Concerning the neglect of ancestors and its discreditable
consequences. Two who state the matter definitely.
Concerning the otherside way of looking at things and the
self-contradictory bearing of the maiden Florence.
Venerated Sire,--A discovery of overwhelming malignity oppresses me. In
spite of much baffling ambiguity and the frequent evasion of conscious
guilt, there can be no longer any reasonable doubt that these barbarians
_do not worship their ancestors!_
Hitherto the matter had rested in my mind as an uneasy breath of
suspicion, agitated from time to time by countless indications that
such a possibility might, indeed, exist in a condensed form, but too
inauspiciously profane to be contemplated in the altogether. Thus, when
in the company of the young this person has walked about the streets
of the city, he may at length have said, “Truly, out of your amiable
condescension, you have shown me a variety of entrancing scenes. Let
us now in turn visit the tombs of your ancestors, to the end that I may
transmit fitting gifts to their spirits and discharge a few propitious
fireworks as a greeting.” Yet in no case has this well-intentioned
offer been agilely received, one asserting that he did not know
the resting-place of the tombs in question, a second that he had no
ancestors, a third that Kensal Green was not an entrancing spot for
a wet afternoon, a fourth that he would see them removed to a greater
distance first, another that he drew the line at mafficking in a
cemetery, and the like. These things, it may occur to your omniscience,
might in themselves have been conclusive, yet the next reference to the
matter would perhaps be tending to a more alluring hope.
“To-morrow,” a person has remarked in the hearing of this one, “I go
to the Stratford which is upon the Avon, and without a pause I shall
prostrate myself intellectually before the immortal Shakespeare’s tomb
and worship his unequalled memory.”
“The intention is benevolently conceived,” I remarked. “Yet has he no
descendants, this same Shakespeare, that the conciliation of his spirit
must be left to chance?”
When he assured me that this calamity had come about, I would have added
a richly-gilded brick from my store for transmission also, in the hope
that the neglected and capricious shadow would grant me an immunity from
its resentful attention, but the one in question raised a barrier of
dissent. If I wished to adorn a tomb, he added (evading the deeper
significance of the act), there was that of Goldsmith within its Temple,
upon which many impressionable maidens from across the Bitter Waters of
the West make it a custom to deposit chaplets of verses, in the hope
of seeing the offering chronicled in the papers; and in the Open Space
called Trafalgar there were the images of a great captain who led many
junks to victory and the Emperor of a former dynasty, where doubtless
the matter could be arranged; but the surrounding had by this time
become too involved, and this person had no alternative but to smile
symmetrically and reply that his words were indeed opals falling from a
topaz basin.
Later in the day, being desirous of becoming instructed more definitely,
I addressed myself to a venerable person who makes clean the passage of
the way at a point not far distant.
“If you have no sons to extend your industrious line,” I said, when he
had revealed this fact to me, “why do you not adopt one to that end?”
With narrow-minded covetousness, he replied that nowadays he had enough
to do to keep himself, and that it would be more reasonable to get some
one to adopt HIM.
“But,” I exclaimed, ignoring this ill-timed levity, “who, when you
have Passed Beyond, will worship you and transmit to your spirit the
necessities of life?”
“Governor,” he replied, using the term of familiar dignity, “I’ve made
shift without being worshipped for five and sixty years, and it worries
me a sight more to know who will transmit to my body the necessities of
life until I HAVE Passed Beyond.”
“The final consequences of your self-opinionated carelessness,” this
person continued, “will be that your neglected and unprovided shadow,
finding itself no longer acceptable to the society of the better
class demons, will wander forth, and allying itself in despair to the
companionship of a band of outcasts like itself, will be driven to dwell
in unclean habitations and to subsist on the uncertain bounty of the
charitable.”
“Very likely,” replied the irredeemable person before me. “I can’t help
its troubles. I have to do all that myself as it is.”
