Chinese fables and folk stories

Man’s body is a perfect and wonderful thing. His hands are strong to do; his feet are strong to walk; his nose judges whether things are good to eat; his ears hear clearly; his eyes help him to see all the things of the world and to study books; his brain can think great [137]thoughts. And so we call the body of man a perfect thing.

But one day the different parts of man’s body quarreled among themselves about the work. Many complaints were brought against the stomach. The hands and feet said, “We work all day and yet we are nothing. Do you know whom we work for?”

The eyes said, “We find many chickens, fish, eggs, and much rice and tea for the stomach. He takes all and does no work for it. He does not even think. And though he never does anything for us, we are always working for him.”

Then they all agreed to refuse to work longer for the stomach. They said, “To-morrow we will tell the heart and have him judge1 who is to be blamed.”

So the next day the tongue told the brain about it, and the brain said, “I will see the judge to-night.”

When the heart heard the story he said, “Yes, you are right. If all of you lie down and refuse to help the stomach; if you do not give him any rice or meat for food, or any tea for drink, he will learn then that he can not live without you.” [138]

In a little time the stomach wanted food and said to the hands, “Give me a piece of fish, some rice, and a cup of tea.” The hands were quiet and said nothing.

Then the stomach said to the feet, “Will you go out and have Men-Yen bring me a bowl of chop-suey-meen?2 I am hungry.”

The feet answered, “No, sir, we will not work for you any more.” And they lay down.

The stomach cried for food, but all said, “We do not care; we will not work for him.”

After a while the eyes found they could not see well; and in the theater hall next door the drums drummed hard, but the ears could not hear. The heart-judge said, “How is it now with the stomach?” The brain answered, “We are not working for him, nor helping him any more, and I believe he is going to die. I fear that I, too, will die and that all the others will die. I do not believe we have done right in deserting the stomach. Do you not think it best to tell the feet to go out and bring the stomach some chop-suey-meen? If he had that, he might help us again. We shall all surely die unless we have his aid.”

But the unwise judge said, “Let him get his own food; let him do his work for himself.”

“He can not do that,” said the brain. “He lives in [139]a place with great walls around him, so he can not get out. The hands and the feet have always brought his food to him.”

The judge said, “Has he spoken about it to-day?”

And the brain answered, “No.”

So they agreed to leave the stomach to himself one day longer.

But that night they were all found dead together, for they could not live without each other.

This fable was told by the Chinese general, Tsii, to the Chinese emperor, about twelve hundred years ago. The emperor had been angry at a province of his own people and wished to send this general, with soldiers, to kill them. But the general would not go, and in his argument with the emperor he used this fable to illustrate his reasons for objection and to show the necessity of each part to all. This fable was translated into Japanese in 1891 and the Japanese have added the following Ee-sze (meaning):

The stomach means the emperor. The hands, eyes, feet, all parts of the body, represent the people. Again, the stomach is like a mother, the other parts being the children.

So each one of the people must do something for his [140]nation and Emperor. Each child must do something for the family and the mother. These things must be, if the nation is to be powerful, or if the family is to be strong and united.

[141]

One day a fox said to a crab, “Crawling thing, did you ever run in all your life?”

“Yes,” said the crab, “I run very often from the mud to the grass and back to the river.”

“Oh, shame,” said the fox, “that is no distance to run. How many feet and legs have you? I have only [142]four. Why, if I had as many feet as you have, I would run at least six times as fast as you do. Did you know that you are really a very slow, stupid creature? Though I have only four feet I run ten times as far as you do. I never heard of any one with so many feet as you have, running so slowly.”

The crab said, “Would you like to run a race with a stupid creature like me? I will try to run as fast as you. I know I am small, so suppose we go to the scales and see how much heavier you are. As you are ten times larger than I, of course you will have to run ten times faster.

“Another reason why you can run so fast is because you have such a fine tail and hold it so high. If you would allow me to put it down, I do not think you could run any faster than I.”

“Oh, very well,” said the fox, contemptuously, “do as you like, and still the race will be so easy for me that I will not even need to try. Your many legs and your stupid head do not go very well together. Now, if I had my sense and all of your legs, no creature in the forest could outrun me. As it is, there are none that can outwit me. I am known as the sharp-witted. Even man says, ‘Qui-kwat-wui-lai’ (sly as a fox). So do what you will, stupid one.”

