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Rudyard Kipling's "Tomlinson"

Updated on October 8, 2018
Maya Shedd Temple profile image

After I fell in love with Walter de la Mare's "Silver" in Mrs. Edna Pickett's sophomore English class, circa 1962, poetry became my passion.

Rudyard Kipling

Source

Introduction and Text of "Tomlinson"

Kipling's narrative poem, "Tomlinson," consists of 60 rimed couplets, divided into two parts: the Tomlinson character before the gates of Heaven and then before the gates of Hell. It is noteworthy that his time spent before the gate of Heaven is much shorter (18 couplets) than before the gates of Hell (32 couplets.)

(Please note: The spelling, "rhyme," was introduced into English by Dr. Samuel Johnson through an etymological error. For my explanation for using only the original form, please see "Rime vs Rhyme: An Unfortunate Error.")

Tomlinson

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost at his house in Berkeley Square,
And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair—
A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away,
Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way:
Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease,
And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds the keys.
"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high
"The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die—
"The good that ye did for the sake of men on the little Earth so lone!"
And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as the rain-washed bone.
"O I have a friend on Earth," he said, "that was my priest and guide,
"And well would he answer all for me if he were at my side."
—"For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair,
"But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square:
"Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for you,
"For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."
Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there,
For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare.
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his good in life.
"O this I have read in a book," he said, "and that was told to me,
"And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy."
The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path,
And Peter twirled the jangling Keys in weariness and wrath.
"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, "and the tale is yet to run:
"By the worth of the body that once ye had, give answer—what ha' ye done?"
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore,
For the darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's Gate before:—
"O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I heard men say,
"And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in Norroway."
"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate;
"There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate!
"For none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and kin
"Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair within;
"Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for thy doom has yet to run,
"And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square uphold you, Tomlinson!"

The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell
Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of Hell.
The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with pain,
But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot burn again.
They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with never a soul to mark:
They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn of the Outer Dark.
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it nipped him to the bone,
And he yearned to the flare of Hell-gate there as the light of his own hearth-stone.
The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions drew,
But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him through.
"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?" said he,
"That ye rank yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no leave of me?
"I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give me scorn,
"For I strove with God for your First Father the day that he was born.
"Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud and high
"The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came to die."
And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night
The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth light;
And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet
The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-Mouth heat.
"O I had a love on earth," said he, "that kissed me to my fall;
"And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer all."
—"All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair,
"But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley Square:
"Though we whistled your love from her bed to-night, I trow she would not run,
"For the sin that ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!"
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sins in life:—
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave,
"And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave."
The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and laid it aside to cool:—
"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool?
"I see no worth in the hobnail mirth or the jolthead jest ye did
"That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid."
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was little grace,
For Hell-Gate filled the houseless soul with the Fear of Naked Space.
"Nay, this I ha' heard," quo' Tomlinson, "and this was noised abroad,
"And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead French lord."
—"Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the tale begins afresh—
"Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the sinful lust of the flesh?"
Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered, "Let me in—
"For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to sin the deadly sin."
The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked the fires high:
"Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay!"
The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils ran,
And he said: "Go husk this whimpering thief that comes in the guise of a man:
"Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his proper worth:
"There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn of Earth."
Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the fire,
But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height of their desire,
Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it all abroad,
As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard.
And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children after play,
And they said: "The soul that he got from God he has bartered clean away.
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind,
"And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find.
"We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone,
"And, Sire, if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own."
The Devil he bowed his head to his breast and rumbled deep and low:—
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go.
"Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place,
"My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face;
"They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host,
"And—I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost."
The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame,
And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:—
"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry.
"Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay! "
The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:—
"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but the roots of sin are there,
"And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone,
"But sinful pride has rule inside—ay, mightier than my own.
"Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his Priest and Whore;
"Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore.
"Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are neither book nor brute—
"Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute.
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain,
"But look that ye win to a worthier sin ere ye come back again.
"Get hence, the hearse is at your door—the grim black stallions wait—
"They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest ye come too late!
"Go back to Earth with lip unsealed—go back with open eye,
"And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:
"That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one,
"And . . . the God you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!"

