The Incredible Obtuseness of Those who had Opposed
the Virtuous Kai Lung
It was later than the appointed hour that same day when Kai Lung and
Hwa-mei met about the shutter, for the Mandarin’s importunity had
disturbed the harmonious balance of their fixed arrangement. As the
story-teller left the inner chamber a message of understanding, veiled
from those who stood around, had passed between their eyes, and so
complete was the sympathy that now directed them that without a spoken
word their plans were understood. Li-loe’s acquiescence had been
secured by the bestowal of a flask of wine (provided already by
Hwa-mei against such an emergency), and though the door-keeper had
indicated reproach by a variety of sounds, he forbore from speaking
openly of any vaster store.
“Let the bitterness of this one’s message be that which is first
spoken, so that the later and more enduring words of our remembrance
may be devoid of sting. A star has shone across my mediocre path which
now an envious cloud has conspired to obscure. This meeting will
doubtless be our last.”
Then replied Kai Lung from the darkness of the space above, his voice
unhurried as its wont:
“If this is indeed the end, then to the spirits of the destinies I
prostrate myself in thanks for those golden hours that have gone
before, and had there been no others to recall then would I equally
account myself repaid in life and death by this.”
“My words ascend with yours in a pale spiral to the bosom of the
universal mother,” Hwa-mei made response. “I likewise am content,
having tasted this felicity.”
“There is yet one other thing, esteemed, if such a presumption is to
be endured,” Kai Lung ventured to request. “Each day a stone has been
displaced from off the wall and these now lie about your gentle feet.
If you should inconvenience yourself to the extent of standing upon
the mound thus raised, and would stretch up your hand, I, leaning
forth, could touch it with my finger-tips.”
“This also will I dare to do and feel it no reproach,” replied
Hwa-mei; thus for the first time their fingers met.
“Let me now continue the ignoble message that my unworthy lips must
bear,” resumed the maiden, with a gesture of refined despair.
“Ming-shu and Shan Tien, recognizing a mutual need in each, have
agreed to forego their wordy strife and have entered upon a common
cause. To mark this reconciliation the Mandarin to-morrow night will
make a feast of wine and song in honour of Ming-shu and into this
assembly you will be led, bound and wearing the wooden cang, to
contribute to their offensive mirth. To this end you will not be
arraigned to-morrow, but on the following morning at a special court
swift sentence will be passed and carried out, neither will Shan Tien
suffer any interruption nor raise an arresting hand.”
The darkness by this time encompassed them so that neither could see
the other’s face, but across the scent-laden air Hwa-mei was conscious
of a subtle change, as of a poise or the tightening of a responsive
cord.
“This is the end?” she whispered up, unable to sustain. “Ah, is it not
the end?”
“In the high wall of destiny that bounds our lives there is ever a
hidden gap to which the Pure Ones may guide our unconscious steps
perchance, if they see fit to intervene. . . . So that to-morrow,
being the eleventh of the Moon of Gathering-in, is to be celebrated by
the noble Mandarin with song and wine? Truly the nimble-witted
Ming-shu must have slumbered by the way!”
“Assuredly he has but now returned from a long journey.”
“Haply he may start upon a longer. Have the musicians been commanded
yet?”
“Even now one goes to inform the leader of their voices and to bid him
hold his band in readiness.”
“Let it be your continual aim that nothing bars their progress. Where
does that just official dwell of whom you lately spoke?”
“The Censor K’o-yih, he who rebuked Shan Tien’s ambitions and made him
mend his questionable life? His yamen is about the Three-eyed Gate of
Tai, a half-day’s journey to the south.”
“The lines converge and the issues of Shan Tien, Ming-shu and we who
linger here will presently be brought to a very decisive point where
each must play a clear-cut part. To that end is your purpose firm?”
“Lay your commands,” replied Hwa-mei steadfastly, “and measure not the
burden of their weight.”
“It is well,” agreed Kai Lung. “Let Shan Tien give the feast and the
time of acquiescence will have passed. . . . The foothold of to-morrow
looms insecure, yet a very pressing message must meanwhile reach your
hands.”
“At the feast?”
“Thus: about the door of the inner hall are two great jars of shining
brass, one on either side, and at their approach a step. Being led, at
that step I shall stumble. . . . the message you will thereafter find
in the jar from which I seek support.”
“It shall be to me as your spoken word. Alas! the moment of recall is
already here.”
“Doubt not; we stand on the edge of an era that is immeasurable. For
that emergency I now go to consult the spirits who have so far guided
us.”
On the following day at an evening hour Kai Lung received an imperious
summons to accompany one who led him to the inner courts. Yet neither
the cords about his arms nor the pillory around his neck could contain
the gladness of his heart. From within came the sounds of instruments
of wood and string with the measured beating of a drum; nothing had
fallen short, for on that forbidden day, incredibly blind to the
depths of his impiety, the ill-starred Mandarin Shan Tien was having
music!
“Gall of a misprocured she-mule!” exclaimed the unsympathetic voice of
the one who had charge of him, and the rope was jerked to quicken his
loitering feet. In an effort to comply Kai Lung missed the step that
crossed his path and stumbling blindly forward would have fallen had
he not struck heavily against a massive jar of lacquered brass, one of
two that flanked the door.
“Thy province is to tell a tale rather than to dance a grotesque, as I
understand the matter,” said the attendant, mollified by the
amusement. “In any case, restrain thy admitted ardour for a while;
the call is not yet for us.”
From a group that stood apart some distance from the door one moved
forth and leisurely crossed the hall. Kai Lung’s wounded head ceased
to pain him.
“What slave is this,” she demanded of the other in a slow and level
tone, “and wherefore do the two of you intrude on this occasion?”
“The exalted lord commands that this one of the prisoners should
attend here thus, to divert them with his fancies, he having a certain
wit of the more foolish kind. Kai Lung, the dog’s name is.”
“Approach yet nearer to the inner door,” enjoined the maiden,
indicating the direction; “so that when the message comes there shall
be no inept delay.” As they moved off to obey she stood in languid
unconcern, leaning across the opening of a tall brass vase, one hand
swinging idly in its depths, until they reached their station. Kai
Lung did not need his eyes to know.
Presently the music ceased, and summoned to appear in turn, Kai Lung
stood forth among the guests. On the right hand of the Mandarin
reclined the base Ming-shu, his mind already vapoury with the fumes of
wine, the secret malice of his envious mind now boldly leaping from
his eyes.
“The overrated person now about to try your refined patience to its
limit is one who calls himself Kai Lung,” declared Ming-shu
offensively. “From an early age he has combined minstrelsy with other
and more lucrative forms of crime. It is the boast of this
contumacious mendicant that he can recite a story to fit any set of
circumstances, this, indeed, being the only merit claimed for his
feeble entertainment. The test selected for your tolerant amusement on
this very second-rate occasion is that he relates the story of a
presuming youth who fixes his covetous hopes upon one so far above his
degraded state that she and all who behold his uncouth efforts are
consumed by helpless laughter. Ultimately he is to be delivered to a
severe but well-earned death by a conscientious official whose
leisurely purpose is to possess the maiden for himself. Although
occasionally bordering on the funereal, the details of the narrative
are to be of a light and gravity-removing nature on the whole.
Proceed.”
The story-teller made obeisance towards the Mandarin, whose face
meanwhile revealed a complete absence of every variety of emotion.
“Have I your genial permission to comply, nobility?” he asked.
“The word is spoken,” replied Shan Tien unwillingly. “Let the vaunt be
justified.”
“I obey, High Excellence. This involves the story of Hien and the
Chief Examiner.”
The Story of Hien and the Chief Examiner
In the reign of the Emperor K’ong there lived at Ho Chow an official
named Thang-li, whose degree was that of Chief Examiner of Literary
Competitions for the district. He had an only daughter, Fa Fei, whose
mind was so liberally stored with graceful accomplishments as to give
rise to the saying that to be in her presence was more refreshing than
to sit in a garden of perfumes listening to the wisdom of seven
elderly philosophers, while her glossy floating hair, skin of crystal
lustre, crescent nails and feet smaller and more symmetrical than an
opening lotus made her the most beautiful creature in all Ho Chow.
Possessing no son, and maintaining an open contempt towards all his
nearer relations, it had become a habit for Thang-li to converse with
his daughter almost on terms of equality, so that she was not
surprised on one occasion, when, calling her into his presence, he
graciously commanded her to express herself freely on whatever subject
seemed most important in her mind.
“The Great Middle Kingdom in which we live is not only inhabited by
the most enlightened, humane and courteous-minded race, but is itself
fittingly the central and most desirable point of the Universe,
surrounded by other less favoured countries peopled by races of
pig-tailless men and large-footed women, all destitute of refined
intelligence,” replied Fa Fei modestly. “The sublime Emperor is of all
persons the wisest, purest and--”
“Undoubtedly,” interrupted Thang-li. “These truths are of gem-like
brilliance, and the ears of a patriotic subject can never be closed to
the beauty and music of their ceaseless repetition. Yet between father
and daughter in the security of an inner chamber there not unnaturally
arise topics of more engrossing interest. For example, now that you
are of a marriageable age, have your eyes turned in the direction of
any particular suitor?”
“Oh, thrice-venerated sire!” exclaimed Fa Fei, looking vainly round
for some attainable object behind which to conceal her honourable
confusion, “should the thoughts of a maiden dwell definitely on a
matter of such delicate consequence?”
“They should not,” replied her father; “but as they invariably do, the
speculation is one outside our immediate concern. Nor, as it is your
wonted custom to ascend upon the outside roof at a certain hour of the
morning, is it reasonable to assume that you are ignorant of the
movements of the two young men who daily contrive to linger before
this in no way attractive residence without any justifiable pretext.”
“My father is all-seeing,” replied Fa Fei in a commendable spirit of
dutiful acquiescence, and also because it seemed useless to deny the
circumstance.
“It is unnecessary,” said Thang-li. “Surrounded, as he is, by a
retinue of eleven female attendants, it is enough to be all-hearing.
But which of the two has impressed you in the more favourable light?”
“How can the inclinations of an obedient daughter affect the matter?”
said Fa Fei evasively. “Unless, O most indulgent, it is your amiable
intention to permit me to follow the inspiration of my own unfettered
choice?”
“Assuredly,” replied the benevolent Thang-li. “Provided, of course,
that the choice referred to should by no evil mischance run in a
contrary direction to my own maturer judgment.”
“Yet if such an eventuality did haply arise?” persisted Fa Fei.
“None but the irredeemably foolish spend their time in discussing the
probable sensation of being struck by a thunderbolt,” said Thang-li
more coldly. “From this day forth, also, be doubly guarded in the
undeviating balance of your attitude. Restrain the swallow-like
flights of your admittedly brilliant eyes, and control the movements
of your expressive fan within the narrowest bounds of necessity. This
person’s position between the two is one of exceptional delicacy and
he has by no means yet decided which to favour.”
“In such a case,” inquired Fa Fei, caressing his pig-tail
persuasively, “how does a wise man act, and by what manner of omens is
he influenced in his decision?”
“In such a case,” replied Thang-li, “a very wise man does not act; but
maintaining an impassive countenance, he awaits the unrolling of
events until he sees what must inevitably take place. It is thus that
his reputation for wisdom is built up.”
“Furthermore,” said Fa Fei hopefully, “the ultimate pronouncement
rests with the guarding deities?”
“Unquestionably,” agreed Thang-li. “Yet, by a venerable custom, the
esteem of the maiden’s parents is the detail to which the suitors
usually apply themselves with the greatest diligence.”
*
Of the two persons thus referred to by Thang-li, one, Tsin Lung, lived
beneath the sign of the Righteous Ink Brush. By hereditary right Tsin
Lung followed the profession of copying out the more difficult
Classics in minute characters upon parchments so small that an entire
library could be concealed among the folds of a garment, in this
painstaking way enabling many persons who might otherwise have failed
at the public examination, and been driven to spend an idle and
perhaps even dissolute life, to pass with honourable distinction to
themselves and widespread credit to his resourceful system. One
gratified candidate, indeed, had compared his triumphal passage
through the many grades of the competition to the luxurious ease of
being carried in a sedan-chair, and from that time Tsin Lung was
jestingly referred to as a “sedan-chair.”
