tenderness, "it is not a question of my love for you--of that there is
no question, for all my life I have shown it in every action. Believe
me, if I were free to do your bidding, gladly would I make you happy,
but a voice from the gods has spoken, has commanded that I remain a
virgin, that I devote my life to deeds of mercy. When heaven itself has
commanded, what can even a princess do but listen to that power which
rules the earth?"
The old king was far from satisfied with Kwan-yin's answer. He grew
furious, his thin wrinkled skin turned purple as the hot blood rose to
his head. "Then you refuse to do my bidding! Take her, men! Give to her
the death that is due to a traitor to the king!" As they bore Kwan-yin
away from his presence the white-haired monarch fell, swooning, from his
chair.
That night, when Kwan-yin was put to death, she descended into the lower
world of torture. No sooner had she set foot in that dark country of the
dead than the vast region of endless punishment suddenly blossomed forth
and became like the gardens of Paradise. Pure white lilies sprang up on
every side, and the odour of a million flowers filled all the rooms and
corridors. King Yama, ruler of the dominion, rushed forth to learn the
cause of this wonderful change. No sooner did his eyes rest upon the
fair young face of Kwan-yin than he saw in her the emblem of a purity
which deserved no home but heaven.
"Beautiful virgin, doer of many mercies," he began, after addressing
her by her title, "I beg you in the name of justice to depart from this
bloody kingdom. It is not right that the fairest flower of heaven should
enter and shed her fragrance in these halls. Guilt must suffer here, and
sin find no reward. Depart thou, then, from my dominion. The peach of
immortal life shall be bestowed upon you, and heaven alone shall be your
dwelling place."
Thus Kwan-yin became the Goddess of Mercy; thus she entered into that
glad abode, surpassing all earthly kings and queens. And ever since that
time, on account of her exceeding goodness, thousands of poor people
breathe out to her each year their prayers for mercy. There is no fear
in their gaze as they look at her beautiful image, for their eyes are
filled with tears of love.
THE TWO JUGGLERS
[Illustration]
One beautiful spring day two men strolled into the public square of
a well-known Chinese city. They were plainly dressed and looked like
ordinary countrymen who had come in to see the sights. Judging by their
faces, they were father and son. The elder, a wrinkled man of perhaps
fifty, wore a scant grey beard. The younger had a small box on his
shoulder.
At the hour when these strangers entered the public square, a large
crowd had gathered, for it was a feast day, and every one was bent on
having a good time. All the people seemed very happy. Some, seated in
little open-air booths, were eating, drinking, and smoking. Others were
buying odds and ends from the street-vendors, tossing coins, and playing
various games of chance.
The two men walked about aimlessly. They seemed to have no friends among
the pleasure-seekers. At last, however, as they stood reading a public
notice posted at the entrance of the town-hall or yamen, a bystander
asked them who they were.
"Oh, we are jugglers from a distant province," said the elder, smiling
and pointing towards the box. "We can do many tricks for the amusement
of the people."
Soon it was spread about among the crowd that two famous jugglers had
just arrived from the capital, and that they were able to perform many
wonderful deeds. Now it happened that the mandarin or mayor of the city,
at that very moment was entertaining a number of guests in the yamen.
They had just finished eating, and the host was wondering what he should
do to amuse his friends, when a servant told him of the jugglers.
"Ask them what they can do," said the mandarin eagerly. "I will pay them
well if they can really amuse us, but I want something more than the old
tricks of knife-throwing and balancing. They must show us something
new."
The servant went outside and spoke to the jugglers: "The great man bids
you tell him what you can do. If you can amuse his visitors he will
bring them out to the private grand stand, and let you perform before
them and the people who are gathered together."
"Tell your honourable master," said the elder, whom we shall call Chang,
"that, try us as he will, he will not be disappointed. Tell him that we
come from the unknown land of dreams and visions, that we can turn rocks
into mountains, rivers into oceans, mice into elephants, in short, that
there is nothing in magic too difficult for us to do."
The official was delighted when he heard the report of his servant.
"Now we may have a little fun," he said to his guests, "for there are
jugglers outside who will perform their wonderful tricks before us."
