But when she returned, her face expressed the greatest consternation, and she burst into a torrent of Burmese. Quite at a loss to understand her, I hurriedly offered her more money, but she refused it with scorn, and continued her explanations and entreaties, in which the numerous spectators of the scene presently joined, laughing as though it were the greatest joke in the world.
Presently the old lady picked up a bobbin of cotton, such as I had just bought, and waved it frantically in my face; I mechanically took it and pocketed it also. At this action on my part the spectators became still more hilarious, but the old lady looked annoyed, evidently considering the matter was getting beyond a joke.
At last, in desperation, I pulled out all my purchases and flung them on the stall. To my astonishment this proved to be precisely what she desired; the good lady beamed with satisfaction, gathered them together with her own fair hands, and returned them, and my change, to me with many bows and smiles. I do not know to this day what was the reason of her excitement. Judging by the intense amusement it caused the spectators, I should say the story will serve as a popular after dinner anecdote for many generations of Burmans.
I do not think anyone but a Burman could find much amusement in their dearly beloved Pwés. The dances, composed entirely of posturing and grouping, are most monotonous, and the music is distinctly an unpleasant noise from a European point of view. Yet these easily satisfied folk crowd to such entertainments (which occasionally last many days) and camp out round the temporary building in which they are performed. They seem to derive the greatest enjoyment from watching these interminable performances, following the inevitable dramatic "Prince and Princess" through their adventures, and chuckling over the vulgar jokes of the clown.
The Burman loves to laugh. He is as equally amused at a fire or a drowning fatality in real life, as when in the play the clown trips up a fellow actor.
His proneness to laughter is annoying sometimes, especially if one misses a drive at golf, or falls down stairs (either of which misfortunes appear to him very droll) but on the whole his keen appreciation of "humour" helps him very comfortably through life.
We modern Europeans may think we have a higher sense of humour than these simple folk; but who is to judge?
The Burman is, perhaps, after all that truest philosopher who finds latent humour in all things, and makes the most of it—still, I pray that, for his sake, his keenness of appreciation may not become more highly developed, or some day he will meet a pun, and it will kill him.