The Inopportune Behaviour of the Covetous Li-loe
It was upon the occasion of his next visit to the shutter in the wall
that Kai Lung discovered the obtuse-witted Li-loe moving about the
enclosure. Though docile and well-meaning on the whole, the stunted
intelligence of the latter person made him a doubtful accomplice, and
Kai Lung stood aside, hoping to be soon alone.
Li-loe held in his hand an iron prong, and with this he industriously
searched the earth between the rocks and herbage. Ever since their
previous encounter upon that same spot it had been impossible to erase
from his deformed mind the conviction that a store of rare and potent
wine lay somewhere concealed within the walls of the enclosure.
Continuously he besought the story-teller to reveal the secret of its
hiding-place, saying: “What an added bitterness will assail your noble
throat if, when you are led forth to die, your eye closes upon the one
who has faithfully upheld your cause lying with a protruded tongue
panting in the noonday sun.”
“Peace, witless,” Kai Lung usually replied; “there is no such store.”
“Nevertheless,” the doorkeeper would stubbornly insist, “the cask
cannot yet be empty. It is beyond your immature powers.”
Thus it again befell, for despite Kai Lung’s desire to escape, Li-loe
chanced to look up suddenly and observed him.
“Alas, brother,” he remarked reproachfully, when they had thus
contended, “the vessel that returns whole the first time is chipped
the second and broken at the third essay, and it will yet be too late
between us. If it be as you claim, to what end did you boast of a cask
of wine and of running among a company of goats with leaves entwined
in your hair?”
“That,” replied Kai Lung, “was in the nature of a classical allusion,
too abstruse for your deficient wit. It concerned the story of Kiau
Sun, who first attained the honour.”
“Be that as it may,” replied Li-loe, with mulish iteration, “five
deficient strings of home-made cash are a meagre return for a
friendship such as mine.”
“There is a certain element of truth in what you claim,” confessed Kai
Lung, “but until my literary style is more freely recognized it will
be impossible to reward you adequately. In anything not of a pecuniary
nature, however, you may lean heavily upon my gratitude.”
“In the meanwhile, then,” demanded Li-loe, “relate to me the story to
which reference has been made, thereby proving the truth of your
assertion, and at the same time affording an entertainment of a
somewhat exceptional kind.”
“The shadows lengthen,” replied Kai Lung, “but as the narrative in
question is of an inconspicuous span I will raise no barrier against
your flattering request, especially as it indicates an awakening taste
hitherto unsuspected.”
“Proceed, manlet, proceed,” said Li-loe, with a final probe among the
surrounding rocks before selecting one to lean against. “Yet if this
person could but lay his hand--”
The Story of Wong Pao and the Minstrel
To Wong Pao, the merchant, pleasurably immersed in the calculation of
an estimated profit on a junk-load of birds’ nests, sharks’ fins and
other seasonable delicacies, there came a distracting interruption
occasioned by a wandering poet who sat down within the shade provided
by Wong Pao’s ornamental gate in the street outside. As he reclined
there he sang ballads of ancient valour, from time to time beating a
hollow wooden duck in unison with his voice, so that the charitable
should have no excuse for missing the entertainment.
Unable any longer to continue his occupation, Wong Pao struck an iron
gong.
“Bear courteous greetings to the accomplished musician outside our
gate,” he said to the slave who had appeared, “and convince him--by
means of a heavily-weighted club if necessary--that the situation he
has taken up is quite unworthy of his incomparable efforts.”
When the slave returned it was with an entire absence of the
enthusiasm of one who has succeeded in an enterprise.
“The distinguished mendicant outside disarmed the one who is relating
the incident by means of an unworthy stratagem, and then struck him
repeatedly on the head with the image of a sonorous wooden duck,”
reported the slave submissively.
Meanwhile the voice with its accompaniment continued to chant the
deeds of bygone heroes.
“In that case,” said Wong Pao coldly, “entice him into this inadequate
chamber by words suggestive of liberal entertainment.”
This device was successful, for very soon the slave returned with the
stranger. He was a youth of studious appearance and an engaging
openness of manner. Hung about his neck by means of a cord were a
variety of poems suitable to most of the contingencies of an ordinary
person’s existence. The name he bore was Sun and he was of the house
of Kiau.
“Honourable greeting, minstrel,” said Wong Pao, with dignified
condescension. “Why do you persist in exercising your illustrious
talent outside this person’s insignificant abode?”
“Because,” replied Sun modestly, “the benevolent mandarin who has just
spoken had not then invited me inside. Now, however, he will be able
to hear to greater advantage the very doubtful qualities of my
entertainment.”
With these words Kiau Sun struck the duck so proficiently that it
emitted a life-like call, and prepared to raise his voice in a chant.
“Restrain your undoubted capacity,” exclaimed Wong Pao hastily. “The
inquiry presented itself to you at an inaccurate angle. Why, to
restate it, did you continue before this uninviting hovel when, under
the external forms of true politeness, my slave endeavoured to remove
you hence?”
“In the circumstances this person may have overlooked the delicacy of
the message, for, as it is well written, ‘To the starving, a blow from
a skewer of meat is more acceptable than a caress from the hand of a
maiden,’” said Kiau Sun. “Whereunto remember, thou two-stomached
merchant, that although the house in question is yours, the street is
mine.”
“By what title?” demanded Wong Pao contentiously.
“By the same that confers this well-appointed palace upon you,”
replied Sun: “because it is my home.”
“The point is one of some subtlety,” admitted Wong Pao, “and might be
pursued to an extreme delicacy of attenuation if it were argued by
those whose profession it is to give a variety of meanings to the same
thing. Yet even allowing the claim, it is none the less an unendurable
affliction that your voice should disturb my peacefully conducted
enterprise.”
“As yours would have done mine, O concave-witted Wong Pao!”
“That,” retorted the merchant, “is a disadvantage that you could
easily have averted by removing yourself to a more distant spot.”
“The solution is equally applicable to your own case, mandarin,”
replied Kiau Sun affably.
“Alas!” exclaimed Wong Pao, with an obvious inside bitterness, “it is
a mistake to argue with persons of limited intelligence in terms of
courtesy. This, doubtless, was the meaning of the philosopher Nhy-hi
when he penned the observation, ‘Death, a woman and a dumb mute always
have the last word,’ Why did I have you conducted hither to convince
you dispassionately, rather than send an armed guard to force you away
by violence?”
“Possibly,” suggested the minstrel, “because my profession is a
legally recognized one, and, moreover, under the direct protection of
the exalted Mandarin Shen-y-ling.”
“Profession!” retorted Wong Pao, stung by the reference to
Shen-y-ling, for that powerful official’s attitude was indeed the
inner reason why he had not pushed violence to a keener edge against
Kiau Sun, “an abject mendicancy, yielding two hands’ grasp of copper
cash a day on a stock composed of half a dozen threadbare odes.”
“Compose me half a dozen better and one hand-count of cash shall be
apportioned to you each evening,” suggested Sun.
“A handful of cash for _my_ labour!” exclaimed the indignant Wong Pao.
“Learn, puny wayfarer, that in a single day the profit of my various
enterprises exceeds a hundred taels of silver.”
“That is less than the achievement of my occupation,” said Kiau Sun.
“Less!” repeated the merchant incredulously. “Can you, O boaster,
display a single tael?”
“Doubtless I should be the possessor of thousands if I made use of the
attributes of a merchant--three hands and two faces. But that was not
the angle of my meaning: your labour only compels men to remember;
mine enables them to forget.”
Thus they continued to strive, each one contending for the
pre-eminence of his own state, regardless of the sage warning: “In
three moments a labourer will remove an obstructing rock, but three
moons will pass without two wise men agreeing on the meaning of a
vowel”; and assuredly they would have persisted in their intellectual
entertainment until the great sky-lantern rose and the pangs of hunger
compelled them to desist, were it not for the manifestation of a very
unusual occurrence.
The Emperor, N’ang Wei, then reigning, is now generally regarded as
being in no way profound or inspired, but possessing the faculty of
being able to turn the dissensions among his subjects to a profitable
account, and other accomplishments useful in a ruler. As he passed
along the streets of his capital he heard the voices of two raised in
altercation, and halting the bearer of his umbrella, he commanded
that the persons concerned should be brought before him and state the
nature of their dispute.
“The rivalry is an ancient one,” remarked the Emperor when each had
made his claim. “Doubtless we ourselves could devise a judgment, but
in this cycle of progress it is more usual to leave decision to the
pronouncement of the populace--and much less exacting to our Imperial
ingenuity. An edict will therefore be published, stating that at a
certain hour Kiau Sun will stand upon the Western Hill of the city and
recite one of his incomparable epics, while at the same gong-stroke
Wong Pao will take his station on the Eastern Hill, let us say for the
purpose of distributing pieces of silver among any who are able to
absent themselves from the competing attraction. It will then be
clearly seen which entertainment draws the greater number.”
“Your mind, O all-wisest, is only comparable to the peacock’s tail in
its spreading brilliance!” exclaimed Wong Pao, well assured of an easy
triumph.
Kiau Sun, however, remained silent, but he observed closely the
benignly impartial expression of the Emperor’s countenance.
When the indicated time arrived, only two persons could have been
observed within the circumference of the Western Hill of the city--a
blind mendicant who had lost his way and an extremely round-bodied
mandarin who had been abandoned there by his carriers when they heard
the terms of the edict. But about the Eastern Hill the throng was so
great that for some time after it was unusual to meet a person whose
outline had not been permanently altered by the occasion. Even Kiau
Sun was present.