“If you will let me tie your beautiful tail down so [143]it will stay,” said the crab, “I am sure I can win the race.”

“Oh, no, you can not,” said the fox. “But I will prove to even your stupid, slow brain that it will make no difference. Now, how do you wish that I should hold my tail?”

Said the crab, “If you will allow me to hang something on your tail to hold it down, I am sure you can not run faster than I.”

“Do as you like,” said the fox.

“Allow me to come nearer,” said the crab, “and when I have it fastened to your tail, I will say ‘Ready!’ Then you are to start.”

So the crab crawled behind and caught the fox’s tail with his pincers and said, “Ready!” The fox ran and ran until he was tired. And when he stopped, there was the crab beside him.

“Where are you now?” said the crab. “I thought you were to run ten times faster than I. You are not even ahead of me with all your boasting.”

The fox, panting for breath, hung his head in shame and went away where he might never see the crab again.

Ee-Sze (Meaning): A big, proud, boastful mouth is a worse thing for a man than it is for a fox. [144]

One day Mai-Qwai (Little Rose) ran home angry to her mother saying, “Mü-Tsing, I do not want my name to be Rose any longer. I was in Dun-Qure’s garden just now, and she asked me, ‘Which flower do you like best of all in our garden?’ and I said I liked my name-flower best. [145]

“Then they all laughed and said, ‘We do not. Do you not see the thorns on the roses? When we pass near we tear our dresses. When we touch them the blood flows from our hands. No, we do not like the roses. The baby cow does not like them either. They stick her nose when she tries to eat, and even mother can not pick them without scissors. Once when she had a large bunch of roses, little sister tried to get one and it stuck her hands and face so that she cried many hours. Other flowers do not make trouble like that, and we do not see why any one likes the rose best. We think it very foolish to like a trouble flower and be named for it.’

“I do not like my name-flower any more, Mü-Tsing, and I do not want to bear its name.”

“Do not cry, dear child,” said her mother, “and I will tell you some things about the rose. Do you like rose sugar?”1

“Yes, very much,” Rose answered, her face growing bright.

“And rose oil?”

“Oh, yes, Mü-Tsing.”

“I thought you did not like the rose. So you ought not to like the good things it makes.”

“But, Mü-Tsing, tell me why did the rose god make [146]the rose grow with so many thorns? Other flowers are not like that.”

“Listen, dear child. If the rose tree were like other trees and still had its beautiful flowers, I think we should never have any for ourselves. They would be too easily gathered. The rose god was very wise and put thorns all around his beautiful flower. When he made it, he gave it an odor so sweet that all the gods stopped working on the day it was finished. The thorns mean, Honor the rose which grows forever. The cows can not touch it, and the pigs never go near it, and careless children or wasteful people can not destroy it. Do you see, dear, why the rose must have thorns?”

The next morning Rose found in her room a beautiful new rose pillow made of the sweet-smelling petals. When she laid her head on this fragrant pillow she said, “Mü-Tsing, I do not wish to change my name.” [147]

Once a mother eagle had a nest with three eggs in it and she was very happy while waiting for her three children to come from the eggs. But one day, two schoolboys, named Jeung-Po and Hui-Yin, who knew of her nest, talked together and one of them said, [148]“Did you know that the eagle likes the rice birds?” And the other boy replied, “No, she does not, for I have seen her drive them away.”

But the one named Jeung-Po said, “Not only can I make an eagle like a rice bird, but I can make them change natures and live with each other.”

“You can not do that,” answered Hui-Yin.

“Will you give me a piece of silver if I can make the eagle like the rice birds and take them as friends?”

And Hui-Yin said, “Yes, I will give you a piece of silver if you do that, but I know you can not.” And so they clapped hands.1

So Jeung-Po went his way hunting, hunting many birds, until finally he found a rice bird’s nest with five eggs in it. He took three of the eggs and put them in the mother eagle’s nest and then he took the three eggs from the eagle’s nest to the nest of the rice bird.

In twenty-five days the eagle’s nest had three baby birds in it and Jeung-Po was glad. One day he heard the mother eagle saying to her three babies:

“I do not know why your feathers are not as mine, and your voices are so different and you are such very little things. I will go and ask my oldest son to come [149]here to-morrow, and see if he can tell me why you are so.”

