" SAKI," CYNIC AND SAGE

Wiso are the great humorists of the day ? Messrs. Wodehouse, Shaw, Jacobs, Wyndham Lewis—do any of them compare in brilliant lightness with the late H. H. Munro ? As Mr. Walpole says in the preface to Reginald (each book has a. preface by an eminent author) : " ' Saki's ' work is absolutely unique in English literature. . . . His quality was this,

that under cover of light conversation, without any sen- timentality or moralizing, he revealed, perhaps more deeply than any of his contemporaries, the danger and peril of life. He was not concerned so much with the tragedy because, as the end of his own life showed us, he had courage enough for anything."

After Messrs. Walpole, Milne, Nevinson and Baring, who write the prefaces to the volumes already published, this reviewer would hesitate to add anything to their just appreciations : instead, he ventures to serve to those of our readers who do not know the flavour of " Saki " a little of his "Byzantine Omelette."

Sophie Chattel-Monkheim, then, was a Socialist by con- viction and a Chattel-Monkheim by marriage. She had advanced and decided views about the distribution of money : it was a pleasing circumstance that she also had the money. When she inveighed against the evils of capitalism she had a feeling that the system, in spite of its iniquities, would last her time. It is one of the consolations of middle-aged reformers

that the good they inculcate must live after them, if it is td live at all.

On a certain spring evening, somewhere towards the dinner hour, Sophie sat tranquilly between her mirror and her maid, hedged round with a great peace, for the Duke of Syria had consented to be her guest. As a good Socialist, Sophie derided the idea of a princely caste, but if there were to be these artificial gradations of rank, she was pleased to have an exalted specimen of an exalted order at her house-party;

She was broad-minded enough to 10V4: the sinner, while hating

the sin.

The maid was doing her hair when there came a quiet but peremptory knock. Richardson held a hurried conference with an invisible messenger at the door, then returned with the information that the servants had " downed tools." " It's Gaspare that the trouble is about," she added.

Gaspare was the omelette specialist, specially engaged . to provide the Duke of Syria's favourite dish. Before that he had been a blackleg against the domestic servants' union, and the servants now demanded his instant dismissal. Sophie asked the maid to finish her hair, so that she might go to speak to them. Richardson sorrowfully refused. " I've no patience with this Socialist foolery, madame, but I've got my living to make and couldn't touch another hair-pin without a strike permit, not if you was to double my wages."

All the guests were in the same plight : one of them indeed was in a portable Turkish bath which he couldn't get out of without his valet's help. Every time he pulled the lever marked release, he only released hot steam. There were two sorts of steam in the bath, " bearable," and " scarcely bearable." When Sophie heard that he had released them both, she

capitulated and consented to dismiss Gaspare.

Half an hour later, the guests were safely marshalled in

the drawing room. But the tension had been too stupefying, not to leave some mental effects behind. Sophie talked at random to her illustrious guests, glancing now at. her elaborately coiffed hair, as an insurance writer might gaze at an overdue vessel that had ridden into harbour in the wake of a devastating hurricane, and now at the door, through which would come the blessed announcement that dinner was served. The butler entered, but the doors closed behind him : his message was for Sophie alone :

" There is no dinner, madame," lie said gravely. " Gaspare belongs to the Union of Cooks and Kitchen Employees, and as soon as they heard of his dismissal at a moment's notice, they struck work. They demand his instant reinstatement and an apology to the Union. I may add, madame, that they are very firm ; I've been obliged to hand back the dinner rolls that were already on the table. '

Here we must leave Sophie, Clovis, Reginald and all their delightful friends : we who knew their type before the War, love and laugh at them ; to succeeding generations they will go down as literature. England lost a real though sometimes bitter humorist when " Saki " was killed, as corporal in the trenches in France.

F. Y.-13.