It might reasonably be thought that a person enjoying this enviable
position would maintain a loyal pride in the venerable traditions of
his house and suffer the requirements of his craft to become the four
walls of his ambition. Alas! Tsin Lung must certainly have been born
under the influence of a very evil planet, for the literary quality of
his profession did not entice his imagination at all, and his sole and
frequently-expressed desire was to become a pirate. Nothing but the
necessity of obtaining a large sum of money with which to purchase a
formidable junk and to procure the services of a band of capable and
bloodthirsty outlaws bound him to Ho Chow, unless, perchance, it might
be the presence there of Fa Fei after he had once cast his piratical
eye upon her overwhelming beauty.
The other of the two persons was Hien, a youth of studious desires and
unassuming manner. His father had been the chief tax-collector of the
Chunling mountains, beyond the town, and although the exact nature of
the tax and the reason for its extortion had become forgotten in the
process of interminable ages, he himself never admitted any doubt of
his duty to collect it from all who passed over the mountains, even
though the disturbed state of the country made it impossible for him
to transmit the proceeds to the capital. To those who uncharitably
extended the envenomed tongue of suspicion towards the very existence
of any Imperial tax, the father of Hien replied with unshaken loyalty
that in such a case the sublime Emperor had been very treacherously
served by his advisers, as the difficulty of the paths and the
intricate nature of the passes rendered the spot peculiarly suitable
for the purpose, and as he was accompanied by a well-armed and
somewhat impetuous band of followers, his arguments were inevitably
successful. When he Passed Beyond, Hien accepted the leadership, but
solely out of a conscientious respect for his father’s memory, for his
heart was never really in the occupation. His time was almost wholly
taken up in reading the higher Classics, and even before he had seen
Fa Fei his determination had been taken that when once he had
succeeded in passing the examination for the second degree and thereby
become entitled to an inferior mandarinship he would abandon his
former life forever. From this resolution the entreaties of his
devoted followers could not shake him, and presently they ceased to
argue, being reassured by the fact that although Hien presented
himself unfailingly for every examination his name appeared at the
foot of each successive list with unvarying frequency. It was at this
period that he first came under the ennobling spell of Fa Fei’s
influence and from that time forth he redoubled his virtuous efforts.
After conversing with her father, as already related, Fa Fei spent the
day in an unusually thoughtful spirit. As soon as it was dark she
stepped out from the house and veiling her purpose under the pretext
of gathering some herbs to complete a charm she presently entered a
grove of overhanging cedars where Hien had long been awaiting her
footsteps.
“Rainbow of my prosaic existence!” he exclaimed, shaking hands with
himself courteously, “have you yet carried out your bold suggestion?”
and so acute was his anxiety for her reply that he continued to hold
his hand unconsciously until Fa Fei turned away her face in very
becoming confusion.
“Alas, O my dragon-hearted one,” she replied at length, “I have indeed
dared to read the scroll, but how shall this person’s inelegant lips
utter so detestable a truth?”
“It is already revealed,” said Hien, striving to conceal from her his
bitterness. “When the list of competitors at the late examination is
publicly proclaimed to-morrow at the four gates of the city, the last
name to be announced will again, and for the eleventh time, be that of
the degraded Hien.”
“Beloved,” exclaimed Fa Fei, resolved that as she could not honourably
deny that her Hien’s name was again indeed the last one to appear she
would endeavour to lead his mind subtly away to the contemplation of
more pleasurable thoughts, “it is as you have said, but although your
name is the last, it is by far the most dignified and
romantic-sounding of all, nor is there another throughout the list
which can be compared to it for the ornamental grace of its flowing
curves.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Hien, in a violent access of self-contempt,
“it is a name of abandoned omen and is destined only to reach the ears
of posterity to embellish the proverb of scorn, ‘The lame duck should
avoid the ploughed field.’ Can there--can there by no chance have been
some hope-inspiring error?”
“Thus were the names inscribed on the parchment which after the public
announcement will be affixed to the Hall of Ten Thousand Lustres,”
replied Fa Fei. “With her own unworthy eyes this incapable person
beheld it.”
“The name ‘Hien’ is in no way striking or profound,” continued the one
in question, endeavouring to speak as though the subject referred to
some person standing at a considerable distance away. “Furthermore, so
commonplace and devoid of character are its written outlines that it
has very much the same appearance whichever way up it is looked
at. . . . The possibility that in your graceful confusion you held the
list in such a position that what appeared to be the end was in
reality the beginning is remote in the extreme, yet--”
In spite of an absorbing affection Fa Fei could not disguise from
herself that her feelings would have been more pleasantly arranged if
her lover had been inspired to accept his position unquestioningly.
“There is a detail, hitherto unrevealed, which disposes of all such
amiable suggestions,” she replied. “After the name referred to,
someone in authority had inscribed the undeniable comment ‘As usual.’”
“The omen is a most encouraging one,” exclaimed Hien, throwing aside
all his dejection. “Hitherto this person’s untiring efforts had met
with no official recognition whatever. It is now obvious that far from
being lost in the crowd he is becoming an object of honourable
interest to the examiners.”
“One frequently hears it said, ‘After being struck on the head with an
axe it is a positive pleasure to be beaten about the body with a
wooden club,’” said Fa Fei, “and the meaning of the formerly elusive
proverb is now explained. Would it not be prudent to avail yourself at
length of the admittedly outrageous Tsin Lung’s services, so that this
period of unworthy trial may be brought to a distinguished close?”
“It is said, ‘Do not eat the fruit of the stricken branch,’” replied
Hien, “and this person will never owe his success to one who is so
detestable in his life and morals that with every facility for a
scholarly and contemplative existence he freely announces his
barbarous intention of becoming a pirate. Truly the Dragon of Justice
does but sleep for a little time, and when he awakens all that will be
left of the mercenary Tsin Lung and those who associate with him will
scarcely be enough to fill an orange skin.”
“Doubtless it will be so,” agreed Fa Fei, regretting, however, that
Hien had not been content to prophesy a more limited act of vengeance,
until, at least, her father had come to a definite decision regarding
her own future. “Alas, though, the Book of Dynasties expressly says,
‘The one-legged never stumble,’ and Tsin Lung is so morally
ill-balanced that the proverb may even apply to him.”
“Do not fear,” said Hien. “It is elsewhere written, ‘Love and leprosy
few escape,’ and the spirit of Tsin Lung’s destiny is perhaps even at
this moment lurking unsuspected behind some secret place.”