Doubtless this fanaticism contains the secret of the ease with which
these barbarians have possessed themselves of the greater part of the
earth, and have even planted their assertive emblems on one or two spots
in our own Flowery Kingdom. What, O my esteemed parent, what can a brave
but devout and demon-fearing nation do when opposed to a people who are
quite prepared to die without first leaving an adequate posterity to
tend their shrines and offer incense? Assuredly, as a neighbouring
philosopher once had occasion to remark, using for his purpose a
metaphor so technically-involved that I must leave the interpretation
until we meet, “It may be war, but it isn’t cricket.”
The inevitable outcome, naturally, is that the Island must be the
wandering-place of myriads of spirits possessing no recognised standing,
and driven by want--having none to transmit them offerings--to the most
degraded subterfuges. It is freely admitted that there is scarcely an
ancient building not the abode of one or more of these abandoned demons,
doubtless well-disposed in the first instance, and capable of becoming
really beneficent Forces until they were driven to despair by obstinate
neglect. A society of very honourable persons (to which this one has
unobtrusively contributed a gift), exists for the purpose of searching
out the most distressing and meritorious cases among them, and removing
them, where possible, to a more congenial spot. The remarkable fact,
to this person’s mind, is, that with the air and every available
space around absolutely packed with demons (as certainly must be the
prevailing state of things), the manifestations of their malignity and
vice are, if anything, rather less evident here than in our own favoured
country, where we do all in our power to satisfy their wants.
That same evening I found myself seated next to a maiden of
prepossessing vivacity, who was spoken of as being one of a kindred
but not identical race. Filled with the incredible profanity of those
around, and hoping to find among a nation so alluringly high-spirited
a more congenial elevation of mind, I at length turned to her and said,
“Do not regard the question as one of unworthy curiosity, for this
person’s inside is white and funereal with his fears; but do you, of
your allied race, worship your ancestors?”
The maiden spent a moment in conscientious thought. “No, Mr. Kong,” she
replied, with a most commendable sigh of unfeigned regret, “I can’t say
that we do. I guess it’s because we’re too new. Mine, now, only go back
two generations, and they were mostly in lard. If they were old and
baronial it might be different, but I can’t imagine myself worshipping
an ancestor in lard.” (This doubtless refers to some barbaric method of
embalming.)
“And your wide and enlightened countrymen?” I asked, unable to restrain
a passion of pure-bred despair. “Do they also so regard the obligation?”
“I am afraid so,” replied the maiden, with an honourable indication
towards my emotion. “But of course when a girl marries into the European
aristocracy, she and all her folk worship her husband’s ancestors, until
every one about is fairly dizzy with the subject.”
It is largely owing to the graceful and virtuous conversation of these
lesser ones that this person’s knowledge of the exact position which
the ceremonial etiquette of the country demands on various occasions is
becoming so proficiently enlarged. It is true that they of my own sex do
not hesitate to inquire with penetrating assiduousness into certain of
the manners and customs of our land, but these for the most part do
not lead to a conversation in any way profitable to my discreeter
understanding. Those of the inner chamber, on the other hand, while
not scrupling to question me on the details of dress, the braiding and
gumming of the hair, the style and variety of the stalls of merchants,
the wearing of jade, gold, and crystal ornaments and flowers about
the head, smoking, and other matters affecting our lesser ones, very
magnanimously lead my contemplation back to a more custom-established
topic if by any hap in my ambitious ignorance I outstep it.
In such a manner it chanced on a former occasion that I sat side by side
with a certain maiden awaiting the return of others who had withdrawn
for a period. The season was that of white rains, and the fire being
lavishly extended about the grate we had harmoniously arranged ourselves
before it, while this person, at the repeated and explicit encouragement
of the maiden, spoke openly of such details of the inner chamber as he
has already indicated.
“Is it true, Mr. Ho” (thus the maiden, being unacquainted with the
actual facts, consistently addressed me), “that ladies’ feet are
relentlessly compressed until they finally assume the proportions and
appearance of two bulbs?” and as she spoke she absent-mindedly regarded
her own slippers, which were out-thrust somewhat to receive the action
of the fire.
“It is a matter which cannot reasonably be denied,” I replied; “and
it is doubtless owing to this effect that they are designated ‘Golden
Lilies.’ Yet when this observance has been slowly and painfully
accomplished, the extremities in question are not less small but
infinitely less graceful than the select and naturally-formed pair which
this person sees before him.” And at the ingeniously-devised compliment
(which, not to become large-headed in self-imagination, it must be
admitted was revealed to me as available for practically all occasions
by the really invaluable Quang-Tsun), I bowed unremittingly.
“O, Mr. Ho!” exclaimed the maiden, and paused abruptly at the sound of
her words, as though they were inept.
“In many other ways a comparison equally irreproachable to the exalted
being at my side might be sought out,” I continued, suddenly forming
the ill-destined judgment that I was no less competent than the more
experienced Quang-Tsun to contrive delicate offerings of speech. “Their
hair is rope like in its lack of spontaneous curve, their eyes as
deficient in lustre as a half-shuttered window; their hands are
exceedingly inferior in colour, and both on the left side, as it may be
expressed; their legs--” but at this point the maiden drew herself so
hastily into herself that I had no alternative but to conclude that
unless I reverted in some way the enterprise was in peril of being
inharmoniously conducted.
“Mr. Ho,” said the maiden, after contemplating her inward thoughts for
a moment, “you are a foreigner, and you cannot be expected to know by
instinct what may and what may not be openly expressed in this country.
Therefore, although the obligation is not alluring, I think it kinder
to tell you that the matters which formed the subject of your last words
are never to be referred to.”
At this rebuke I again bowed persistently, for it did not appear
reasonable to me that I could in any other way declare myself without
violating the imposed command.
“Not only are they never openly referred to,” continued the maiden,
who in spite of the declared no allurement of the subject did not seem
disposed to abandon it at once, “but among the most select they are,
by unspoken agreement, regarded as ‘having no actual existence,’ as you
yourself would say.”
“Yet,” protested this person, somewhat puzzled, “to one who has
witnessed the highly-achieved attitudes of those within your Halls of
Harmony, and in an unyielding search for knowledge has addressed himself
even to the advertisement pages of the ladies’ papers--”
The maiden waved her hand magnanimously. “In your land, as you have told
me, there are many things, not really existing, which for politeness you
assume to be. In a like but converse manner this is to be so regarded.”
I thanked her voluminously. “The etiquette of this country is as
involved as the spoken tongue,” I said, “for both are composed chiefly
of exceptions to a given rule. It was formerly impressed upon this
person, as a guiding principle, that that which is unseen is not to be
discussed; yet it is not held in disrepute to allude to so intimate and
secluded an organ as the heart, for no further removed than yesterday he
heard the deservedly popular sea-lieutenant in the act of declaring to
you, upon his knees, that you were utterly devoid of such a possession.”
At this inoffensively-conveyed suggestion, the fire opposite had all the
appearance of suddenly reflecting itself into the maiden’s face with a
most engaging concentration, while at the same time she stamped her foot
in ill-concealed rage.
“You’ve been listening at the door!” she cried impetuously, “and I shall
never forgive you.”
“To no extent,” I declared hastily (for although I had indeed been
listening at the door, it appeared, after the weight which she set
upon the incident, more honourable that I should deny it in order to
conciliate her mind). “It so chanced that for the moment this person
had forgotten whether the handle he was grasping was of the push-out or
turn-in variety, and in the involvement a few words of no particular or
enduring significance settled lightly upon his perception.
“In that case,” she replied in high-souled liberality, while her eyes
scintillated towards me with a really all-overpowering radiance, “I will
forgive you.”
“We have an old but very appropriate saying, ‘To every man the voice of
one maiden carries further than the rolling of thunder,’” I remarked
in a significantly restrained tone; for, although conscious that the
circumstance was becoming more menace-laden than I had any previous
intention, I found myself to be incapable of extrication. “Florence--”
“Oh,” she exclaimed quickly, raising her polished hand with an
undeniable gesture of reproof, “you must not call me by my christian
name, Mr. Ho.”
