thinking that if she were only once out of his sight, he could give
orders not to let her into the hall again. The old woman, however, was
too sharp for him. She saw through his plan and became more stubborn
than ever.
"No, I cannot go," she answered, "until I have seen you sign the order
for that tiger to be caught and brought into this judgment hall."
Now, as the judge was not really a bad man, he decided to humour the old
woman in her strange plea. Turning to the assistants in the court room
he asked which of them would be willing to go in search of the tiger.
One of these men, named Li-neng, had been leaning against the wall, half
asleep. He had been drinking heavily and so had not heard what had been
going on in the room. One of his friends gave him a poke in the ribs
just as the judge asked for volunteers.
Thinking the judge had called him by name, he stepped forward, knelt on
the floor, saying, "I, Li-neng, can go and do the will of your worship."
"Very well, you will do," answered the judge. "Here is your order. Go
forth and do your duty." So saying, he handed the warrant to Li-neng.
"Now, old woman, are you satisfied?" he continued.
"Quite satisfied, your worship," she replied.
"Then go home and wait there until I send for you."
Mumbling a few words of thanks, the unhappy mother left the building.
When Li-neng went outside the court room, his friends crowded round him.
"Drunken sot!" they laughed; "do you know what you have done?"
Li-neng shook his head. "Just a little business for the mandarin, isn't
it? Quite easy."
"Call it easy, if you like. What! man, arrest a tiger, a man-eating
tiger and bring him to the city! Better go and say good-bye to your
father and mother. They will never see you again."
Li-neng slept off his drunkenness, and then saw that his friends were
right. He had been very foolish. But surely the judge had meant the
whole thing only as a joke! No such order had ever been written before!
It was plain that the judge had hit on this plan simply to get rid of
the wailing old woman. Li-neng took the warrant back to the judgment
hall and told the mandarin that the tiger could not be found.
But the judge was in no mood for joking. "Can't be found? And why not?
You agreed to arrest this tiger. Why is it that to-day you try to get
out of your promise? I can by no means permit this, for I have given my
word to satisfy the old woman in her cry for justice."
Li-neng knelt and knocked his head on the floor. "I was drunk," he
cried, "when I gave my promise. I knew not what you were asking. I can
catch a man, but not a tiger. I know nothing of such matters. Still, if
you wish it, I can go into the hills and hire hunters to help me."
"Very well, it makes no difference how you catch him, as long as you
bring him into court. If you fail in your duty, there is nothing left
but to beat you until you succeed. I give you five days."
During the next few days Li-neng left no stone unturned in trying to
find the guilty tiger. The best hunters in the country were employed.
Night and day they searched the hills, hiding in mountain caves,
watching and waiting, but finding nothing. It was all very trying for
Li-neng, since he now feared the heavy hands of the judge more than the
claws of the tiger. On the fifth day he had to report his failure. He
received a thorough beating, fifty blows on the back. But that was not
the worst of it. During the next six weeks, try as he would, he could
find no traces of the missing animal. At the end of each five days, he
got another beating for his pains. The poor fellow was in despair.
Another month of such treatment would lay him on his deathbed. This he
knew very well, and yet he had little hope. His friends shook their
heads when they saw him. "He is drawing near the wood," they said to
each other, meaning that he would soon be in his coffin. "Why don't you
flee the country?" they asked him. "Follow the tiger's example. You see
he has escaped completely. The judge would make no effort to catch you
if you should go across the border into the next province."
Li-neng shook his head on hearing this advice. He had no desire to leave
his family for ever, and he felt sure of being caught and put to death
if he should try to run away.
One day after all the hunters had given up the search in disgust and
gone back to their homes in the valley, Li-neng entered a mountain
temple to pray. The tears rained down his cheeks as he knelt before the
great fierce-looking idol. "Alas! I am a dead man!" he moaned between
his prayers; "a dead man, for now there is no hope. Would that I had
never touched a drop of wine!"
Just then he heard a slight rustling near by. Looking up, he saw a huge
tiger standing at the temple gate. But Li-neng was no longer afraid of
tigers. He knew there was only one way to save himself. "Ah," he said,
looking the great cat straight in the eye, "you have come to eat me,
have you? Well, I fear you would find my flesh a trifle tough, since I
have been beaten with four hundred blows during these six weeks. You are
the same fellow that carried off the woodman last month, aren't you?
This woodman was an only son, the sole support of an old mother. Now
this poor woman has reported you to the mandarin, who, in turn, has had
a warrant drawn up for your arrest. I have been sent out to find you and
lead you to trial. For some reason or other you have acted the coward,
and remained in hiding. This has been the cause of my beating. Now I
don't want to suffer any longer as a result of your murder. You must
come with me to the city and answer the charge of killing the woodman."
All the time Li-neng was speaking, the tiger listened closely. When
the man was silent, the animal made no effort to escape, but, on the
contrary, seemed willing and ready to be captured. He bent his head
forward and let Li-neng slip a strong chain over it. Then he followed
the man quietly down the mountain, through the crowded streets of the
city, into the court room. All along the way there was great excitement.
"The man-slaying tiger has been caught," shouted the people. "He is
being led to trial."
The crowd followed Li-neng into the hall of justice. When the judge
walked in, every one became as quiet as the grave. All were filled with
wonder at the strange sight of a tiger being called before a judge.
The great animal did not seem to be afraid of those who were watching so
curiously. He sat down in front of the mandarin, for all the world like
a huge cat. The judge rapped on the table as a signal that all was ready
for the trial.
"Tiger," said he, turning toward the prisoner, "did you eat the woodman
whom you are charged with killing?"
The tiger gravely nodded his head.
"Yes, he killed my boy!" screamed the aged mother. "Kill him! Give him
the death that he deserves!"
"A life for a life is the law of the land," continued the judge, paying
no attention to the forlorn mother, but looking the accused directly
in the eye. "Did you not know it? You have robbed a helpless old woman
of her only son. There are no relatives to support her. She is crying
for vengeance. You must be punished for your crime. The law must be
enforced. However, I am not a cruel judge. If you can promise to take
the place of this widow's son and support the woman in her old age, I am
quite willing to spare you from a disgraceful death. What say you, will
you accept my offer?"
[Illustration: "THE TIGER GRAVELY NODDED HIS HEAD."]
The gaping people craned their necks to see what would happen, and once
more they were surprised to see the savage beast nod his head in silent
agreement.
"Very well, then, you are free to return to your mountain home; only, of
course, you must remember your promise."
The chains were taken from the tiger's neck, and the great animal walked
silently out of the yamen, down the street, and through the gate opening
towards his beloved mountain cave.
Once more the old woman was very angry. As she hobbled from the room,
she cast sour glances at the judge, muttering over and over again, "Who
ever heard of a tiger taking the place of a son? A pretty game this is,
to catch the brute, and then to set him free." There was nothing for her
to do, however, but to return home, for the judge had given strict
orders that on no account was she to appear before him again.
Almost broken-hearted she entered her desolate hovel at the foot of the
mountain. Her neighbours shook their heads as they saw her. "She cannot
live long," they said. "She has the look of death on her wrinkled face.
Poor soul! she has nothing to live for, nothing to keep her from
starving."
But they were mistaken. Next morning when the old woman went outside to
get a breath of fresh air she found a newly killed deer in front of her
door. Her tiger-son had begun to keep his promise, for she could see the
marks of his claws on the dead animal's body. She took the carcass into
the house and dressed it for the market. On the city streets next day
she had no trouble in selling the flesh and skin for a handsome sum of
money. All had heard of the tiger's first gift, and no one was anxious
to drive a close bargain.
Laden with food, the happy woman went home rejoicing, with money enough
to keep her for many a day. A week later the tiger came to her door
with a roll of cloth and some money in his mouth. He dropped these new
gifts at her feet and ran away without even waiting for her thank-you.
The Widow T'ang now saw that the judge had acted wisely. She stopped
grieving for her dead son and began to love in his stead the handsome
animal that had come to take his place so willingly.
The tiger grew much attached to his foster-mother and often purred
contentedly outside her door, waiting for her to come and stroke his
soft fur. He no longer had the old desire to kill. The sight of blood
was not nearly so tempting as it had been in his younger days. Year
after year he brought the weekly offerings to his mistress until she was
as well provided for as any other widow in the country.
At last in the course of nature the good old soul died. Kind friends
laid her away in her last resting place at the foot of the great
mountain. There was money enough left out of what she had saved to put
up a handsome tombstone, on which this story was written just as you
have read it here. The faithful tiger mourned long for his dear
mistress. He lay on her grave, wailing like a child that had lost its
mother. Long he listened for the voice he had loved so well, long he
searched the mountain-slopes, returning each night to the empty cottage,
but all in vain. She whom he loved was gone for ever.
One night he vanished from the mountain, and from that day to this no
one in that province has ever seen him. Some who know this story say
that he died of grief in a secret cave which he had long used as a
hiding-place. Others add, with a wise shrug of the shoulders, that, like
Shanwang, he was taken to the Western Heaven, there to be rewarded for
his deeds of virtue and to live as a fairy for ever afterwards.
THE PRINCESS KWAN-YIN
[Illustration]
Once upon a time in China there lived a certain king who had three
daughters. The fairest and best of these was Kwan-yin, the youngest.
The old king was justly proud of this daughter, for of all the women who
had ever lived in the palace she was by far the most attractive. It did
not take him long, therefore, to decide that she should be the heir to
his throne, and her husband ruler of his kingdom. But, strange to say,
Kwan-yin was not pleased at this good fortune. She cared little for the
pomp and splendour of court life. She foresaw no pleasure for herself in
ruling as a queen, but even feared that in so high a station she might
feel out of place and unhappy.
Every day she went to her room to read and study. As a result of this
daily labour she soon went far beyond her sisters along the paths of
knowledge, and her name was known in the farthest corner of the kingdom
as "Kwan-yin, the wise princess." Besides being very fond of books,
Kwan-yin was thoughtful of her friends. She was careful about her
behaviour both in public and in private. Her warm heart was open at all
times to the cries of those in trouble. She was kind to the poor and
suffering. She won the love of the lower classes, and was to them a sort
of goddess to whom they could appeal whenever they were hungry and in
need. Some people even believed that she was a fairy who had come to
earth from her home within the Western Heaven, while others said that
once, long years before, she had lived in the world as a prince instead
of a princess. However this may be, one thing is certain--Kwan-yin was
pure and good, and well deserved the praises that were showered upon
her.
One day the king called this favourite daughter to the royal bedside,
for he felt that the hour of death was drawing near. Kwan-yin kowtowed
before her royal father, kneeling and touching her forehead on the floor
in sign of deepest reverence. The old man bade her rise and come closer.
Taking her hand tenderly in his own, he said, "Daughter, you know well
how I love you. Your modesty and virtue, your talent and your love of
knowledge, have made you first in my heart. As you know already, I chose
you as heir to my kingdom long ago. I promised that your husband should
be made ruler in my stead. The time is almost ripe for me to ascend upon
the dragon and become a guest on high. It is necessary that you be given
at once in marriage."
"But, most exalted father," faltered the princess, "I am not ready to be
married."
"Not ready, child! Why, are you not eighteen? Are not the daughters of
our nation often wedded long before they reach that age? Because of your
desire for learning I have spared you thus far from any thought of a
husband, but now we can wait no longer."
"Royal father, hear your child, and do not compel her to give up her
dearest pleasures. Let her go into a quiet convent where she may lead
a life of study!"
The king sighed deeply at hearing these words. He loved his daughter and
did not wish to wound her. "Kwan-yin," he continued, "do you wish to
pass by the green spring of youth, to give up this mighty kingdom? Do
you wish to enter the doors of a convent where women say farewell to
life and all its pleasures? No! your father will not permit this. It
grieves me sorely to disappoint you, but one month from this very day
you shall be married. I have chosen for your royal partner a man of many
noble parts. You know him by name already, although you have not seen
him. Remember that, of the hundred virtues filial conduct is the chief,
and that you owe more to me than to all else on earth."
Kwan-yin turned pale. Trembling, she would have sunk to the floor, but
her mother and sisters supported her, and by their tender care brought
her back to consciousness.
Every day of the month that followed, Kwan-yin's relatives begged her to
give up what they called her foolish notion. Her sisters had long since
given up hope of becoming queen. They were amazed at her stupidity. The
very thought of any one's choosing a convent instead of a throne was to
them a sure sign of madness. Over and over again they asked her reason
for making so strange a choice. To every question, she shook her head,
replying, "A voice from the heavens speaks to me, and I must obey it."
On the eve of the wedding day Kwan-yin slipped out of the palace, and,
after a weary journey, arrived at a convent called, "The Cloister of the
White Sparrow." She was dressed as a poor maiden. She said she wished to
become a nun. The abbess, not knowing who she was, did not receive her
kindly. Indeed, she told Kwan-yin that they could not receive her into
the sisterhood, that the building was full. Finally, after Kwan-yin had
shed many tears, the abbess let her enter, but only as a sort of
servant, who might be cast out for the slightest fault.
Now that Kwan-yin found herself in the life which she had long dreamt
of leading, she tried to be satisfied. But the nuns seemed to wish to
make her stay among them most miserable. They gave her the hardest tasks
to do, and it was seldom that she had a minute to rest. All day long
she was busy, carrying water from a well at the foot of the convent hill
or gathering wood from a neighbouring forest. At night when her back
was almost breaking, she was given many extra tasks, enough to have
crushed the spirit of any other woman than this brave daughter of
a king. Forgetting her grief, and trying to hide the lines of pain
that sometimes wrinkled her fair forehead, she tried to make these
hard-hearted women love her. In return for their rough words, she
spoke to them kindly, and never did she give way to anger.
One day while poor Kwan-yin was picking up brushwood in the forest she
heard a tiger making his way through the bushes. Having no means of
defending herself, she breathed a silent prayer to the gods for help,
and calmly awaited the coming of the great beast. To her surprise, when
the bloodthirsty animal appeared, instead of bounding up to tear her in
pieces, he began to make a soft purring noise. He did not try to hurt
Kwan-yin, but rubbed against her in a friendly manner, and let her pat
him on the head.
[Illustration: "ALL DAY SHE WAS BUSY CARRYING WATER."]
The next day the princess went back to the same spot. There she found
no fewer than a dozen savage beasts working under the command of the
friendly tiger, gathering wood for her. In a short time enough brush and
firewood had been piled up to last the convent for six months. Thus,
even the wild animals of the forest were better able to judge of her
goodness than the women of the sisterhood.
At another time when Kwan-yin was toiling up the hill for the twentieth
time, carrying two great pails of water on a pole, an enormous dragon
faced her in the road. Now, in China, the dragon is sacred, and Kwan-yin
was not at all frightened, for she knew that she had done no wrong.
The animal looked at her for a moment, switched its horrid tail, and
shot out fire from its nostrils. Then, dashing the burden from the
startled maiden's shoulder, it vanished. Full of fear, Kwan-yin hurried
up the hill to the nunnery. As she drew near the inner court, she was
amazed to see in the centre of the open space a new building of solid
stone. It had sprung up by magic since her last journey down the hill.
On going forward, she saw that there were four arched doorways to the
fairy house. Above the door facing west was a tablet with these words
written on it: "In honour of Kwan-yin, the faithful princess." Inside
was a well of the purest water, while, for drawing this water, there a
strange machine, the like of which neither Kwan-yin nor the nuns had
ever seen.
The sisters knew that this magic well was a monument to Kwan-yin's
goodness. For a few days they treated her much better. "Since the gods
have dug a well at our very gate," they said, "this girl will no longer
need to bear water from the foot of the hill. For what strange reason,
however, did the gods write this beggar's name on the stone?"
Kwan-yin heard their unkind remarks in silence. She could have explained
the meaning of the dragon's gift, but she chose to let her companions
remain in ignorance. At last the selfish nuns began to grow careless
again, and treated her even worse than before. They could not bear to
see the poor girl enjoy a moment's idleness.
"This is a place for work," they told her. "All of us have laboured hard
to win our present station. You must do likewise." So they robbed her of
every chance for study and prayer, and gave her no credit for the magic
well.
