“Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never appeased; injury returns upon him who injures, and sharp words recoil against him who says them.”
The poet triumphed, and his oath was accomplished. Buskined as he desired, he mounted the platform on the carpet and seated himself on the cushion, while Yang stood at his side and rubbed the ink. Of a truth, the disparity was great between an ink-grinder and the magnate who counselled the Emperor. But why did the poet sit while the premier stood like a servant at his side? It was because Lí was the organ of the monarch’s words, while Yang, reduced to act the part of an ink-rubber, could not request permission to sit. With one hand Lí stroked his beard, and seizing his pencil in the other, applied it to the paper, which was soon covered with strange characters, well turned and even without a fault or rasure, and then laid it upon the dragon’s table. The Emperor gazed at it in amaze, for it was identical with that of the barbarians; not a character in it resembled the Chinese; and as he handed it about among the nobles, their surprise was great. When requested to read it, Lí, placed before the throne, read in a clear loud tone the answer to the strangers:
“The mighty Emperor of the Tang dynasty, whose reign is called Kiayuen, sends his instructions to Ko To of the Po Hai.
“From ancient times the rock and the egg have not hit each other, nor the serpent and dragon made war. Our dynasty, favored by fate, extends its power, and reigns even to the four seas; it has under its orders brave generals and tried soldiers, solid bucklers and glittering swords. Your neighbor, King Hiehlí, who refused our alliance, was taken prisoner; but the people of Putsau, after offering a present of a metal bird, took an oath of obedience.
“The Sinlo, at the southern end of Corea, have sent us praises written on the finest tissues of silk; Persia, serpents which can catch rats; India, birds that can speak; and Rome, dogs which lead horses, holding a lantern in their mouth; the white parrot is a present from the kingdom of Koling, the carbuncle which illumines the night comes from Cambodia, and famous horses are sent by the tribe of Kolí, while precious vases are brought from Níal: in short, there is not a nation which does not respect our imposing power, and does not testify their regard for the virtue which distinguishes us. Corea alone resisted the will of Heaven, but the divine vengeance has fallen heavily upon it, and a kingdom which reckoned nine centuries of duration was overthrown as in a morning. Why, then, do you not profit by the terrible prognostics Heaven vouchsafes you as examples? Would it not evince your sagacity?
“Moreover, your little country, situated beyond the peninsula, is little more than as a province of Corea, or as a principality to the Celestial Empire; your resources in men and horses are not a millionth part those of China. You are like a chafed locust trying to stop a chariot, like a stiff-necked goose which will not submit. Under the arms of our warriors your blood will run a thousand lí. You, prince, resemble that audacious one who refused our alliance, and whose kingdom became annexed to Corea. The designs of our sage Emperor are vast as the ocean, and he now bears with your culpable and unreasonable conduct; but hasten to prevent misfortune by repentance, and cheerfully pay the tribute of each year, and you will prevent the shame and opprobrium which will cover you and expose you to the ridicule of your neighbors. Reflect thrice on these instructions.”
The reading of this answer filled the Emperor with joy, who ordered Lí to make known its contents to the ambassadors; he then sealed it with the imperial seal. The poet called Kao to put on the boots which he had taken off, and he then returned to the palace of Golden Bells to inform the envoys concerning his sovereign’s orders, reading the letter to them in a loud tone, while they heard tremblingly. The academician Ho reconducted them to the gates of the capital, and there the ambassadors asked who it was who had read the imperial instructions. “He is called Lí, and has the title of Doctor of the Hanlin.” “But among so many dignitaries, why did the first Minister of State rub his ink, and the general of the guards lace up his buskins?” “Hear,” added Ho; “those two personages are indeed intimate ministers of his Majesty, but they are only noble courtiers who do not transcend common humanity, while Doctor Lí, on the contrary, is an immortal descended from heaven on the earth to aid the sovereign of the Celestial Empire. How can any one equal him?” The ambassadors bowed the head and departed, and on their return rendered an account of their mission to their sovereign. On reading the answer of Lí, the Ko To was terrified, and deliberated with his counsellors: “The Celestial Empire is upheld by an immortal descended from the skies! Is it possible to attack it?” He thereupon wrote a letter of submission, testifying his desire to send tribute each year, which was thenceforth allowed.
Lí Tai-peh afterward drowned himself from fear of the machinations of his enemies, exclaiming, as he leaped into the water, “I’m going to catch the moon in the midst of the sea!”
The poetry of the Chinese has been investigated by Sir John Davis, and the republication of his first paper in an enlarged form in 1870, with the versification of Legge’s translations of the Shí King by his nephew, and two volumes of various pieces by Stent, have altogether given a good variety.[338] Davis explains the principles of Chinese rhythm, touches upon the tones, notices the parallelisms, and distinguishes the various kinds of verse, all in a scholarly manner. The whole subject, however, still awaits more thorough treatment. Artificial poetry, where the sound and jingle is regarded more than the sense, is not uncommon; the great number of characters having the same sound enables versifiers to do this with greater facility than is possible in other languages, and to the serious degradation of all high sentiment. The absence of inflections in the words cripples the easy flow of sounds to which our ears are familiar, but renders such lines as the following more spirited to the eye which sees the characters than to the ear which hears them: