Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Garcia and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: (Front cover image)]
[Illustration: "SNAKE'S BLOOD MIXED WITH POWDERED DEER-HORN."]
A CHINESE WONDER BOOK
BY
NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN
ILLUSTRATED BY
LI CHU-T'ANG
[Illustration: Colophon]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1919
By
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
* * * * *
Printed in the United States of America
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
The Golden Beetle or Why the Dog Hates the Cat 1
The Great Bell 21
The Strange Tale of Doctor Dog 39
How Footbinding Started 52
The Talking Fish 68
Bamboo and the Turtle 88
The Mad Goose and the Tiger Forest 104
The Nodding Tiger 120
The Princess Kwan-Yin 134
The Two Jugglers 147
The Phantom Vessel 160
The Wooden Tablet 172
The Golden Nugget 187
The Man Who Would Not Scold 193
Lu-San, Daughter of Heaven 206
ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing
Page
"Snake's blood mixed with powdered deer-horn" _Frontispiece_
"Here son!" she cried, "look at my treasure!" 8
Clinging to the animal's shaggy hair was Honeysuckle 50
Throwing herself at his feet she thanked him for his mercy 56
"Ah," sighed the turtle, "if only the good god, P'anku,
were here" 102
Putting his bill close to her ear, he told Hu-Lin of
his recent discovery 108
The tiger gravely nodded his head 130
All day she was busy carrying water 138
Higher and higher he climbed 154
They saw shining in the pathway directly in front of them
a lump of gold 188
As she dressed herself she saw with surprise that her fingers
were shapely 214
THE GOLDEN BEETLE OR WHY THE DOG HATES THE CAT
[Illustration]
"What we shall eat to-morrow, I haven't the slightest idea!" said Widow
Wang to her eldest son, as he started out one morning in search of work.
"Oh, the gods will provide. I'll find a few coppers somewhere," replied
the boy, trying to speak cheerfully, although in his heart he also had
not the slightest idea in which direction to turn.
The winter had been a hard one: extreme cold, deep snow, and violent
winds. The Wang house had suffered greatly. The roof had fallen in,
weighed down by heavy snow. Then a hurricane had blown a wall over, and
Ming-li, the son, up all night and exposed to a bitter cold wind, had
caught pneumonia. Long days of illness followed, with the spending of
extra money for medicine. All their scant savings had soon melted away,
and at the shop where Ming-li had been employed his place was filled by
another. When at last he arose from his sick-bed he was too weak for
hard labour and there seemed to be no work in the neighbouring villages
for him to do. Night after night he came home, trying not to be
discouraged, but in his heart feeling the deep pangs of sorrow that come
to the good son who sees his mother suffering for want of food and
clothing.
"Bless his good heart!" said the poor widow after he had gone. "No
mother ever had a better boy. I hope he is right in saying the gods will
provide. It has been getting so much worse these past few weeks that it
seems now as if my stomach were as empty as a rich man's brain. Why,
even the rats have deserted our cottage, and there's nothing left for
poor Tabby, while old Blackfoot is nearly dead from starvation."
When the old woman referred to the sorrows of her pets, her
remarks were answered by a pitiful mewing and woebegone barking
from the corner where the two unfed creatures were curled up together
trying to keep warm.
Just then there was a loud knocking at the gate. When the widow Wang
called out, "Come in!" she was surprised to see an old bald-headed
priest standing in the doorway. "Sorry, but we have nothing," she went
on, feeling sure the visitor had come in search of food. "We have fed on
scraps these two weeks--on scraps and scrapings--and now we are living
on the memories of what we used to have when my son's father was living.
Our cat was so fat she couldn't climb to the roof. Now look at her. You
can hardly see her, she's so thin. No, I'm sorry we can't help you,
friend priest, but you see how it is."
"I didn't come for alms," cried the clean-shaven one, looking at her
kindly, "but only to see what I could do to help you. The gods have
listened long to the prayers of your devoted son. They honour him
because he has not waited till you die to do sacrifice for you. They
have seen how faithfully he has served you ever since his illness, and
now, when he is worn out and unable to work, they are resolved to reward
him for his virtue. You likewise have been a good mother and shall
receive the gift I am now bringing."
"What do you mean?" faltered Mrs. Wang, hardly believing her ears at
hearing a priest speak of bestowing mercies. "Have you come here to
laugh at our misfortunes?"
"By no means. Here in my hand I hold a tiny golden beetle which you will
find has a magic power greater than any you ever dreamed of. I will
leave this precious thing with you, a present from the god of filial
conduct."
"Yes, it will sell for a good sum," murmured the other, looking closely
at the trinket, "and will give us millet for several days. Thanks, good
priest, for your kindness."
"But you must by no means sell this golden beetle, for it has the power
to fill your stomachs as long as you live."
The widow stared in open-mouthed wonder at the priest's surprising
words.
"Yes, you must not doubt me, but listen carefully to what I tell you.
Whenever you wish food, you have only to place this ornament in a kettle
of boiling water, saying over and over again the names of what you want
to eat. In three minutes take off the lid, and there will be your
dinner, smoking hot, and cooked more perfectly than any food you have
ever eaten."
"May I try it now?" she asked eagerly.
"As soon as I am gone."
