The Chronicles of Clovis | Page 5

The wine lists had been
consulted, by some with the blank embarrassment of a schoolboy
suddenly called upon to locate a Minor Prophet in the tangled
hinterland of the Old Testament, by others with the severe scrutiny
which suggests that they have visited most of the higher- priced wines
in their own homes and probed their family weaknesses."
"Locate" is the pleasant word here. Still more satisfying, in the story of
the man who was tattooed "from collar-bone to waist-line with a
glowing representation of the Fall of Icarus," is the word "privilege":
"The design when finally developed was a slight disappointment to
Monsieur Deplis, who had suspected Icarus of being a fortress taken by
Wallenstein in the Thirty Years' War, but he was more than satisfied
with the execution of the work, which was acclaimed by all who had

the privilege of seeing it as Pincini's masterpiece."
This story, THE BACKGROUND, and MRS PACKLETIDE'S TIGER
seem to me to be the masterpieces of this book. In both of them Clovis
exercises, needlessly, his titular right of entry, but he can be removed
without damage, leaving Saki at his best and most characteristic, save
that he shows here, in addition to his own shining qualities, a
compactness and a finish which he did not always achieve. With these I
introduce you to him, confident that ten minutes of his conversation,
more surely than any words of mine, will have given him the freedom
of your house.
A. A. MILNE.

CONTENTS
ESMÉ THE MATCH-MAKER TOBERMORY MRS.
PACKLETIDE'S TIGER THE STAMPEDING OF LADY
BASTABLE THE BACKGROUND HERMANN THE
IRASCIBLE--A STORY OF THE GREAT WEEP THE
UNREST-CURE THE JESTING OF ARLINGTON STRINGHAM
SREDNI VASHTAR ADRIAN THE CHAPLET THE QUEST
WRATISLAV THE EASTER EGG FILBOID STUDGE, THE STORY
OF A MOUSE THAT HELPED THE MUSIC ON THE HILL THE
STORY OF ST. VESPALUUS THE WAY TO THE DAIRY THE
PEACE OFFERING THE PEACE OF MOWSLE BARTON THE
TALKING-OUT OF TARRINGTON THE HOUNDS OF FATE THE
RECESSIONAL A MATTER OF SENTIMENT THE SECRET SIX
OF SEPTIMUS BROPE "MINISTERS OF GRACE" THE
REMOULDING OF GROBY LINGTON ACKNOWLEDGMENT

ESMÉ

"All hunting stories are the same," said Clovis; "just as all Turf stories

are the same, and all--"
"My hunting story isn't a bit like any you've ever heard," said the
Baroness. "It happened quite a while ago, when I was about
twenty-three. I wasn't living apart from my husband then; you see,
neither of us could afford to make the other a separate allowance. In
spite of everything that proverbs may say, poverty keeps together more
homes than it breaks up. But we always hunted with different packs.
All this has nothing to do with the story."
"We haven't arrived at the meet yet. I suppose there was a meet," said
Clovis.
"Of course there was a meet," said the Baroness; all the usual crowd
were there, especially Constance Broddle. Constance is one of those
strapping florid girls that go so well with autumn scenery or Christmas
decorations in church. 'I feel a presentiment that something dreadful is
going to happen,' she said to me; 'am I looking pale?'
"She was looking about as pale as a beetroot that has suddenly heard
bad news.
"'You're looking nicer than usual,' I said, 'but that's so easy for you.'
Before she had got the right bearings of this remark we had settled
down to business; hounds had found a fox lying out in some
gorse-bushes."
"I knew it," said Clovis, "in every fox-hunting story that I've ever heard
there's been a fox and some gorse-bushes."
"Constance and I were well mounted," continued the Baroness serenely,
"and we had no difficulty in keeping ourselves in the first flight, though
it was a fairly stiff run. Towards the finish, however, we must have
held rather too independent a line, for we lost the hounds, and found
ourselves plodding aimlessly along miles away from anywhere. It was
fairly exasperating, and my temper was beginning to let itself go by
inches, when on pushing our way through an accommodating hedge we
were gladdened by the sight of hounds in full cry in a hollow just

beneath us.
"'There they go,' cried Constance, and then added in a gasp, 'In
Heaven's name, what are they hunting?'
"It was certainly no mortal fox. It stood more than twice as high, had a
short, ugly head, and an enormous thick neck.
"'It's a hyaena,' I cried; 'it must have escaped from Lord Pabham's Park.'
"At that moment the hunted beast turned and faced its pursuers, and the
hounds (there were only about six couple of them) stood round in a
half-circle and looked foolish. Evidently they had broken away from
the rest of the pack on the trail of this alien scent, and were not quite