The guests filed out on to the grand stand at one side of the public
square. The mandarin commanded that a rope should be stretched across
so as to leave an open space in full view of the crowd, where the two
Changs might give their exhibition.
For a time the two strangers entertained the people with some of the
simpler tricks, such as spinning plates in the air, tossing bowls up and
catching them on chopsticks, making flowers grow from empty pots, and
transforming one object into another. At last, however, the mandarin
cried out: "These tricks are very good of their kind, but how about
those idle boasts of changing rivers into oceans and mice into
elephants? Did you not say that you came from the land of dreams? These
tricks you have done are stale and shopworn. Have you nothing new with
which to regale my guests on this holiday?"
"Most certainly, your excellency. But surely you would not have a
labourer do more than his employer requires? Would that not be quite
contrary to the teachings of our fathers? Be assured, sir, anything that
you demand I can do for you. Only say the word."
The mandarin laughed outright at this boasting language. "Take care, my
man! Do not go too far with your promises. There are too many impostors
around for me to believe every stranger. Hark you! no lying, for if you
lie in the presence of my guests, I shall take great pleasure in having
you beaten."
"My words are quite true, your excellency," repeated Chang earnestly.
"What have we to gain by deceit, we who have performed our miracles
before the countless hosts of yonder Western Heaven?"
"Ha, ha! hear the braggarts!" shouted the guests. "What shall we command
them to do?"
For a moment they consulted together, whispering and laughing.
"I have it," cried the host finally. "Our feast was short of fruit,
since this is the off season. Suppose we let this fellow supply us.
Here, fellow, produce us a peach, and be quick about it. We have no time
for fooling."
"What, masters, a peach?" exclaimed the elder Chang in mock dismay.
"Surely at this season you do not expect a peach."
"Caught at his own game," laughed the guests, and the people began to
hoot derisively.
"But, father, you promised to do anything he required," urged the son.
"If he asks even a peach, how can you refuse and at the same time save
your face?"
"Hear the boy talk," mumbled the father, "and yet, perhaps he's right.
Very well, masters," turning to the crowd, "if it's a peach you want,
why, a peach you shall have, even though I must send into the garden of
the Western Heaven for the fruit."
The people became silent and the mandarin's guests forgot to laugh. The
old man, still muttering, opened the box from which he had been taking
the magic bowls, plates, and other articles. "To think of people wanting
peaches at this season! What is the world coming to?"
After fumbling in the box for some moments he drew out a skein of golden
thread, fine spun and as light as gossamer. No sooner had he unwound a
portion of this thread than a sudden gust of wind carried it up into the
air above the heads of the onlookers. Faster and faster the old man
paid out the magic coil, higher and higher the free end rose into the
heavens, until, strain his eyes as he would, no one present could see
into what far-region it had vanished.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" shouted the people with one voice, "the old man
is a fairy."
For a moment they forgot all about the mandarin, the jugglers, and the
peach, so amazed were they at beholding the flight of the magic thread.
At last the old man seemed satisfied with the distance to which his cord
had sailed, and, with a bow to the spectators, he tied the end to a
large wooden pillar which helped to support the roof of the grand stand.
For a moment the structure trembled and swayed as if it too would be
carried off into the blue ether, the guests turned pale and clutched
their chairs for support, but not even the mandarin dared to speak, so
sure were they now that they were in the presence of fairies.
"Everything is ready for the journey," said old Chang calmly.
"What! shall you leave us?" asked the mayor, finding his voice again.
"I? Oh, no, my old bones are not spry enough for quick climbing. My son
here will bring us the magic peach. He is handsome and active enough to
enter that heavenly garden. Graceful, oh graceful is that peach tree--of
course, you remember the line from the poem--and a graceful man must
pluck the fruit."
The mandarin was still more surprised at the juggler's knowledge of a
famous poem from the classics. It made him and his friends all the more
certain that the newcomers were indeed fairies.
The young man at a sign from his father tightened his belt and the bands
about his ankles, and then, with a graceful gesture to the astonished
people, sprang upon the magic string, balanced himself for a moment on
the steep incline, and then ran as nimbly up as a sailor would have
mounted a rope ladder. Higher and higher he climbed till he seemed no
bigger than a lark ascending into the blue sky, and then, like some tiny
speck, far, far away, on the western horizon.
The people gazed in open-mouthed wonder. They were struck dumb and
filled with some nameless fear; they hardly dared to look at the
enchanter who stood calmly in their midst, smoking his long-stemmed
pipe.
The mandarin, ashamed of having laughed at and threatened this man
who was clearly a fairy, did not know what to say. He snapped his long
finger nails and looked at his guests in mute astonishment. The visitors
silently drank their tea, and the crowd of sightseers craned their necks
in a vain effort to catch sight of the vanished fairy. Only one in all
that assembly, a bright-eyed little boy of eight, dared to break the
silence, and he caused a hearty burst of merriment by crying out, "Oh,
daddy, will the bad young man fly off into the sky and leave his poor
father all alone?"
The greybeard laughed loudly with the others, and tossed the lad a
copper. "Ah, the good boy," he said smiling, "he has been well trained
to love his father; no fear of foreign ways spoiling his filial piety."
After a few moments of waiting, old Chang laid aside his pipe and fixed
his eyes once more on the western sky. "It is coming," he said quietly.
"The peach will soon be here."
[Illustration: "HIGHER AND HIGHER HE CLIMBED."]
Suddenly he held out his hand as if to catch some falling object, but,
look as they would, the people could see nothing. Swish! thud! it came
like a streak of light, and, lo, there in the magician's fingers was a
peach, the most beautiful specimen the people had ever seen, large and
rosy. "Straight from the garden of the gods," said Chang, handing the
fruit to the mandarin, "a peach in the Second Moon, and the snow hardly
off the ground."
Trembling with excitement, the official took the peach and cut it open.
It was large enough for all his guests to have a taste, and such a taste
it was! They smacked their lips and wished for more, secretly thinking
that never again would ordinary fruit be worth the eating.
But all this time the old juggler, magician, fairy or whatever you
choose to call him, was looking anxiously into the sky. The result of
this trick was more than he had bargained for. True, he had been able to
produce the magic peach which the mandarin had called for, but his son,
where was his son? He shaded his eyes and looked far up into the blue
heavens, and so did the people, but no one could catch a glimpse of the
departed youth.
"Oh, my son, my son," cried the old man in despair, "how cruel is the
fate that has robbed me of you, the only prop of my declining years! Oh,
my boy, my boy, would that I had not sent you on so perilous a journey!
Who now will look after my grave when I am gone?"
Suddenly the silken cord on which the young man had sped so daringly
into the sky, gave a quick jerk which almost toppled over the post to
which it was tied, and there, before the very eyes of the people, it
fell from the lofty height, a silken pile on the ground in front of
them.
The greybeard uttered a loud cry and covered his face with his hands.
"Alas! the whole story is plain enough," he sobbed. "My boy was caught
in the act of plucking the magic peach from the garden of the gods, and
they have thrown him into prison. Woe is me! Ah! woe is me!"
The mandarin and his friends were deeply touched by the old man's grief,
and tried in vain to comfort him. "Perhaps he will return," they said.
"Have courage!"
"Yes, but in what a shape?" replied the magician. "See! even now they
are restoring him to his father."
The people looked, and they saw twirling and twisting through the air
the young man's arm. It fell upon the ground in front of them at the
fairy's feet. Next came the head, a leg, the body. One by one before the
gasping, shuddering people, the parts of the unfortunate young man were
restored to his father.
After the first outburst of wild, frantic grief the old man by a great
effort gained control of his feelings, and began to gather up these
parts, putting them tenderly into the wooden box.
By this time many of the spectators were weeping at the sight of the
father's affliction. "Come," said the mandarin at last, deeply moved,
"let us present the old man with sufficient money to give his boy a
decent burial."
All present agreed willingly, for there is no sight in China that causes
greater pity than that of an aged parent robbed by death of an only son.
The copper cash fell in a shower at the juggler's feet, and soon tears
of gratitude were mingled with those of sorrow. He gathered up the money
and tied it in a large black cloth. Then a wonderful change came over
his face. He seemed all of a sudden to forget his grief. Turning to the
box, he raised the lid. The people heard him say: "Come, my son; the
crowd is waiting for you to thank them. Hurry up! They have been very
kind to us."
