The Betrothed
"You must choose between me and your cigar."
--BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.
Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.
Maggie is pretty to look at--Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.
There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay,
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away--
Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown--
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
Maggie, my wife at fifty--gray and dour and old--
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar--
The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket--
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket.
Open the old cigar-box--let me consider awhile--
Here is a mild Manilla--there is a wifely smile.
Which is the better portion--bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?
Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride.
Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close.
This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return,
With only a Suttee's passion--to do their duty and burn.
This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my brides again.
I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
I will scent 'em with best Vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.
For Maggie has written a letter that gives me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve-month clear,
But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year;
And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.
And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.
Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?
Open the old cigar-box--let me consider anew--
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
Light me another Cuba--I hold to my first-sworn vows,
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse!
Commentary
Inspired by yesterday’s poem…
This is one of those poems that I remembered mostly because I liked a fragment of it, in this case the wonderfully flowing line
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
In truth, when I went to read it again, I was rather disappointed - the premise is clever enough, and there are some nice lines, but overall the poem felt like it was trying to squeeze too much out of a single idea, and ended up sounding rather dull in consequence.
I do have to wonder, considering my usual high regard of Kipling’s poetry, whether this is at least in part because, not being a smoker myself, I have no emotional or visceral reaction to anything in the poem, and that makes potentially moving, stirring or humorous lines fall flat. What say those of you who do indulge? Is this actually one of Kipling’s nail-on-the-head poems that I simply lack the context to appreciate? Or is this indeed one of the rare times when he has simply missed the mark?
— Martin
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Victoria (home) · 5 September 2006
Having been very fond of cigarettes for many years, and having given them up for several months, I can appreciate Kiplings’ passionate overture. Smoking is so addictive, that for some, the threat of a gangrenous/cancerous future is not enough for them to give it up.
However, being a woman, I found this poem a touch “Men’s Club Only”. I would like to think that where scientific proof of hideous diseases fail, the right woman would be worth quitting for. Quite obviously, Maggie did not light Kipling’s fire, or else he would not be predicting his future affections as “Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar”…Charming!!
As humorous as a few of the lines are, I think the poem is tedious, charmless and ultimately, silly.
LAURA HARDING · 5 September 2006
All I know is I once had a very old chemist uncle who used to quote that very line—“A woman is only a woman….” regularly and with relish. I never even gave it a passing thought till I read it here. Thanks for sourcing it for me, Martin, and for bringing back a great memory!!
lilibon · 5 September 2006
i’m curious that you speak only of the tobacco, and not the spouse, the apparently beleagured Maggie! What of her, what becomes of her when his ahses (rather the cigar’s ashes!) are swept away?
lilibon
Tamsin Bacchus · 5 September 2006
You refer to yesterday’s poem but I seem to have missed out on it and when I have recently visited the website still seems to be stuck in last January. Which is a pity because I would like to see the comments you have invited on this. My father smoked and I first heard this one of Kipling’s from him.
These though are mild quibbles. I am loving being a part of this process. Keep up the good work!
psisushi · 14 September 2006
I don’t think the poem requires that much context - he does go on a bit long, but only to show the rationalizations of the narrator. Of course, I do have some context for the poem: my girlfriend smokes, and there have been a few conversations (thankfully not as precipitous) about whether or not she should quit.
Keeping in mind that there was little or no knowledge of lung cancer in Kipling’s day, the poem is just touching on a basic problem with human relationships: if your mate is trying to change you, especially your harmless habits or hobbies, is she really right for you? The same (rather self-centered) question is at least partially responsible for the high divorce rate in North America.
The reason Kipling’s poem is fifty-two lines long, (rather than, say, four) is that he is stressing the narrator’s psychology: the rationalizations being made to justify ending a marriage (which was much more serious than it is today, of course) over such an insignificant issue as cigars.
If you take the poem literally, it’s a justification for divorce. If you read between the lines, it’s a study of psychological dependence. It’s a great deal more vague than most of what he wrote, but either way, it’s a good read, if you ask me.