Reading of Kipling's "Tomlinson"

Commentary

Rudyard Kipling's poem, "Tomlinson," dramatizes the scriptural concept of Karma, the principle that humans reap what they sow.

First Movement: Accounting for His Lifetime Acts

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost at his house in Berkeley Square,
And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair—
A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away,
Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way:
Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease,
And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds the keys.
"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high
"The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die—
"The good that ye did for the sake of men on the little Earth so lone!"
And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as the rain-washed bone.
"O I have a friend on Earth," he said, "that was my priest and guide,
"And well would he answer all for me if he were at my side."
—"For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair,
"But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square:
"Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for you,
"For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two."

As the character Tomlinson is dying, the angel of death carries him away but he is gripping the hapless dying man by his hair. Tomlinson then hears himself being swished through the Milky Way, until they arrive at the gate guarded by Peter. Saint Peter asks Tomlinson to give account of himself as he behaved on Earth, specifically, what good he accomplished while alive.

At this command, Tomlinson "grew white as the rain-washed bone," and answered that he had a friend who was his priest and guide, who could testify to his good deeds. He is admonished that what he "strove" to do would be duly noted, but he is not still conducting his life in his own neighborhood of Berkeley Square, he is standing at "Heaven's Gate."

Now he must account for his own activities: "For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two." This concept becomes the refrain of this drama. While on Earth, individuals may engage in endeavors with others, but each still remains accountable for his own part in the activity.

Second Movement: But What Did You Do?

Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there,
For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare.
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his good in life.
"O this I have read in a book," he said, "and that was told to me,
"And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy."
The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path,
And Peter twirled the jangling Keys in weariness and wrath.
"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought," he said, "and the tale is yet to run:
"By the worth of the body that once ye had, give answer—what ha' ye done?"
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore,
For the darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's Gate before:—
"O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I heard men say,
"And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in Norroway."
"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate;
"There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate!
"For none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and kin
"Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair within;
"Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for thy doom has yet to run,
"And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square uphold you, Tomlinson!"

So Tomlinson then begins to make the effort to speak for his good activities. He sets forth by reporting that he "read in a book" and then thought about what was said about "a Prince in Muscovy." And Saint Peter mockingly accosts him for continuing to state what he has read, what he has though, but the saint wants to know what he has done.

Peter wants to know what Tomlinson has actually accomplished; the saint continues to admonish Tomlinson that he is not interested in what the man has read, what he has thought, or what he thinks about what other have thought or done. So Tomlinson then reports on what he has felt, what he has guessed, and what he has heard other men say.

Again, Peter bitterly mocks this lame response and adds that the ticket through the gates of Heaven cannot be the mere mouthing of words others have spoken, ever if they are of the priestly class. The deeds of others cannot propel one through those gate. Thus Saint Peter sends Tomlinson to "the Lord of Wrong" because he can find no reason to admit Tomlinson through the gates of Heaven.