One night the sisters were awakened from their sleep by strange noises,
and soon they heard outside the walls of the compound the blare of a
trumpet. A great army had been sent by Kwan-yin's father to attack the
convent, for his spies had at last been able to trace the runaway
princess to this holy retreat.
"Oh, who has brought this woe upon us?" exclaimed all the women, looking
at each other in great fear. "Who has done this great evil? There is one
among us who has sinned most terribly, and now the gods are about to
destroy us." They gazed at one another, but no one thought of Kwan-yin,
for they did not believe her of enough importance to attract the anger
of heaven, even though she might have done the most shocking of deeds.
Then, too, she had been so meek and lowly while in their holy order that
they did not once dream of charging her with any crime.
The threatening sounds outside grew louder and louder. All at once a
fearful cry arose among the women: "They are about to burn our sacred
dwelling." Smoke was rising just beyond the enclosure where the soldiers
were kindling a great fire, the heat of which would soon be great enough
to make the convent walls crumble into dust.
Suddenly a voice was heard above the tumult of the weeping sisters:
"Alas! I am the cause of all this trouble."
The nuns, turning in amazement, saw that it was Kwan-yin who was
speaking. "You?" they exclaimed, astounded.
"Yes, I, for I am indeed the daughter of a king. My father did not wish
me to take the vows of this holy order. I fled from the palace. He has
sent his army here to burn these buildings and to drag me back a
prisoner."
"Then, see what you have brought upon us, miserable girl!" exclaimed the
abbess. "See how you have repaid our kindness! Our buildings will be
burned above our heads! How wretched you have made us! May heaven's
curses rest upon you!"
"No, no!" exclaimed Kwan-yin, springing up, and trying to keep the
abbess from speaking these frightful words. "You have no right to say
that, for I am innocent of evil. But, wait! You shall soon see whose
prayers the gods will answer, yours or mine!" So saying, she pressed her
forehead to the floor, praying the almighty powers to save the convent
and the sisters.
Outside the crackling of the greedy flames could already be heard. The
fire king would soon destroy every building on that hill-top. Mad with
terror, the sisters prepared to leave the compound and give up all their
belongings to the cruel flames and still more cruel soldiers. Kwan-yin
alone remained in the room, praying earnestly for help.
Suddenly a soft breeze sprang up from the neighbouring forest, dark
clouds gathered overhead, and, although it was the dry season a
drenching shower descended on the flames. Within five minutes the fire
was put out and the convent was saved. Just as the shivering nuns were
thanking Kwan-yin for the divine help she had brought them, two soldiers
who had scaled the outer wall of the compound came in and roughly asked
for the princess.
The trembling girl, knowing that these men were obeying her father's
orders, poured out a prayer to the gods, and straightway made herself
known. They dragged her from the presence of the nuns who had just begun
to love her. Thus disgraced before her father's army, she was taken to
the capital.
On the morrow, she was led before the old king. The father gazed sadly
at his daughter, and then the stern look of a judge hardened his face as
he beckoned the guards to bring her forward.
From a neighbouring room came the sounds of sweet music. A feast was
being served there amid great splendour. The loud laughter of the guests
reached the ears of the young girl as she bowed in disgrace before her
father's throne. She knew that this feast had been prepared for her, and
that her father was willing to give her one more chance.
"Girl," said the king, at last regaining his voice, "in leaving the
royal palace on the eve of your wedding day, not only did you insult
your father, but your king. For this act you deserve to die. However,
because of the excellent record you had made for yourself before you ran
away, I have decided to give you one more chance to redeem yourself.
Refuse me, and the penalty is death: obey me, and all may yet be
well--the kingdom that you spurned is still yours for the asking. All
that I require is your marriage to the man whom I have chosen."
"And when, most august King, would you have me decide?" asked Kwan-yin
earnestly.
"This very day, this very hour, this very moment," he answered sternly.
"What! would you hesitate between love upon a throne and death? Speak,
my daughter, tell me that you love me and will do my bidding!"
It was now all that Kwan-yin could do to keep from throwing herself at
her father's feet and yielding to his wishes, not because he offered her
a kingdom, but because she loved him and would gladly have made him
happy. But her strong will kept her from relenting. No power on earth
could have stayed her from doing what she thought her duty.