this ape a third’s tail graspeth; The third a fourth—and so ad libitum— Head downwards, back to seaward—sight amazing, They hang—the ground the last link all but grazing. And now this long and living pendulum, All hands and arms in rapid agitation, Swings to and fro, more swift at each pulsation, Till far beyond the wave line to where’s lying Th’ ill fated wreck, the lowest ape is flying: ​Now his fore-arm has nipped the balustrade, And perfect thus, that living bridge compactly Built out of apish heads and tails exactly As Ulloa wrote, a mighty archway made (For that’s maintained unshaken in his pages Which seems a mere quaint jest to modern sages). O’er the ape bridge now fresh detachments thundered, And in brief time the luckless vessel plundered Down to the very hold, fresh tawdry adding To that about the beach already gadding.
Here, last to show himself amongst his own, Lo! my lord Hanuman. Now, only, reader, He had caught up his subjects, tho’ their leader. He really could not skip it o’er lianas But picked his way on land like us bimanas, Leaning upon a piece of sugar cane, A sorry trot being all he could attain, For every step, almost, he lost his balance, And bloody falls ’mid thorns tried his nonchalance, This kind of monkey scarce at all being able To walk upright like chimpanzee or cego. Thus, last, he tramped it o’er the sand and pebble And paused like some personified Quos ego.
“Ah! ha!” he shrieked, “this spectacle divine is!” Then raised his cane in threatening hand, but so Reft of that necessary prop, his highness Plumped on his fore-paws without more ado; And so, on all fours planted, like the rest, Continued thus to chide his hair-brained hopefuls: “Enough of foolishness and childish jest! What’s in the hampers yet, just let there stop, fools! And first within our woodland empire be ​All duly fetched in manner orderly; Then only, when a proper invent’ry Is taken, will I serve all out in packets To each in keeping with his quality, And teach you how to live up to your jackets.”
VI.
How Hanuman depict in fitting manner That mighty change in all things, high and low, Wherewith, great Peter’s compeer, at a blow O’er Apedom thou didst hoist fair culture’s banner!
How deftly wert thou skilled to use the stores The ship’s broad shoulders brought thee to thy shores; Those side scenes, costumes and a hundred trifles, Of which is built our real world’s scenic rival’s: With these thou hadst in thy still forest grove meant To found a world, of well bred apes the sure hope, Whose polish fine and cultivated movement Should more than run abreast with that of Europe.
Who could believe, but now, in simple fleeces Of their own hair, they crept o’er trees and trailers— Those figures, that now prank it in pelisses, Gowns, mantles, frock-coats cut by West-end tailors; Who carry fans and double eyeglasses, And cut each other courtly reverences! Who’d ere divine an apish hind hand fleecy In those soft Paris pumps or Hessian pairs— You’d say, perhaps, the cobbler sewed too easy. And soon those forms—an upright gait is theirs. Out from the hip they swing in style disdaining All props—such wonders come from constant training. ​The tail? beneath the steel, without restriction It fell, the name e’en being expunged from diction. Poor thing, it served to dust the floor or clothes: The ladies, though, kept theirs; it came in handy As bustle paddings, in default of those That nowadays round off our female dandy.
Where palaces of ancient rajahs lifted, Mid-most the ruined streets, their blue walls rifted, Half in the wood’s dense roofage disappearing, And bells of creepers on the façade bearing, Which many a trace of bygone glory cherished, The Ape chief raised his seat o’er those had perished. Before a time-worn gate, whose traceried fretwork, Moss overrun, and flower stars’ heavier network, As guard of honour, to and fro, and making At need a military salute, lo! paces Ape martial—in a uniform so taking, Cut à la Gerolstein—’twas once her Grace’s. And ’neath the graceful archway of the portal With a cocked bat, fur tippet rich in laces, Gold mounted staff, his thin fist scarce embraces, Behold ape concièrge—as his colleagues mortal Cock their disdainful eye at you-he cocks his: The porter’s lodge, by the way, a prompter’s box is. And then you pass o’er Persian carpets, all of The finest work, through suites of gilt and buhl To where a spacious inner vestibule Conducts you to the monarch’s audience hall, of The loveliest side scenes built, bespangled, clipped, And in unheard-of pomp and pride equipped. Fine silver-broidered tapestries here float o’er you, A splendid carved arm-chair, too, stands before you. ​Here Sèvres, here real Japan, your notice claims; A modern stove, in which dance tinsel flames; A gallery of portraits, frames and all, Painted with taste direct upon the wall: And in the midst, in full imperial state, King Hanuman upon a throne reposes In the bright raiment luckless Lear of late Raved in; the crown half o’er his ears and nose is— Being somewhat large; but what of that? his right hand Grasps the gold lily-sceptre, type of might and Justice; and on his lap th’ imperial ball is With which his left hand languidly just dallies. A rostrum bears the statutes of the realm,— They’re scores and actors’ parts—as actors spell ’em, Old love letters, musk-scented, and cream-laid ones; And tailors’ bills—in general, unpaid ones.
And would the prince to rooms yet more resplendent, He just signs with his sceptre to the attendant— No more—and says: “Ho! throne room!” for example. Lo! swarms of servants clutch at every angle, Detach the walls, return with walls more ample, Wheel, fit them: high and low the hammers jangle, And presto! as by wizard’s wand enchanted, The wished-for hall around the king is planted. Thus, without need to stir a foot, he changes Hall after hall, and which of all the range is The loveliest, who can say? as though one dallies In fairy-land within a spell-bound palace.
And passing rich his robes, to fit his station, He’s always at it, stripping and unstripping: His pearl-sewn chasuble, pre-Reformation, Succumbs to Louis Quinze, and now he’s slipping ​Into thy supple suit Napoleone. Next stalks a Spanish general, proud and bony,— Six times a day he changes everything— August in all, and every hair a king. And when he gives a banquet to his magnates The tables groan beneath the load of dainties, There peacock pasty, bright with every paint, is And ’mid such tarts the vase of orchids stagnates. Exalted guests sit round it circumspectly And carve away, it does you good to see them, At platefuls of well-moulded, graceful fishes, And ptarmigan fried fast to golden dishes, Though seldom knives are raised from what’s beneath them And but for form: for e’en apes’ wit it passes To learn a taste for coloured paper masses: But who would in your cultured State aspire Replete from your State banquet to retire.