Third Movement: Only You Can Do Your Own Duty

The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell
Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of Hell.
The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with pain,
But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot burn again.
They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with never a soul to mark:
They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn of the Outer Dark.
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it nipped him to the bone,
And he yearned to the flare of Hell-gate there as the light of his own hearth-stone.
The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions drew,
But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him through.
"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?" said he,
"That ye rank yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no leave of me?
"I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give me scorn,
"For I strove with God for your First Father the day that he was born.
"Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud and high
"The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came to die."
And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night
The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth light;
And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet
The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-Mouth heat.
"O I had a love on earth," said he, "that kissed me to my fall;
"And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer all."
—"All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair,
"But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley Square:
"Though we whistled your love from her bed to-night, I trow she would not run,
"For the sin that ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!"
The Wind that blows between the Worlds, it cut him like a knife,
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sins in life:—
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave,
"And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave."
The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and laid it aside to cool:—
"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool?
"I see no worth in the hobnail mirth or the jolthead jest ye did
"That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid."
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was little grace,
For Hell-Gate filled the houseless soul with the Fear of Naked Space.
"Nay, this I ha' heard," quo' Tomlinson, "and this was noised abroad,
"And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead French lord."
—"Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the tale begins afresh—
"Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the sinful lust of the flesh?"
Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered, "Let me in—
"For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to sin the deadly sin."
The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked the fires high:
"Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay!"
The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils ran,
And he said: "Go husk this whimpering thief that comes in the guise of a man:
"Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his proper worth:
"There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn of Earth."
Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the fire,
But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height of their desire,
Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it all abroad,
As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard.
And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children after play,
And they said: "The soul that he got from God he has bartered clean away.
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind,
"And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find.
"We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone,
"And, Sire, if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own."
The Devil he bowed his head to his breast and rumbled deep and low:—
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go.
"Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place,
"My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face;
"They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host,
"And—I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost."
The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame,
And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:—
"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry.
"Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; and Tomlinson said, "Ay! "
The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:—
"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but the roots of sin are there,
"And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone,
"But sinful pride has rule inside—ay, mightier than my own.
"Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his Priest and Whore;
"Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore.
"Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are neither book nor brute—
"Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute.
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain,
"But look that ye win to a worthier sin ere ye come back again.
"Get hence, the hearse is at your door—the grim black stallions wait—
"They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest ye come too late!
"Go back to Earth with lip unsealed—go back with open eye,
"And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:
"That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one,
"And . . . the God you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!"

As he did before at the gates of Heaven, Tomlinson blurts out that his former love interest would be able to swear to his cruel nature while in body. Once agin, Tomlinson is met with the same response he received from Saint Peter: You have to answer for your own sins, you cannot palm them off on others to answer for you. Just as the individual will be held accountable for his good deeds, he will also have to answer for his bad deeds. The Devil's success at retrieving a full account from Tomlinson ends as unsuccessfully as Saint Peter's had.

Thus the Devil sends Tomlinson back to Earth: If the soul is not fit for Heaven, it must return to Earth to gain more strength of character. The same concept works for entry into Hell. If the soul has not shed all of its evil tendencies and remains smeared, it also must return to the place where working out of Karma—sowing and reaping—is possible. As Tomlinson must journey back to the Earth, both Saint Peter and the Devil wish him well.

Rudyard Kipling

Source

Life Sketch of Rudyard Kipling

Joseph Rudyard Kipling was born December 30, 1865, in Mumbai, India (at that time the city went by the appellation "Bombay"). Kipling's father, John Lockwood Kipling, was a professor of architectural sculpture at the Bombay School of Art, and his mother Alice MacDonald Kipling was a poet. At age 6, the young Kipling was sent back to England to be educated. He returned to India in 1882.

Rudyard Kipling worked as a journalist and ventured into the creative writing of poetry and fiction. His Plain Tales from the Hills, published in 1888 gained him a following in England, and in 1889, he returned to England to live in London.

Kipling married an American, Caroline Balestier, in 1892, and the couple relocated to Brattleboro, Vermont, in the USA, where Caroline's family resided. The couple had two daughters, Josephine (1893) and Elsie (1896); the next year, while living in Rottingdean in Sussex, England, Caroline gave birth to their third child, a son named John, a war hero, who on September 27, 1915, was pronounced missing in action in northern France during the Battle of Loos.

By the late 1890s Kipling's fame had spread and he was considered a very popular writer of both children's and adult literature. He wrote his Just So Stories for his elder daughter, Josephine, who died from pneumonia at the age of six years. Other wildly famous works at the time include Stalky and Co. (1899), Kim (1901), perhaps his most noted work, and Puck of Pook's Hill (1906).