When the door was shut, the old woman hurriedly kindled a fire, boiled
some water, and then dropped in the golden beetle, repeating these words
again and again:
"Dumplings, dumplings, come to me,
I am thin as thin can be.
Dumplings, dumplings, smoking hot,
Dumplings, dumplings, fill the pot."
Would those three minutes never pass? Could the priest have told the
truth? Her old head was nearly wild with excitement as clouds of steam
rose from the kettle. Off came the lid! She could wait no longer. Wonder
of wonders! There before her unbelieving eyes was a pot, full to the
brim of pork dumplings, dancing up and down in the bubbling water, the
best, the most delicious dumplings she had ever tasted. She ate and ate
till there was no room left in her greedy stomach, and then she feasted
the cat and the dog until they were ready to burst.
"Good fortune has come at last," whispered Blackfoot, the dog, to
Whitehead, the cat, as they lay down to sun themselves outside. "I fear
I couldn't have held out another week without running away to look for
food. I don't know just what's happened, but there's no use questioning
the gods."
Mrs. Wang fairly danced for joy at the thought of her son's return and
of how she would feast him.
"Poor boy, how surprised he will be at our fortune--and it's all on
account of his goodness to his old mother."
When Ming-li came, with a dark cloud overhanging his brow, the widow saw
plainly that disappointment was written there.
"Come, come, lad!" she cried cheerily, "clear up your face and smile,
for the gods have been good to us and I shall soon show you how richly
your devotion has been rewarded." So saying, she dropped the golden
beetle into the boiling water and stirred up the fire.
Thinking his mother had gone stark mad for want of food, Ming-li stared
solemnly at her. Anything was preferable to this misery. Should he sell
his last outer garment for a few pennies and buy millet for her?
Blackfoot licked his hand comfortingly, as if to say, "Cheer up, master,
fortune has turned in our favour." Whitehead leaped upon a bench,
purring like a sawmill.
Ming-li did not have long to wait. Almost in the twinkling of an eye he
heard his mother crying out,
"Sit down at the table, son, and eat these dumplings while they are
smoking hot."
Could he have heard correctly? Did his ears deceive him? No, there on
the table was a huge platter full of the delicious pork dumplings he
liked better than anything else in all the world, except, of course, his
mother.
"Eat and ask no questions," counselled the Widow Wang. "When you are
satisfied I will tell you everything."
Wise advice! Very soon the young man's chopsticks were twinkling like
a little star in the verses. He ate long and happily, while his good
mother watched him, her heart overflowing with joy at seeing him at last
able to satisfy his hunger. But still the old woman could hardly wait
for him to finish, she was so anxious to tell him her wonderful secret.
"Here, son!" she cried at last, as he began to pause between mouthfuls,
"look at my treasure!" And she held out to him the golden beetle.
"First tell me what good fairy of a rich man has been filling our hands
with silver?"
"That's just what I am trying to tell you," she laughed, "for there was
a fairy here this afternoon sure enough, only he was dressed like a bald
priest. That golden beetle is all he gave me, but with it comes a secret
worth thousands of cash to us."
The youth fingered the trinket idly, still doubting his senses, and
waiting impatiently for the secret of his delicious dinner. "But,
mother, what has this brass bauble to do with the dumplings, these
wonderful pork dumplings, the finest I ever ate?"
"Baubles indeed! Brass! Fie, fie, my boy! You little know what you are
saying. Only listen and you shall hear a tale that will open your eyes."
She then told him what had happened, and ended by setting all of the
left-over dumplings upon the floor for Blackfoot and Whitehead, a thing
her son had never seen her do before, for they had been miserably poor
and had had to save every scrap for the next meal.
Now began a long period of perfect happiness. Mother, son, dog and
cat--all enjoyed themselves to their hearts' content. All manner of new
foods such as they had never tasted were called forth from the pot by
the wonderful little beetle. Bird-nest soup, shark's fins, and a hundred
other delicacies were theirs for the asking, and soon Ming-li regained
all his strength, but, I fear, at the same time grew somewhat lazy, for
it was no longer necessary for him to work. As for the two animals, they
became fat and sleek and their hair grew long and glossy.
[Illustration: "HERE SON!" SHE CRIED, "HAVE A LOOK AT MY TREASURE!"]
But alas! according to a Chinese proverb, pride invites sorrow. The
little family became so proud of their good fortune that they began to
ask friends and relatives to dinner that they might show off their good
meals. One day a Mr. and Mrs. Chu came from a distant village. They were
much astonished at seeing the high style in which the Wangs lived. They
had expected a beggar's meal, but went away with full stomachs.
"It's the best stuff I ever ate," said Mr. Chu, as they entered their
own tumble-down house.
"Yes, and I know where it came from," exclaimed his wife. "I saw Widow
Wang take a little gold ornament out of the pot and hide it in a
cupboard. It must be some sort of charm, for I heard her mumbling to
herself about pork and dumplings just as she was stirring up the fire."
"A charm, eh? Why is it that other people have all the luck? It looks as
if we were doomed forever to be poor."
"Why not borrow Mrs. Wang's charm for a few days until we can pick up a
little flesh to keep our bones from clattering? Turn about's fair play.
Of course, we'll return it sooner or later."
"Doubtless they keep very close watch over it. When would you find them
away from home, now that they don't have to work any more? As their
house only contains one room, and that no bigger than ours, it would be
difficult to borrow this golden trinket. It is harder, for more reasons
than one, to steal from a beggar than from a king."