“If,” exclaimed a familiar voice, “the secret place alluded to should
chance to be a hollow cedar-tree of inadequate girth, the unfortunate
spirit in question will have my concentrated sympathy.”
“Just and magnanimous father!” exclaimed Fa Fei, thinking it more
prudent not to recognize that he had learned of their meeting-place
and concealing himself there had awaited their coming, “when your
absence was discovered a heaven-sent inspiration led me to this spot.
Have I indeed been permitted here to find you?”
“Assuredly you have,” replied Thang-li, who was equally desirous of
concealing the real circumstances, although the difficulty of the
position into which he had hastily and incautiously thrust his body on
their approach compelled him to reveal himself. “The same inspiration
led me to lose myself in this secluded spot, as being the one which
you would inevitably search.”
“Yet by what incredible perversity does it arise, venerable Thang-li,
that a leisurely and philosophical stroll should result in a person of
your dignified proportions occupying so unattractive a position?” said
Hien, who appeared to be too ingenuous to suspect Thang-li’s craft, in
spite of a warning glance from Fa Fei’s expressive eyes.
“The remark is a natural one, O estimable youth,” replied Thang-li,
doubtless smiling benevolently, although nothing of his person could
be actually seen by Hien or Fa Fei, “but the recital is not devoid of
humiliation. While peacefully studying the position of the heavens
this person happened to glance into the upper branches of a tree and
among them he beheld a bird’s nest of unusual size and richness--one
that would promise to yield a dish of the rarest flavour. Lured on by
the anticipation of so sumptuous a course, he rashly trusted his body
to an unworthy branch, and the next moment, notwithstanding his
unceasing protests to the protecting Powers, he was impetuously
deposited within this hollow trunk.”
“Not unreasonably is it said, ‘A bird in the soup is better than an
eagle’s nest in the desert,’” exclaimed Hien. “The pursuit of a fair
and lofty object is set about with hidden pitfalls to others beyond
you, O noble Chief Examiner! By what nimble-witted act of adroitness
is it now your enlightened purpose to extricate yourself?”
At this admittedly polite but in no way inspiring question a silence
of a very acute intensity seemed to fall on that part of the forest.
The mild and inscrutable expression of Hien’s face did not vary, but
into Fa Fei’s eyes there came an unexpected but not altogether
disapproving radiance, while, without actually altering, the
appearance of the tree encircling Thang-li’s form undoubtedly conveyed
the impression that the benevolent smile which might hitherto have
been reasonably assumed to exist within had been abruptly withdrawn.
“Your meaning is perhaps well-intentioned, gracious Hien,” said
Thang-li at length, “but as an offer of disinterested assistance your
words lack the gong-like clash of spontaneous enthusiasm.
Nevertheless, if you will inconvenience yourself to the extent of
climbing this not really difficult tree for a short distance you will
be able to grasp some outlying portion of this one’s body without any
excessive fatigue.”
“Mandarin,” replied Hien, “to touch even the extremity of your
incomparable pig-tail would be an honour repaying all earthly
fatigue--”
“Do not hesitate to seize it, then,” said Thang-li, as Hien paused.
“Yet, if this person may without ostentation continue the analogy, to
grasp him firmly by the shoulders must confer a higher distinction and
would be even more agreeable to his own feelings.”
“The proposal is a flattering one,” continued Hien, “but my hands are
bound down by the decree of the High Powers, for among the most
inviolable of the edicts is it not written: ‘Do the lame offer to
carry the footsore; the blind to protect the one-eyed? Distrust the
threadbare person who from an upper back room invites you to join him
in an infallible process of enrichment; turn aside from the one devoid
of pig-tail who says, “Behold, a few drops daily at the hour of the
morning sacrifice and your virtuous head shall be again like a
well-sown rice-field at the time of harvest”; and towards the passing
stranger who offers you that mark of confidence which your friends
withhold close and yet again open a different eye. So shall you grow
obese in wisdom’?”
“Alas!” exclaimed Thang-li, “the inconveniences of living in an Empire
where a person has to regulate the affairs of his everyday life by the
sacred but antiquated proverbial wisdom of his remote ancestors are by
no means trivial. Cannot this possibly mythical obstacle be
flattened-out by the amiable acceptance of a jar of sea snails or some
other seasonable delicacy, honourable Hien?”
“Nothing but a really well-grounded encouragement as regards Fa Fei
can persuade this person to regard himself as anything but a solitary
outcast,” replied Hien, “and one paralysed in every useful impulse.
Rather than abandon the opportunity of coming to such an arrangement
he would almost be prepared to give up all idea of ever passing the
examination for the second degree.”
“By no means,” exclaimed Thang-li hastily. “The sacrifice would be too
excessive. Do not relinquish your sleuth-hound-like persistence, and
success will inevitably reward your ultimate end.”
“Can it really be,” said Hien incredulously, “that my contemptible
efforts are a matter of sympathetic interest to one so high up in
every way as the renowned Chief Examiner?”
“They are indeed,” replied Thang-li, with that ingratiating candour
that marked his whole existence. “Doubtless so prosaic a detail as the
system of remuneration has never occupied your refined thoughts, but
when it is understood that those in the position of this person are
rewarded according to the success of the candidates you will begin to
grasp the attitude.”
“In that case,” remarked Hien, with conscious humiliation, “nothing
but a really sublime tolerance can have restrained you from upbraiding
this obscure competitor as a thoroughly corrupt egg.”
“On the contrary,” replied Thang-li reassuringly, “I have long
regarded you as the auriferous fowl itself. It is necessary to
explain, perhaps, that the payment by result alluded to is not based
on the number of successful candidates, but--much more reasonably as
all those have to be provided with lucrative appointments by the
authorities--on the economy effected to the State by those whom I can
conscientiously reject. Owing to the malignant Tsin Lung’s sinister
dexterity these form an ever-decreasing band, so that you may now be
fittingly deemed the chief prop of a virtuous but poverty-afflicted
line. When you reflect that for the past eleven years you have thus
really had the honour of providing the engaging Fa Fei with all the
necessities of her very ornamental existence you will see that you
already possess practically all the advantages of matrimony.
Nevertheless, if you will now bring our agreeable conversation to an
end by releasing this inauspicious person he will consider the matter
with the most indulgent sympathies.”
