THE amah had caught Dorothy and hauled her away to be washed, seeing
which, Master Jack quickly made his escape from the verandah to the
garden, and through the hot scent-laden evening air to the gate-house,
where stood his chum Hong leaning at the door smoking a rank native
cigarette rolled in an elongated cone of buff-coloured paper. Hong’s
wife had just finished piously burning “joss papers,” and as she gazed
at the last remaining sparks and light charred cinders that floated
upwards in the still air, she stuck a few incense sticks in the crevices
of the brick pavement before the door, and retired to the house to
continue her unending household industries.
Hong’s placid face beamed at the approach of his master’s son, and
setting a low bamboo stool he begged Jack to be seated.
“Tell us a story, Hong. Tell us what you did after you escaped. Did you
then go and fight?”
“Not at once, Excellency,” replied Hong, squatting on his heels and
knocking the ash off his cigarette. “After I ran away from Chin Wen Fu,
having been released by my friends from the ropes and pegs that bound me
down, I travelled fast without resting, in order to put as great a
distance between my miserable, insignificant self and the far-reaching
and all-powerful tao-tai as possible. I was, however, without money, and
existed but badly on the charity of strangers, and it soon looked likely
that I should die of hunger, when by great good chance I fell in with
the theatrical company in which I had performed, they also having fled
hot-foot from Chin Wen Fu and the tao-tai’s wrath. So I joined their
company and became an actor.”
“I should think that was good fun. Father and mother acted here last
winter—that was splendid.”
“I have seen your honourable parents act,” gravely replied Hong. “When
the ignorant scoff I have reproved them. The actor’s life is a good one,
although in my country we receive no honour, being accounted as the
lowest of the low and not being allowed to compete in the examinations;
but in your country your King even honours actors, ennobling their
ancestors and giving them lands and titles. Is it not so?”
Jack replied that it undoubtedly was so, not knowing himself, but not
wishing to throw any doubt on Hong’s knowledge.
“Such actions show merit in a king, and this insignificant person feels
sure that the Son of Heaven would be pleased to hear of such pious acts
being performed by rulers beyond the Middle Kingdom.”
Jack looked rather bored at this digression, so Hong hastened to
continue.
“In this country the actor is never certain of making money for any
length of time, and for quite a while my particular troupe suffered
great privations. No one wanted stage plays just at that time, and we
wandered about, earning a few cash here and there by juggling and
reciting, and I spent much time in learning new parts.”
“I have read a story,” Jack interrupted, “in which a clown describes his
sorrows at having to be funny on the stage while his wife was dying at
home, so I think an actor’s life must often be a sad one.”
“No,” interposed Hong, “I think on the whole it is a merry one. The
clown you speak of, if he were a true actor, forgot his sorrows while on
the stage, infinitely more so than the merchant who has troubles at
home. The true actor feels the part he is acting, whereas the merchant
is always himself.”
“Yes: but when you play sad parts do you feel sad?”
“Undoubtedly while playing the part one could cry, but afterwards one
can laugh, and there is always the feeling that one has done it well if
at the time the sadness was really felt.”
“But what satisfaction does the man who plays the wicked part feel?”
“He feels that he has gained the dis-approbation of the audience. Their
hisses are as food and drink to him, he is delighted, he has played his
part, made himself out horrible and to be despised by the audience, and
therefore feels proud in having interpreted the author’s meaning
properly.”
“I see, I see,” replied Master Jack, who didn’t in the least understand
Hong’s explanation, “but what about the fighting?”
“Oh, the fighting! Yes, I remember. Well, after travelling for many
weeks and earning but little money, we at length reached the village of
Three Bridges. So it was called. Really it possessed but one bridge, of
which the inhabitants were inordinately proud—so proud, in fact, that
they tried still further to impress strangers by naming their village
Three Bridges, so that when the unknowing one had seen and admired the
one he might be led to believe that two others equally fine existed.
