REGULUS

(1917)

_Regulus, a Roman general, defeated the Carthaginians 256 B.C., but was

next year defeated and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, who sent him

to Rome with an embassy to ask for peace or an exchange of prisoners.

Regulus strongly advised the Roman Senate to make no terms with the

enemy. He then returned to Carthage and was put to death._

The Fifth Form had been dragged several times in its collective life,

from one end of the school Horace to the other. Those were the years

when Army examiners gave thousands of marks for Latin, and it was Mr.

King's hated business to defeat them.

Hear him, then, on a raw November morning at second lesson.

'Aha!' he began, rubbing his hands. '_Cras ingens iterabimus aequor._

Our portion to-day is the Fifth Ode of the Third Book, I

believe--concerning one Regulus, a gentleman. And how often have we been

through it?'

'Twice, sir,' said Malpass, head of the Form.

Mr. King shuddered. 'Yes, twice, quite literally,' he said. 'To-day,

with an eye to your Army _viva-voce_ examinations--ugh!--I shall exact

somewhat freer and more florid renditions. With feeling and

comprehension if that be possible. I except'--here his eye swept the

back benches--'our friend and companion Beetle, from whom, now as

always, I demand an absolutely literal translation.' The form laughed

subserviently.

'Spare his blushes! Beetle charms us first.'

Beetle stood up, confident in the possession of a guaranteed construe,

left behind by M'Turk, who had that day gone into the sick-house with a

cold. Yet he was too wary a hand to show confidence.

'_Credidimus_, we--believe--we have believed,' he opened in

hesitating slow time, '_tonantem Joven_, thundering Jove--_regnare_,

to reign--_caelo_, in heaven. _Augustus_, Augustus--_habebitur_,

will be held or considered--_praesens divus_, a present

God--_adjectis Britannis_, the Britons being added--_imperio_, to the

Empire--_gravibusque Persis_, with the heavy--er, stern Persians.'

'What?'

'The grave or stern Persians.' Beetle pulled up with the

'Thank-God-I-have-done-my-duty' air of Nelson in the cockpit.

'I am quite aware,' said King, 'that the first stanza is about the

extent of your knowledge, but continue, sweet one, continue. _Gravibus_,

by the way, is usually translated as "troublesome."'

Beetle drew a long and tortured breath. The second stanza (which carries

over to the third) of that Ode is what is technically called a

'stinker.' But M'Turk had done him handsomely.

'_Milesne Crassi_, had--has the soldier of Crassus--_vixit_,

lived--_turpis maritus_, a disgraceful husband--'

'You slurred the quantity of the word after _turpis_,' said King. 'Let's

hear it.'

Beetle guessed again, and for a wonder hit the correct quantity. 'Er--a

disgraceful husband--_conjuge barbara_, with a barbarous spouse.'

'Why do you select _that_ disgustful equivalent out of all the

dictionary?' King snapped. 'Isn't "wife" good enough for you?'

'Yes, sir. But what do I do about this bracket, sir? Shall I take it

now?'

'Confine yourself at present to the soldier of Crassus.'

'Yes, sir. _Et_, and--_consenuit_, has he grown old--_in armis_, in

the--er--arms--_hositum socerorum_, of his father-in-law's enemies.'

'Who? How? Which?'

'Arms of his enemies' fathers-in-law, sir.'

'Tha-anks. By the way, what meaning might you attach to _in armis_?'

'Oh, weapons--weapons of war, sir.' There was a virginal note in

Beetle's voice as though he had been falsely accused of uttering

indecencies. 'Shall I take the bracket now, sir?'

'Since it seems to be troubling you.'

'_Pro Curia_, O for the Senate House--_inversique mores_, and manners

upset--upside down.'

'Ve-ry like your translation. Meantime, the soldier of Crassus?'

'_Sub rege Medo_, under a Median King--_Marsus et Apulus_, he being a

Marsian and an Apulian.'

