[begin page 176]

The group sat on the veranda, and while Kipling rested and refreshed himself he refreshed the others with his talk—talk of a quality which was well above what they were accustomed to; talk which might be likened to footprints, so strong and definite was the impression which it left behind. They often spoke wonderingly of Kipling’s talk, afterward, and they recognized that they had been in contact with an extraordinary man; but it is more than likely that they were the only persons who had perceived that he was extraordinary. It is not likely that they perceived his full magnitude; it is most likely that they were Eric EricsonsⒺexplanatory note who had discovered a continent but did not suspect the horizonless extent of it. His was an unknown name, and was to remain unknown for a year yet; but Susy kept his card and treasured it as an interesting possession. Its address was Allahabad. No doubt India had been to her an imaginary land, up to this time; a fairyland, a dreamlandⒶtextual note, a land made out of poetry and moonlight for the Arabian Nights to do their gorgeous miracles in; and doubtless Kipling’s flesh and blood and modern clothes realized it to her for the first time, and solidified it. I think so because she more than once remarked upon its incredible remoteness from the world that we were living in, and computed that remoteness and pronounced the result with a sort of awe—fourteen thousand miles, or sixteen thousand, whichever it was. Kipling had written upon the card a compliment to me. This gave the card an additional value in Susy’s eyes, since as a distinction it was the next thing to being recognized by a denizen of the moon.

Kipling came down, that afternoon, and spent a couple of hours with me, and at the end of that time I had surprised him as much as he had surprised me—and the honors were easy. I believed that he knew more than any person I had met before, and I knew that he knew I knew less than any person he had met before—though he did not say it; and I was not expecting that he would. When he was gone, Mrs. Langdon wanted to know about my visitor. I said,Ⓐtextual note

“He is a stranger to me, but he is a most remarkable manⒶtextual note—and I am the other one. Between us, we cover all knowledge; he knows all that can be known, and I know the rest.”

He was a stranger to me, and to all the world, and remained so for twelve months; then he became suddenly known, and universally knownⒺexplanatory note. From that day to this he has held this unique distinction: that of being the only living person, not head of a nation, whose voice is heard around the world the moment it drops a remark; the only such voice in existence that does not go by slow ship and rail but always travels first-class—by cable.

About a year after Kipling’s visit in Elmira, George Warner came into our library one morning, in Hartford, with a small book in his hand, and asked me if I had ever heard of Rudyard Kipling. I said,Ⓐtextual note

“No.”

[begin page 177]

He said I would hear of him very soon, and that the noise he was going to make would be loud and continuous. The little book was the “Plain Tales,” and he left it for me to read, saying it was charged with a new and inspiriting fragrance and would blow a refreshing breath around the world that would revive the nations. A day or two later he brought a copy of the London World which had a sketch of Kipling in it, and a mention of the fact that he had traveled in the United States. According to this sketch, he had passed through Elmira. This remark, added to the additional fact that he hailed from India, attracted my attention—also Susy’s. She went to her room and brought his card from its place in the frame of her mirror, and the Quarry Farm visitor stood identified.

I am not acquainted with my own books, but I know Kipling’s—at any rate I know them better than I know anybody else’s books. They never grow pale to me; they keep their color; they are always fresh. Certain of the ballads have a peculiar and satisfying charm for me. To my mind, the incomparable Jungle Books must remain unfellowed permanently. I think it was worth the journey to India to qualify myself to read “Kim” understandingly and to realize how great a book it is. The deep and subtle and fascinating charm of India pervades no other book as it pervades “Kim;” “Kim”Ⓔexplanatory note is pervaded by it as by an atmosphere. I read the book every year, and in this way I go back to India without fatigue—the only foreign land I ever day-dream about or deeply long to see again.