pleasure in the circumstance that his trade flourished. He
nevertheless continued to pursue it during five years, without making
long journeys from home, whither he returned every year to spend the
autumn. At length, being utterly unsuccessful in discovering the least
trace of his son after so many years, and concluding that he was lost
to him for ever, and finding moreover that his wife Wang bore him no
more children, as he had now amassed a good sum of money, he
determined to divert his thoughts from painful recollections by
trading in another province.
He joined the company of a rich merchant travelling the road he had
fixed upon; and the merchant, having observed his aptitude for
business, made him a very advantageous offer. The desire of becoming
wealthy now took possession of him, and diverted his thoughts from
their accustomed channel.
Within a very short time after their arrival in the province of
Chan-si every thing had succeeded to their utmost wishes. They found a
quick sale for their merchandise, and the profits arising from it was
considerable. The payments, however, were delayed for two years in
consequence of a drought and famine which afflicted the country, as
well as by a tedious illness by which Lin-in was attacked. They were
detained altogether three years in the province; after which, having
recovered his money and his health, he took his departure to return to
his own country.
He halted one day during his journey near a place named Tchin-lieou
to recruit his strength, and strolling round the neighbourhood
accidentally came upon a girdle of blue cloth, in the form of a long,
narrow bag, such as is worn round the body, under the dress, and in
which money is usually kept; as he took it up, he found the weight
considerable. He retired to a quiet spot, opened the girdle, and found
it contained about two hundred taeels.
At sight of this treasure he fell into the following train of
reflection: "My good fortune has placed this sum in my hands; I might
keep it and employ it for my own use without fearing any unpleasant
consequences. Still the person who has dropt it, the moment he
discovers his loss, will be in great distress, and will return in
haste to look for it. Do they not say that our forefathers dared
scarcely touch money found in this way; and if they picked it up, only
did so with a view of restoring it to its owner? This appears to me a
very praiseworthy custom, and I will imitate it, the more so as I am
growing old and have no heir. Of what benefit would money got by such
means be to me?"
Whilst thus reasoning, he had wandered to some distance from the spot
where he had found the money; he now, however, retraced his steps to
the place, and waited there the whole day, to be ready in case the
owner should return. Nobody came, however, and the next day he
continued his journey.
After five days' travelling, he arrived in the evening at
Nan-sou-tcheou, and took up his quarters at an inn where several other
merchants were staying. The conversation having turned upon the
advantages of commerce, one of the company said, "Five days ago, on
leaving Tchin-lieou, I lost two hundred taeels, which I had in an
inside girdle. I had taken it off, and placed it near me whilst I lay
down to sleep, when a mandarin and his cortege chanced to pass by. I
hastened to get out of the way for fear of insult, and in my hurry
forgot to take up my money. It was only at night, as I was undressing
to go to bed, that I discovered my loss. I felt sure that as the place
where I lost my money was by the side of a well-frequented road, it
would be useless to delay my journey for several days in order to look
for what I should never find."
Every one condoled with him on his loss. Lin-in asked him his name and
place of abode. "Your servant," replied the merchant, "is named Tchin,
and lives at Yang-tcheou, where he has a shop and a large warehouse.
May I be so bold in return to inquire to whom I have the honour of
speaking?" Lin-in told him his name, and said that he was an
inhabitant of the town of Wou-si. "My shortest road there," added he,
"lies through Yang-tcheou; and, if agreeable to you, I shall have much
pleasure in your company so far."
Tchin acknowledged this politeness in a becoming manner. "Most
willingly," said he; "we will continue our journey together, and I
esteem myself very fortunate in meeting with such an agreeable
companion." The journey was not long, and they soon arrived at
Yang-tcheou.
After the usual civilities, Tchin invited his fellow-traveller to his
house, and on their arrival there immediately ordered refreshments to
be brought. Whilst they were discussing their meal, Lin-in managed to
turn the conversation on the subject of the lost money.
"What," he asked, "was the colour of the girdle which contained your
money, and of what material was it made?"
"It was of blue cloth," replied Tchin; "and what would enable me to
identify it is, that at one end the letter Tchin, which is my name, is
embroidered upon it in white silk."