Then there’s a tasteful park for recreation, With groves of palms and creepers’ starry bowers, Such as a tropic flora’s bounty showers. There apes bent double weed without cessation, And now grand transformation scenes enthral The eye, disposed at random here and there, Bushes cut out in cardboard, flowers as rare, E’en an old-fashioned fountain ’mid them all Flings painted water-jets to heights aerial, Here in these canvas grounds our Hanuman Loved to parade, revolving many a plan, Upon his brow a crowd of cares imperial, And these, behind the rose—that one of paper— He sometimes banished with an agile caper.
The rest, ’tis true, more poorly are provided, ​And most of all is furniture deficient, One divan ’twixt two families divided, For one an old arm chair must be sufficient, And thus a law of true politeness is it To take your chair with you upon a visit.
To compensate of clothes there was a surfeit, That if he chose a populous empire The king could duly clothe in man’s attire, For there was everything from rags to fur, fit For every calling, every social grade, Of which the intricate civic state is made, And nought remained, but give the apes a hint or two How to behave in their respective vestures, How cringe and regulate obsequious squint or toe, And how manipulate their smirks and gestures To have a folk just like the folk they copied, And here the prince gave without stint or stop aid.
His realm in all had human regulations, Ay, e’en a Constitution’s delectations, He gave his apes the right, as Europe teaches, In halls of delegates to make fine speeches, Here deputies take thought about new taxes, Bright flower of empire these, in peace and quiet: Some, perhaps oppose: the Government relaxes: And all refer the question to the Diet. Of different laws with zeal, too, they debated, And their debate-before the king they laid it: Who, in full glory, from his throne just bending,— It was a spectacle august to view,— Gave ear to all, most bland and condescending, And then did just what he’d a mind to do.
The State a swarm of bureaucrats directed; ​They sat and sat, with pen behind the ear Behind a heap of ledgers, frowned, reflected. And how one storms and vents one’s rage; oh dear! Should some audacious cit distract one’s labour. Then sometimes in frock coat, white belt and sabre One goes, one’s back quite into horse-shoes bent, Oneself at one’s head office to present.
Here barristers and lawyers lived in clover, These gave a crafty glance at one another, Exchanging briefs and actions ten times over— These being comic rolls,—my learned brother Adjourns the sitting—terms were kept and cases For jurisdiction summary, protracted A year: o’er long bills clients pulled long faces, For fees on palm leaves to a mite exacted.
Who pass in medicine their examinations Put on a look of wisdom far superior, With pins on parrots test innoculations, With opera glasses, too, “work out” bacteria; Pulses they feel from morn to dewy even, The inward functions note, with ear to chest, And then prescribe; would ours did so, by Heaven! Their patients, green-room bon-bons of the best.
And there were crowds, too, of Proffesor gibbons With gold-rimmed spectacles upon their noses; From head to foot dry pedants in shrunk hoses, You’d scarce distinguish ’em from Europe’s glib ’uns. These buzzed round books, as filings round a magnet, They fished them from the shipwreck with a bagnet, Tugged many a book to bits, brought scissors, glue, an’ Hi! presto! from the old comes out a new ’un. But hark! the shrilly professional wail: ​“Peace! at our threshhold, dunce! by all the Muses! We mean to throw some light upon your tail You say your Indian ape can run in nooses. Primeval forests, too, in Hindostan! That, and some other things, won’t do, my bantling! Not even in a poem, no, my man! I stand abashed; my cheek shame’s purple mantling.”
Here theologians, plump, red-cheeked and hoary, Too, veiled themselves in supra-mundane glory: If orthodoxy murmur, to disarm her I say expressly, these apes worshipped Brahma. There Apery’s Brachmans, all in robes and fringes, In spite of fasts grew wondrous fat and blooming, And proved Law, Science, Art, in brief resuming, Let’s say the All on their own Vedas hinges.
Of course these Vedas, too, must be protected, So Apes a University erected: There Ape-professors took a world of trouble For every trick and trait to be the double Of Halle and Leipzig’s learned, to a hair As Halle and Leipzig snuff, they snuffed and grumbled, While Apedom’s beadle Deutschland’s best out-Bumbled With gorgeous staff and cocked hat rich and rare.
Art, letters too, by no means retrograded With ruffled locks about a brow intensive And hand in bosom, geniuses paraded Their “welt-schmerz” on a cheek as sickly pensive, According to great patterns, ate, drank, slumbered, And many an apish Byron, apeland numbered. Here artists, too, in velveteens disported, With broad-brimmed hat on nape of neck, much courted. Well skilled they were to wield their blessed palettes ​And miles of canvas daubed in greens and scarlets, And when the ape musicians meet to thump it With blows the drum, and this the cymbal riddles, This puffs with cheek cherubic at the trumpet, And others scrape infuriate bows on fiddles— You seem to hear, i’ faith, the suave seductions Of our dramatic music’s grave productions.
Thus from the inexhaustible provisions Of raiment that the sunken vessel offered, The king tricked out the types of all conditions That Europe’s own capacious lap e’er coffered; From simple stuffs of master tailor clipped out Milords and squires, while ’neath the scissors tripped out Troops of contractors, those who job in shares, Sleek Common Councilmen and staid Lord Mayors, Head gamekeepers and shopkeepers, jack tars, Waiters in black, with sleek solicitors, White-aproned cooks, Swiss chocolate and ice men, A dappled fire brigade and town policemen, Tapsters and postmen, those in cheese and butter Who deal, the threadbare scamps who pad the gutter; And who was good for nothing else was set To circulate a Government gazette.
And in the mimic art were wonders truly, How soon the facile apish nation duly Its whole existence to its rôle adapted, Walking or standing still how deftly shaped it, In every smile and attitude and gesture, To what was just in keeping with its vesture.
Faith, if upon the apish Boulevard’s border You’d marked an ape-one of the masher order— How dressed in pure French style—here loose and baggy, ​Here, on the contrary, too tight and scraggy, It waved its tiny cane or opera glasses, And preened a comic coiffeur’s frizzled masses, You, sure, forgetting there of apes the land is, Had cried: “Lo! Pricop, one of thy prime dandies!”