“Yet,” replied this person, with a confessedly stubborn inelegance, “you
call me by the name of Ho.”
Her eyes became ox-like in an utter absence of almond outline. “Yes,”
she said gazing, “but that--that is not your christian name, is it?”
“In a position of speaking--this one being as a matter of fact a
discreditable follower of the sublime Confucius--it may be so regarded,”
I answered, “inasmuch as it is the milk-name of childhood.”
“But you always put it last,” she urged.
“Assuredly,” I replied. “Being irrevocably born with the family name of
Kong, it is thought more reasonable that that should stand first. After
that, others are attached as the various contingencies demand it, as Ho
upon participating in the month-age feast, the book-name of Tsin at a
later period, Paik upon taking a degree, and so forth.”
“I am very sorry, Mr. Kong,” said the maiden, adding, with what at
the time certainly struck this person as shallow-witted prejudice. “Of
course it is really quite your own fault for being so tospy-turvily
arranged in every way. But, to return to the subject, why should not one
speak of one’s heart?”
“Because,” replied this person, colouring deeply, and scarcely able to
control his unbearable offence that so irreproachably-moulded a creature
should openly refer to the detail, “because it is a gross and unrefined
particular, much more internal and much less pleasantly-outlined
than those extremities whose spoken equivalent shall henceforth be an
abandoned word from my lips.”
“But, in any case, it is not the actual organ that one infers,”
protested the maiden. “As the seat of the affections, passions, virtues,
and will, it is the conventional emblem of every thought and emotion.”
“By no means,” I cried, forgetting in the face of so heterodox an
assertion that it would be well to walk warily at every point. “That is
the stomach.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the maiden, burying her face in a gracefully-perfumed
remnant of lace, to so overwhelming a degree that for the moment I
feared she might become involved in the dizzy falling. “Never, by any
mischance, use that word again in the society of the presentable, Mr.
Kong.”
“The ceremonial usage of my own land of the Heavenly Dynasty is
proverbially elaborate,” I said, with a gesture of self-abasement, “but
in comparison with yours it may be regarded as an undeviating walk when
opposed to a stately and many-figured dance. Among the company of the
really excessively select (in which must ever be included the one whom
I am now addressing), it becomes difficult for an outcast of my
illimitable obtuseness to move to one side or the other without putting
his foot into that.”
“Oh no,” exclaimed the maiden, in fragrant encouragement, “I think you
are getting on very nicely, Mr. Kong, and one does not look for absolute
conformance from a foreigner--especially one who is so extremely
foreign. If I can help you with anything--of course I could not even
speak as I have done to an ordinary stranger, but with one of a distant
race it seems different--if I can tell you anything that will save
you--”
“You are all-exalted,” I replied, with seemly humility, “and virtue and
wisdom press out your temples on either side. Certainly, since I have
learned that the heart is so poetically regarded, I have been assailed
by a fear lest other organs which I have hitherto despised might be used
in a similar way. Now, as regards liver--”
“It is only used with bacon,” replied the maiden, rising abruptly.
“Kidneys?” suggested this person diffidently, really anxious to detain
her footsteps, although from her expression it did not rest assured that
the incident was taking an actually auspicious movement.
“I don’t think you need speak of those except at breakfast,” she said;
“but I hear the others returning, and I must really go to dress for
dinner.”
Among the barbarians many keep books wherein to inscribe their deep and
beautiful thoughts. This person had therefore provided himself with
one also, and, drawing it forth, he now added to a page of many other
interesting compositions: “Maidens of immaculate refinement do not
hesitate to admit before a person of a different sex that they are on
the point of changing their robes. The liver is in some intricate way
an emblem representing bacon, or together with it the two stand for
a widely differing analogy. Among those of the highest exclusiveness
kidneys are never alluded to after the tenth gong-stroke of the
morning.”
With a sincerely ingrained trust that the scenes of dignity, opulence,
and wisdom, set forth in these superficial letters, are not unsettling
your intellect and causing you to yearn for a fuller existence.