For the Duration of the War Page #2

"For the Duration of the War" is a collection of short stories by Hector Hugh Munro, better known as Saki. Set against the backdrop of World War I, the stories showcase Saki's signature wit and dark humor, exploring themes of human behavior, societal norms, and the absurdities of war. Through his clever narratives, Saki critiques the absurdities of life during wartime, blending satire with poignant observations about the British upper class. The collection captures the tension and absurdity of the era, highlighting the resilience and folly of individuals facing the challenges and uncertainties of war.

• Short story

								


   Some laud a life of mild content:
      Content may fall, as well as Pride.
   The Frog who hugged his lowly Ditch
      Was much disgruntled when it dried.

   'You are not on the Road to Hell,'
      You tell me with fanatic glee:
   Vain boaster, what shall that avail
      If Hell is on the road to thee?

   A Poet praised the Evening Star,
      Another praised the Parrot's hue:
   A Merchant praised his merchandise,
      And he, at least, praised what he knew."

It was this verse which gave the critics and commentators some clue as to
the probable date of the composition; the parrot, they reminded the
public, was in high vogue as a type of elegance in the days of Hafiz of
Shiraz; in the quatrains of Omar it makes no appearance.

The next verse, it was pointed out, would apply to the political
conditions of the present day as strikingly as to the region and era for
which it was written--

   "A Sultan dreamed day-long of Peace,
      The while his Rivals' armies grew:
   They changed his Day-dreams into sleep
      --The Peace, methinks, he never knew."

Woman appeared little, and wine not at all in the verse of the hunter-
poet, but there was at least one contribution to the love-philosophy of
the East--

   "O Moon-faced Charmer, and Star-drowned Eyes,
      And cheeks of soft delight, exhaling musk,
   They tell me that thy charm will fade; ah well,
      The Rose itself grows hue-less in the Dusk."

Finally, there was a recognition of the Inevitable, a chill breath
blowing across the poet's comfortable estimate of life--

   "There is a sadness in each Dawn,
      A sadness that you cannot rede:
   The joyous Day brings in its train
      The Feast, the Loved One, and the Steed.

   Ah, there shall come a Dawn at last
      That brings no life-stir to your ken,
   A long, cold Dawn without a Day,
      And ye shall rede its sadness then."

The verses of Ghurab came on the public at a moment when a comfortable,
slightly quizzical philosophy was certain to be welcome, and their
reception was enthusiastic.  Elderly colonels, who had outlived the love
of truth, wrote to the papers to say that they had been familiar with the
works of Ghurab in Afghanistan, and Aden, and other suitable localities a
quarter of a century ago.  A Ghurab-of-Karmanshah Club sprang into
existence, the members of which alluded to each other as Brother
Ghurabians on the slightest provocation.  And to the flood of inquiries,
criticisms, and requests for information, which naturally poured in on
the discoverer, or rather the discloser, of this long-hidden poet, the
Rev. Wilfrid made one effectual reply: Military considerations forbade
any disclosures which might throw unnecessary light on his nephew's
movements.

After the war the Rector's position will be one of unthinkable
embarrassment, but for the moment, at any rate, he has driven The
Forbidden Horsepond out of the field.
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