"Luck is surely with us," cried Mrs. Chu, clapping her hands. "They are
going this very day to the Temple fair. I overheard Mrs. Wang tell her
son that he must not forget he was to take her about the middle of the
afternoon. I will slip back then and borrow the little charm from the
box in which she hid it."
"Aren't you afraid of Blackfoot?"
"Pooh! he's so fat he can do nothing but roll. If the widow comes back
suddenly, I'll tell her I came to look for my big hair-pin, that I lost
it while I was at dinner."
"All right, go ahead, only of course we must remember we're borrowing
the thing, not stealing it, for the Wangs have always been good friends
to us, and then, too, we have just dined with them."
So skilfully did this crafty woman carry out her plans that within an
hour she was back in her own house, gleefully showing the priest's charm
to her husband. Not a soul had seen her enter the Wang house. The dog
had made no noise, and the cat had only blinked her surprise at seeing a
stranger and had gone to sleep again on the floor.
Great was the clamour and weeping when, on returning from the fair in
expectation of a hot supper, the widow found her treasure missing. It
was long before she could grasp the truth. She went back to the little
box in the cupboard ten times before she could believe it was empty, and
the room looked as if a cyclone had struck it, so long and carefully did
the two unfortunates hunt for the lost beetle.
Then came days of hunger which were all the harder to bear since the
recent period of good food and plenty. Oh, if they had only not got used
to such dainties! How hard it was to go back to scraps and scrapings!
But if the widow and her son were sad over the loss of the good meals,
the two pets were even more so. They were reduced to beggary and had to
go forth daily upon the streets in search of stray bones and refuse that
decent dogs and cats turned up their noses at.
One day, after this period of starvation had been going on for some
time, Whitehead began suddenly to frisk about in great excitement.
"Whatever is the matter with you?" growled Blackfoot. "Are you mad from
hunger, or have you caught another flea?"
"I was just thinking over our affairs, and now I know the cause of all
our trouble."
"Do you indeed?" sneered Blackfoot.
"Yes, I do indeed, and you'd better think twice before you mock me, for
I hold your future in my paw, as you will very soon see."
"Well, you needn't get angry about nothing. What wonderful discovery
have you made--that every rat has one tail?"
"First of all, are you willing to help me bring good fortune back to our
family?"
"Of course I am. Don't be silly," barked the dog, wagging his tail
joyfully at the thought of another good dinner. "Surely! surely! I will
do anything you like if it will bring Dame Fortune back again."
"All right. Here is the plan. There has been a thief in the house who
has stolen our mistress's golden beetle. You remember all our big
dinners that came from the pot? Well, every day I saw our mistress take
a little golden beetle out of the black box and put it into the pot. One
day she held it up before me, saying, 'Look, puss, there is the cause of
all our happiness. Don't you wish it was yours?' Then she laughed and
put it back into the box that stays in the cupboard."
"Is that true?" questioned Blackfoot. "Why didn't you say something
about it before?"
"You remember the day Mr. and Mrs. Chu were here, and how Mrs. Chu
returned in the afternoon after master and mistress had gone to the
fair? I saw her, out of the tail of my eye, go to that very black box
and take out the golden beetle. I thought it curious, but never dreamed
she was a thief. Alas! I was wrong! She took the beetle, and if I am not
mistaken, she and her husband are now enjoying the feasts that belong
to us."
"Let's claw them," growled Blackfoot, gnashing his teeth.
"That would do no good," counselled the other, "for they would be sure
to come out best in the end. We want the beetle back--that's the main
thing. We'll leave revenge to human beings; it is none of our business."
"What do you suggest?" said Blackfoot. "I am with you through thick and
thin."
"Let's go to the Chu house and make off with the beetle."
"Alas, that I am not a cat!" moaned Blackfoot. "If we go there I
couldn't get inside, for robbers always keep their gates well locked. If
I were like you I could scale the wall. It is the first time in all my
life I ever envied a cat."
"We will go together," continued Whitehead. "I will ride on your back
when we are fording the river, and you can protect me from strange
animals. When we get to the Chu house, I will climb over the wall and
manage the rest of the business myself. Only you must wait outside to
help me to get home with the prize."
No sooner arranged than done. The companions set out that very night on
their adventure. They crossed the river as the cat had suggested, and
Blackfoot really enjoyed the swim, for, as he said, it took him back to
his puppyhood, while the cat did not get a single drop of water on her
face. It was midnight when they reached the Chu house.
"Just wait till I return," purred Whitehead in Blackfoot's ear.
With a mighty spring she reached the top of the mud wall, and then
jumped down to the inside court. While she was resting in the shadow,
trying to decide just how to go about her work, a slight rustling
attracted her attention, and pop! one giant spring, one stretch-out of
the claws, and she had caught a rat that had just come out of his hole
for a drink and a midnight walk.
Now, Whitehead was so hungry that she would have made short work of this
tempting prey if the rat had not opened its mouth and, to her amazement,
begun to talk in good cat dialect.
"Pray, good puss, not so fast with your sharp teeth! Kindly be careful
with your claws! Don't you know it is the custom now to put prisoners on
their honour? I will promise not to run away."
"Pooh! what honour has a rat?"