When we arrived we found that serious trouble existed between this
village and the neighbouring village called Ten Li village, or Bad
Roads. This other village being so called because in it were several
inns, and whenever travellers arrived there and, wishing to pursue their
journey, inquired how far it might be to the next town, the invariable
answer of the townsfolk was that the nearest halting-place was ‘ten li’
distant, and if question was made of the roads leading thither, the
answer would be invariably that they were bad—in fact, almost
impassable. These two villages, Ten Li village and Three Bridges
village, really depended a good deal on each other. Ten Li possessed
valuable clay pits, and Three Bridges manufactured the clay into pottery
and also sent it away in boats down the river; so really for their
mutual good they should have been friendly. However, at this time war
existed between them, and continuous fights were taking place, in which
frequently people received grievous wounds, even to the death in some
cases. The origin of the dispute had occurred more or less by accident.
The clay for which Ten Li village was famous, and which Three Bridges
village depended on for its pottery industry, was dug to a depth of some
eighteen feet outside the village and near the main road. As the clay
was excavated deep pits were formed, which eventually became deep pools
of water. As the demand for clay increased, the road leading from Three
Bridges to Ten Li became greatly encroached on by the excavators, and a
climax was reached when, the road having become so narrowed by the
clay-diggers, carts were unable to pass. This resulted in the
precipitation of a cart from Three Bridges, laden with manufactured
pottery, into a deep water hole. The spectators of Ten Li, far from
helping the unfortunate merchant from Three Bridges, indulged in
unseemly hilarity at his misfortune, which was serious enough to result
in the drowning of one mule and the loss of a cart-load of pottery. The
ill-feeling generated by this incident led to reprisals, until a state
of warfare practically existed between the two villages.
“Our suggestion to the inhabitants of Three Bridges that we should give
a dramatic performance was met by them with scorn and laughter. They
said they were already impoverished by stagnation of trade and the
necessity of carrying on warfare with the barbarians in Ten Li. They
were willing to let our company fight on their side, but could offer us
no hope of remuneration. Our case indeed looked bad. We could not
proceed further on account of the local disturbances, there was no money
to be made by going back, and it seemed that we should all starve, when
unexpectedly some Heaven-sent intellects thought of arbitration. The
wise old men from each village met, they discussed the loss of trade,
money, and life that these troubles were occasioning, and at last
decided that one more big fight should take place, and that the winners
should have the honour of entertaining the surviving losers at a big
theatrical performance, the performance to last three days, the expenses
of erecting the theatre and supplying the guests with food being borne
by the victors. On hearing this noble counsel we were naturally greatly
rejoiced, and now preparations for war on a large scale were put in
hand. All being completed in a day, the next morning the two villages
entered into a most sanguinary battle, which lasted eight hours. One man
was killed on each side, but the umpires declared Three Bridges the
winner, because their man killed himself with a jingal, whereas the Ten
Li village man was really killed by being thrust into a mud-hole by the
enemy.
“After this, all was bustle and excitement. Land being valuable, our
theatre was soon erected on piles in mid-stream, all our best dresses
were taken out and aired, and a play to last three days was rehearsed
day and night by us. For myself I played the part of a famous warrior. I
wore gorgeous dresses of the Ming Dynasty, with soles to my boots four
inches thick, whiskers eighteen inches long, that I could blow straight
out in front of my face, and my face was painted vermilion to show my
importance.
“It was grand. The first day everything passed off splendidly. I was in
my finest heroic vein. The second day I was even better, and the third
day I could hardly be heard because of the applause of the Three Bridges
people and the vituperations of the low scum from Ten Li village. That
night was a landmark in my life. The villagers of Three Bridges made me
a hero; I was fêted everywhere after the discomfited Ten Li folk had
departed. Undoubtedly everyone in Three Bridges loved me as a brother,
and everyone in Ten Li wanted my blood. Our satisfaction was, however,
but short-lived; next day Ten Li made violent war against us. I say ‘us’
because I had now grown to love the people of Three Bridges. Jealousy
had aroused the evil passions in Ten Li, and Three Bridges was, I fear,
somewhat incapacitated from over-indulgence the previous night. My
friends were defeated, Ten Li was victorious, and they dragged our
company away as their prize, and, making their own terms, ordered Three
Bridges to attend a five days’ performance at the expense of their
conquerors. And now another theatre was built, this time over the clay
pits, and far more gorgeous in appearance than that of Three Bridges.