As to ape lady lionesses say, Who’d paint the lily or their charms pourtray? Those gorgeous silks, those “parures” so transcendent, The subtle movement of those fine, dusk hands, When, like a love-net, many a fan resplendent Its wavering curves and chequered ribs expands, And listening to the soft and bird-like cluttering You think of other fair ones’ half-lisped kisses By moonlit Moldau, or the foreign spluttering Of malapropos by raw school-girl misses.
A heavy dream behind the apes it lay— That time of barbarous customs, clamberings, dances; To keep in all the pure Caucasian way Each watched his neighbour with Draconian glances; A crushing smile would stab the social sinner Who, absent-minded, trod the thronged saloons Without his tie or minus pantaloons, Or handed with his foot some dame to dinner. And “chronique scandaleuse” cut like a sabre With blighting taunt, and quickly gossip warmed up How this or that uncultivated neighbour, By day, quite unabashed the banyan swarmed up; And if of lotus bloom or parrot ever Some lady ape a mild remark should venture, Bent shell-like ear to ear each female censor, “How naive! nu! she was never very clever!” For well-bred apedom’s small talk to two themes is ​Confined: the Bois de Boulogne and St. James’.
But ah! I see in soul, how o’er my fancies Like snow-white butterfly that flits o’er roses Too oft a tender hand o’er lips reposes— Lips whose light ennui e’en their charm enhances. And hear the sigh that flutters o’er my mystery, “Instead of rose and tender nightingale,” He limns us grinning monkey masks and fails E’en thus to keep the slight thread of his history.
Ah, me! I feel the weight of your just anger, But peace! the coming Canto shall work wonders, There, like a tempest, roars the battle’s clangour And in a cataract the action thunders.
VII.
Long time in peace the ape empire bloomed, progressing, His work’s success the king with pleasure filled, Only at times the parrot plague distilled A drop of wormwood in his cup of blessing. These spottled dolts we all know have the failing To mimic what they hear with dismal wailing. Thus it befel one graceless bird kept screeching “Humanity,” here “Culture” one went preaching, Here “Progress,” “Freedom,” through the leaf-wove thatch whirred, There “Ideal” the fools squalled on and on, And clumps of parrots pealed their favourite catchword In chorus: “Ci—Civilization.” These words exalted in those idiot echoes Rang as in scorn around the breeched makakoes And stung them all day long, nor could the king ​See any help for it, save this: to fling Stones at these flocks and drive them to a distance,— ’Gainst parrots who could think of armed resistance?
A cloudlet this the apish heaven that covered, But heavier, stormier clouds behind it hovered.
Once to the palace Bhandragura hurried, Fear in his eye, a cloud of cares his brow hid, Nor did he ring, as was his wont, before he Withdrew the silks that veiled the throne room’s glory, He raised the curtain, but stepped back much faster, For there in full undress, behold! his master Sprawling about the baldachin and chucking This way and that the gold imperial pippin, The globe aloft with cuts of sceptre flipping, Catching again, in wondrous postures, ducking And all those capers cutting with it, briefly, That apes with apples ever cut most liefly.
The minister with fine tact first coughed slightly, Paused, then coughed louder, paused, again asserted His presence, paused, then touched the bell rope lightly, E’en thus, perhaps, the king he’d disconcerted; There was a thud as if some weight fell down, And minutes passed ere “Come in” was repeated: But Bhandragura, entering, on the throne Already saw the monarch gravely seated: Th’ imperial apple his unquavering fist held And every august hair enquiry bristled.
The minister with knee to earth low looted And raised to heaven sick look and hands: “Confusion! Ah! king,” he cried, “and were my tongue outrooted That I need not announce it: Revolution!” The monarch trembled as that dread word sounded, ​And from his palm the globe of empire bounded, He stooped to pick it up, and vaguely stuck it Into his royal robes posterior tucket, Then, having stowed away that gold potato, Shrieked: “Revolution! what! and in my State, too?”
With anguish Bhandragura answering sighed: “Ra- -jah, know Rebellion crawls with subtle slyness, Then raises all at once its head of hydra: Perhaps thou dost recal the old ape, Highness, Named Vindragupta, who once in full session Challenged thy sovereign will, at thine accession, Stormed against Progress, raved of continuity, And when the t— h’m! that rearward superfluity Thou badest to dock-blew up sedition’s bellows And strove to head a rising of his fellows; But, not succeeding, found in flight salvation, And next, from what I hear, took up his station In a remote woodside, just like a hermit, Upon a banyan huge, where parrots permit To share their noisy roost, a very Tartar. His plots, oh! king, this uproar’s soul and heart are.
“The lapse of morals, which in part pervaded Our lower orders, I’d long marked unaided: Their ringleaders were beings sunk in excesses, Who from neglect or sheer corrupt caprices Had spoiled their previously becoming dresses, Lawyers with half a gown and cap in creases, Schoolmasters with their spectacles all shattered, And geniuses in mantles ragged and tattered; These looked with evil eye on all henceforward Who kept their shoes and stockings neat and shining. ‘We wants our rights’ they whined, and still are whining. ​Ay! hardy looks they even dared on your ward- -robe, king, to fix, and murmured ever bolder, ‘We’re out at elbows, our broadcloth’s all rusty, There on the shelves by thousands fine suits moulder, And moths are pasturing on those samets musty.’
“Ah! ha! methought, the social crisis: full sure We’ll lay the knife to this corrupting ulcer: Lynx-eyed I watched: chastised with knout and rope-end, Only at last my eyes were fully opened.
“In base degraded souls ’tis deep implanted The will to bring all down to their soiled level; In others, if the ideals they once vaunted Their breath of scorn can tarnish, how they revel! Thus e’en this worn-out riff-raff of the slum Against the well-to-do beats loud the drum, And neat, well-kept costumes with venom acrid Reviles, and all things which to us are sacred. One of them sat to-day ’mid yon birth-wort’s leaves, High o’er the public highway, in his shirtsleeves, A public scandal ’twas to see the varlet: (The schoolgirl apes, who just then with their mistress Passed two and two that way, all blushed quite scarlet Behind their fans, poor things, with shame and distress.) Ay, worse—disgust mine utterance chokes—this fellow— The Tartar—a bird’s nest upon his lap held And made a fine feast off the egglets dappled, Sucking their raw contents with lips all yellow.