This description left no doubt as to the owner. Lin-in, therefore,
rejoined in a cheerful tone, "If I have asked you all these
questions, it was merely because passing through Tchin-lieou, I found
a belt such as you describe." At the same time producing it, he added,
"Look if this is yours." "The very same," said Tchin. Whereupon Lin-in
politely restored it to its owner.
Tchin, overwhelmed with gratitude, pressed him to accept the half of
the sum which it contained; but his entreaties were in vain, Lin-in
would receive nothing. "What obligations am I not under to you?"
resumed Tchin; "where else should I find such honesty and generosity?"
He then ordered a splendid repast to be brought, over which they
pledged each other with great demonstrations of friendship.
Tchin thought to himself, "Where should I find a man of such probity
as Lin-in? Men of his character are very scarce in these days. What!
shall I receive from him such an act of kindness, and not be able to
repay him? I have a daughter twelve years old; I must form an alliance
with such an honest man. But has he got a son? On this point I am
entirely ignorant."
"My dear friend," said he, "how old is your son?"
This question brought tears into the eyes of Lin-in. "Alas!" replied
he, "I had but one, who was most dear to me. It is now eight years ago
since my child, having run out of the house to see a procession pass
by, disappeared; and from that day to this I have never been able to
learn any thing of him; and, to crown my misfortune, my wife has not
borne me any more children."
Upon hearing this, Tchin appeared to think for a moment, then,
continuing the conversation, said, "My brother and benefactor, of what
age was the child when you lost him?" "About six years old," replied
Lin-in. "What was his name?" "We called him Hi-eul," returned Lin-in.
"He had escaped all the dangers of the small-pox which had left no
traces upon his countenance; his complexion was clear and florid."
This description gave the greatest pleasure to Tchin, and he could not
prevent his satisfaction from displaying itself in his looks and
manner. He immediately called one of his servants, to whom he
whispered a few words. The servant, having made a gesture of
obedience, retired into the interior of the house.
Lin-in, struck by the questions, and the joy which lit up the
countenance of his host, was forming all sorts of conjectures, when he
saw a youth of about fourteen years of age enter the room. He was
dressed in a long gown, with a plain though neat jacket. His graceful
form, his air and carriage, his face with its regular features, and
his quick and piercing eyes, and finely arched black eyebrows, at once
engaged the admiration and riveted the attention of Lin-in.
As soon as the youth saw the stranger seated at table, he turned
towards him, made a low bow, and uttered some respectful words; then
approaching Tchin, and standing modestly before him, he said in a
sweet and pleasing tone, "My father, you have called Hi-eul; what are
you pleased to command?" "I will tell you presently," replied Tchin,
"in the mean time stand beside me."
The name of Hi-eul, by which the youth called himself, excited fresh
suspicions in the breast of Lin-in. A secret sympathy suddenly forced
itself upon him; and by one of those wonderful instincts of nature
which are so unerring, recalled to his recollection the image of his
lost child, his form, his face, his air, and manners; he beheld them
all in the youth before him. There was but one circumstance that made
him doubt the truth of his conjectures, and that was his addressing
Tchin by the name of 'father.' He felt it would be rude to ask Tchin
if the youth really were his son; perhaps he might truly be so, for it
was not impossible that there might be two children bearing the same
name, and in many respects resembling each other.
Lin-in, absorbed in these reflections, paid little attention to the
good cheer placed before him. Tchin could read on the countenance of
Lin-in the perplexing thoughts that filled his mind. An indescribable
charm seemed to attract him irresistibly towards the youth. He kept
his eyes constantly fixed upon him, he could not turn them away.
Hi-eul, on his part, despite his bashfulness and the timidity natural
to his age, could not help gazing intently upon Lin-in; it seemed as
though nature was revealing his father to him.
At length Lin-in, no longer master of his feelings, suddenly broke the
silence, and asked Tchin if the youth really was his son.