On a protected eminence stood N’ang Wei. Near him was Wong Pao,
confidently awaiting the moment when the Emperor should declare
himself. When, therefore, the all-wisest graciously made a gesture of
command, Wong Pao hastened to his side, an unbecoming elation gilding
the fullness of his countenance.
“Wong Pao,” said the Illimitable, “the people are here in gratifying
profusion. The moment has thus arrived for you to consummate your
triumph over Kiau Sun.”
“Omnipotence?” queried Wong Pao.
“The silver that you were to distribute freely to all who came.
Doubtless you have a retinue of slaves in attendance with weighty
sacks of money for the purpose?”
“But that was only in the nature of an imagined condition, Sublime
Being, designed to test the trend of their preference,” said Wong Pao,
with an incapable feeling of no-confidence in the innermost seat of
his self-esteem. “This abject person did not for a single
breathing-space contemplate or provide for so formidable an outlay.”
A shadow of inquiry appeared above the eyebrows of the Sublimest,
although his refined imperturbability did not permit him to display
any acute emotion.
“It is not entirely a matter of what you contemplated, merchant, but
what this multitudinous and, as we now perceive, generally well-armed
concourse imagined. Greatly do we fear that when the position has been
explained to them, the breathing-space remaining, O Wong Pao, will not
be in your body. What,” continued the liberal-minded sovereign,
turning to one of his attending nobles, “what was it that happened to
Ning-lo who failed to satisfy the lottery ticket holders in somewhat
similar circumstances?”
“The scorpion vat, Serenest,” replied the vassal.
“Ah,” commented the Enlightened One, “for the moment we thought it was
the burning sulphur plaster.”
“That was Ching Yan, who lost approval in the inlaid coffin raffle,
Benign Head,” prompted the noble.
“True--there is a certain oneness in these cases. Well, Wong Pao, we
are entirely surrounded by an expectant mob and their attitude, after
much patient waiting, is tending towards a clearly-defined tragedy. By
what means is it your intention to extricate us all from the position
into which your insatiable vanity has thrust us?”
“Alas, Imperishable Majesty, I only appear to have three pieces of
silver and a string of brass cash in my sleeve,” confessed Wong Pao
tremblingly.
“And that would not go very far--even if flung into the limits of the
press,” commented the Emperor. “We must look elsewhere for
deliverance, then. Kiau Sun, stand forth and try your means.”
Upon this invitation Sun appeared from the tent in which he had
awaited the summons and advanced to the edge of the multitude. With no
appearance of fear or concern, he stood before them, and bending his
energies to the great task imposed upon him, he struck the hollow duck
so melodiously that the note of expectancy vibrated into the farthest
confines of the crowd. Then modulating his voice in unison Kiau Sun
began to chant.
At first the narration was of times legendary, when dragons and demons
moved about the earth in more palpable forms than they usually
maintain to-day. A great mist overspread the Empire and men’s minds
were vaporous, nor was their purpose keen. Later, deities and
well-disposed Forces began to exercise their powers. The mist was
turned into a benevolent system of rivers and canals, and iron, rice
and the silk-worm then appeared. Next, heroes and champions, whose
names have been preserved, arose. They fought the giants and an era of
literature and peaceful tranquillity set in. After this there was the
Great Invasion from the north, but the people rallied and by means of
a war lasting five years, five moons and five days the land was freed
again. This prefaced the Golden Age when chess was invented, printed
books first made and the Examination System begun.
So far Kiau Sun had only sung of things that men knew dimly through a
web of time, but the melody of his voice and the valours of the deeds
he told had held their minds. Now he began skilfully to intertwine
among the narration scenes and doings that were near to all--of the
coming of Spring across the mountains that surround the capital;
sunrise on the great lagoon, with the splash of oars and the
cormorants in flight; the appearance of the blossom in the peach
orchards; the Festival of Boats and of Lanterns, their daily task, and
the reward each saw beyond. Finally he spoke quite definitely of the
homes awaiting their return, the mulberry-tree about the gate, the
fire then burning on the hearth, the pictures on the walls, the
ancestral tablets, and the voices calling each. And as he spoke and
made an end of speaking the people began silently to melt away, until
none remained but Kiau, Wong Pao and the Emperor and his band.
“Kiau Sun,” said the discriminating N’ang Wei, “in memory of this day
the office of Chanter of Congratulatory Odes in the Palace ceremonial
is conferred on you, together with the title ‘Leaf-crowned’ and the
yearly allowance of five hundred taels and a jar of rice wine. And
Wong Pao,” he added thoughtfully--“Wong Pao shall be permitted to
endow the post--also in memory of this day.”