“Withhold!” exclaimed a harsh voice before Hien could reply, and from
behind a tree where he had heard Thang-li’s impolite reference to
himself Tsin Lung stood forth. “How does it chance, O two-complexioned
Chief Examiner, that after weighing this one’s definite
proposals--even to the extent of demanding a certain proportion in
advance--you are now engaged in holding out the same alluring hope to
another? Assuredly, if your existence is so critically imperilled this
person and none other will release you and claim the reward.”
“Turn your face backwards, imperious Tsin Lung,” cried Hien. “These
incapable hands alone shall have the overwhelming distinction of
drawing forth the illustrious Thang-li.”
“Do not get entangled among my advancing footsteps, immature one,”
contemptuously replied Tsin Lung, shaking the massive armour in which
he was encased from head to foot. “It is inept for pigmies to stand
before one who has every intention of becoming a rapacious pirate
shortly.”
“The sedan-chair is certainly in need of new shafts,” retorted Hien,
and drawing his sword with an expression of ferocity he caused it to
whistle around his head so loudly that a flock of migratory doves
began to arrive, under the impression that others of their tribe were
calling them to assemble.
“Alas!” exclaimed Thang-li, in an accent of despair, “doubtless the
wise Nung-yu was surrounded by disciples all eager that no other
should succour him when he remarked: ‘A humble friend in the same
village is better than sixteen influential brothers in the Royal
Palace.’ In all this illimitable Empire is there not room for one
whose aspirations are bounded by the submerged walls of a predatory
junk and another whose occupation is limited to the upper passes of the
Chunling mountains? Consider the poignant nature of this person’s vain
regrets if by a couple of evilly directed blows you succeeded at this
inopportune moment in exterminating one another!”
“Do not fear, exalted Thang-li,” cried Hien, who, being necessarily
somewhat occupied in preparing himself against Tsin Lung’s attack,
failed to interpret these words as anything but a direct encouragement
to his own cause. “Before the polluting hands of one who disdains the
Classics shall be laid upon your sacred extremities this tenacious
person will fix upon his antagonist with a serpent-like embrace and,
if necessary, suffer the spirits of both to Pass Upward in one
breath.” And to impress Tsin Lung with his resolution he threw away
his scabbard and picked it up again several times.
“Grow large in hope, worthy Chief Examiner,” cried Tsin Lung, who from
a like cause was involved in a similar misapprehension. “Rather shall
your imperishable bones adorn the interior of a hollow cedar-tree
throughout all futurity than you shall suffer the indignity of being
extricated by an earth-nurtured sleeve-snatcher.” And to intimidate
Hien by the display he continued to clash his open hand against his
leg armour until the pain became intolerable.
“Honourable warriors!” implored Thang-li in so agonized a voice--and
also because they were weary of the exercise--that Hien and Tsin Lung
paused, “curb your bloodthirsty ambitions for a breathing-space and
listen to what will probably be a Last Expression. Believe the
passionate sincerity of this one’s throat when he proclaims that there
would be nothing repugnant to his very keenest susceptibilities if an
escaping parricide, who was also guilty of rebellion, temple-robbing,
book-burning, murder and indiscriminate violence, and the pollution of
tombs, took him familiarly by the hand at this moment. What,
therefore, would be his gratified feelings if two such nobly-born
subjects joined forces and drew him up dexterously by the body-cloth?
Accept his definite assurance that without delay a specific
pronouncement would be made respecting the bestowal of the one around
whose jade-like personality this encounter has arisen.”
“The proposal casts a reasonable shadow, gracious Hien,” remarked
Tsin Lung, turning towards the other with courteous deference. “Shall
we bring a scene of irrational carnage to an end and agree to regard
the incomparable Thang-li’s benevolent tongue as an outstretched olive
branch?”
“It is admittedly said, ‘Every road leads in two directions,’ and the
alternative you suggest, O virtue-loving Tsin Lung, is both reputable
and just,” replied Hien pleasantly. In this amiable spirit they
extricated Thang-li and bore him to the ground. At an appointed hour
he received them with becoming ceremony and after a many-coursed
repast rose to fulfil the specific terms of his pledge.
“The Line of Thang,” he remarked with inoffensive pride, “has for
seven generations been identified with a high standard of literary
achievement. Undeniably it is a very creditable thing to control the
movements of an ofttime erratic vessel and to emerge triumphantly from
a combat with every junk you encounter, and it is no less worthy of
esteem to gather round about one, on the sterile slopes of the
Chunlings, a devoted band of followers. Despite these virtues,
however, neither occupation is marked by any appreciable literary
flavour, and my word is, therefore, that both persons shall present
themselves for the next examination, and when in due course the result
is declared the more successful shall be hailed as the chosen suitor.
Lo, I have spoken into a sealed bottle, and my voice cannot vary.”
Then replied Tsin Lung: “Truly, it is as it is said, astute Thang-li,
though the encircling wall of a hollow cedar-tree, for example, might
impart to the voice in question a less uncompromising ring of finality
than it possesses when raised in a silk-lined chamber and surrounded
by a band of armed retainers. Nevertheless the pronouncement is one
which appeals to this person’s sense of justice, and the only
improvement he can suggest is that the superfluous Hien should hasten
that ceremony at which he will be an honoured guest by now signifying
his intention of retiring from so certain a defeat. For by what
expedient,” he continued, with arrogant persistence, “can you avert
that end, O ill-destined Hien? Have you not burned joss-sticks to the
deities, both good and bad, for eleven years unceasingly? Can you, as
this person admittedly can, inscribe the Classics with such inimitable
delicacy that an entire volume of the Book of Decorum, copied in his
most painstaking style, may be safely carried about within a hollow
tooth, a lengthy ode, traced on a shred of silk, wrapped undetectably
around a single eyelash?”
“It is true that the one before you cannot bend his brush to such
deceptive ends,” replied Hien modestly. “A detail, however, has
escaped your reckoning. Hitherto Hien has been opposed by a thousand,
and against so many it is true that the spirits of his ancestors have
been able to afford him very little help. On this occasion he need
regard one adversary alone. Giving those Forces which he invokes
clearly to understand that they need not concern themselves with any
other, he will plainly intimate that after so many sacrifices on his
part something of a really tangible affliction is required to
overwhelm Tsin Lung. Whether this shall take the form of mental
stagnation, bodily paralysis, demoniacal possession, derangement of
the internal faculties, or being changed into one of the lower
animals, it might be presumptuous on this person’s part to stipulate,
but by invoking every accessible power and confining himself to this
sole petition a very definite tragedy may be expected. Beware, O
contumacious Lung, ‘However high the tree the shortest axe can reach
its trunk.’”
*
As the time for the examination drew near the streets of Ho Chow began
to wear a fuller and more animated appearance both by day and night.
Tsin Lung’s outer hall was never clear of anxious suppliants all
entreating him to supply them with minute and reliable copies of the
passages which they found most difficult in the selected works, but
although his low and avaricious nature was incapable of rejecting this
means of gain he devoted his closest energies and his most inspired
moments to his own personal copies, a set of books so ethereal that
they floated in the air without support and so cunningly devised in
the blending of their colour as to be, in fact, quite invisible to any
but his microscopic eyes. Hien, on the other hand, devoted himself
solely to interesting the Powers against his rival’s success by every
variety of incentive, omen, sacrifice, imprecation, firework,
inscribed curse, promise, threat or combination of inducements.
Through the crowded streets and by-ways of Ho Chow moved the
imperturbable Thang-li, smiling benevolently on those whom he
encountered and encouraging each competitor, and especially Hien and
Tsin Lung, with a cheerful proverb suited to the moment.
An outside cause had further contributed to make this period one of
the most animated in the annals of Ho Chow, for not only was the city,
together with the rest of the imperishable Empire, celebrating a great
and popular victory, but, as a direct consequence of that event, the
sublime Emperor himself was holding his court at no great distance
away. An armed and turbulent rabble of illiterate barbarians had
suddenly appeared in the north and, not giving a really sufficient
indication of their purpose, had traitorously assaulted the capital.
Had he followed the prompting of his own excessive magnanimity, the
charitable Monarch would have refused to take any notice whatever of
so puny and contemptible a foe, but so unmistakable became the wishes
of the Ever-victorious Army that, yielding to their importunity, he
placed himself at their head and resolutely led them backward. Had the
opposing army been more intelligent, this crafty move would certainly
have enticed them on into the plains, where they would have fallen an
easy victim to the Imperial troops and all perished miserably. Owing
to their low standard of reasoning, however, the mule-like invaders
utterly failed to grasp the advantage which, as far as the appearance
tended, they might reasonably be supposed to reap by an immediate
pursuit. They remained incapably within the capital slavishly
increasing its defences, while the Ever-victorious lurked
resourcefully in the neighbourhood of Ho Chow, satisfied that with so
dull-witted an adversary they could, if the necessity arose, go still
further.
Upon a certain day of the period thus indicated there arrived at the
gate of the royal pavilion one having the appearance of an aged seer,
who craved to be led into the Imperial Presence.
“Lo, Mightiest,” said a slave, bearing in this message, “there stands
at the outer gate one resembling an ancient philosopher, desiring to
gladden his failing eyesight before he Passes Up with a brief vision
of your illuminated countenance.”
“The petition is natural but inopportune,” replied the agreeable
Monarch. “Let the worthy soothsayer be informed that after an
exceptionally fatiguing day we are now snatching a few short hours of
necessary repose, from which it would be unseemly to recall us.”
“He received your gracious words with distended ears and then observed
that it was for your All-wisdom to decide whether an inspired message
which he had read among the stars was not of more consequence than
even a refreshing sleep,” reported the slave, returning.
“In that case,” replied the Sublimest, “tell the persevering wizard
that we have changed our minds and are religiously engaged in
worshipping our ancestors, so that it would be really sacrilegious to
interrupt us.”
“He kowtowed profoundly at the mere mention of your charitable
occupation and proceeded to depart, remarking that it would indeed be
corrupt to disturb so meritorious an exercise with a scheme simply for
your earthly enrichment,” again reported the message-bearer.
“Restrain him!” hastily exclaimed the broadminded Sovereign. “Give the
venerable necromancer clearly to understand that we have worshipped
them enough for one day. Doubtless the accommodating soothsayer has
discovered some rare jewel which he is loyally bringing to embellish
our crown.”
“There are rarer jewels than those which can be pasted in a crown,
Supreme Head,” said the stranger, entering unperceived behind the
attending slave. He bore the external signs of an infirm magician,
while his face was hidden in a cloth to mark the imposition of a
solemn vow. “With what apter simile,” he continued, “can this person
describe an imperishable set of verses which he heard this morning
falling from the lips of a wandering musician like a seven-roped cable
of pearls pouring into a silver bucket? The striking and original
title was ‘Concerning Spring,’ and although the snow lay deep at the
time several bystanders agreed that an azalea bush within hearing came
into blossom at the eighty-seventh verse.”
“We have heard of the poem to which you refer with so just a sense of
balance,” said the impartial Monarch encouragingly. (Though not to
create a two-sided impression it may be freely stated that he himself
was the author of the inspired composition.) “Which part, in your
mature judgment, reflected the highest genius and maintained the most
perfectly-matched analogy?”
“It is aptly said: ‘When it is dark the sun no longer shines, but who
shall forget the colours of the rainbow?’” replied the astrologer
evasively. “How is it possible to suspend topaz in one cup of the
balance and weigh it against amethyst in the other; or who in a single
language can compare the tranquillizing grace of a maiden with the
invigorating pleasure of witnessing a well-contested rat-fight?”
“Your insight is clear and unbiased,” said the gracious Sovereign.
“But however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of
bright images, are we not enticing your mind from another subject of
almost equal importance?”
“There is yet another detail, it is true,” admitted the sage, “but
regarding its comparative importance a thoroughly loyal subject may be
permitted to amend the remark of a certain wise Emperor of a former
dynasty: ‘Any person in the City can discover a score of gold mines if
necessary, but One only could possibly have written “Concerning
Spring.”’”
“The arts may indeed be regarded as lost,” acquiesced the magnanimous
Head, “with the exception of a solitary meteor here and there. Yet in
the trivial matter of mere earthly enrichment--”
“Truly,” agreed the other. “There is, then, a whisper in the province
that the floor of the Imperial treasury is almost visible.”
“The rumour, as usual, exaggerates the facts grossly,” replied the
Greatest. “The floor of the Imperial treasury is quite visible.”
