Private fisheries, with some few exceptions such as the Imperial preserves, apparently were not allowed, or seem not to have existed. All waters were free and open to all citizens of ancient China. In modern times fishing belongs to the State, and licenses to fish, which are strictly limited in each canton, are obligatory. District magistrates are bound to care for and police the rivers: to put down fry in suitable streams: to enforce the laws, especially those dealing with a close time, and to permit no cutting of weeds in the waters during the spawning season.[1149]
The Emperors, especially the earlier Emperors, were keen all-round sportsmen,[1150] but especially zealous disciples of the craft of Angling. Like all good fishermen, they rejoiced in having themselves or sharing with their friends a good day. Sometimes their keen hospitality made them entirely forget, or turn a blind eye on their own ordinances. Even fear of the wardens attached to the Imperial Court, to whom was entrusted (according to the Chou Li) “the fishing appropriate to each season,” served not at times to stay their ardour.
Fortunately they were saved from themselves and from breaches of the law, as Mr. Werner shows in a sentence, which in manner and “superior man” strangely recalls Sandford and Merton, and Mr. Barlow. “It appears from edifying anecdotes that the pleasures of the chase, etc., were a snare to the Chinese monarchs, but they were seldom left without some superior man to keep before them the moral ideas of earlier days.”
That such was the case some 3000 years ago the story of one of the Chou Dynasty demonstrates. He was anxious in the extreme to go a-fishing with the Empress. None of his courtiers and none of his laws could deter him, although it was the fourth moon, when fish are spawning.
At last his great minister, Tchang-sy-pe, flung himself at the Imperial feet, implored him not to violate one of the most essential laws of the realm, and so set an example which, if followed generally, would destroy one of “the commonest and amplest staples of food.” The “superior man” succeeded. The Emperor, struck by Tchang’s reasoning, and perhaps by the enormity of his wrong-doing, immediately called the party off.
Another “superior man” later on saves the situation, and his monarch, also one of the Chou Dynasty.
This time we have no excuse of hospitality, no fair Empress before whose eyes our angler, as Antony with Cleopatra, wanted to display his prowess, or a new cast. No! he was “merely amusing himself”—think of the crime!—“by fishing in one of the Palace lakes.”
But alas! ’twas the fifth moon, when fishes were still busy breeding the nation’s common and ample staple of food. The line raised for a fresh throw was suddenly cut by the Viceroy, Ly-Ke. “What the deuce are you doing?” thundered the Emperor, aghast at the audacity of the act. “My duty,” quietly answered Ly-Ke. “All must obey the laws which you have bidden me enforce.”
The voice is the voice of Ly-Ke, but the sentence and sentiment smack of Mr. Barlow! Such, however, is the power of the “superior man,” that the contrite autocrat not only bestowed a present on the intrepid Atropos who shore his line, but commanded that its severed bits should hang for all to see in the ante-chamber of the Palace, as a warning to future ages.[1151]
Whether in ancient China a fish-god, such as Ebisu in Japan,[1152] or fish-gods existed, I have not ascertained, but in our day the fishermen on the southern coasts celebrate in spring or autumn a festival to propitiate the gods of the waters. An immense display of lanterns lights the path for a huge dragon, made out of slender bamboo frames covered with strips of coloured cotton or silk: the extremities represent his gaping head and frisking tail. The monster, symbolising the ruler of the watery deep, is preceded by huge models of fish gorgeously illuminated.[1153]