Rehearsals again occupied our time, and my part was even more heroic
than previously. On this occasion I became superhuman; not only did I
fight against fearful odds on earth, but I ascended to the skies, and
there did battle against demons, foul dragons, and numberless evil
spirits, capable of every transformation, all of whom I vanquished
eventually. My former friends and admirers eyed these performances
sullenly, with rage in their hearts, whereas my previous detractors
extolled me to the skies and gave me food and drink till I nearly burst.
Three Bridges had ruined itself by war, theatre building, and paying our
fees, but Ten Li village must be in debt for all eternity over our
performance in their town. This lavish display, far from pleasing their
guests, only tended to rouse their most evil feelings, and by the end of
the third day of our play my former friends of Three Bridges had become
my bitterest enemies. All their spite was vented upon me, for, being the
most important actor, I secured the greater proportion of praise from my
backers and the maximum of hatred from my enemies.
“The people of Three Bridges were not to be despised as enemies, and
after the fifth day of our performance I was suddenly brought down from
my exalted position as the idol of Ten Li by being arrested by the
village constable on a most serious charge, no less than that of having
murdered my honourable father. Iron fetters were put on my legs and
arms, I was thrust into a small strong room and closely guarded, and
from being the popular idol of the people I suddenly found myself the
most despised and execrated of persons. My erstwhile friends of Three
Bridges, maddened by jealousy at my performing so well for the people of
Ten Li, had concocted a most cruel scheme whereby I should be destroyed.
They had produced the skull and dry bones of a certain person whom they
claimed to be my father; in the skull there still stuck the remains of a
rusty knife thrust through the eye-socket. These bones, they asserted,
were found in my father’s grave, and I alone having been present at his
demise, was proclaimed a parricide. As a matter of fact my father had
died some two years previously in a most pleasant manner, his final end
being caused by a fit, induced by an over-indulgence in fat pork and
wine. It is true that I alone had been present when he died, but the law
required that it should be further proven that those same bones truly
belonged to my parent and no other man. While lying in prison awaiting
trial, Lung Fook, the juggler and conjurer of our troupe, came to visit
me. Having politely inquired after my health and appetite he said:—
“‘This matter, O brother, is most un-mirth-provoking. You will surely
suffer the full penalty of a parricide, which is none other than “Ling
Chi” or death by a thousand cuts. Let me be in all things your friend.
Now it seems to me that you have much money owing you for your
performances. It would be but seemly that you should make some will, and
whom can you think of more worthy to receive the wealth you no longer
desire than I, Lung Fook, your in-every-way bosom friend!’
“I saw the force of Lung Fook’s argument, and told him so, but begged
him to explain further how the bones would be proved to belong to my
honourable parent.
“‘It is a simple matter,’ replied the juggler. ‘The bones are old and
dry, and the test will be by the close affinity of blood for blood. Thus
you will be made to gnaw your finger until the blood flows, the blood
will then drop on the bones, and if it sinks in, then, indeed, the bones
are those of your father; should, however, the blood not soak in, but
remain on the surface of the bones, then they are those of a stranger
and of no one having any blood-tie with you whatever. Alas! the bones
are very dry, and I know any blood will sink into them.’
“‘But,’ I replied, ‘surely this is a very cruel punishment. Come, O
friend, find some means of escape for me.’
“‘Indeed! there is none that I know of. Our laws are indeed just, but I
think they do not err on the side of severity.’
“‘It seems to me they do,’ I replied, ‘for not only shall I suffer death
by a thousand cuts, but my heirs, if over the age of fourteen, have all
to suffer death by decapitation, and, alas! dear brother, I have made
you my heir.’