Kipling is often referred to as a British poet laureate, but he turned down that honor as well as the knighthood when they were offer to him in 1907. He did accept the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907; he was the first English writer to be awarded that honor.

The Kiplings moved into a 17th century home in East Sussex in 1902, and they lived there for the rest of their lives. Kipling continued to travel extensively, including many journeys back to India and trips to South Africa, where he spent time during the winter months.

After his son went missing in 1915 while serving in the Irish Guards, Kipling wrote a history of the regiment titled, "The Irish Guards in the Great War." John Kipling had originally been declared unfit for military service because of his acute myopia, but the young lad desired so strongly to serve that his father interceded to help enter his son into the Guards. Kipling searched for many years trying to find his son's remains, which were finally identified nearly a century after the soldier went missing.

Kipling was greatly affected by the MIA of his son; in addition to engaging many searches for the young soldier's remains, the father joined the Imperial War Graves Commission and was responsible for selecting inscriptions for memorials, for example, "Their Name Liveth For Evermore." He worked with Winston Churchill to have all war memorials of equal size despite the rank of the soldier.

Rudyard Kipling spent his last years in poor health, suffering from a severe ulcer, from which he died on January 18, 1936. His ashes are interred in Westminster Abbey in Poets' Corner next to the graves of poet and novelist Thomas Hardy and novelist, author of the widely famous A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens.

Kipling's Reputation

Despite his wide-spread fame, Rudyard Kipling's reputation started to take hits in the 1890s. Although Kipling was a genuine talent as a writer and a thinker, his reputation continued to decline when notable personalities such as Oscar Wilde, George Orwell, and the stunningly disreputable Edward Said began to express their depraved evaluations of Kipling.

Oscar Wilde framed his jejune opinion this way: "As one turns over the pages of his Plain Tales from the Hills, one feels as if one were seated under a palm-tree, reading life by superb flashes of vulgarity."

George Orwell in 1942 offered the ludicrous remark that "during five literary generations every enlightened person has despised him" as "morally insensitive and aesthetically disgusting."

According to the disingenuous fraud, Edward Said, "Kipling could not imagine an India in historical flux out of British control." About this idiotic remark, Sam Joridson has correctly quipped, "Kipling can be accused of many things, but I’d say a lack of imagination is not one of them."

But from these statements a generalized, vague, false view of Rudyard Kipling has gripped Western culture, from the media, who never encounter a left-wing accusation of racism, it cannot embrace, to the professorate, about whom the same characterization remains relevant.

Rescuing and Rehabilitating

T. S. Eliot remarked about Kipling, " . . . it is impossible to belittle Kipling." But Eliot's critical essays about Kipling hinge on making a distention between Kipling's fiction, for which Eliot considers Kipling a master and Kipling's poetry, for which Eliot considers the novelist less masterful. Thus Eliot's attempt to rehabilitate Kipling went only so far, and likely had little effect of the ilk that continued to label Kipling a racist and a misogynist.

Among those currently who are attempting to restore Rudyard Kipling to his rightful place in the literary world as a writer and political thinker is David Gilmour whose biography, The Long Recessional, offers analyses that serve to take the sting out of many the barbs lobbed against Kipling over the decades. According to John Gross, whose review appears in The Telegraph, "you close The Long Recessional with enhanced respect for Kipling, especially after reading the closing pages. He saw the threat of Hitler from the first. His last years — he died in 1936 — were overshadowed by his premonition of the conflict to come, and in the Second World War, as Gilmour justly claims, he had his posthumous vindication."

The brilliant critic and editor of The New Criterion, Roger Kimball, credits a zeitgeist shift with the "de-claw[ing] and domesticat[ing of] Rudyard Kipling, that gradually diminished that brusque and imposing giant to an entertaining homunculus." Kimball says, "Kipling’s politics suddenly became a popular as well as an elite embarrassment."

That Rudyard Kipling had been a widely read author presented a problem for those whose political leanings had shifted with that zeitgeist. Having committed to memory Kipling's many memorable lines, quoters engaged a level of disingenuousness that can only be labeled shameful. For example, as Kimball explains,

It got to the point where people who had absorbed Kipling unwittingly suppressed his authorship. Orwell notes that Middleton Murry, quoting Kipling’s famous lines "There are nine and sixty ways / Of constructing tribal lays," mistakenly attributed them to Thackeray. Kipling might have written good poetry, but it wasn’t good for poetry to have been written by Kipling. Sanitizing Kipling, segregating his political and social opinions from his literary accomplishment, has had the unfortunate effect of diminishing the appreciation or even the knowledge of that accomplishment.

Roger Kimball's elucidating essay, "Rudyard Kipling unburdened," appearing in April 2008 in The New Criterion, can be considered one of the most comprehensive pieces to rehabilitate the reputation of Rudyard Kipling. Kimball debunks the often misunderstood lines that have served to tarnish Kipling's reputation. For example, the line with the phrase, "lesser breeds," offered fodder for the politically correct to munch on for decades. "Lesser breeds" appears in Kipling's poem, "Recessional," an occasional poem written for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee:

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boasting as the Gentiles use

Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget — lest we forget!

About the misunderstanding of these lines, Kimball explains,

As Orwell noted, the line about "lesser breeds" "is always good for a snigger in pansy-left circles." But it doesn’t refer, as Orwell also noted, to "coolies" being kicked about "by pukka sahib in a pith helmet" but rather to the awe-less multitudes "without the Law," Germans, first of all, but also anyone who glorified power without restraint or obeisance.

Another set of lines that cause the "pansy-left" to cringe is the one containing the currently offensive reference to "white": "Take up the White Man’s burden—/ And reap his old reward: / The blame of those ye better, / The hate of those ye guard—." But again, the term "white" does not refer to skin color, or to finite imperialists; it refers to "civilization" of "those who conduct themselves within the Law for the good of others"; thus "Gunga Din may have a ‘dirty’ hide, but he is ‘white, clear white, inside.'"

It is certainly sad and shameful that a set of events, including misunderstandings real or concocted, may be allowed to tarnish a good man's reputation, whether it be a writer a century or two ago or a Supreme Court nominee in present day America. Nevertheless, the "pansy-left circles" will always be with us, and as Evelyn Waugh, elucidated:

Kipling believed civilization to be something laboriously achieved which was only precariously defended. He wanted to see the defenses fully manned and he hated the liberals because he thought them gullible and feeble, believing in the easy perfectibility of man and ready to abandon the work of centuries for sentimental qualms.

Waugh's description of the "liberals" remains in place, as comedian and pundit Evan Sayet has so accurately and thoroughly elucidated. And it remains to be seen whether the Kipling reputation can ever be restored to its original luster. One can hope that those reading his works today can at least take the time to learn some history, even if they have no capacity for getting its meaning right.

As Andrew Roberts has asserted in his review of Gilmour's The Long Recessional, "The abuse of Kipling has been long and sustained, yet his works might prove our ideal cultural reference for the next stages of the war against terror: he warned that imperialists could only expect 'the blame of those ye better, / The hate of those ye guard'."

Sources

© 2016 Linda Sue Grimes

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  • Maya Shedd Temple profile imageAUTHOR

    Linda Sue Grimes 

    2 years ago from U.S.A.

    Yes, you're right, whonu. Focusing on the bright side always lifts the spirits, calms the nerves, and provides an overall better outcome. Kipling was one of the best, for sure. HIs time spent in India served him well. Thanks for your comment, whonu . . . have a blessed day!

  • whonunuwho profile image

    whonunuwho 

    2 years ago from United States

    Kipling has always been one of my favorites. Karma...just desserts...whatever the recipe...there is a chef up there watching us all and we do earn what we get. That's what makes this life so gratifying. Those bad seeds we knew in the past and what they each sprouted up to be later. I do usually focus on the positive. It promotes a happier life. whonu

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