"I am not," replied Tchin, "really his father, although I look upon
him as my own child. Eight years ago, a man passing through this city,
leading this child in his hand, addressed me by chance, and begged me
to assist him in his great need. 'My wife,' said he, 'is dead, and has
left me with this child. The impoverished state of my affairs has
compelled me to leave my native place, and go to Hoaingan to my
relations, from whom I hope to receive a sum of money, to enable me to
set up in business again. I have not wherewith to continue my journey
to that town, will you be so charitable as to lend me three taeels? I
will faithfully restore them on my return, and I will leave as a
pledge all that I hold most dear in the world, my only son; I shall no
sooner reach Hoaingan, than I will return and redeem my dear child.'
"I felt gratified by this mark of confidence, and I gave him the sum
he asked. As he left me he burst into tears, and gave every evidence
of the grief he felt in leaving his child. I was, however, surprised
that the child did not exhibit the least emotion at the separation;
as, however, time wore on, and the pretended father did not return,
suspicions began to rise, which I was anxious to set at rest. I called
the child, and by various questions I put to him, learned that he was
born in Wou-si, that having one day run out to see a procession pass
by, he had strayed too far from home, and lost his way, and that he
had been trepanned and carried off by a stranger. He also told me the
name of his father and mother; indeed, it is that of your own family.
I thus discovered that the fellow, so far from being the father of the
poor child, was the identical rascal who had carried him off. Not only
was my compassion excited, but the boy's pleasing manners had entirely
won my heart; I treated him from that time as one of my own children,
and I sent him to college with my own son, to study with him. I have
often entertained the plan of going to Wou-si, to inquire after his
family. But business of some kind always prevented me from undertaking
the journey, of which, however, I had never fully relinquished the
idea; when, happily, a few moments ago, you chanced in the course of
conversation to mention your son, my suspicions were aroused, and upon
the extraordinary coincidence of your tale, and the circumstances of
which I was acquainted, I sent for your child to see if you would
recognize him."
At these words Hi-eul wept for joy, and his tears caused those of
Lin-in to flow copiously. "A peculiar mark," said he, "will prove his
identity; a little above the left knee you will find a small black
spot, which has been there from his birth." Hi-eul pulled up the leg
of his trouser, and showed the spot in question. Lin-in, on seeing it,
threw himself upon the neck of the child, covered him with kisses, and
folded him in his arms. "My child," cried he, "my dear child, what
happiness for your father to find you after so many years' absence."
It is not difficult to conceive to what transports of joy the father
and son delivered themselves up, during these first moments of
pleasure. After a thousand tender embraces, Lin-in at length tore
himself from the arms of his son, and made a profound obeisance to
Tchin. "What gratitude do I not owe you," said he, "for having
received my son into your house, and brought up this dear portion of
myself with so much care. But for you we should never have been
united."
"My kind benefactor," replied Tchin, rising, "it was the act of
disinterested generosity you practised towards me, in restoring the
two hundred taeels, which moved the compassion of Heaven. It is Heaven
that conducted you to my house, where you have found him whom you
sought in vain for so many years. Now that I know that good youth is
your son, I regret that I have not treated him with greater
consideration."
"Kneel, my son," said Lin-in, "and thank your generous benefactor."
Tchin was about to return these salutations, when Lin-in himself
prevented him, overcome with this excess of respect. This interchange
of civilities being over they resumed their seats, and Tchin placed
little Hi-eul on a seat by his father's side.
Then Tchin resuming the conversation, said, "My brother (for
henceforth that is the title by which I shall address you), I have a
daughter twelve years of age, and it is my intention to give her in
marriage to your son, in order that the union may cement our
friendship more closely." This proposition was made in so sincere and
ardent a manner, that Lin-in did not feel it right to make the usual
excuses that good breeding prescribed. He therefore waived all
ceremony, and gave his consent at once.
As it was growing late, they separated for the night. Hi-eul slept in
the same chamber with his father. You may imagine all the tender and
affectionate conversation that passed between them during the night.
The next day Lin-in prepared to take leave of his host, but he could
not resist his pressing invitation to remain. Tchin had prepared a
second day's festivity, in which he spared no expense to regale the
future father-in-law of his daughter, and his new son-in-law, and
thereby to console himself for their departure. They drank and sang,
and gave themselves up fully to the hilarity of the occasion.