“‘Our laws may be severe, perhaps,’ replied he, ‘but surely they are not
vindictive, and under the circumstances I decline to receive the
legacy.’
“‘That, poor brother, is I fear unavailing, for the intimate friends of
a parricide suffer death by strangulation, and all know how dear you
have been to me. Yes,’ I concluded, ‘I think, after all, perhaps the
punishment is a just one for such an evil person as one who would kill
his father, and my death will be all the more bitter to me, knowing that
you, my friend, must also suffer with me.’
“At these my words Lung Fook was greatly moved. His anxiety to have me
proved innocent became beautiful to witness. He raved against our
national penal code, he wept for the tortures I was soon to suffer, and
begged and implored me to think of some means whereby the law might be
circumvented. I pointed out that the laws were just, that they did not
err on the side of severity, and I also discoursed at some length on the
painlessness of death by strangulation, provided always that the
executioner were a man of experience. I recalled to mind that the
executioner of Ten Li was but a youth and somewhat slow-witted, but I
trusted that the bystanders would be able to give him helpful advice and
suggestions when occasion might arise. Lung Fook now became quite upset,
and offered me many taels of silver if I could devise some plan whereby
my innocence might be proved. In the tenderest manner I bade him
farewell that day and begged him to come next day when I might have
thought of some scheme. In the meanwhile I begged him to sleep well, to
avoid all worry, and to be certain to bring me money next day.
“Next morning he reappeared greatly agitated, and was much relieved when
I told him I had hopes of successfully proving that the bones did not
belong to my parent. First, however, I begged him to hand over the
money, which he did with some reluctance.
“My plan was this. Lung Fook had one juggling trick in which he put a
small boy in a basket and apparently killed him with a sword, anyway
blood flowed freely during the performance. I told Lung Fook that he
must teach me how to produce this blood and also make it of such a
nature that it would not soak into dry bones. He seemed much relieved
and departed, having two days in which to experiment and find a
blood-like fluid which would not soak in.
“After a day’s absence he returned with a rabbit’s bladder filled with a
red fluid. He explained that he had mixed his ordinary fluid used in
conjuring tricks with lacquer, that he had tested it on several dry
bones, that it absolutely refused to soak in, and so he regarded my
life, and incidentally his own, as safe.
“When the trial came on I was led in chains before the magistrate, and
innumerable witnesses from Chin Wen Fu testified to the notoriously evil
life that I had always lived. Therein I saw the hand of my old enemy the
tao-tai, who having heard of my arrest was only too anxious to again get
me into his clutches. However, all these witnesses were of no real
importance, the great thing was to prove that the bones really belonged
to my father. So at length I was taken to a table on which the skull and
many other relics rested, and was ordered to bite my thumb until the
blood flowed. The bladder containing the liquid was carefully concealed
in my hand, and as I pretended to gnaw my flesh I gradually squeezed out
a few drops. Soon my hand appeared to be covered with blood, and slowly
the drops fell on the bones. Not a particle would soak in. All eyes were
eagerly watching, but soon it was evident that I was innocent. My
enemies were furious, my friends relieved, and the magistrate had
nothing further to do than to acquit me and proclaim me entirely
innocent.
“However, thinking my life unsafe, I thought it better to leave Ten Li
village at once; so I once more started as an outcast and wandered alone
till——”
The sound of wheels cut short Hong’s story, and as the Consul swings
through the gates in a dog-cart a small figure can be seen fleeing
across the lighted verandah. The amah’s shrill scolding is cut short by
two chubby arms being flung round her neck, and any further remarks of
hers are smothered by a small boy’s kisses showered on her ugly old
parchment-like face.
Before going to sleep Jack tells Dorothy in confidence that he thinks
Hong’s next story must be about real fighting, as he has heard up to the
point when he gives up being an actor for ever.
------------------------------------------------------------------------