“Yet on the first day of the next moon the not inconsiderable revenue
contributed by those who present themselves for the examination will
flow in.”
“And by an effete and unworthy custom almost immediately flow out
again to reward the efforts of the successful,” replied the Wearer of
the Yellow in an accent of refined bitterness. “On other occasions it
is possible to assist the overworked treasurer with a large and
glutinous hand, but from time immemorial the claims of the competitors
have been inviolable.”
“Yet if by a heaven-sent chance none, or very few, reached the
necessary standard of excellence--?”
“Such a chance, whether proceeding from the Upper Air or the Other
Parts would be equally welcome to a very hard-lined Ruler,” replied
the one who thus described himself.
“Then listen, O K’ong-hi, of the imperishable dynasty of Chung,” said
the stranger. “Thus was it laid upon me in the form of a spontaneous
dream. For seven centuries the Book of the Observances has been the
unvarying Classic of the examinations because during that period it
has never been surpassed. Yet as the Empire has admittedly existed
from all time, and as it would be impious not to agree that the
immortal System is equally antique, it is reasonable to suppose that
the Book of the Observances displaced an earlier and inferior work,
and is destined in the cycle of time to be itself laid aside for a
still greater.”
“The inference is self-evident,” acknowledged the Emperor uneasily,
“but the logical development is one which this diffident Monarch
hesitates to commit to spoken words.”
“It is not a matter for words but for a stroke of the Vermilion
Pencil,” replied the other in a tone of inspired authority. “Across
the faint and puny effusions of the past this person sees written in
very large and obliterating strokes the words ‘Concerning Spring.’
Where else can be found so novel a conception combined with so unique
a way of carrying it out? What other poem contains so many thoughts
that one instinctively remembers as having heard before, so many
involved allusions that baffle the imagination of the keenest, and so
much sound in so many words? With the possible exception of Meng-hu’s
masterpiece, ‘The Empty Coffin,’ what other work so skilfully conveys
the impression of being taken down farther than one can ever again
come up and then suddenly upraised beyond the possible descent? Where
else can be found so complete a defiance of all that has hitherto been
deemed essential, and, to insert a final wedge, what other poem is
half so long?”
“Your criticism is severe but just,” replied the Sovereign, “except
that part having reference to Meng-hu. Nevertheless, the atmosphere of
the proposal, though reasonable, looms a degree stormily into a
troubled future. Can it be permissible even for--”
“Omnipotence!” exclaimed the seer.
“The title is well recalled,” confessed the Emperor. “Yet although
unquestionably omnipotent there must surely be some limits to our
powers in dealing with so old established a system as that of the
examinations.”
“Who can doubt a universal admission that the composer of ‘Concerning
Spring’ is capable of doing anything?” was the profound reply. “Let
the mandate be sent out--but, to an obvious end, let it be withheld
until the eve of the competitions.”
“The moment of hesitancy has faded; go forth in the certainty,
esteemed,” said the Emperor reassuringly. “You have carried your
message with a discreet hand. Yet before you go, if there is any
particular mark of Imperial favour that we can show--something of a
special but necessarily honorary nature--do not set an iron screen
between your ambition and the light of our favourable countenance.”
“There is indeed such a signal reward,” assented the aged person, with
an air of prepossessing diffidence. “A priceless copy of the immortal
work--”
“By all means,” exclaimed the liberal-minded Sovereign, with an
expression of great relief. “Take three or four in case any of your
fascinating relations have large literary appetites. Or, still more
conveniently arranged, here is an unopened package from the stall of
those who send forth the printed leaves--‘thirteen in the semblance of
twelve,’ as the quaint and harmonious phrase of their craft has it.
Walk slowly, revered, and a thousand rainbows guide your retiring
footsteps.”
Concerning the episode of this discreetly-veiled personage the
historians who have handed down the story of the imperishable
affection of Hien and Fa Fei have maintained an illogical silence. Yet
it is related that about the same time, as Hien was walking by the
side of a bamboo forest of stunted growth, he was astonished by the
maiden suddenly appearing before him from the direction of the royal
camp. She was incomparably radiant and had the appearance of being
exceptionally well satisfied with herself. Commanding him that he
should stand motionless with closed eyes, in order to ascertain what
the presiding deities would allot him, she bound a somewhat weighty
object to the end of his pig-tail, at the same time asking him in how
short a period he could commit about nineteen thousand lines of
atrociously ill-arranged verse to the tablets of his mind.
“Then do not suffer the rice to grow above your ankles,” she
continued, when Hien had modestly replied that six days with good
omens should be sufficient, “but retiring to your innermost chamber
bar the door and digest this scroll as though it contained the last
expression of an eccentric and vastly rich relation,” and with a laugh
more musical than the vibrating of a lute of the purest Yun-nan jade
in the Grotto of Ten Thousand Echoes she vanished.
It has been sympathetically remarked that no matter how painstakingly
a person may strive to lead Destiny along a carefully-prepared path
and towards a fit and thoroughly virtuous end there is never lacking
some inopportune creature to thrust his superfluous influence into an
opposing balance. This naturally suggests the intolerable Tsin Lung,
whose ghoulish tastes led him to seek the depths of that same glade on
the following day. Walking with downcast eyes, after his degraded
custom, he presently became aware of an object lying some distance
from his way. To those who have already fathomed the real character of
this repulsive person it will occasion no surprise to know that, urged
on by the insatiable curiosity that was deeply grafted on to his
avaricious nature, he turned aside to probe into a matter with which
he had no possible concern, and at length succeeded in drawing a
package from the thick bush in which it had been hastily concealed.
Finding that it contained twelve lengthy poems entitled “Concerning
Spring”, he greedily thrust one in his sleeve, and upon his return,
with no other object than the prompting of an ill-regulated mind, he
spent all the time that remained before the contest in learning it
from end to end.
There have been many remarkable scenes enacted in the great
Examination Halls and in the narrow cells around, but it can at once
be definitely stated that nothing either before or since has
approached the unanimous burst of frenzy that shook the dynasty of
Chung when in the third year of his reign the well-meaning but
too-easily-led-aside Emperor K’ong inopportunely sought to replace the
sublime Classic then in use with a work that has since been recognized
to be not only shallow but inept. At Ho Chow nine hundred and
ninety-eight voices blended into one soul-benumbing cry of rage,
having all the force and precision of a carefully drilled chorus, when
the papers were opened, and had not the candidates been securely
barred within their solitary pens a popular rising must certainly have
taken place. There they remained for three days and nights, until the
clamour had subsided into a low but continuous hum, and they were too
weak to carry out a combined effort.
Throughout this turmoil Hien and Tsin Lung each plied an unfaltering
brush. It may here be advantageously stated that the former person was
not really slow or obtuse and his previous failures were occasioned
solely by the inequality he strove under in relying upon his memory
alone when every other competitor without exception had provided
himself with a concealed scrip. Tsin Lung also had a very retentive
mind. The inevitable consequence was, therefore, that when the papers
were collected Hien and Tsin Lung had accomplished an identical number
of correct lines and no other person had made even an attempt.
In explaining Thang-li’s subsequent behaviour it has been claimed by
many that the strain of being compelled, in the exercise of his duty,
to remain for three days and three nights in the middle of the Hall
surrounded by that ferocious horde, all clamouring to reach him, and
the contemplation of the immense sum which he would gain by so
unparalleled a batch of rejections, contorted his faculties of
discrimination and sapped the resources of his usually active mind.
Whatever cause is accepted, it is agreed that as soon as he returned
to his house he summoned Hien and Tsin Lung together and leaving them
for a moment presently returned, leading Fa Fei by the hand. It is
further agreed by all that these three persons noticed upon his face a
somewhat preoccupied expression, and on the one side much has been
made of the admitted fact that as he spoke he wandered round the room
catching flies, an occupation eminently suited to his age and
leisurely tastes but, it may be confessed, not altogether well chosen
at so ceremonious a moment.
“It has been said,” he began at length, withdrawing his eyes
reluctantly from an unusually large insect upon the ceiling and
addressing himself to the maiden, “that there are few situations in
life that cannot be honourably settled, and without loss of time,
either by suicide, a bag of gold, or by thrusting a despised
antagonist over the edge of a precipice upon a dark night. This
inoffensive person, however, has striven to arrive at the conclusion
of a slight domestic arrangement both by passively waiting for the
event to unroll itself and, at a later period, by the offer of a
definite omen. Both of the male persons concerned have applied
themselves so tenaciously to the ordeal that the result, to this
simple one’s antique mind, savours overmuch of the questionable arts.
The genial and light-witted Emperor appears to have put his foot into
the embarrassment ineffectually; and Destiny herself has every
indication of being disinclined to settle so doubtful a point. As a
last resort it now remains for you yourself to decide which of these
strenuous and evenly-balanced suitors I may acclaim with ten thousand
felicitations.”
“In that case, venerated and commanding sire,” replied Fa Fei simply,
yet concealing her real regard behind the retiring mask of a modest
indifference, “it shall be Hien, because his complexion goes the more
prettily with my favourite heliotrope silk.”
When the results of the examination were announced it was at once
assumed by those with whom he had trafficked that Tsin Lung had been
guilty of the most degraded treachery. Understanding the dangers of
his position, that person decided upon an immediate flight. Disguised
as a wild-beast tamer, and leading several apparently ferocious
creatures by a cord, he succeeded in making his way undetected through
the crowds of competitors watching his house, and hastily collecting
his wealth together he set out towards the coast. But the evil spirits
which had hitherto protected him now withdrew their aid. In the
wildest passes of the Chunlings Hien’s band was celebrating his
unexpected success by a costly display of fireworks, varied with music
and dancing. . . . So heavily did they tax him that when he reached
his destination he was only able to purchase a small and dilapidated
junk and to enlist the services of three thoroughly incompetent
mercenaries. The vessels which he endeavoured to pursue stealthily in
the hope of restoring his fortunes frequently sailed towards him under
the impression that he was sinking and trying to attract their
benevolent assistance. When his real intention was at length
understood both he and his crew were invariably beaten about the head
with clubs, so that although he persevered until the three hired
assassins rebelled, he never succeeded in committing a single act of
piracy. Afterwards he gained a precarious livelihood by entering into
conversation with strangers, and still later he stood upon a board and
dived for small coins which the charitable threw into the water. In
this pursuit he was one day overtaken by a voracious sea-monster and
perished miserably.
The large-meaning but never fully-accomplishing Emperor K’ong reigned
for yet another year, when he was deposed by the powerful League of
the Three Brothers. To the end of his life he steadfastly persisted
that the rebellion was insidiously fanned, if not actually carried
out, by a secret confederacy of all the verse-makers of the Empire,
who were distrustful of his superior powers. He spent the years of his
exile in composing a poetical epitaph to be carved upon his tomb, but
his successor, the practical-minded Liu-yen, declined to sanction the
expense of procuring so fabulous a supply of marble.
*
When Kai Lung had repeated the story of the well-intentioned youth
Hien and of the Chief Examiner Thang-li and had ceased to speak, a
pause of questionable import filled the room, broken only by the
undignified sleep-noises of the gross Ming-shu. Glances of implied
perplexity were freely passed among the guests, but it remained for
Shan Tien to voice their doubt.
“Yet wherein is the essence of the test maintained,” he asked, “seeing
that the one whom you call Hien obtained all that which he desired and
he who chiefly opposed his aims was himself involved in ridicule and
delivered to a sudden end?”
“Beneficence,” replied Kai Lung, with courteous ease, despite the
pinions that restrained him, “herein it is one thing to demand and
another to comply, for among the Platitudes is the admission made: ‘No
needle has two sharp points.’ The conditions which the subtlety of
Ming-shu imposed ceased to bind, for their corollary was inexact. In
no romance composed by poet or sage are the unassuming hopes of
virtuous love brought to a barren end or the one who holds them
delivered to an ignominious doom. That which was called for does not
therefore exist, but the story of Hien may be taken as indicating the
actual course of events should the case arise in an ordinary state of
life.”
This reply was not deemed inept by most of those who heard, and they
even pressed upon the one who spoke slight gifts of snuff and wine.
The Mandarin Shan Tien, however, held himself apart.
“It is doubtful if your lips will be able thus to frame so confident a
boast when to-morrow fades,” was his dark forecast.
“Doubtless their tenor will be changed, revered, in accordance with
your far-seeing word,” replied Kai Lung submissively as he was led
away.