'Who? The Median King?'

'No, sir. The soldier of Crassus. _Oblittus_ agrees with _milesne

Crassi_, sir,' volunteered too-hasty Beetle.

'Does it? It doesn't with _me_.'

'_Oh-blight-us_,' Beetle corrected hastily, 'forgetful--_anciliorum_, of

the shields, or trophies--_et nominis_, and the--his name--_et togae_,

and the toga--_eternaeque Vestae_, and eternal Vesta--_incolumi Jove_,

Jove being safe--_et urbe Roma_, and the Roman city.' With an air of

hardly restrained zeal--'Shall I go on, sir?'

Mr. King winced. 'No, thank you. You have indeed given us a translation!

May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to your so-called mind?'

'Oh, I think so, sir.' This with gentle toleration for Horace and all

his works.

'We envy you. Sit down.'

Beetle sat down relieved, well knowing that a reef of uncharted

genitives stretched ahead of him, on which in spite of M'Turk's

sailing-directions he would infallibly have been wrecked.

Rattray, who took up the task, steered neatly through them and came

unscathed to port.

'Here we require drama,' said King. 'Regulus himself is speaking now.

Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, will you

kindly oblige?'

Winton of King's House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteen

forward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect like an

earnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among other things,

that he had seen 'signs affixed to Punic deluges.' Half the Form shouted

for joy, and the other half for joy that there was something to

shout about.

Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness. '_Signa adfixa

delubris_,' he gasped. 'So _delubris_ is "deluges" is it? Winton, in all

our dealings, have I ever suspected you of a jest?'

'No, sir,' said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Form rocked

about him.

'And yet you assert _delubris_ means "deluges." Whether I am a fit

subject for such a jape is, of course, a matter of opinion, but....

Winton, you are normally conscientious. May we assume you looked out

_delubris_?'

'No, sir.' Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerous to all

who stand before Kings.

''Made a shot at it then?'

Every line of Winton's body showed he had done nothing of the sort.

Indeed, the very idea that 'Pater' Winton (and a boy is not called

'Pater' by companions for his frivolity) would make a shot at anything

was beyond belief. But he replied, 'Yes,' and all the while worked with

his right heel as though he were heeling a ball at punt-about.

Though none dared to boast of being a favourite with King, the taciturn,

three-cornered Winton stood high in his House-Master's opinion. It

seemed to save him neither rebuke nor punishment, but the two were in

some fashion sympathetic.

'Hm!' said King drily. 'I was going to say--_Flagito additis damnum_,

but I think--I think I see the process. Beetle, the translation of

_delubris_, please.'

Beetle raised his head from his shaking arm long enough to answer:

'Ruins, sir.'

There was an impressive pause while King checked off crimes on his

fingers. Then to Beetle the much-enduring man addressed winged words:

'Guessing,' said he. 'Guessing, Beetle, as usual, from the look of

_delubris_ that it bore some relation to _diluvium_ or deluge, you

imparted the result of your half-baked lucubrations to Winton who seems

to have been lost enough to have accepted it. Observing next, your

companion's fall, from the presumed security of your undistinguished

position in the rear-guard, you took another pot-shot. The turbid chaos

of your mind threw up some memory of the word "dilapidations" which you

have pitifully attempted to disguise under the synonym of "ruins."'

As this was precisely what Beetle had done he looked hurt but forgiving.

'We will attend to this later,' said King. 'Go on, Winton, and retrieve

yourself.'

_Delubris_ happened to be the one word which Winton had not looked out

and had asked Beetle for, when they were settling into their places. He

forged ahead with no further trouble. Only when he rendered _scilicet_

as 'forsooth,' King erupted.

'Regulus,' he said, 'was not a leader-writer for the penny press, nor,

for that matter, was Horace. Regulus says: "The soldier ransomed by gold

will come keener for the fight--will he by--by gum!" _That's_ the

meaning of _scilicet_. It indicates contempt--bitter contempt.