“And when I would have chid the cool-faced rascal He rounded on me thus: To prate is easy In purple frock and ruffs; but look here, please ye, Who’d recognise a human suit, I ask all, Here in the sorry relics of my blouse? ​As to these eggs, I’ll eat them if I choose, Why not? when pleasanter than figs’ fresh juices Upon my palate melt their honied sluices, And do me good. These yolks, sucked raw, all ages Have prized beyond all sweets. The present’s page is Just like the rest. If you chastise as penal What all indulge in secret and think venal, Though publicly they feign to loathe as poison, Yourself with all your realm must off to prison: Nay, folk do say—but what that vile tongue uttered. Should scarce in closest confidence be muttered— Only to sate the sight, the prince his rations Has served of painted fishes and crustaceans, And while amongst his guests he lauds the courses Of chamois, quail and pheasant without truce, Behind the Spanish wall restore his forces The fresh and tender shoots of young bamboos.’”
Here Bhandragura toward the carpet carried His bloodshot orbs, meanwhile the royal eyes Above that sunset, twirled into the skies; Thus long in mute embarrassment they tarried. At length the minister resumed, impressive: “Those treasonable words I fain had chided, But lo! my ape rounds on me, sharp, aggressive; And all the abandoned rabble with him sided, The rascal shouted: “Cutting to the marrow Were Vindragupta’s words which smote the prince’s In full assembly with a Parthian arrow. Let’s go to him. For still their truth convinces, We lived in peace the life our sires had taught us, On trees, devoid of care and gay as Persians, Until the prince, a pack from Europe brought us ​Of poisons, human riff-raff and perversions. Why have we to abjure our own traditions And proper being, once free from care’s attritions, And that disdain which nature’s powers assign us, And to which use and custom both incline us, To ape grotesquely the human puppet’s dances, Merely to gratify the king’s vain fancies, Who yet from apes real human beings wont fashion, Ay, scarcely wins a smile from the Caucasian. Nay, take again your spotted rags and scout us, We’ll bend no more a collared neck like horses, But plunge our breasts in apedom’s purest sources: Play out your sorry comedy without us.’
“Consentient hands applauded and decisive Stripped off their rags: then, houp la! o’er lianas To tree-tops, once more full-blown quadrumanas, They swarmed and scampered off with squeals derisive: Then only dawned on me that speech was mainly An echo of another more diffusive, When Vindragupta’s eloquence abusive With rank breath fanned rebellion’s flame, but vainly. Perhaps, their secret head long undetected, He’d been en rapport with the disaffected.”
The monarch heard him out with visage troubled, His eye electric flashed, his small fist doubled: “Ha traitors! but I swear by Para-brahma, By Brama, Siva, ay, by Krishma, Rama, By all gods—by thy streams oh! sacred Ganges, By thee, great-grandsire, Hanuman, th’ anointed By heaven, to which this hand of mine is pointed, By throne and crown, by these gold-glittering flanges I swear upon my purple, on this brand, ​Th’ imperial apple which I hold in hand, By this—”
The king looked down, a little flurried, Then in the purple vainly plunged a finger, Then round and round with searching glances hurried, Which now on Bhandragura vaguely linger, Whose own, belated, toward the ceiling skurried And the throne’s baldachin, then sank devoted Earthward before the monarch’s, but alas! his Had caught already ’mid those silken masses, And not without embarrassment there noted The precious sceptre’s tip which like a cockade’s Peeped out high o’er the baldachin’s rich brocades.
Awhile he paused, then, wrathful, thus continued: “I vow if to reclaim them Justice hath ways I will not leave them blinded thus to sin nude, But turn the traitors back to culture’s pathways. In name of outraged Progress and Good Manners And all those priceless Ideals called human Unfurl, oh! Bhandragura, war’s red banners And mine heroic army swiftly summon, To-morrow’s sun, as o’er the world it glances, Shall blench with fear before our glittering lances, Before th’ heroic hosts—er—I shall muster To roll these hardy rebels in the dust—er.”
Now, Muse, to war’s turmoils attune the lyre, And with a wing enraptured thrill the chords, That I in fitting numbers may aspire To chaunt the deeds of those heroic hordes, As ranked behind their warrior king they thunder, And war’s dread scourge the woodland rifts asunder.
The valiant infantry ’s already mustered, ​When Mistress Sun peeps slily through the thicket, And views in awe the tips of long spikes clustered, And formidable muskets of the pickets. Views, too, impressed, those uniforms so mottled, Not one with less than four bright colours spottled, So that this military simian crop is To look at much like an immense parterre Of mallows, tulips, pæonies, and poppies Or our own Civic Council and Lord Mayor. All the world’s armies here are represented, Look where you will ’tis all gold fringe and lacings, A choice of all the shakos e’er invented, With epaulettes, plumes, cockades, corded facings, And grenadiers’ red caps with spiky crown, So that they look much like a lobster salad, And ’neath whose brim of gold ape warriors frown, Haughty as those of troubadour and ballad.
As for the cavalry, its gleam and glint Fatigues the eye like sparkles struck from flint. Here gold cuirasses in the sun are glancing, Here quaintly crested casque and helmet flash, Where elf-long wisps of horse-hair mane are dancing, Here blinks a cutlass drawn from sheath and sash: The riders’ boots are drawn up tight and bound Under the armpits with a pair of braces, Else had their ample veal-skins beat the ground, Where, as it is, each spur a furrow traces: Half down the calf within, the small foot dips, Although the tops are braced up to the hips: And in default of horseflesh these dragoons Are mounted on high-spirited baboons.
Before his guards, a bow stupendous wielding, ​Amongst his staff, behold! the monarch ride, Strapped in a case of leather sleek and yielding, His field perspective dangling at his side: Once from the stalls alone the foot’s light course It spied, but now surveys both foot and horse.