In an instant the box was thrown open with a bang, and before the
mandarin and his friends, before the eyes of all the sightseers the
young man, strong and whole once more, stepped forth and bowed, clasping
his hands and giving the national salute.
For a moment all were silent. Then, as the wonder of the whole thing
dawned upon them, the people broke forth into a tumult of shouts,
laughter, and compliments. "The fairies have surely come to visit us!"
they shouted. "The city will be blessed with good fortune! Perhaps it is
Fairy Old Boy himself who is among us!"
The mandarin rose and addressed the jugglers, thanking them in the name
of the city for their visit and for the taste they had given to him and
his guests of the peach from the heavenly orchard.
Even as he spoke, the magic box opened again; the two fairies
disappeared inside, the lid closed, and the chest rose from the ground
above the heads of the people. For a moment it floated round in a circle
like some homing pigeon trying to find its bearings before starting on
a return journey. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it shot off into
the heavens and vanished from the sight of those below, and not a thing
remained as proof of the strange visitors except the magic peach seed
that lay beside the teacups on the mandarin's table.
According to the most ancient writings there is now nothing left to tell
of this story. It has been declared, however, by later scholars that the
official and his friends who had eaten the magic peach, at once began to
feel a change in their lives. While, before the coming of the fairies,
they had lived unfairly, accepting bribes and taking part in many
shameful practices, now, after tasting of the heavenly fruit, they began
to grow better. The people soon began to honour and love them, saying,
"Surely these great men are not like others of their kind, for these men
are just and honest in their dealings with us. They seem not to be
ruling for their own reward!"
However this may be, we do know that before many years their city became
the centre of the greatest peach-growing section of China, and even
yet when strangers walk in the orchards and look up admiringly at the
beautiful sweet-smelling fruit, the natives sometimes ask proudly, "And
have you never heard about the wonderful peach which was the beginning
of all our orchards, the magic peach the fairies brought us from the
Western Heaven?"
THE PHANTOM VESSEL
[Illustration]
Once a ship loaded with pleasure-seekers was sailing from North China
to Shanghai. High winds and stormy weather had delayed her, and she was
still one week from port when a great plague broke out on board. This
plague was of the worst kind. It attacked passengers and sailors alike
until there were so few left to sail the vessel that it seemed as if she
would soon be left to the mercy of winds and waves.
On all sides lay the dead, and the groans of the dying were most
terrible to hear. Of that great company of travellers only one, a
little boy named Ying-lo, had escaped. At last the few sailors, who
had been trying hard to save their ship, were obliged to lie down upon
the deck, a prey to the dreadful sickness, and soon they too were
dead.
Ying-lo now found himself alone on the sea. For some reason--he did not
know why--the gods or the sea fairies had spared him, but as he looked
about in terror at the friends and loved ones who had died, he almost
wished that he might join them.
The sails flapped about like great broken wings, while the giant waves
dashed higher above the deck, washing many of the bodies overboard and
wetting the little boy to the skin. Shivering with cold, he gave himself
up for lost and prayed to the gods, whom his mother had often told him
about, to take him from this dreadful ship and let him escape the fatal
illness.
As he lay there praying he heard a slight noise in the rigging just
above his head. Looking up, he saw a ball of fire running along a
yardarm near the top of the mast. The sight was so strange that he
forgot his prayer and stared with open-mouthed wonder. To his
astonishment, the ball grew brighter and brighter, and then suddenly
began slipping down the mast, all the time increasing in size. The poor
boy did not know what to do or to think. Were the gods, in answer to his
prayer, sending fire to burn the vessel? If so, he would soon escape.
Anything would be better than to be alone upon the sea.
Nearer and nearer came the fireball. At last, when it reached the deck,
to Ying-lo's surprise, something very, very strange happened. Before he
had time to feel alarmed, the light vanished, and a funny little man
stood in front of him peering anxiously into the child's frightened
face.
"Yes, you are the lad I'm looking for," he said at last, speaking in a
piping voice that almost made Ying-lo smile. "You are Ying-lo, and you
are the only one left of this wretched company." This he said, pointing
towards the bodies lying here and there about the deck.