"Forsooth," forsooth! You'll be talking about "speckled beauties" and

"eventually transpire" next. Howell, what do you make of that doubled

"Vidi ego--ego vidi"? It wasn't put in to fill up the metre, you know.'

'Isn't it intensive, sir?' said Howell, afflicted by a genuine interest

in what he read. 'Regulus was a bit in earnest about Rome making no

terms with Carthage--and he wanted to let the Romans understand it,

didn't he, sir?'

'Less than your usual grace, but the fact. Regulus _was_ in earnest. He

was also engaged at the same time in cutting his own throat with every

word he uttered. He knew Carthage which (your examiners won't ask you

this so you needn't take notes) was a sort of God-forsaken nigger

Manchester. Regulus was not thinking about his own life. He was telling

Rome the truth. He was playing for his side. Those lines from the

eighteenth to the fortieth ought to be written in blood. Yet there are

things in human garments which will tell you that Horace was a

flâneur--a man about town. Avoid such beings. Horace knew a very great

deal. _He_ knew! _Erit ille fortis_--"will he be brave who once to

faithless foes has knelt?" And again (stop pawing with your hooves,

Thornton!) _hic unde vitam sumeret inscius_. That means roughly--but I

perceive I am ahead of my translators. Begin at _hic unde_, Vernon, and

let us see if you have the spirit of Regulus.'

Now no one expected fireworks from gentle Paddy Vernon, sub-prefect of

Hartopp's House, but, as must often be the case with growing boys, his

mind was in abeyance for the time being, and he said, all in a rush, on

behalf of Regulus: '_O magna Carthago probrosis altior Italiae ruinis_,

O Carthage, thou wilt stand forth higher than the ruins of Italy.'

Even Beetle, most lenient of critics, was interested at this point,

though he did not join the half-groan of reprobation from the wiser

heads of the Form.

'_Please_ don't mind me,' said King, and Vernon very kindly did not. He

ploughed on thus: 'He (Regulus) is related to have removed from himself

the kiss of the shameful wife and of his small children as less by the

head, and, being stern, to have placed his virile visage on the ground.'

Since King loved 'virile' about as much as he did 'spouse' or 'forsooth'

the Form looked up hopefully. But Jove thundered not.

'Until,' Vernon continued, 'he should have confirmed the sliding fathers

as being the author of counsel never given under an alias.'

He stopped, conscious of stillness round him like the dread calm of the

typhoon's centre. King's opening voice was sweeter than honey.

'I am painfully aware by bitter experience that I cannot give you any

idea of the passion, the power, the--the essential guts of the lines

which you have so foully outraged in our presence. But--' the note

changed, 'so far as in me lies, I will strive to bring home to you,

Vernon, the fact that there exist in Latin a few pitiful rules of

grammar, of syntax, nay, even of declension, which were not created for

your incult sport--your Boeotian diversion. You will, therefore, Vernon,

write out and bring to me to-morrow a word-for-word English-Latin

translation of the Ode, together with a full list of all adjectives--an

adjective is not a verb, Vernon, as the Lower Third will tell you--all

adjectives, their number, case, and gender. Even now I haven't begun to

deal with you faithfully.'

'I--I'm very sorry, sir,' Vernon stammered.

'You mistake the symptoms, Vernon. You are possibly discomfited by the

imposition, but sorrow postulates some sort of mind, intellect, _nous_.

Your rendering of _probrosis_ alone stamps you as lower than the beasts

of the field. Will some one take the taste out of our mouths?

And--talking of tastes--' He coughed. There was a distinct flavour of

chlorine gas in the air. Up went an eyebrow, though King knew perfectly

well what it meant.

'Mr. Hartopp's st--science class next door,' said Malpass.

'Oh yes. I had forgotten. Our newly established Modern Side, of course.

Perowne, open the windows; and Winton, go on once more from _interque

maerentes_.'