"Most of us haven't much, I grant you, but my family was brought up
under the roof of Confucius, and there we picked up so many crumbs of
wisdom that we are exceptions to the rule. If you will spare me, I will
obey you for life, in fact, will be your humble slave." Then, with a
quick jerk, freeing itself, "See, I am loose now, but honour holds me as
if I were tied, and so I make no further attempt to get away."
"Much good it would do you," purred Whitehead, her fur crackling
noisily, and her mouth watering for a taste of rat steak. "However,
I am quite willing to put you to the test. First, answer a few polite
questions and I will see if you're a truthful fellow. What kind of food
is your master eating now, that you should be so round and plump when
I am thin and scrawny?"
"Oh, we have been in luck lately, I can tell you. Master and mistress
feed on the fat of the land, and of course we hangers-on get the
crumbs."
"But this is a poor tumble-down house. How can they afford such eating?"
"That is a great secret, but as I am in honour bound to tell you, here
goes. My mistress has just obtained in some manner or other, a fairy's
charm----"
"She stole it from our place," hissed the cat, "I will claw her eyes out
if I get the chance. Why, we've been fairly starving for want of that
beetle. She stole it from us just after she had been an invited guest!
What do you think of that for honour, Sir Rat? Were your mistress's
ancestors followers of the sage?"
"Oh, oh, oh! Why, that explains everything!" wailed the rat. "I have
often wondered how they got the golden beetle, and yet of course I dared
not ask any questions."
"No, certainly not! But hark you, friend rat--you get that golden
trinket back for me, and I will set you free at once of all obligations.
Do you know where she hides it?"
"Yes, in a crevice where the wall is broken. I will bring it to you in
a jiffy, but how shall we exist when our charm is gone? There will be
a season of scanty food, I fear; beggars' fare for all of us."
"Live on the memory of your good deed," purred the cat. "It is splendid,
you know, to be an honest beggar. Now scoot! I trust you completely,
since your people lived in the home of Confucius. I will wait here for
your return. Ah!" laughed Whitehead to herself, "luck seems to be coming
our way again!"
Five minutes later the rat appeared, bearing the trinket in its mouth.
It passed the beetle over to the cat, and then with a whisk was off for
ever. Its honour was safe, but it was afraid of Whitehead. It had seen
the gleam of desire in her green eyes, and the cat might have broken her
word if she had not been so anxious to get back home where her mistress
could command the wonderful kettle once more to bring forth food.
The two adventurers reached the river just as the sun was rising above
the eastern hills.
"Be careful," cautioned Blackfoot, as the cat leaped upon his back for
her ride across the stream, "be careful not to forget the treasure. In
short, remember that even though you are a female, it is necessary to
keep your mouth closed till we reach the other side."
"Thanks, but I don't think I need your advice," replied Whitehead,
picking up the beetle and leaping on to the dog's back.
But alas! just as they were nearing the farther shore, the excited cat
forgot her wisdom for a moment. A fish suddenly leaped out of the water
directly under her nose. It was too great a temptation. Snap! went her
jaws in a vain effort to land the scaly treasure, and the golden beetle
sank to the bottom of the river.
"There!" said the dog angrily, "what did I tell you? Now all our trouble
has been in vain--all on account of your stupidity."
For a time there was a bitter dispute, and the companions called each
other some very bad names--such as turtle and rabbit. Just as they were
starting away from the river, disappointed and discouraged, a friendly
frog who had by chance heard their conversation offered to fetch the
treasure from the bottom of the stream. No sooner said than done, and
after thanking this accommodating animal profusely, they turned homeward
once more.
When they reached the cottage the door was shut, and, bark as he would,
Blackfoot could not persuade his master to open it. There was the sound
of loud wailing inside.
"Mistress is broken-hearted," whispered the cat, "I will go to her and
make her happy."
So saying, she sprang lightly through a hole in the paper window, which,
alas! was too small and too far from the ground for the faithful dog to
enter.
A sad sight greeted the gaze of Whitehead. The son was lying on the bed
unconscious, almost dead for want of food, while his mother, in despair,
was rocking backwards and forwards wringing her wrinkled hands and
crying at the top of her voice for some one to come and save them.
"Here I am, mistress," cried Whitehead, "and here is the treasure you
are weeping for. I have rescued it and brought it back to you."
The widow, wild with joy at sight of the beetle, seized the cat in her
scrawny arms and hugged the pet tightly to her bosom.
"Breakfast, son, breakfast! Wake up from your swoon! Fortune has come
again. We are saved from starvation!"
Soon a steaming hot meal was ready, and you may well imagine how the old
woman and her son, heaping praises upon Whitehead, filled the beast's
platter with good things, but never a word did they say of the faithful
dog, who remained outside sniffing the fragrant odours and waiting in
sad wonder, for all this time the artful cat had said nothing of
Blackfoot's part in the rescue of the golden beetle.
At last, when breakfast was over, slipping away from the others,
Whitehead jumped out through the hole in the window.
"Oh, my dear Blackfoot," she began laughingly, "you should have been
inside to see what a feast they gave me! Mistress was so delighted at
my bringing back her treasure that she could not give me enough to eat,
nor say enough kind things about me. Too bad, old fellow, that you are
hungry. You'd better run out into the street and hunt up a bone."
Maddened by the shameful treachery of his companion, the enraged dog
sprang upon the cat and in a few seconds had shaken her to death.