Although he saw that the old man meant him no harm, the child could say
nothing, but waited in silence, wondering what would happen next.
By this time the vessel was tossing and pitching so violently that it
seemed every minute as if it would upset and go down beneath the foaming
waves, never to rise again. Not many miles distant on the right, some
jagged rocks stuck out of the water, lifting their cruel heads as if
waiting for the helpless ship.
The newcomer walked slowly towards the mast and tapped on it three times
with an iron staff he had been using as a cane. Immediately the sails
spread, the vessel righted itself and began to glide over the sea so
fast that the gulls were soon left far behind, while the threatening
rocks upon which the ship had been so nearly dashed seemed like specks
in the distance.
"Do you remember me?" said the stranger, suddenly turning and coming up
to Ying-lo, but his voice was lost in the whistling of the wind, and the
boy knew only by the moving of his lips that the old man was talking.
The greybeard bent over until his mouth was at Ying-lo's ear: "Did you
ever see me before?"
With a puzzled look, at first the child shook his head. Then as he gazed
more closely there seemed to be something that he recognized about the
wrinkled face. "Yes, I think so, but I don't know when."
With a tap of his staff the fairy stopped the blowing of the wind, and
then spoke once more to his small companion: "One year ago I passed
through your village. I was dressed in rags, and was begging my way
along the street, trying to find some one who would feel sorry for me.
Alas! no one answered my cry for mercy. Not a crust was thrown into my
bowl. All the people were deaf, and fierce dogs drove me from door to
door. Finally when I was almost dying of hunger, I began to feel that
here was a village without one good person in it. Just then you saw my
suffering, ran into the house, and brought me out food. Your heartless
mother saw you doing this and beat you cruelly. Do you remember now, my
child?"
"Yes, I remember," he answered sadly, "and that mother is now lying
dead. Alas! all, all are dead, my father and my brothers also. Not one
is left of my family."
"Little did you know, my boy, to whom you were giving food that day.
You took me for a lowly beggar, but, behold, it was not a poor man that
you fed, for I am Iron Staff. You must have heard of me when they were
telling of the fairies in the Western Heaven, and of their adventures
here on earth."
"Yes, yes," answered Ying-lo, trembling half with fear and half with
joy, "indeed I have heard of you many, many times, and all the people
love you for your kind deeds of mercy."
"Alas! they did not show their love, my little one. Surely you know that
if any one wishes to reward the fairies for their mercies, he must begin
to do deeds of the same kind himself. No one but you in all your village
had pity on me in my rags. If they had known that I was Iron Staff,
everything would have been different; they would have given me a feast
and begged for my protection.
"The only love that loves aright
Is that which loves in every plight.
The beggar in his sad array
Is moulded of the selfsame clay.
"Who knows a man by what he wears,
By what he says or by his prayers?
Hidden beneath that wrinkled skin
A fairy may reside within.
"Then treat with kindness and with love
The lowly man, the god above;
A friendly nod, a welcome smile--
For love is ever worth the while."
Ying-lo listened in wonder to Iron Staff's little poem, and when he had
finished, the boy's face was glowing with the love of which the fairy
had spoken. "My poor, poor father and mother!" he cried; "they knew
nothing of these beautiful things you are telling me. They were brought
up in poverty. As they were knocked about in childhood by those around
them, so they learned to beat others who begged them for help. Is it
strange that they did not have hearts full of pity for you when you
looked like a beggar?"
"But what about you, my boy? You were not deaf when I asked you. Have
you not been whipped and punished all your life? How then did you learn
to look with love at those in tears?"
The child could not answer these questions, but only looked sorrowfully
at Iron Staff. "Oh, can you not, good fairy, will you not restore my
parents and brothers, and give them another chance to be good and useful
people?"
"Listen, Ying-lo; it is impossible--unless you do two things first," he
answered, stroking his beard gravely and leaning heavily upon his staff.
"What are they? What must I do to save my family? Anything you ask of me
will not be too much to pay for your kindness."
"First you must tell me of some good deed done by these people for whose
lives you are asking. Name only one, for that will be enough; but it is
against our rules to help those who have done nothing."