to an ill-balanced conception of what constituted true dignity, but he was unwilling that his countrymen should be thought by mine to be sunk into a deeper barbarism than actually existed.
His warning was not inopportune. Seated next to this person at a later period was a maiden from whose agreeably-poised lips had hitherto proceeded nothing but sincerity and fact. Watching her closely I asked her, as one who only had a languid interest either one way or the other, whether her revered father or her talented and richly-apparelled brothers ever spent their time flying kites about the city. In spite of a most efficient self-control her colour changed at my words, and her features trembled for a moment, but quickly reverting to herself she replied that she thought not; then—as though to subdue my suspicions more completely—that she was sure they did not, as the kites would certainly frighten the horses and the appointed watchmen of the street would not allow it. She confessed, however, with unassumed candour, that the immediate descendants of her sister were gracefully proficient in the art.
From this, great and enlightened one, you will readily perceive how misleading an impression might be carried away by a person scrupulously-intentioned but not continually looking both ways, when placed among a people endowed with the uneasy suspicion of the barbarian and struggling to assert a doubtful refinement. Apart from this, there has to be taken into consideration their involved process of reasoning, and the unexpectedly different standards which they apply to every subject.
At the house of the Maidens Blank, when the evening was not spent in listening to melodious voices and the harmony of stringed woods, it was usual to take part in sit-round games of various kinds. (And while it is on his brush this person would say with commendable pride that a well-trained musician among us can extort more sound from a hollow wooden pig, costing only a few cash, than the most skilful here ever attain on their largest instrument—a highly-lacquered coffin on legs, filled with bells and hidden springs, and frequently sold for a thousand taels.)
Upon a certain evening, at the conclusion of one sit-round game which involved abrupt music, a barrier of chairs, and the exhilarating possibility of being sat upon by the young and vivacious in their zeal, a person of the company turned suddenly to the one who is communicating with you and said enticingly, “Why did Birdcage Walk?”
Not judging from his expression that this was other than a polite inquiry on a matter which disturbed his repose, I was replying that the manifestation was undoubtedly the work of a vexatious demon which had taken up its abode in the article referred to, when another, by my side, cried aloud, “Because it envied Queen Anne’s Gate”; and without a pause cast back the question, “Who carved The Poultry?”
In spite of the apparent simplicity of the demand it was received by all in an attitude of complicated doubt, and this person was considering whether he might not acquire distinction by replying that such an office fell by custom to the lot of the more austere Maiden Blank, when the very inadequate reply, “Mark Lane with St. Mary’s Axe,” was received with applause and some observations in a half-tone regarding the identity of the fowl.
By the laws of the sit-round games the one who had last spoken now proclaimed himself, demanding to know, “Why did Battersea Rise?” but the involvement was evidently superficial, for the maiden at whose memory this one’s organs still vibrate ignobly at once replied, “Because it thought Clapham Common,” in turn inquiring, “What made the Marble Arch?”
Although I would have willingly sacrificed to an indefinite extent to be furnished with the preconcerted watchword, so that I might have enlarged myself in the eyes of this consecrated being’s unapproachable esteem, I had already decided that the competition was too intangible for one whose thoughts lay in well-defined parallel lines, and it fell to another to reply, “To hear Salisbury Court.”
This, O my broad-minded ancestor of the first degree—an aimless challenge coupled with the name of one recognisable spot, replied to by the haphazard retort of another place, frequently in no way joined to it, was regarded as an exceptionally fascinating sit-round game by a company of elderly barbarians!
“What couldn’t Walbrook?” it might be, and “Such Cheapside,” would be deemed a praiseworthy solution. “When did King’s Bench Walk?” would be asked, and to reply, “When Gray’s Inn Road,” covered the one with overpowering acclamation. “Bevis Marks only an Inner Circle at The Butts; why?” was a demand of such elaborate complexity that (although this person was lured out of his self-imposed restraint by the silence of all round, and submerging his intelligence to an acquired level, unobtrusively suggested, “Because Aylesbury ducks, perchance”) it fell to the one propounding to announce, “Because St. John’s Wood Shoot-up Hill.”
Admittedly it is written, “When the shutter is fastened the girdle is loosened,” but it is as truly said, “Not in the head, nor yet in the feet, but in the organs of digestion does wisdom reside,” and even in jesting the middle course of neither an excessive pride nor an absolute weak-mindedness is to be observed. With what concrete pangs of acute mental distress would this person ever behold his immaculate progenitor taking part in a similar sit-round game with an assembly of worthy mandarins, the one asking questions of meaningless import, as “Why did they Hangkow?” and another replying in an equal strain of no consecutiveness, “In order to T’in Tung!”
At length a person who is spoken of as having formerly been the captain of a band of warriors turned to me with an unsuspected absence of ferocity and said, “Your countrymen are very proficient in the art of epigram, are they not, Mr. Kong? Will you not, in turn, therefore, favour us with an example?” Whereupon several maidens exclaimed with engaging high temper, “Oh yes; do ask us some funny Chinese riddles, Mr. Kong!”
“Assuredly there are among us many classical instances of the light sayings which require matching,” I replied, gratified that I should have the opportunity of showing their superiority. “One, harmonious beyond the blend of challenge and retort, is as follows—‘The Phoenix embroidered upon the side of the shoe: When the shoe advances the Phoenix leaps forward.’ ”
“Oh!” cried several of the maidens, and from the nature of their glances it might reasonably be gathered that already they began to recognise the inferiority of their own sayings.
“Is that the question, or the answer, or both?” asked a youth of unfledged maturity, and to hide their conscious humiliation several persons allowed their faces to melt away.
“That which has been expressed,” replied this person with an ungrudging toleration, “is the first or question portion of the contrast. The answer is that which will be supplied by your honourable condescension.”
“But,” interposed one of the maidens, “it isn’t really a question, you know, Mr. Kong.”
“In a way of regarding it, it may be said to be question, inasmuch as it requires an answer to establish the comparison. The most pleasing answer is that which shall be dissimilar in idea, and yet at the same time maintain the most perfect harmony of parallel thought,” I replied. “Now permit your exceptional minds to wander in a forest of similitudes: ‘The Phoenix embroidered upon the side of the shoe: When the shoe advances the Phoenix leaps forward.’ ”
“Oh, if that’s all you want,” said the one Herbert, who by an ill destiny chanced to be present, “ ‘The red-hot poker held before the Cat’s nose: When the poker advances the Cat leaps backwards.’ ”
“Oh, very good!” cried several of those around, “of course it naturally would. Is that right, Mr. Kong?”
“If the high-souled company is satisfied, then it must be, for there is no conclusive right or wrong—only an unending search for that which is most gem-set and resourceful,” replied this