When the repast was ended, Tchin drew out a packet of twenty taeels,
and looking towards Lin-in, said, "During the time my dear son-in-law
has been with me, it is possible he may have suffered many things
against my wish, and unknown to me; here is a little present I wish to
make him, until I can give him more substantial proofs of my
affection. I will not hear of a refusal."
"What!" replied Lin-in, "at a time when I am contracting an alliance
so honourable to me, and when I ought, according to custom, to make
marriage presents for my son, presents which I am prevented from doing
at this moment, only because I am travelling, do you load me with
gifts? I cannot accept them; the thought covers me with confusion."
"Well!" replied Tchin, "I am not dreaming of offering _you_ such a
trifle. It is for my son-in-law, not the father-in-law of my daughter,
that I intend this present. Indeed, if you persist in the refusal, I
shall consider it as a sign that the alliance is not agreeable to
you."
Lin-in saw that he must yield, and that resistance would be useless.
He humbly accepted the present, and making his son rise from table,
ordered him to make a profound reverence to Tchin. "What I have given
you," said Tchin, raising him up, "is but a trifle, and deserves no
thanks." Hi-eul then went into the house to pay his respects to his
mother-in-law. The whole day passed in feasting and diversions; it was
only at night that they separated.
When Lin-in retired to his chamber, he gave himself up entirely to the
reflections to which these events gave rise. "It must be confessed,"
cried he, "that by restoring the two hundred taeels, I have done an
action pleasing to Heaven, and now I am rewarded by the happiness of
finding my child, and contracting so honourable an alliance. This is,
indeed, joy upon joy; it is like putting gold flowers upon a beautiful
piece of silk. How can I be sufficiently grateful for so many favours?
Here are the twenty taeels that my friend Tchin has given me; can I do
better than employ them towards the maintenance of some virtuous
bonzes? It will be sowing them in a soil of blessings."
The next day, after breakfast, the father and son got ready their
luggage, and took leave of their host; they proceeded to the quay,
hired a boat, and commenced their journey. They had scarcely gone half
a league, ere they came in sight of a scene of terrible excitement;
the river was full of struggling people, whose cries rent the air. A
bark, full of passengers, had just sunk, and the cries of the
unfortunate creatures for help were heart-rending! The people on the
shore called loudly to several small boats which were near to come to
the rescue. But the hard-hearted and selfish boatmen demanded that a
good sum should be guaranteed them, before they would bestir
themselves. At this critical moment Lin-in's boat came up. The moment
he perceived what was going on, he said to himself: "It is a much more
meritorious action to save the life of a man, than to adorn the
temples and support bonzes. Let us consecrate the twenty taeels to this
good work; let us succour these poor drowning souls." He instantly
proclaimed that he would give the twenty taeels amongst those who would
take the drowning men into their boats.
At this offer all the boatmen crowded towards the scene of the
disaster, and the river was, in a moment, covered with their boats; at
the same time, some of the spectators on shore, who knew how to swim,
threw themselves into the water, and, in a few moments, all were
saved, without exception. Lin-in then distributed amongst the boatmen
the promised reward.
The poor creatures, snatched from a watery grave, came in a body to
return thanks to their preserver. One amongst them, having looked
attentively at Lin-in, suddenly cried out, "What! is that you, my
eldest brother? By what good luck do I find you here?"
Lin-in, turning towards him, recognized his youngest brother,
Lin-tchin. Then, transported with joy, he exclaimed, clasping his
hands, "O wonderful circumstance! Heaven has led me hither to save my
brother's life." He instantly reached out his hand to him, and made
him come into his boat, helped him off with his wet clothes, and gave
him others.
As soon as Lin-tchin had sufficiently recovered, he paid the respects
due to an elder brother which good breeding demands from a younger,
and Lin-in, having acknowledged his politeness, called Hi-eul, who was
in the cabin, to come and salute his uncle; he then recounted all his
adventures, which threw Lin-tchin into a state of amazement, from
which he was a long time in recovering. "But tell me," said Lin-in, at
length, "your motive in coming to this country."
