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A BAYARD FROM BENGAL
EXHORTED HER, WITH AN ELOQUENCE THAT MOVED ALL PRESENT, TO ABANDON HER FRIVOLITIES AND LEVITIES (Frontispiece)]
A BAYARD FROM BENGAL
BEING SOME ACCOUNT OF THE MAGNIFICENT AND SPANKING CAREER OF CHUNDER BINDABUN BHOSH, ESQ., B.A., CAMBRIDGE, BY HURRY BUNGSHO JABBERJEE, B.A., CALCUTTA UNIVERSITY, AUTHOR OF "JOTTINGS AND TITTLINGS," ETC., ETC., TO WHICH IS APPENDED THE PARABLES AND PROVERBS OF PILJOSH, FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL STYPTIC BY ANOTHER HAND, WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES AND APPENDIX BY THE ABOVE HURRY BUNGSHO JABBERJEE, B.A.
THE WHOLE EDITED AND REVISED BY F. ANSTEY AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," ETC. ETC.
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY BERNARD PARTRIDGE
METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. LONDON 1902
_Reprinted from_ "PUNCH"
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. FROM CALCUTTA TO CAMBRIDGE OVERSEA ROUTE
II. HOW MR BHOSH DELIVERED A DAMSEL FROM A DEMENTED COW
III. THE INVOLUNTARY FASCINATOR
IV. A KICK FROM A FRIENDLY FOOt
V. THE DUEL TO THE DEATH
VI. LORD JOLLY IS SATISFIED
VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNWIELDY GIFTHORSE
VIII. A RIGHTABOUT FACER FOR MR BHOSH
IX. THE DARK HORSE
X. TRUST HER NOT! SHE IS FOOLING THEE!
XI. STONE WALLS DO NOT MAKE A CAGE
XII. A RACE AGAINST TIME
XIII. A SENSATIONAL DERBY STRUGGLE
XIV. A GRAND FINISH
* * * * *
THE PARABLES OF PILJOSH
PRELIMINARY
I have the honour humbly to inform my readers that, after prolongedconsumption of midnight oil, I succeeded in completing this imposingsociety novel, which is now, by the indulgence of my friends and kindfathers, the honble publishers, laid at their feet.
My inducement to this enterprise was the spectacle of very inferiorrubbish palmed off by so-called popular novelists such as HonblesKipling, Joshua Barrie, Antony Weyman, Stanley Hope, and thecollaborative but feminine authoresses of "The Red Thumb in thePottage," all of whom profess (very, very incorrectly) to give accuratereliable descriptions of Indian, English or Scotch episodes.
The pity of it, that a magnificent and gullible British Public should besuckled like a babe on such spoonmeat and small beer!
Would no one arise, inflamed by the pure enthusiasm of his _cacoethesscribendi_, and write a romance which shall secure the plerophory ofBritish, American, Anglo-Indian, Colonial, and Continental readers bydint of its imaginary power and slavish fidelity to Nature?
And since Echo answered that no one replied to this invitation, I (likea fool, as some will say) rushed in where angels were apprehensive ofbeing too bulky to be borne.
Being naturally acquainted with gentlemen of my own nationality andeducation, and also, of course, knowing London and suburban society _abovo usque ad mala_ (or, from the new-laid egg to the stage when it isbeginning to go bad), I decided to take as my theme the adventures of atypically splendid representative of Young India on British soil, and Iam in earnest hopes to avoid the shocking solecisms and exaggerationsindulged in by ordinary English novelists.
I have been compelled to take to penmanship of this sort owing topressure of _res angusta domi_, the immoderate increase of hostagesto fortune, and proportionate falling off of emoluments from myprofession as Barrister-at-Law.
Therefore, I hope that all concerned will smile favourably upon my newdeparture, and will please kindly understand that, if my Englishliterary style has suffered any deterioration, it is solely due to mybeing out of practice, and such spots on the sun must be excused as mereflies in ointment.
After forming my resolution of writing a large novel, I confided it tomy crony, Mr Ram Ashootosh Lall, who warmly recommended me to perseverein such a _magnum opus_. So I became divinely inflated periodicallyevery evening from 8 to 12 P.M., disregarding all entreaties fromfeminine relatives to stop and indulge in a blow-out on ordinaryeatables, like Archimedes when Troy was captured, who was so engrossedin writing prepositions on the sand that he was totally unaware that hewas being barbarously slaughtered.
And at length my colossal effusion was completed, and I had writtenmyself out; after which I had the indescribable joy and felicity to readmy composition to my mothers-in-law and wives and their respectiveprogenies and offspring, whereupon, although they were not acquaintedwith a word of English, they were overcome by such severe admiration formy fecundity and native eloquence that they swooned with rapture.
I am not a superstitious, but I took the trouble to consult asoothsayer, as to the probable fortunes of my undertaking, and he atonce confidently predicted that my novel was to render all readers dumbas fishes with sheer amazement and prove a very fine feather in my cap.
For all the above reasons, I am modestly confident that it will begenerally recognised as a masterpiece, especially when it is rememberedthat it is the work of a native Indian, whose 'prentice hand is still anovice in wielding the _currente calamo_ of fiction.
I cannot conclude without some allusion to the drawings which are, Ibelieve, to adorn my work, but which I have not yet been enabled toinspect, owing to the fact that, having fish of more importance to fryat the time, I commissioned a certain young English friend (the same whofurnished sundry poetic headings for chapters) to engage a designer forthe pictorial department.
Needless to say, I intended that he was to award the apple only to someRoyal Academician of distinguished talents--yet at the eleventh hour,when too late to make other arrangements, I am informed that the job hasbeen entrusted to a certain Birnadhur Pahtridhji, whose name (thoughprobably incorrectly transcribed) certainly denotes a draughtsman ofnative Indian origin!
Whether he is fully competent for such a task I cannot at present say.But, unless he is qualified, like myself, by actual residence in GreatBritain, I fear that he may not possess sufficient familiarity with thecustoms and solecisms of English society to avoid at least a fewludicrous and even lamentable mistakes.
To guard against such contingencies I shall insert a note or commentopposite each picture as it is submitted to me, pointing out in whatrespects (if any) the artist has failed to represent the author'sintentions.
I sincerely hope that I may now and then be able to pat the aforesaid MrP. on the back instead of acting as a Rhadamanthus to rap his knuckles.