"So dies the one who forgets a friend and who loses honour," he cried
sadly, as he stood over the body of his companion.
Rushing out into the street, he proclaimed the treachery of Whitehead
to the members of his tribe, at the same time advising that all
self-respecting dogs should from that time onwards make war upon the
feline race.
And that is why the descendants of old Blackfoot, whether in China or
in the great countries of the West, have waged continual war upon the
children and grandchildren of Whitehead, for a thousand generations of
dogs have fought them and hated them with a great and lasting hatred.
THE GREAT BELL
[Illustration]
The mighty Yung-lo sat on the great throne surrounded by a hundred
attendants. He was sad, for he could think of no wonderful thing to do
for his country. He flirted his silken fan nervously and snapped his
long finger-nails in the impatience of despair.
"Woe is me!" he cried at last, his sorrow getting the better of his
usual calmness. "I have picked up the great capital and moved it from
the South to Peking and have built here a mighty city. I have surrounded
my city with a wall, even thicker and greater than the famous wall of
China. I have constructed in this city scores of temples and palaces.
I have had the wise men and scholars compile a great book of wisdom,
made up of 23,000 volumes, the largest and most wonderful collection
of learning ever gathered together by the hands of men. I have built
watch-towers, bridges, and giant monuments, and now, alas! as I approach
the end of my days as ruler of the Middle Kingdom there is nothing more
to be done for my people. Better far that I should even now close my
tired eyes for ever and mount up on high to be the guest of the dragon,
than live on in idleness, giving to my children an example of
uselessness and sloth."
"But, your Majesty," began one of Yung-lo's most faithful courtiers,
named Ming-lin, falling upon his knees and knocking his head three times
on the ground, "if you would only deign to listen to your humble slave,
I would dare to suggest a great gift for which the many people of
Peking, your children, would rise up and bless you both now and in
future generations."
"Only tell me of such a gift and I will not only grant it to the
imperial city, but as a sign of thanksgiving to you for your sage
counsel I will bestow upon you the royal peacock feather."
"It is not for one of my small virtues," replied the delighted official,
"to wear the feather when others so much wiser are denied it, but if it
please your Majesty, remember that in the northern district of the city
there has been erected a bell-tower which as yet remains empty. The
people of the city need a giant bell to sound out the fleeting hours of
the day, that they may be urged on to perform their labours and not be
idle. The water-clock already marks the hours, but there is no bell to
proclaim them to the populace."
"A good suggestion in sooth," answered the Emperor, smiling, "and yet
who is there among us that has skill enough in bell-craft to do the task
you propose? I am told that to cast a bell worthy of our imperial city
requires the genius of a poet and the skill of an astronomer."
"True, most mighty one, and yet permit me to say that Kwan-yu, who so
skilfully moulded the imperial cannon, can also cast a giant bell. He
alone of all your subjects is worthy of the task, for he alone can do
it justice."
Now, the official who proposed the name of Kwan-yu to the Emperor had
two objects in so doing. He wished to quiet the grief of Yung-lo, who
was mourning because he had nothing left to do for his people, and,
at the same time, to raise Kwan-yu to high rank, for Kwan-yu's only
daughter had for several years been betrothed to Ming-lin's only
son, and it would be a great stroke of luck for Ming-lin if his
daughter-in-law's father should come under direct favour of the Emperor.
"Depend upon it, Kwan-yu can do the work better than any other man
within the length and breadth of your empire," continued Ming-lin, again
bowing low three times.
"Then summon Kwan-yu at once to my presence, that I may confer with him
about this important business."
In great glee Ming-lin arose and backed himself away from the golden
throne, for it would have been very improper for him to turn his
coat-tails on the Son of Heaven.
But it was with no little fear that Kwan-yu undertook the casting of the
great bell.
"Can a carpenter make shoes?" he had protested, when Ming-lin had broken
the Emperor's message to him.
"Yes," replied the other quickly, "if they be like those worn by the
little island dwarfs, and, therefore, made of wood. Bells and cannon are
cast from similar material. You ought easily to adapt yourself to this
new work."
Now when Kwan-yu's daughter found out what he was about to undertake,
she was filled with a great fear.
"Oh, honoured father," she cried, "think well before you give this
promise. As a cannon-maker you are successful, but who can say about the
other task? And if you fail, the Great One's wrath will fall heavily
upon you."
"Just hear the girl," interrupted the ambitious mother. "What do you
know about success and failure? You'd better stick to the subject of
cooking and baby-clothes, for you will soon be married. As for your
father, pray let him attend to his own business. It is unseemly for
a girl to meddle in her father's affairs."
And so poor Ko-ai--for that was the maiden's name--was silenced, and
went back to her fancy-work with a big tear stealing down her fair
cheek, for she loved her father dearly and there had come into her heart
a strange terror at thought of his possible danger.
Meanwhile, Kwan-yu was summoned to the Forbidden City, which is in the
centre of Peking, and in which stands the Imperial palace. There he
received his instructions from the Son of Heaven.
"And remember," said Yung-lo in conclusion, "this bell must be so great
that the sound of it will ring out to a distance of thirty-three miles
on every hand. To this end, you should add in proper proportions gold
and brass, for they give depth and strength to everything with which
they mingle. Furthermore, in order that this giant may not be lacking in
the quality of sweetness, you must add silver in due proportion, while
the sayings of the sages must be graven on its sides."
Now when Kwan-yu had really received his commission from the
Emperor he searched the bookstalls of the city to find if possible
some ancient descriptions of the best methods used in bell-casting. Also
he offered generous wages to all who had ever had experience in the
great work for which he was preparing. Soon his great foundry was alive
with labourers; huge fires were burning; great piles of gold, silver and
other metals were lying here and there, ready to be weighed.
Whenever Kwan-yu went out to a public tea-house all of his friends plied
him with questions about the great bell.
"Will it be the largest in the world?"
"Oh, no," he would reply, "that is not necessary, but it must be the
sweetest-toned, for we Chinese strive not for size, but for purity; not
for greatness, but for virtue."
"When will it be finished?"
"Only the gods can tell, for I have had little experience, and perhaps I
shall fail to mix the metals properly."
Every few days the Son of Heaven himself would send an imperial
messenger to ask similar questions, for a king is likely to be just as
curious as his subjects, but Kwan-yu would always modestly reply that he
could not be certain; it was very doubtful when the bell would be ready.
At last, however, after consulting an astrologer, Kwan-yu appointed
a day for the casting, and then there came another courtier robed in
splendid garments, saying that at the proper hour the Great One himself
would for the first time cross Kwan-yu's threshold--would come to see
the casting of the bell he had ordered for his people. On hearing this,
Kwan-yu was sore afraid, for he felt that somehow, in spite of all his
reading, in spite of all the advice he had received from well-wishers,
there was something lacking in the mixture of the boiling metals that
would soon be poured into the giant mould. In short, Kwan-yu was about
to discover an important truth that this great world has been thousands
of years in learning--namely, that mere reading and advice cannot
produce skill, that true skill can come only from years of experience
and practice. On the brink of despair, he sent a servant with money to
the temple, to pray to the gods for success in his venture. Truly,
despair and prayer rhyme in every language.
Ko-ai, his daughter, was also afraid when she saw the cloud on her
father's brow, for she it was, you remember, who had tried to prevent
him from undertaking the Emperor's commission. She also went to the
temple, in company with a faithful old servant, and prayed to heaven.
The great day dawned. The Emperor and his courtiers were assembled, the
former sitting on a platform built for the occasion. Three attendants
waved beautiful hand-painted fans about his imperial brow, for the room
was very warm, and a huge block of ice lay melting in a bowl of carved
brass, cooling the hot air before it should blow upon the head of the
Son of Heaven.
Kwan-yu's wife and daughter stood in a corner at the back of the room,
peering anxiously towards the cauldron of molten liquid, for well they
knew that Kwan-yu's future rank and power depended on the success of
this enterprise. Around the walls stood Kwan-yu's friends, and at the
windows groups of excited servants strained their necks, trying to catch
a glimpse of royalty, and for once afraid to chatter. Kwan-yu himself
was hurrying hither and thither, now giving a final order, now gazing
anxiously at the empty mould, and again glancing towards the throne to
see if his imperial master was showing signs of impatience.
At last all was ready; everyone was waiting breathlessly for the sign
from Yung-lo which should start the flowing of the metal. A slight bow
of the head, a lifting of the finger! The glowing liquid, hissing with
delight at being freed even for a moment from its prison, ran forward
faster and faster along the channel that led into the great earthen bed.
The bell-maker covered his eyes with his fan, afraid to look at the
swiftly-flowing stream. Were all his hopes to be suddenly dashed by the
failure of the metals to mix and harden properly? A heavy sigh escaped
him as at last he looked up at the thing he had created. Something had
indeed gone wrong; he knew in the flash of an eye that misfortune had
overtaken him.
Yes! sure enough, when at last the earthen casting had been broken, even
the smallest child could see that the giant bell, instead of being a
thing of beauty was a sorry mass of metals that would not blend.
"Alas!" said Yung-lo, "here is indeed a mighty failure, but even in this
disappointment I see an object lesson well worthy of consideration, for
behold! in yonder elements are all the materials of which this country
is made up. There are gold and silver and the baser metals. United in
the proper manner they would make a bell so wonderfully beautiful and so
pure of tone that the very spirits of the Western heavens would pause to
look and listen. But divided they form a thing that is hideous to eye
and ear. Oh, my China! how many wars are there from time to time among
the different sections, weakening the country and making it poor! If
only all these peoples, great and small, the gold and silver and the
baser elements, would unite, then would this land be really worthy of
the name of the Middle Kingdom!"
The courtiers all applauded this speech of the great Yung-lo, but
Kwan-yu remained on the ground where he had thrown himself at the feet
of his sovereign. Still bowing his head and moaning, he cried out:
"Ah! your Majesty! I urged you not to appoint me, and now indeed you see
my unfitness. Take my life, I beg you, as a punishment for my failure."
"Rise, Kwan-yu," said the great Prince. "I would be a mean master indeed
if I did not grant you another trial. Rise up and see that your next
casting profits by the lesson of this failure."
So Kwan-yu arose, for when the King speaks, all men must listen. The
next day he began his task once more, but still his heart was heavy,
for he knew not the reason of his failure and was therefore unable to
correct his error. For many months he laboured night and day. Hardly a
word would he speak to his wife, and when his daughter tried to tempt
him with a dish of sunflower seed that she had parched herself, he would
reward her with a sad smile, but would by no means laugh with her and
joke as had formerly been his custom. On the first and fifteenth day of
every moon he went himself to the temple and implored the gods to grant
him their friendly assistance, while Ko-ai added her prayers to his,
burning incense and weeping before the grinning idols.
Again the great Yung-lo was seated on the platform in Kwan-yu's foundry,
and again his courtiers hovered round him, but this time, as it was
winter, they did not flirt the silken fans. The Great One was certain
that this casting would be successful. He had been lenient with Kwan-yu
on the first occasion, and now at last he and the great city were to
profit by that mercy.
Again he gave the signal; once more every neck was craned to see the
flowing of the metal. But, alas! when the casing was removed it was seen
that the new bell was no better than the first. It was, in fact, a
dreadful failure, cracked and ugly, for the gold and silver and the
baser elements had again refused to blend into a united whole.
With a bitter cry which touched the hearts of all those present, the
unhappy Kwan-yu fell upon the floor. This time he did not bow before his
master, for at the sight of the miserable conglomeration of useless
metals his courage failed him, and he fainted. When at last he came to,
the first sight that met his eyes was the scowling face of Yung-lo. Then
he heard, as in a dream, the stern voice of the Son of Heaven:
"Unhappy Kwan-yu, can it be that you, upon whom I have ever heaped my
favours, have twice betrayed the trust? The first time, I was sorry
for you and willing to forget, but now that sorrow has turned into
anger--yea, the anger of heaven itself is upon you. Now, I bid you mark
well my words. A third chance you shall have to cast the bell, but if on
that third attempt you fail--then by order of the Vermilion Pencil both
you and Ming-lin, who recommended you, shall pay the penalty."
For a long time after the Emperor had departed, Kwan-yu lay on the floor
surrounded by his attendants, but chief of all those who tried to
restore him was his faithful daughter. For a whole week he wavered
between life and death, and then at last there came a turn in his
favour. Once more he regained his health, once more he began his
preparations.
Yet all the time he was about his work his heart was heavy, for he felt
that he would soon journey into the dark forest, the region of the great
yellow spring, the place from which no pilgrim ever returns. Ko-ai, too,
felt more than ever that her father was in the presence of a great
danger.
"Surely," she said one day to her mother, "a raven must have flown over
his head. He is like the proverb of the blind man on the blind horse
coming at midnight to a deep ditch. Oh, how can he cross over?"
Willingly would this dutiful daughter have done anything to save her
loved one. Night and day she racked her brains for some plan, but all to
no avail.
On the day before the third casting, as Ko-ai was sitting in front of
her brass mirror braiding her long black hair, suddenly a little bird
flew in at the window and perched upon her head. Immediately the
startled maiden seemed to hear a voice as if some good fairy were
whispering in her ear:
"Do not hesitate. You must go and consult the famous juggler who even
now is visiting the city. Sell your jade-stones and other jewels, for
this man of wisdom will not listen unless his attention is attracted
by huge sums of money."
The feathered messenger flew out of her room, but Ko-ai had heard enough
to make her happy. She despatched a trusted servant to sell her jade and
her jewels, charging him on no account to tell her mother. Then, with a
great sum of money in her possession she sought out the magician who was
said to be wiser than the sages in knowledge of life and death.
"Tell me," she implored, as the greybeard summoned her to his presence,
"tell me how I can save my father, for the Emperor has ordered his death
if he fails a third time in the casting of the bell."
The astrologer, after plying her with questions, put on his
tortoise-shell glasses and searched long in his book of knowledge. He
also examined closely the signs of the heavens, consulting the mystic
tables over and over again. Finally, he turned toward Ko-ai, who all the
time had been awaiting his answer with impatience.
"Nothing could be plainer than the reason of your father's failure, for
when a man seeks to do the impossible, he can expect Fate to give him no
other answer. Gold cannot unite with silver, nor brass with iron, unless
the blood of a maiden is mingled with the molten metals, but the girl
who gives up her life to bring about the fusion must be pure and good."
With a sigh of despair Ko-ai heard the astrologer's answer. She loved
the world and all its beauties; she loved her birds, her companions, her
father; she had expected to marry soon, and then there would have been
children to love and cherish. But now all these dreams of happiness must
be forgotten. There was no other maiden to give up her life for Kwan-yu.
She, Ko-ai, loved her father and must make the sacrifice for his sake.
And so the day arrived for the third trial, and a third time Yung-lo
took his place in Kwan-yu's factory, surrounded by his courtiers. There
was a look of stern expectancy on his face. Twice he had excused his
underling for failure. Now there could be no thought of mercy. If the
bell did not come from its cast perfect in tone and fair to look upon,
Kwan-yu must be punished with the severest punishment that could be
meted out to man--even death itself. That was why there was a look of
stern expectancy on Yung-lo's face, for he really loved Kwan-yu and did
not wish to send him to his death.
As for Kwan-yu himself, he had long ago given up all thought of success,
for nothing had happened since his second failure to make him any surer
this time of success. He had settled up his business affairs, arranging
for a goodly sum to go to his beloved daughter; he had bought the coffin
in which his own body would be laid away and had stored it in one of the
principal rooms of his dwelling; he had even engaged the priests and
musicians who should chant his funeral dirge, and, last but not least,
he had arranged with the man who would have charge of chopping off his
head, that one fold of skin should be left uncut, as this would bring
him better luck on his entry into the spiritual world than if the head
were severed entirely from the body.
And so we may say that Kwan-yu was prepared to die. In fact, on the
night before the final casting he had a dream in which he saw himself
kneeling before the headsman and cautioning him not to forget the
binding agreement the latter had entered into.
Of all those present in the great foundry, perhaps the devoted Ko-ai was
the least excited. Unnoticed, she had slipped along the wall from the
spot where she had been standing with her mother and had planted herself
directly opposite the huge tank in which the molten, seething liquid
bubbled, awaiting the signal when it should be set free. Ko-ai gazed at
the Emperor, watching intently for the well-known signal. When at last
she saw his head move forward she sprang with a wild leap into the
boiling liquid, at the same time crying in her clear, sweet voice:
"For thee, dear father! It is the only way!"
The molten white metal received the lovely girl into its ardent embrace,
received her, and swallowed her up completely, as in a tomb of liquid
fire.
And Kwan-yu--what of Kwan-yu, the frantic father? Mad with grief at the
sight of his loved one giving up her life, a sacrifice to save him, he
had sprung forward to hold her back from her terrible death, but had
succeeded only in catching one of her tiny jewelled slippers as she sank
out of sight for ever--a dainty, silken slipper, to remind him always of
her wonderful sacrifice. In his wild grief as he clasped this pitiful
little memento to his heart he would himself have leaped in and followed
her to her death, if his servants had not restrained him until the
Emperor had repeated his signal and the liquid had been poured into the
cast. As the sad eyes of all those present peered into the molten river
of metals rushing to its earthen bed, they saw not a single sign
remaining of the departed Ko-ai.
This, then, my children, is the time-worn legend of the great bell
of Peking, a tale that has been repeated a million times by poets,
story-tellers and devoted mothers, for you must know that on this third
casting, when the earthen mould was removed, there stood revealed the
most beautiful bell that eye had ever looked upon, and when it was swung
up into the bell-tower there was immense rejoicing among the people. The
silver and the gold and the iron and the brass, held together by the
blood of the virgin, had blended perfectly, and the clear voice of the
monster bell rang out over the great city, sounding a deeper, richer
melody than that of any other bell within the limits of the Middle
Kingdom, or, for that matter, of all the world. And, strange to say,
even yet the deep-voiced colossus seems to cry out the name of the
maiden who gave herself a living sacrifice, "Ko-ai! Ko-ai! Ko-ai!" so
that all the people may remember her deed of virtue ten thousand years
ago. And between the mellow peals of music there often seems to come a
plaintive whisper that may be heard only by those standing near, "Hsieh!
hsieh"--the Chinese word for slipper. "Alas!" say all who hear it,
"Ko-ai is crying for her slipper. Poor little Ko-ai!"
And now, my dear children, this tale is almost finished, but there is
still one thing you must by no means fail to remember. By order of the
Emperor, the face of the great bell was graven with precious sayings
from the classics, that even in its moments of silence the bell might
teach lessons of virtue to the people.
"Behold," said Yung-lo, as he stood beside the grief-stricken father,
"amongst all yonder texts of wisdom, the priceless sayings of our
honoured sages, there is none that can teach to my children so sweet a
lesson of filial love and devotion as that one last act of your devoted
daughter. For though she died to save you, her deed will still be sung
and extolled by my people when you are passed away, yea, even when the
bell itself has crumbled into ruins."
THE STRANGE TALE OF DOCTOR DOG
[Illustration]
Far up in the mountains of the Province of Hunan in the central part of
China, there once lived in a small village a rich gentleman who had only
one child. This girl, like the daughter of Kwan-yu in the story of the
Great Bell, was the very joy of her father's life.
Now Mr. Min, for that was this gentleman's name, was famous throughout
the whole district for his learning, and, as he was also the owner of
much property, he spared no effort to teach Honeysuckle the wisdom of
the sages, and to give her everything she craved. Of course this was
enough to spoil most children, but Honeysuckle was not at all like other
children. As sweet as the flower from which she took her name, she
listened to her father's slightest command, and obeyed without ever
waiting to be told a second time.
Her father often bought kites for her, of every kind and shape. There
were fish, birds, butterflies, lizards and huge dragons, one of which
had a tail more than thirty feet long. Mr. Min was very skilful in
flying these kites for little Honeysuckle, and so naturally did his
birds and butterflies circle round and hover about in the air that
almost any little western boy would have been deceived and said, "Why,
there is a real bird, and not a kite at all!" Then again, he would
fasten a queer little instrument to the string, which made a kind of
humming noise, as he waved his hand from side to side. "It is the wind
singing, Daddy," cried Honeysuckle, clapping her hands with joy;
"singing a kite-song to both of us." Sometimes, to teach his little
darling a lesson if she had been the least naughty, Mr. Min would fasten
queerly twisted scraps of paper, on which were written many Chinese
words, to the string of her favourite kite.
"What are you doing, Daddy?" Honeysuckle would ask. "What can those
queer-looking papers be?"
"On every piece is written a sin that we have done."
"What is a sin, Daddy?"
"Oh, when Honeysuckle has been naughty; that is a sin!" he answered
gently. "Your old nurse is afraid to scold you, and if you are to grow
up to be a good woman, Daddy must teach you what is right."