'And hastened away,' said Winton, 'surrounded by his mourning friends,

into--into illustrious banishment. But I got that out of Conington,

sir,' he added in one conscientious breath.

'I am aware. The master generally knows his ass's crib, though I acquit

_you_ of any intention that way. Can you suggest anything for _egregius

exul_? Only "egregious exile"? I fear "egregious" is a good word ruined.

No! You can't in this case improve on Conington. Now then for _atqui

sciebat quae sibi barbarus tortor pararet_. The whole force of it lies

in the _atqui_.'

'Although he knew,' Winton suggested.

'Stronger than that, I think.'

'He who knew well,' Malpass interpolated.

'Ye-es. "Well though he knew." I don't like Conington's "well-witting."

It's Wardour Street.'

'Well though he knew what the savage torturer was--was getting ready for

him,' said Winton.

'Ye-es. Had in store for him.'

'Yet he brushed aside his kinsmen and the people delaying his return.'

'Ye-es; but then how do you render _obstantes_?'

'If it's a free translation mightn't _obstantes_ and _morantem_ come to

about the same thing, sir?'

'Nothing comes to "about the same thing" with Horace, Winton. As I have

said, Horace was not a journalist. No, I take it that his kinsmen bodily

withstood his departure, whereas the crowd--_populumque_--the democracy

stood about futilely pitying him and getting in the way. Now for that

noblest of endings--_quam si clientum_,' and King ran off into the

quotation:

'As though some tedious business o'er

Of clients' court, his journey lay

Towards Venafrum's grassy floor

Or Sparta-built Tarentum's bay.

All right, Winton. Beetle, when you've quite finished dodging the fresh

air yonder, give me the meaning of _tendens_--and turn down

your collar.'

'Me, sir? _Tendens_, sir? Oh! Stretching away in the direction of, sir.'

'Idiot! Regulus was not a feature of the landscape. He was a man,

self-doomed to death by torture. _Atqui, sciebat_--knowing it--having

achieved it for his country's sake--can't you hear that _atqui_ cut like

a knife?--he moved off with some dignity. That is why Horace out of the

whole golden Latin tongue chose the one word "tendens"--which is utterly

untranslatable.'

The gross injustice of being asked to translate it, converted Beetle

into a young Christian martyr, till King buried his nose in his

handkerchief again.

'I think they've broken another gas-bottle next door, sir,' said Howell.

'They're always doing it.' The Form coughed as more chlorine came in.

'Well, I suppose we must be patient with the Modern Side,' said King.

'But it is almost insupportable for this Side. Vernon, what are you

grinning at?'

Vernon's mind had returned to him glowing and inspired. He chuckled as

he underlined his Horace.

'It appears to amuse you,' said King. 'Let us participate. What is it?'

'The last two lines of the Tenth Ode, in this book, sir,' was Vernon's

amazing reply.

'What? Oh, I see. _Non hoc semper erit liminis aut aquae caelestis

patiens latus_[2].' King's mouth twitched to hide a grin. 'Was that

done with intention?'

[Footnote 2: 'This side will not always be patient of rain and waiting

on the threshold.']

'I--I thought it fitted, sir.'

'It does. It's distinctly happy. What put it into your thick head,

Paddy?'

'I don't know, sir, except we did the Ode last term.'

'And you remembered? The same head that minted _probrosis_ as a verb!

Vernon, you are an enigma. No! This Side will _not_ always be patient of

unheavenly gases and waters. I will make representations to our

so-called Moderns. Meantime (who shall say I am not just?) I remit you

your accrued pains and penalties in regard to _probrosim, probrosis,

probrosit_ and other enormities. I oughtn't to do it, but this Side is

occasionally human. By no means bad, Paddy.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Vernon, wondering how inspiration had visited

him.

