CHAPTER XVII

_FISHING_

If a certain number of men of letters take refuge in the pleasures of

gardening, fishing also has its number of votaries. The bulk of these are

men who, having lost all the illusions of life, and finding that politics

are, after all, a hollow mockery, give themselves up to a quieter and

less disappointing pastime.

The philosopher Tchang-Tseu used to fish on the banks of the river Han

every day of his life. The Prince of Tchou, having heard him spoken

about, sent an ambassador one day to the philosopher to beg him to enter

the political life. Tchang-Tseu, his rod in his hand, spoke to the fish

without condescending to give any answer, finding that it was not worth

while to do so. Another, still further back in history, by name Lu-Chan,

used to pass his days in fishing in the river Pien. Emperor Weng-Ouang

went one day in person to beg him to become one of his councillors, and

appointed him, on the spot, Guardian of the Sovereign. Lu-Chan accepted

the offer, and helped his master to rule his empire. The dynasty lasted

eight hundred years, so solidly had the basis of the government been

established by the fisher-minister. His master was the first Emperor of

China who got the name of Saint. The people were never happier than under

his reign. So great was the general prosperity, that even now-a-days,

when they want to speak of a happy people, the Chinese say, “As if they

were walking about under the reign of Weng-Ouang.”

Another fisher, of Tsou-Kiang, who always trafficked his fish and wine,

used to drink his fill, and then dance and sing in his boat on the

water, thinking himself the happiest man on earth. The prefect went

to ask him if he was a genuine fisherman, or whether he concealed his

identity under this disguise, and was a person of importance. “Never you

mind,” he said to the prefect. “Historical persons fish for titles, I

satisfy myself with fishing for fish.”

Under the reign of the Thangs, a man of letters, named Thiang-Tseu-Ho,

withdrew on to the water and set up his abode on board a boat, which

he called his floating-house, and gave himself the title of Fisher, in

the midst of the waves and the mist. He published a quantity of songs

for fishermen and oarsmen, which he was in the habit of singing on his

aquatic excursions. The Emperor, taking pity on his solitude, sent, as a

present, two servants, a young man and a young woman. The recluse married

the two together, giving the name of Fisherman to the lad, and that of

Shepherdess to the lass. The one looked after the fishing-tackle and

rowed the boat, the other used to go into the forest to gather dry wood

and bamboos to make his tea.

History mentions the names of several fishermen of this philosophical

class. There are besides these only professional fishermen, good folk who

work hard, and live on very little.

Everybody knows that we have a goddess of the sea, but her story is not

so generally known. She was the daughter of a family of fishermen who

lived on the shore of Mei-Tcheou, quite close to Fou-Tcheou. Her father

and her brothers used to go out fishing on the sea every day, each in

his own boat, whilst she stayed at home to weave in the company of her

old mother. She was adored by her parents, whom she loved very much. One

day, during a storm which made everybody feel drowsy, she was dozing at

the table, when she dreamed that her father’s boat was just going to

sink in the angry sea, and putting out her hand she caught hold of the

painter to draw it into land. Meanwhile she saw that the boats on which

her brothers were, were in the same danger. So, putting the first cord

between her teeth, she caught hold of the two others in her hands, and

began walking through the water towards the shore. But before she could

reach the shore she began to groan and cry, and her mother began to shake

her, calling her by name. To answer her mother she opened her mouth and

let the cord that she held between her teeth escape. When she woke up she

thought that this was a nightmare; but that evening, when her brothers

came home, they told her that her father had been drowned. The young

girl, in despair at not having been able to save her father, who had died

through her fault, rushed out and threw herself into the sea. Some time

after she was often seen in visions by fishermen in moments of distress,

and it was noticed that whenever she appeared the danger was overcome.

Out of gratitude her protégés erected a little temple in her honour.

Little by little her miraculous protection was extended to the ships of

travellers and great officials, and even to the navy. For each service

rendered to the State a title was given her, and little by little she

became known by the appellation of “Holy Mother of Heaven,” a title which

is accompanied by as many honorific qualifications as are worn by the

sovereigns who delight to do her honour.

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Chin-Chin; Or, The Chinaman at Home · 第 17 / 37 章