"It is not possible," replied Lin-tchin, "to tell you in a few words
the reason of my travels. In the course of the three years which have
elapsed since your departure from home, the melancholy news of your
death from illness reached us. My second brother made every inquiry,
and assured himself that the report was true. It was a thunderbolt for
my sister-in-law; she was inconsolable, and put on the deepest
mourning. For my part, I could not give credit to the report. After a
few days had elapsed, my second brother tried all in his power to
induce my sister-in-law to contract a fresh marriage. She, however,
steadily rejected the proposal; at length she prevailed upon me to
make a journey to Chan-si, to ascertain upon the spot what had become
of you; and, when I least expected it, at the point of perishing in
the water, the very person I was in search of, my well-beloved
brother, has saved my life. Is not this unexpected good fortune, a
blessing from Heaven? But believe me, my brother, there is no time to
be lost; make all possible haste to return home, and to put an end to
my sister-in-law's grief. The least delay may cause an irreparable
misfortune."
Lin-in, overwhelmed at this news, sent for the captain of the boat,
and, although it was late, ordered him to set sail, and continue the
voyage during the night.
Whilst all these events were happening to Lin-in, Wang, his wife, was
a prey to the most poignant grief. A thousand circumstances led her to
suspect that her husband was not dead; but Lin-pao, who by that
reported death became the head of the family, so positively assured
her that it was true, that, at last, she had allowed herself to be
persuaded into that belief, and had assumed the widow's weeds.
Lin-pao possessed a bad heart, and was capable of the most unworthy
acts. "I have no doubt," said he, "of my elder brother's death. My
sister-in-law is young and handsome; she has, besides, no one to
support her; I must force her to marry again, and I shall make money
by this means."
He thereupon communicated his plan to Yang, his wife, and ordered her
to employ some clever matchmaker. But Wang resolutely rejected the
proposal; she vowed that she would remain a widow, and honour the
memory of her husband by her widowhood. Her brother-in-law, Lin-tchin,
supported her in her resolution. Thus all the artifices which Lin-pao
and his wife employed were useless; and, as every time they urged her
on the subject it occurred to her that they had no positive proof of
his death, "I am determined," said she, at length, "to know the truth;
these reports are often false; it is only on the very spot that
certain information can be obtained. True, the distance is nearly a
hundred leagues. Still, I know that Lin-tchin is a good-hearted man;
he will travel to the province of Chan-si to relieve my anxiety, and
learn positively if I am so unfortunate as to have lost my husband;
and, if I have, he will, at least, bring me his precious remains."
Lin-tchin was asked to undertake the journey, and, without a moment's
hesitation, departed. His absence, however, only rendered Lin-pao more
eager in the pursuit of his project. To crown the whole, he had
gambled very deeply, and, having been a heavy loser, was at his wit's
end to know where to obtain money. In this state of embarrassment, he
met with a merchant of Kiang-si, who had just lost his wife, and was
looking for another. Lin-pao seized upon the opportunity, and proposed
his sister-in-law to him. The merchant accepted the offer, taking
care, however, to make secret inquiries whether the lady who was
proposed to him was young and good-looking. As soon as he was
satisfied on these points, he lost no time, and paid down thirty taeels
to clinch the bargain.
Lin-pao, having taken the money, said to the merchant, "I ought to
warn you, that my sister-in-law is proud and haughty. She will raise
many objections to leaving the house, and you will have a great deal
of trouble to force her to do it. Now this will be your best plan for
managing it. This evening, as soon as it gets dark, have a palanquin
and good strong bearers in readiness; come with as little noise as
possible, and present yourself at the door of the house. The young
woman who will come to the door, attired in the head-dress of
mourners, is my sister-in-law; don't say a word to her, and don't
listen to what she may say, but seize her at once, thrust her into
your palanquin, carry her to your boat, and set sail at once." This
plan met with the approbation of the merchant, and its execution
appeared easy enough of accomplishment.
In the mean time, Lin-pao returned home, and, in order to prevent his
sister-in-law from suspecting any thing of the project he had planned,
he assumed an air of the most perfect indifference, but as soon as she
left the room, he communicated his plans to his wife, and, alluding to
his sister-in-law, in a contemptuous manner, said, "That two-legged
piece of goods must leave this house to-night. However, not to be a
witness of her tears and sighs, I shall go out beforehand, and, as it
gets dark, a merchant of Kiang-si will come, and take her away in a
palanquin to his boat."