Then King, with a few brisk remarks about Science, headed them back to

Regulus, of whom and of Horace and Rome and evil-minded commercial

Carthage and of the democracy eternally futile, he explained, in all

ages and climes, he spoke for ten minutes; passing thence to the next

Ode--_Delicta Majorum_--where he fetched up, full-voiced, upon--'_Dis te

minorem quod geris imperas_' (Thou rulest because thou bearest thyself

as lower than the Gods)--making it a text for a discourse on manners,

morals, and respect for authority as distinct from bottled gases, which

lasted till the bell rang. Then Beetle, concertinaing his books,

observed to Winton, 'When King's really on tap he's an interestin' dog.

Hartopp's chlorine uncorked him.'

'Yes; but why did you tell me _delubris_ was "deluges," you silly ass?'

said Winton.

'Well, that uncorked him too. Look out, you hoof-handed old owl!' Winton

had cleared for action as the Form poured out like puppies at play and

was scragging Beetle. Stalky from behind collared Winton low. The three

fell in confusion.

'_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_,' quoth Stalky, ruffling Winton's

lint-white locks. 'Mustn't jape with Number Five study. Don't be too

virtuous. Don't brood over it. 'Twon't count against you in your future

caree-ah. Cheer up, Pater.'

'Pull him off my--er--essential guts, will you?' said Beetle from

beneath. 'He's squashin' 'em.'

They dispersed to their studies.

* * * * *

No one, the owner least of all, can explain what is in a growing boy's

mind. It might have been the blind ferment of adolescence; Stalky's

random remarks about virtue might have stirred him; like his betters he

might have sought popularity by way of clowning; or, as the Head

asserted years later, the only known jest of his serious life might have

worked on him, as a sober-sided man's one love colours and dislocates

all his after days. But, at the next lesson, mechanical drawing with Mr.

Lidgett who as drawing-master had very limited powers of punishment,

Winton fell suddenly from grace and let loose a live mouse in the

form-room. The whole form, shrieking and leaping high, threw at it all

the plaster cones, pyramids, and fruit in high relief--not to mention

ink-pots--that they could lay hands on. Mr. Lidgett reported at once to

the Head; Winton owned up to his crime, which, venial in the Upper

Third, pardonable at a price in the Lower Fourth, was, of course, rank

ruffianism on the part of a Fifth Form boy; and so, by graduated stages,

he arrived at the Head's study just before lunch, penitent, perturbed,

annoyed with himself and--as the Head said to King in the corridor after

the meal--more human than he had known him in seven years.

'You see,' the Head drawled on, 'Winton's only fault is a certain

costive and unaccommodating virtue. So this comes very happily.'

'I've never noticed any sign of it,' said King. Winton was in King's

House, and though King as pro-consul might, and did, infernally oppress

his own Province, once a black and yellow cap was in trouble at the

hands of the Imperial authority King fought for him to the very last

steps of Caesar's throne.

'Well, you yourself admitted just now that a mouse was beneath the

occasion,' the Head answered.

'It was.' Mr. King did not love Mr. Lidgett. 'It should have been a rat.

But--but--I hate to plead it--it's the lad's first offence.'

'Could you have damned him more completely, King?'

'Hm. What is the penalty?' said King, in retreat, but keeping up a

rear-guard action.

'Only my usual few lines of Virgil to be shown up by tea-time.'

The Head's eyes turned slightly to that end of the corridor where

Mullins, Captain of the Games ('Pot,' 'old Pot,' or 'Potiphar' Mullins),

was pinning up the usual Wednesday notice--'Big, Middle, and Little Side

Football--A to K, L to Z, 3 to 4.45 P.M.'

You cannot write out the Head's usual few (which means five hundred)

Latin lines and play football for one hour and three-quarters between

the hours of 1.30 and 5 P.M. Winton had evidently no intention of trying

to do so, for he hung about the corridor with a set face and an uneasy

foot. Yet it was law in the school, compared with which that of the

Medes and Persians was no more than a non-committal resolution, that any

boy, outside the First Fifteen, who missed his football for any reason

whatever, and had not a written excuse, duly signed by competent

authority to explain his absence, would receive not less than three

strokes with a ground-ash from the Captain of the Games, generally a

youth between seventeen and eighteen years, rarely under eleven stone

('Pot' was nearer thirteen), and always in hard condition.