Like some death-bearing cloud through dell and cover The host rolls on: around in terror hover Flocks of macaws, and fly with fitful wailing Before the rattling drum and shrill fife sailing.
In stately pomp march forth the royal forces, But rather slow: to quick march, run or double, Not yet avail the simian foot’s resources, And every step they take’s a world of trouble: Dense brushwood clogs the van: a quagmire swallows A whole battalion, uniforms grow rarer Minced on the thorns, the recreant helmet follows The tendrils’ noose twitched high above its wearer Tree stumps trip many up, the overweighted Dragoons’ unlucky steeds are quite checkmated, And without fail capsize at every root, So that the horse remains behind the foot.
Not Flora only, all the woodland Fauna, Seems also up in arms at every corner: A cloud of winged ants with every dole ’tis That first invests them—like a mustard poultice: Foul leeches here festoon their shuddering trotters, Before a hissing snake the vanguard totters, And here all thrill with dread, a form divining More awful yet, yon bamboos’ ambush lining.
When half its daily course the sun completed, Within that wood’s yet unexplored dominions They pitched their camp all footsore, tired, and heated, ​The king and generals ’neath their tents’ proud pinions (’Twas but a tent in outline, being restricted To that side of the cloth on which depicted), Discussed the campaign’s further prosecution, And ’twas resolved to wait there in seclusion Till dusk, then by a night march in three sections Reduce the rebels, right and left wing wheeling, Their way round Vindragupta’s quarters feeling, The rest straight forward, then all join connections, chain impenetrable round the foe form, And having him thus snared, at leisure go for him.
While for that march by sleep the host’s preparing, The king, awake, succumbs to reveries daring, Now glory, o’er her favourite fondly stooping, Infuses hopes of deeds immortal, storied, The rainbow winnowing of her pinions drooping To fan the fever of his glowing forehead. So yet he tarried while the night descended, Phantasmal, and its dragon wings extended, Far o’er that forest world in shadows blended, Then woke the camp to roll of drums, and parted In three, in three directions so light-hearted, Upon that march of gloom and midnight started.
Straight to the goal the king and centre aiming Paced gingerly, each step a halt proclaiming Suspicious sounds to note, without stop or rest, Or spy about them in the still, dark forest. And that old wood a dreadful form took on, The cloak of gloom its arrows fear-compelling Shot all around, and when the crescent wan Rained silvery shafts among the tree-tops swelling All changed its being and weirdly stirred and eddied, ​As if to midnight’s spectral ghost-world wedded. Those foliage fans and clusters that resembled, Bathed in the moonlight, sprays all diamond showered, Swayed by a secret hand fantasmal, trembled And in the branches’ vast arch, high embowered, Titanic shadows came and went fantastic, A gnarled face of bark, all tendril braided, Its death’s head on a ghastly nape paraded Above a coil of serpent-roots elastic.
Here, through the gloom, two fire-stars blue and hoary Announced the beast of night, the lurking lory And ghost-moths huge upon the night-breeze shiver, And bats hawk wheeling o’er a stagnant river; At every crackling twig the army flinches, Some wild beast’s distant roar the terror clinches. But if those sounds ill-omened cease, you’ll scarcely Detect the rustling steps, they fall so sparsely; So noiselessly the host, this, that way peeping, As though some caravan of ghosts ’twere, creeping. No clink of sword disturbs the night air balmy, All hold their breath and damp their small feet’s pattering, The silence of the grave broods o’er the army, Scarce broken by the warriors’ poor teeth chattering.
Lo! here a massive trunk decumbent branches, Loaded with heavy fruitage, earthward launches, How temptingly its luscious load stoops o’er ’em! Each ape-mouth’s watering, and—hi cockalorum! The vanguard’s pulling down the promised branches, But all at once recoils upon its haunches In panic terror, thunder-struck, half-dying, And with a squeal the ranks are tumbling, flying, For ugh! it is transformed, that fruity banquet ​To vampires which, by hinder claws suspended In drowsy slumber, fruit-like forms protended, Swathed in their olive pinions’ oil-skin blanket. But now, in wild nocturnal rigs is wheeling On dusk-brown bats’ wings o’er the army’s squealing.
Nay, those vicissitudes I’ll limn no more, or That glorious march pourtray, that night of horror. Now I would rather deal with what befel in That banyan huge, headquarters of the villain Called Vandragupta, when the mob plebeian Fled to that fortress of the empyrean.
It Vindragupta greeted with complaisance: “Shades of the mighty dead for this renaissance Shall render thanks. Long have they marked in anger How ’tis disdainéd by this modern Treason— Their sacred watchword—hatred of the stranger: But now has triumphed healthy simian reason And soon shall beam the bright dawn long attended, When from our backs this human trash we’ll scour, There long by crazy vanity suspended, And apedom pure reclaim the woodland bower. Welcome first heralds of a better time, Again o’er creepers on all fours we’ll climb, Eat what the woods prepare so rich and fruity, And naked creep in pristine classic beauty. Off with all foreign manners! foreign varnish! Again in all be Apery’s Laws applied In my true apedom that no spot can tarnish, You have a flawless mirror for your guide, Then in pure philosimianism’s glory, ah! Purge your whole essence from all human scoria.”
Under his guidance on the following day, ​The true ape style of life resumed its sway, O’er boughs and vines they wreathed their wood gymnastic; The foot so long in boots benumbed and strained, Once more it quick prehensile touch regained; To unperverted ape-grins jowls grew plastic; In perfect discords all the wood went squealing, And shewed its grinning teeth from floor to ceiling, Nay, tails were luted on with gum or mastic To prove them perfect apes in form and feeling. If one resumed his human rôle, forgetful Of self-respect, and like a dandy swaggered, Blinked crafty eyes of advocate, or haggard Smiled the thin sickly smile of poet fretful, A nasty pinch or sharp reproof at any rate Would warn him such things smacked of the degenerate. Nay, they surpassed what Apery’s creed demands, And only ate with feet and walked with hands.
How softly when late dusk their sports abated, Up to the neck with figs and durians sated, Beneath the star-wrought vault of heaven’s clear bowers, On odorous boughs of trees wrought o’er with flowers, Filled with some strange delight they sank to rest, Oh! Mother Nature! on thy kindly breast.
But on the morrow all jumped up confounded, Cries, blares of trump and dizzying drums resounded; And when they first peered down in dread and wonder, Flashed ghastly on their sight, in that bright morning, Close coiled around like some bronze anaconda The chain of deadly Mars in silent warning. Where’er they sped with pupils fear-distended That band of uniforms so variegated, Casques, sabres, pikes and muskets also wended, ​And apish jowls with thirst of war inflated Not without effort Vindragupta lulled His followers’ fears and improvised a rapid Plan of defence and fitting weapons culled, Displaying here a humour rude but sapid. The Indian fig in which the rebels nested Reared high its bole’s broad bulwark, uncontested, And massive tangled branches, foliage matted Into a crown gigantic spread around, And from the lower branches, thick and plaited, Like wreathed columns, suckers sought the ground, There rooted, and again their sapling grove Of shoots upreared, which circle wise emerging, With roots aerial picturesquely wove A strangely complex trellis work, converging Into impenetrable thickets graced E’en these, with slim liana stems enlaced. Thus the whole tree a natural fort afforded Wherein, unseen, full speed to earth the rebels Slid down the coiling suckers, tendril-corded, And swiftly to the crown returned with pebbles, And plucked, besides, the fig-tree’s purpling grapes, Then calmly waited for the other apes.
A royal gesture silenced horn and drum, and The king alone the misled miscreants summoned: “Though all, by rights, deserve the law’s last sentence, My clemency accepts of late repentance. Come down at once and show your true contrition By promise of perpetual submission, Or be assured that when I’ve stormed your stockades, Your heads all fall upon the block, ye blockheads.”
Alas! the leader of the rising turned ​A deaf ear and that gracious pardon spurned; Nor e’en, if all be true that history vouches, Vouchsafed one brief response; the graceless Nero, Only in speechless wrath, discharged his pouches, Screened by the foliage, on the royal hero.
Ha! how the ape-king now his bile discharged, How gnashed and scraped his teeth! his eyes enlarged! And thus with rapid speech his troops exhorted: “Now grasp your swords, my lads, now guns be ported; In glorious war we’ll reap immortal honours, Who fall in Culture’s sacred cause are martyrs: To-day all Europe’s eyes are fixt upon us. Then hurrah! forward, boys, and at the Tartars!”
As to some cliff, when wintry seas are spuming Around a rock-girt isle, in fleecy vastness, The waves roll on and charge the granite fastness, Surge high and all is foaming, bubbling, booming, So ’mid the roll of drums, the trumpets’ blaring, The clash of arms, and still indignant swearing, The ape hosts round the fated banyan rumble, But weak of foot and ’neath their harness gasping, They fall in heaps: the foot are all a-stumble, Despairing horsemen chargers’ necks are clasping. The ground is but one motley rough and tumble, And from the dappled heap in which they stifle Here peeps a boot and spur and there a rifle.
But “Onward!” roared the monarch undismayed, And waved them forward with his glittering blade. Like Durga’s self upon his steed he towered, His face aflame with war, his two eyes glowered, Waved round his brows his long dishevelled hair, His gorgeous casque at once seemed everywhere; ​And after him the rear to storm the banyan’s Redoubt, sprang o’er the tufts of lapsed companions.
Now from the mighty figs’ dense vegetation, Like desolating hail from dark clouds whistles ’Mid the besiegers an unwelcome ration Of purple fig grenades and flintstone missiles. The army wavered: round-eyed, mad with pain, Fled many an ape from that remorseless rain; And “The King’s wounded!” flew above the flying: A well-aimed banyan fruit had burst in shivers Upon that front of Mars, discharging rivers Of blood-red juice, nose, cheek and eyeball dyeing.
Now all stream off like icicles in spring, In panic flight past hope of rallying, Till out of reach of these pain-dealing cobbles The host discomforted together hobbles.
To serious counsel here in his pavilion His band of generals Hanuman, vermilion With fig juice and vexation ill-restrained, Now summoned: “Had the ship brought ammunition,” He cried, “our guns had blown them to perdition, These chicken hearts, and not a shred remained: But how with pikes and guns get at ’em—burk it! That’s the weak link in our strategic circuit.”
“I know a way,” said Bhandragura, turning: “Let’s doff our arms and cumbrous coats, and spurning The load of boots which clog the foot’s play, free it, Then to the banyan: all at once assail it, And swift as lightning o’er lianas scale it— This aery fort. My head shall guarantee it, Once our superior force has stormed the Babel, Our teeth and fists will soon despatch the rabble.”
​The king heard out his speech, morose, unmoving, Then fixed on him a look of stern reproving. “Oh! Bhandragura, woe! that from thy lip I e’er should hear such counsel, to the shame of My cultured realm—for Europe to make game of: We’re here to challenge nudeness; shall we strip And, nude ourselves, the recreants’ nudeness chastise? For what, then, arms and uniforms? oh! cast eyes On History’s page, and say if it appears That in the cultivated races’ combats The Regulars, or even Volunteers— Oh horror! ever scratched and bit like wombats. That you escape your words’ just penalty Is only due to your past loyalty.”
Off to a mat crawled Bhandragura, moaning, And fear long sealed the lips like counsels owning, Until, at last, another chief, intrepid In all but arms, now warmed to counsels tepid: “The tree will ne’er be stormed, and yonder cattle Will scarce come down and match us in fair battle As modern war and precedent require: Diplomatists, in such straits, take the threads up, Humanitarian heroes hold their heads up, And swords before the olive branch retire. I hold a bran new calmuck each would quiet The clowns at once and promptly quell the riot. And for a scarlet frock or so that dangles Within your clothes-room, all gold lace and spangles, E’en Vindragupta—I know that old Daniel— Would let himself be docked like any spaniel.”
“Enough!” the king exclaimed, “fine counsels truly, So I must always yield to mob unruly; ​A wardrobe poor enough already scatter ’Midst rebels in fictitious destitution— Why, every day will have its revolution. The week’s end find my shelves with scarce a tatter, No, I’ll not vilely cringe, my power restrict or Ever issue from this war except as victor.
“But victory’s twofold, moral and material, The second’s royal: but the first’s imperial. I choose it: but before our every deed it Behoves us well to mark if now or ever In other cultured States the act had credit, Ne’er from the tracks of precedent to sever, Only do just what Europeans have erst, And shun the roads that others have not traversed.
Once Ziska, glorious chief, prepared to ravage Perfidious Prague, exacting vengeance savage, When, all but sacrificed to flail and gun, That queen of cities moved him to compassion, The blood of brothers curbed his wrath, and won His iron palm in reconciliation.
Like Ziska—to whose greatness I aspire— I, too, would curb the force of my just ire; The fairest laurels o’er my brow shall waver: Those of self-conquest. Pity vengeance smothers: Those yonder, though misled, they are our brothers, And fratricide my sword shall sully never.” Trembled his voice, salt tears his cheek bedewed, Melt e’en the features of those warriors rude, So to announce his grace sublime he pushes, Crowned with his chieftains, through the tamarind bushes.
But Vindragupta greeted him with scorn: “For a new peppering dost so soon return? ​Would’st test again how heavy our just wrath is, And what the strength of free, true, apish swarthies? Nay, bring such riff-raff countless as the sand, Rouse up in arms against me sea and land, Ay, the whole Universe”—— With horror livid He paused, beyond the royal army vivid His eye perused the jungle: thither roaming Thousands of eyeballs focussed in distraction: Two awful stars were gleaming through the gloaming. How to pourtray the next two minutes’ action?
Who has not seen, in some autumnal glade, A sudden eddy smite the fallen leaves And fleecy shreds that heap the dewy shade: The dappled mass a dance demoniac weaves: The dust-cloud with it spins—a shaft of smoke, Now high in air the eddying spires have leapt, And now collapsed in yonder branching oak, And all below is like a meadow swept. Thus all that royal host of foot and mounted, A goodly throng, in uniforms uncounted, Jumbled at once in one wild, motley bustle, Seething, confused, with many a squeal and tussle, Flinging away its arms, o’er long boots falling, In panic flight o’er tips of scabbards sprawling, On toward the sheltering banyan, jostled, shambled; Then, houp-la! o’er the pendent vegetation The whole corps d’armée in a twinkling scrambled, Leaving below a lifeless desolation, Save for the various arms the brushwood harbours. Here flames a casque, there gleam two dreadful sabres; The ground is black with boots; French horns, cockades, ​Flags, drums, and ribbons flaunt a hundred shades, But, to make up, the banyan tree-top ample All round with warrior forms is all a trample: Here grenadiers condense to wine dark clusters, Here bootless cuirassiers depend festoon-like, And with the fig-leaves’ sheen metallic lustres Of epaulettes and topknots twinkle moon-like. While from all sides toward one fixt spot, like rockets, Eyes, glazed with fear, are starting from their sockets.
Thence now emerged the prince of th’ Indian night world, A mighty tiger. Form of horrid beauty, With that lank grace of body, chest-nut bright, whorled With many a belted charm and marking sooty; From topaz eyeballs lurid glances throwing, He paced the battlefield with lordly going, From side to side, in many a curve expanded Of supple grace his tail swept, darkly banded. Then stealing past the tree, the apes one single Disdainful glance he flung from grass-grown dingle, Then vanished in the dusk of bamboos sear, Scenting perchance some daintier quarry near.
But long by horror froze, with terror blind And hair on end, the apes the banyan lined: Not till a distant roar at last proclaimed That all was safe again, the curdling veins To their warm, mobile life-stream throbbed and flamed, And thought revisited the fear-struck brains. Then from the tree-top, where he sat astride A jutting knot, the king, in jubilation, Cried: “Lo! the fortress stormed!” “Hurrah!” replied His regiments in joyous acclamation. Soon now the insurgents feel the victor’s rancour; ​Their flint artillery’s now a broken anchor: But briefly raged the combat ’mid the boughs, and Lo! on the ground lie trussed the rebel thousand.
Great was the exultation, as beseemed, For such a victory won; but Glory’s chalice The monarch’s noble spirit had not dimmed; Pardon awaited who disowned their malice. Mercy condoned e’en Vindragupta’s hate, His sentence being to loss of tail commuted. Thus fell the last frail bridge to things embruted, The last faint shadow in that perfect State.
Too cold of hue is human speech to print The proud procession home in fitting tint: The royal entry to the civic bowers: How white-robed cat-apes strewed the way with flowers Before the royal palfrey: how, proud mortal, The Mayor, with speech laboriously studied, Before a palm-wove arch of triumph’s portal, Put all on tenterhooks till he’d concluded: How clouds of onlookers obscured the gables: Guilds flanked the streets behind the buntinged cables. How at the shouts of rapture broad earth shivered, And tears of transport from each eyelid quivered As Hanuman rode in and bowed so blandly, With head and hand to all sides: wreaths of laurel Gigantic from his shoulder streaming grandly, Down to the very fetlocks of his sorrel, From which two watered satin ribbons, spangled With stars and plates of gold leaf, proudly dangled: On one, “Divine Flametta, thanks!” was graved. On th’ other, “Of thy little foot th’ enslaved.”
Behind the king the King’s Own proudly paced, ​With tender fronds of palm their helmets crested, And flowering orchid wreaths their pike tips graced, And threatening muskets on their shoulders rested; And flags waved: midst them all, upon a pale, Reared high,—rare trophy!—Vindragupta’s tail.
That day, too, fell on all, write the recorders, A copious deluge of cotillon orders.
Long time did patriot bands with harps untired Chaunt that thrice glorious war in strains inspired, And pedagogues, with loyal zeal o’erbrimming, The crême of what came out with judgment skimming Stuffed into reading books: there essays, odes, Praised “the great king,” “the great war’s” episodes. How heaved with patriotic pride the tender Child breast of infant apes of either gender To read how that exemplar to all ages, With his bold army, in a battle gory, That has no counterpart in History’s pages, Covered his name with everlasting glory: How with a charge that shook earth’s broad foundations, And frightened all the tigers of the grove, O’er Vindragupta’s dread fortifications, He boldly raised his flag to heaven above!
VIII.
