Biography

Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay,India on December 30,1865, in the J. J. School of Arts, of which, his father, Lockwood Kipling, was then head. At the age of six, he was left in a foster home in England. He was extremely unhappy at his foster home, but stayed there until 1878, when he entered a boarding school in England.


His later writings indicate that he was happy at school, where he started writing. He returned to India in 1882 and joined his parents in Lahore where he worked as a journalist with Civil and Military Gazette. In 1887 he joined The Pioneer in Allahabad as an assistant editor and overseas correspondent. Before he went back to England and settled in London in 1889, he had already become famous for his verses and satirical writings such as Plain Tales from the Hills (1888) and Soldiers Three (1892).


By the last decade of the nineteenth century Rudyard Kipling had become enormously successful as a poet and writer, and was seen as a successor to Charles Dickens. He married Caroline Starr Balestier in 1892. His two novels, The Jungle Book (1894-5) have now become widely translated classics. His other novels include Kim (1901) and Just So Stories (1902). He received the Nobel Prize for literature in 1907.


Rudyard Kipling died on January 18, 1936 in London. He was buried in the Poet's Corner at Westminster Abbey. His autobiography Something of Myself appeared in 1937.

Mandalay

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
      Come you back to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay:
      Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
      Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
      On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
      Elephints a-pilin' teak
      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
      Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid ; to speak!
      On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
      No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
      But them spicy garlic smells,
      An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple- ;bells;
      On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
      Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
      Law! wot do they understand?
      I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
      On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay,
      With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

Rudyard Kipling

Mandalay

A Moulmein près de la vieille Pagode, regardant la mer à l'est,
Est assise une jeune Birmane, et je sais qu'elle pense à moi;
Car il y a du vent dans les palmiers, et les clochettes du temple disent:
"Reviens-t-en, soldat Britannique; reviens-t-en à Mandalay!"
      Reviens-t-en à Mandalay,
      Où la vieille Flottille est en panne:
      N'entends-tu pas le lourd travail des aubes de Rangoon à Mandalay?
      Sur la route de Mandalay,
      Où jouent les poissons volants,
      Et L'aurore se lève comme l'orage, en Chine, de l'autre côté de la Baie!

Son cotillon était jaune et son petit bonnet était vert,
Et son nom était Supi-yaw-lat-, exactement le même que celui de la reine épouse du roi Thibaud,
Et la première fois que je la vis, elle fumait dans un fume-cigare blanc,
Et gaspillait des baisers chrétiens au pied d'une idole païenne;
      Idole repue faite de boue_
      Qu'ils appelaient le Grand Dieu Boudd_
      Brave petite, comme elle s'en souciait des idoles quand je l'embrassais sur place!
      Sur la route de Mandalay...

Quand la bruine recouvrait les rizières et que le soleil descendait lentement,
Elle prenait son petit banjo et elle chantait "Kulla-lo-lo!"
Son bras sur mon épaule et sa joue contre ma joue
Nous regardions les vapeurs et les hathis* empilant le teck.
      Elephants empilant le teck
      Dans la crique boueuse, boueuse,
      Où le silence pesait si lourd qu'on osait à peine parler!
      Sur la route de Mandalay...

Mais tout cela, c'est table rase derrière moi. Il y a bien longtemps et c'est très loin,
Il n'y a pas de bus entre Bank et Mandalay;
Et j'apprends ici, à Londres ce que disent les vétérans:
"Si vous avez entendu l'appel de l'Orient, vous n'aurez jamais besoin de rien d'autre"
      Non! vous n'aurez besoin de rien d'autre
      Que ses fortes senteurs d'épices,
      Et du soleil et des palmiers et des clochettes du temple qui tintent
      Sur la route de Mandalay...

Je suis fatigué d'user mes semelles sur ces pavés râpeux,
Et cette fichue bruine Engliche réveille la fièvre dans mes os;
Même si je me promène avec cinquante bonnes, de Chelsea au Strand,
Elles parlent abondamment d'amour, mais Dieu, qu'en connaissent- elles?
      Visage bovin, mains sales,
      A l'Ordre! Qu'en connaissent-elles?
      J'ai une jeune fille plus nette, plus douce, dans un pays plus propre et plus vert!
      Sur la route de Mandalay...

Emmène-moi quelque part à l'est de Suez où le meilleur est comme le pire,
Où il n'y a pas de dix commandements et où tout homme peut boire jusqu'à plus soif;
Car les clochettes du temple appellent, et c'est là-bas que je voudrais être_
A Moulmein près de la vieille Pagode, regardant paresseusement la mer;
      Sur la route de Mandalay,
      Où la vieille Flottille est en panne,
      Avec l'infirmerie sous le taud quand nous allâmes à Mandalay!

      O la route de Mandalay,
      Où jouent les poissons volants,
      Et l'aurore se lève comme l'orage, en Chine, de l'autre côté de la Baie!

(Translated by Gilles de Sèze

Ndt *Eléphants de travail

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