King knew without inquiry that the Head had given Winton no such excuse.

'But he is practically a member of the First Fifteen. He has played for

it all this term,' said King. 'I believe his Cap should have arrived

last week.'

'His Cap has not been given him. Officially, therefore, he is naught. I

rely on old Pot.'

'But Mullins is Winton's study-mate,' King persisted.

Pot Mullins and Pater Winton were cousins and rather close friends.

'That will make no difference to Mullins--or Winton, if I know 'em,'

said the Head.

'But--but,' King played his last card desperately, 'I was going to

recommend Winton for extra sub-prefect in my House, now Carton

has gone.'

'Certainly,' said the Head. 'Why not? He will be excellent by tea-time,

I hope.'

At that moment they saw Mr. Lidgett, tripping down the corridor, waylaid

by Winton.

'It's about that mouse-business at mechanical drawing,' Winton opened,

swinging across his path.

'Yes, yes, highly disgraceful,' Mr. Lidgett panted.

'I know it was,' said Winton. 'It--it was a cad's trick because--'

'Because you knew I couldn't give you more than fifty lines,' said Mr.

Lidgett.

'Well, anyhow I've come to apologise for it.'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Lidgett, and added, for he was a kindly man, 'I

think that shows quite right feeling. I'll tell the Head at once I'm

satisfied.'

'No--no!' The boy's still unmended voice jumped from the growl to the

squeak. 'I didn't mean _that_! I--I did it on principle. Please

don't--er--do anything of that kind.'

Mr. Lidgett looked him up and down and, being an artist, understood.

'Thank you, Winton,' he said. 'This shall be between ourselves.'

'You heard?' said King, indecent pride in his voice.

'Of course. You thought he was going to get Lidgett to beg him off the

impot.'

King denied this with so much warmth that the Head laughed and King went

away in a huff.

'By the way,' said the Head, 'I've told Winton to do his lines in your

form-room--not in his study.'

'Thanks,' said King over his shoulder, for the Head's orders had saved

Winton and Mullins, who was doing extra Army work in the study, from an

embarrassing afternoon together.

An hour later, King wandered into his still form-room as though by

accident. Winton was hard at work.

'Aha!' said King, rubbing his hands. 'This does not look like games,

Winton. Don't let me arrest your facile pen. Whence this sudden love

for Virgil?'

'Impot from the Head, sir, for that mouse-business this morning.'

'Rumours thereof have reached us. That was a lapse on your part into

Lower Thirdery which I don't quite understand.'

The 'tump-tump' of the puntabouts before the sides settled to games came

through the open window. Winton, like his House-Master, loved fresh air.

Then they heard Paddy Vernon, sub-prefect on duty, calling the roll in

the field and marking defaulters. Winton wrote steadily. King curled

himself up on a desk, hands round knees. One would have said that the

man was gloating over the boy's misfortune, but the boy understood.

'_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_,' King quoted presently. 'It is

necessary to bear oneself as lower than the local gods--even than

drawing-masters who are precluded from effective retaliation. I _do_

wish you'd tried that mouse-game with me, Pater.'

Winton grinned; then sobered 'It was a cad's trick, sir, to play on Mr.

Lidgett.' He peered forward at the page he was copying.

'Well, "the sin _I_ impute to each frustrate ghost"--' King stopped

himself. 'Why do you goggle like an owl? Hand me the Mantuan and I'll

dictate. No matter. Any rich Virgilian measures will serve. I may

peradventure recall a few.' He began:

'Tu regere imperio populos Romane memento

Hae tibi erunt artes pacisque imponere morem,

Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos.