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.”
CHAPTER V
The Timely Intervention of the Mandarin Shan Tien’s Lucky Day
When Kai Lung at length reached the shutter, after the delay caused by Li-loe’s inopportune presence, he found that Hwa-mei was already standing there beneath the wall.
“Alas!” he exclaimed, in an access of self-reproach, “is it possible that I have failed to greet your arriving footsteps? Hear the degrading cause of my—”
“Forbear,” interrupted the maiden, with a magnanimous gesture of the hand that was not engaged in bestowing a gift of fruit. “There is a time to scatter flowers and a time to prepare the soil. To-morrow a further trial awaits you, for which we must conspire.”
“I am in your large and all-embracing grasp,” replied Kai Lung. “Proceed to spread your golden counsel.”
“The implacable Ming-shu has deliberated with himself, and deeming it unlikely that you should a third time allure the imagination of the Mandarin Shan Tien by your art, he has ordered that you are again to be the first led out to judgment. On this occasion, however, he has prepared a cloud of witnesses who will, once they are given a voice, quickly overwhelm you in a flood of calumny.”
“Even a silver trumpet may not prevail above a score of brazen horns,” confessed the story-teller doubtfully. “Would it not be well to engage an even larger company who will outlast the first?”
“The effete Ming-shu has hired all there are,” replied Hwa-mei, with a curbing glance. “Nevertheless, do not despair. At a convenient hour a trusty hand will let fall a skin of wine at their assembling place. Their testimony, should any arrive, will entail some conflict.”
“I bow before the practical many-sidedness of your mind, enchanting one,” murmured Kai Lung, in deep-felt admiration.
“To-morrow, being the first of the Month of Gathering-in, will be one of Shan Tien’s lucky days,” continued the maiden, her look acknowledging the fitness of the compliment, but at the same time indicating that the moment was not a suitable one to pursue the detail further. “After holding court the Mandarin will accordingly proceed to hazard his accustomed stake upon the chances of certain of the competitors in the approaching examinations. His mind will thus be alertly watchful for a guiding omen. The rest should lie within your persuasive tongue.”
“The story of Lao Ting—” began Kai Lung.
“Enough,” replied Hwa-mei, listening to a distant sound. “Already has this one strayed beyond her appointed limit. May your virtuous cause prevail!”
With this auspicious message the maiden fled, leaving Kai Lung more than ever resolved to conduct the enterprise in a manner worthy of her high regard.
On the following day, at the appointed hour, Kai Lung was again led before the Mandarin Shan Tien. To the alert yet downcast gaze of the former person it seemed as if the usually inscrutable expression of that high official was not wholly stern as it moved in his direction. Ming-shu, on the contrary, disclosed all his voracious teeth without restraint.
“Calling himself Kai Lung,” began the detestable accuser, in a voice even more repulsive than its wont, “and claiming—”
“The name has a somewhat familiar echo,” interrupted the Fountain of Justice, with a genial interest in what was going on, rare in one of his exalted rank. “Have we not seen the ill-conditioned thing before?”
“He has tasted of your unutterable clemency in the past,” replied Ming-shu, “this being by no means his first appearance thus. Claiming to be a story-teller—”
“What,” demanded the enlightened law-giver with leisurely precision, “is a story-teller, and how is he defined?”
“A story-teller, Excellence,” replied the inscriber of his spoken word, with the concise manner of one who is not entirely grateful to another, “is one who tells stories. Having on—”
“The profession must be widely spread,” remarked the gracious administrator thoughtfully. “All those who supplicate in this very average court practise it to a more or less degree.”
“The prisoner,” continued the insufferable Ming-shu, so lost to true refinement that he did not even relax his dignity at a remark handed down as gravity-removing from times immemorial, “has already been charged and made his plea. It only remains, therefore, to call the witnesses and to condemn him.”
“The usual band appears to be more retiring than their custom is,” observed Shan Tien, looking around. “Their lack of punctual respect does not enlarge our sympathy towards their cause.”
“They are all hard-striving persons of studious or commercial habits,” replied Ming-shu, “and have doubtless become immersed in their various traffics.”
“Should the immersion referred to prove to be so deep—”
“A speedy messenger has already gone, but his returning footsteps tarry,” urged Ming-shu anxiously. “In this extremity, Excellence, I will myself—”
“High Excellence,” appealed Kai Lung, as soon as Ming-shu’s departing sandals were obscured to view, “out of the magnanimous condescension of your unworldly heart hear an added plea. Taught by the inoffensive example of that Lao Ting whose success in the literary competitions was brought about by a conjunction of miraculous omens—”
“Arrest the stream of your acknowledged oratory for a single breathing-space,” commanded the Mandarin dispassionately, yet at the same time unostentatiously studying a list that lay within his sleeve. “What was the auspicious name of the one of whom you spoke?”
“Lao Ting, exalted; to whom at various periods were subjoined those of Li, Tzu, Sun, Chu, Wang and Chin.”
“Assuredly. Your prayer for a fuller hearing will reach our lenient ears. In the meanwhile, in order to prove that the example upon which you base your claim is a worthy one, proceed to narrate so much of the story of Lao Ting as bears upon the means of his success.”