Thus in glory and contentment Flourished long the apish State, But on Hanuman the shadow Of a shadow often sate. That still woodland was oppressive, ​Where the parrot unprogressive, Mocked it all with empty prate.
“What avails it, ah! that here in All we’re just as human kind,” Sighed he, “when to our advancement Human eyes are ever blind, And when he who formed the nation Cultured Europe’s admiration Of his merits fails to find?”
So his apes he called in conclave And harangued them from the throne: “Heaven permitted this exalted Rôle to me of apes alone, And that apes, by my endeavour Raised to human height, should ever Art and science love and own.
“But ’tis meet to show to people We’re no more a savage horde, And a dignified position Claim at Europe’s council board. For State reasons, too, most meet ’tis I should fortify by treaties What I’ve won me by the sword.
“Therefore I have firmly settled For the glory of our race, A stupendous expedition Unto Europe’s shores to face; There to show a world astounded Apedom’s State, on Progress founded, Stands compact from crown to base.
​“’Tis a journey that will bring us Benefits in various ways, In its every finest nuance Culture we shall there appraise. We shall learn there to delight us In the beefsteak, nor affright us At the Briton’s tea and trays.
“’Neath the Seine’s new tower of Babel We the demi-monde shall ken, Gauge their whimsies and caprices, And the price of public men: Sternly prune our robes’ excesses, For oh! dismal thought! our dress is Of a date—the Lord knows when!
“But in Berlin town awaits us Other benefits as rare, For I shall engage officials, To instruct my army, there. Then the whole world in alliance, When mine ape troops hurl defiance, To confront us will not dare.
“And then, ah! it irks me sorely On the throne alone to pine, Mine impulsive heart compels me To the wedded state divine. So at court I’ll look about me, And ere six months, never doubt me, Some spruce princess shall be mine.
​“Kings and emperors will invite me To State banquets and reviews; I shall give my name to sundry Regiments of Bays and Blues. All the papers will be savoured With what Hanuman most favoured Of their wine cups and ragoûts.
“Only think what an ovation Europe gave that phantom thin Of my greatness, on his visit— That barbarian, Nasr-ed-din. Every brilliant claimed a column Daily, and discussions solemn Every wretched topaz pin.
“Why my suite alone the whole world’s Utmost wonder will excite: Just get ready! polish up your Choicest pearls and jewels bright; Be the passports duly vizéd, Don’t forget your hair brush, frizéd Be each head of hair to-night.”
IX.
Hanuman put on his golden garments And adorned him with his crown and sceptre, Gathered all his ministers and trinkets And to far Calcutta took his way. ​It was night when, after endless hardships, They descended to the mighty harbour, Where just ready to set sail to Europe, With its white wings spread, the vessel lay.
Here aboard the royal party hastened, After them the sailors raised the plank-way, With a smile the schooner’s captain hailed them. Cursed for aye, be that insidious snake! He shall be in Culture’s golden pages Ever mentioned with revolt and horror, That black blemish on humanity, Wild beast dealer, German Hagenbeck.
By a wily trick that wretch arrested Hanuman, arrested, too, his escort, Then he locked them up in spacious cages With a crowd of creatures wild and scared, Marabous and tortoises and gavials, Antelopes and parrakeets and pythons, Which for zoological collections Through the Indian forests had been snared.
Thus, ah! thus that famous ape reformer, With his ministry by law elected, In a cage of rude uncultured monkeys, Stuffed amid macaws and clacking rails, Thus ah! thus on mouldy figs ill-nourished, Stung by lash of angry whip and curses, All of noblest birth in apedom’s empire, To the world of western culture sails.
​In the Hamburg dock the ship cast anchor, And the king and suite stepped on the main land Of that Europe which was both the cradle Of their gilded vision, and its tomb; They were sold for Jewish pence to gardens Dilettanti, circuses and jugglers, Some as pets, and some to be the comrades Of the strolling fiddlers’ wandering doom.
Such was the most lamentable ending Of a splendid enterprise that promised By some thousands more of worthy subjects To extend the world of culture’s span; Subjects every whit as apt and handy With their pantaloons, frock coats and gauntlets, As the nation that to culture’s treadmill Now so lightly dooms its fair Japan.
Quenched for ever and for ever, may be, Is that lamp of progress that was kindled In the forest world of Hindustani By a hand of genius past away. O’er lianas, there, the apish nation Doubtless wreathes again its dances, naked, Mangoes eats, and birds’ eggs sucks, forgetful That it ere was lit by culture’s ray.
X.
Hark! what barbarous strains, I thrust my Head out from the window sashes; Lo! a parti-colored couple In a laughing circle flashes; ​O’er his bagpipes bends an hazel Cheek, the son of southern lands, And the whirling cymbals dazzle In a black-eyed maiden’s hands.
Dressed in cloak of blue the piper, On his hat are ribbands rosy, His companion’s bust embellish Many a brightly broidered posy, Burn, allure with snaky lustre, Languish those seductive eyes, Stars Italian seem to cluster ’Neath their black-fringed canopies.
But oh! look! an ape all hoary, Shows its teeth at the beholders Sitting in a ball upon the Blooming maiden’s sunny shoulders: From his crouching body peeling Flames a once embroidered vest, From beneath his cap are stealing Dreamy looks of vague unrest.
And he strangely fixes on me Two mute ape-eyes interceding To the well of tears within me, Smites that glance so sickly pleading; Hanuman, thy secret knowing, I can feel thy fallen state, And those tears so thickly flowing From thine eyes, compassionate.
​Thou, whose intellect enlightened, Plied refinement’s halls Elysian, And thine apes unwearying polished On the fine grained stone Parisian, Thou must add one more attraction To the gaudy colors’ glare, Which, to cultured folks’ distraction, Flaunts upon that savage pair.
Hanuman! thy grief I share it, But give ear to what I’m saying, Times shall come we long have dreamed of Chafing at their long delaying. When at last we’ll leave behind us Strife of tongues and wars shall cease, And one common language bind us In the golden chains of peace.
All shall then be one in feeling, One in acting, one in thinking, From one single fount of wisdom Thirsty souls shall then be drinking; Hanuman then e’en thine apes shall, Too, mature to freedom’s ray, And no fable then, perhaps, shall Be my wild fantastic lay.
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