The Chinese Statue by Jeffrey Archer. Part 2.
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As his ministerial appointment was for only three years, Sir Alexander took no leave, but preferred to use his time to put the Embassy behind him and travel on horseback into the outlying districts to learn more about the country and its people. On these trips he was always accompanied by a Mandarin from the palace staff who acted as interpreter and guide.
On one such journey, passing through the muddy streets of a small village with but a few houses called Ha Li Chuan, a distance of some fifty miles from Peking, Sir Alexander chanced upon an old craftsman’s working place. Leaving his servants, the minister dismounted from his horse and entered the ramshackle wooden workshop to admire the delicate pieces of ivory and jade that crammed the shelves from floor to ceiling. Although modern, the pieces were superbly executed by an experienced craftsman, and the minister entered the little hut with the thought of acquiring a small memento of his journey. Once in the shop he could hardly move in any direction for fear of knocking something over. The building had not been designed for a six-foot-three and a quarter visitor. Sir Alexander stood still and enthralled, taking in the fine scented jasmine smell that hung in the air.
An old craftsman bustled forward in a long, blue coolie robe and flat black hat to greet him; a jet black plaited pigtail fell down his back. He bowed very low and then looked up at the giant from Eng-land. The minister returned the bow while the Mandarin explained who Sir Alexander was and his desire to be allowed to look at the work of the craftsman. The old man was nodding his agreement even before the Mandarin had come to the end of his request. For over an hour the minister sighed and chuckled as he studied many of the pieces with admiration and finally returned to the old man to praise his skill. The craftsman bowed once again, and his shy smile revealed no teeth but only genuine pleasure at Sir Alexander’s compliments. Pointing a finger to the back of the shop, he beckoned the two important visitors to follow him. They did so and entered a veritable Aladdin’s Cave, with row upon row of beautiful miniature emperors and classical figures. The minister could have happily settled down in the orgy of ivory for at least a week. Sir Alexander and the craftsman chatted away to each other through the inter-preter, and the minister’s love and knowledge of the Ming dynasty was soon revealed. The little craftsman’s face lit up with this discovery and he turned to the Mandarin and in a hushed voice made a request. The Mandarin nodded his agreement and translated.
I have, Your Excellency, a piece of Ming myself that you might care to see. A statue that has been in my family for over seven generations’
‘I should be honoured, said the minister.
‘It is I who would be honoured, Your Excellency,’ said the little man who thereupon scampered out of the back door, nearly falling over a stray dog, and on to an old peasant house a few yards behind the workshop. The minister and the Mandarin remained in the back room, for Sir Alexander knew the old man would never have considered inviting an honoured guest into his humble home until they had known each other for many years, and only then after he had been invited to Sir Alexander’s home first. A few minutes passed before the little blue figure came trotting back, pigtail bouncing up and down on his shoulders. He was now clinging on to something that from the very way he held it close to his chest had to be a treasure. The craftsman passed the piece over for the minister to study. Sir Alexander’s mouth opened wide and he could not hide his excitement. The little statue, no more than six inches in height, was of the Emperor Kung and as fine an example of Ming as the minister had seen. Sir Alexander felt confident that the maker was the great Pen Q who had been patronised by the Emperor, so that the date must have been around the turn of the fifteenth cen-tury. The statue’s only blemish was that the ivory base on which such pieces usually rest was missing, and a small stick protruded from the bottom of the imperial robes; but in the eyes of Sir Alexander nothing could detract from its overall beauty. Although the craftsman’s lips did not move, his eyes glowed with the pleasure his guest evinced as he studied the ivory Emperor.
‘You think the statue is good?’ asked the craftsman through the interpreter.
‘It’s magnificent, the minister replied. ‘Quite magnificent’
‘My own work is not worthy to stand by its side,’ added the craftsman humbly.
‘No, no,’ said the minister, though in truth the little craftsman knew the great man was only being kind, for Sir Alexander was holding the ivory statue in a way that already showed the same love as the old man had for the piece.
The minister smiled down at the craftsman as he handed back the Emperor Kung and then he uttered perhaps the only undiplomatic words he had ever spoken in thirty-five years of serving his Queen and country.
‘How I wish the piece was mine.’
Sir Alexander regretted voicing his thoughts immediately he heard the Mandarin translate them, because he knew only too well the old Chinese tradition that if an honoured guest requests something the giver will grow in the eyes of his fellow men by parting with it.
A sad look came over the face of the little old craftsman as he
handed back the figurine to the minister.
‘No, no. I was only joking,’ said Sir Alexander, quickly trying to return the piece to its owner.
‘You would dishonour my humble home if you did not take the Emperor, Your Excellency, the old man said anxiously and the Mandarin gravely nodded his agreement.
The minister remained silent for some time. ‘I have dishonoured my own home, sir, he replied, and looked towards the Mandarin who remained inscrutable.
The little craftsman bowed. ‘I must fix a base on the statue,’ he said, ‘or you will not be able to put the piece on view.’ He went to a corner of the room and opened a wooden packing chest that must have housed a hundred bases for his own statues.
Rummaging around he picked out a base decorated with small, dark figures that the minister did not care for but which nevertheless made a perfect fit; the old man assured Sir Alexander that although he did not know the base’s history, the piece bore the mark of a good craftsman.
The embarrassed minister took the gift and tried hopelessly to thank the little old man. The craftsman once again bowed low as Sir Alexander and the expressionless Mandarin left the little work-shop.
As the party travelled back to Peking, the Mandarin observed the terrible state the minister was in, and uncharacteristically spoke first:
‘Your Excellency is no doubt aware, he said, ‘of the old Chinese custom that when a stranger has been generous, you must return the kindness within the calendar year’
Sir Alexander smiled his thanks and thought carefully about the Mandarin’s words.