On the next day the eagle’s son came to visit his mother, and he said, “Ah-Ma, I am glad to see my three little brothers, but their faces are not like yours or mine.”

“I know that what you say is true,” said the eagle mother. “I wished you to come, so that we might talk of this strange thing. You are my child, and they are mine, but they are not like you and me.”

“I will see what they eat,” said the eagle son. Then he gave them a piece of meat, but they could not eat it.

“They want rice all the time,” the eagle mother told him. “They will not eat meat.” The mystery was so great that the eagles could not understand.

Soon the strange nestlings were flying with the eagle mother. One day she took them to a pleasant place to play, and on their way home they passed a rice bird who called to them. The mother eagle said, “Do not go with him. Come with me.” But the little ones would not listen. And when the rice bird said, “Chi-Chi,” and flew down to a rice field, the three little ones left the eagle mother and went with the rice bird.

The eagle mother called many times, but her strange children would not come to her. Then she said to the [150]rice bird, “Why did my children follow your call and not mine? How did you teach them in one breath what I have not been able to teach them in all their lives?”

And the rice-bird father said, “They are not your children. They belong to the rice-bird mother. She is coming now; see for yourself.”

Soon sixteen rice birds flew near and the eagle mother saw that they were all like her children. The rice bird said, “You see, it is as I told you.”

“But they must be my children,” said the eagle mother. “I can not understand this, for I never had children like them before. My other children were like me and they never behaved in this way. But I will take them home again and feed them, and when they grow older they may become like me and the others of my family.”

“It will never be so,” said the rice bird. “I am sure of that. You need not hope that these children will ever be eagles. You see they do not eat meat, they eat rice. They know the rice bird’s call without being taught. They do not speak the same dialect that you speak, nor sing the same songs. They are surely rice birds and you can not keep them longer in your home.”

The eagle mother tried again and again to call her children and they only said, “Chic, chic,” which meant [151]that they would not come. She waited long, but they refused to go with her. Then she chided the rice birds and said, “You are a bad company, and you have tempted my children to join you. Why do you not tell them to come home with me, their mother? If you do not cease your evil actions, I shall eat you or drive you away.”

The eagle mother flew away alone to the mountain, and she sat on a great rock and waited long for her children to come home.

The night came, but her little ones did not return. In her heart the eagle mother knew they were lost to her. All the dark night she cried aloud in her grief. In the morning she hunted long, but she could not find them. She said to herself:

“This is a strange and dreadful thing that has come to me. I remember that I once heard a quarrel-bird say that some of her children had left her in this same way, and she believed some bad boy had changed her eggs. For she had six yellow children in her nest, and when they could fly they went away with the yellow song birds. She found her own children one day in a camphor tree. I wish that I might find my own children.”

Just then she met the quarrel-bird mother, and she asked her, “How did you find your own children?” [152]

And the quarrel-bird mother said, “I was passing by the camphor tree when I saw the little ones alone, and I asked, ‘What are you doing here?’ And they said, ‘Eating nuts!’

“ ‘Do you like nuts?’ I asked.

“ ‘Oh yes, very well.’

“ ‘Where did you come from?’ I said.

“ ‘We came from the yellow-bird family.’

“ ‘But you do not look like the yellow birds.’

“ ‘No, and we did not talk nor eat as they did.’

“ ‘Where is your home now?’

“ ‘We have no home.’

“ ‘Why do you not live with the yellow-bird mother?’

“ ‘We were not happy there. The others do not eat nor drink, nor sing as we do. We are not fond of them, nor they of us.’

“ ‘You are like me and mine,’ I told them. And we looked at each other and saw the same feathers and the same color. Then they asked me where my home was and I told them under a rock of the Wu-Toa Mountain. So they went with me, and my house and my food were pleasant to them. In some way—though we could not tell how—we knew in our hearts that we belonged to each other. And we were happy, happy.”

The eagle mother thought long about the story of the quarrel-bird, and the next morning she left her nest [153]early and went to the wilderness to seek her lost children. On the way, she met a cousin eagle who asked her, “Why are you crying and crying?”

The eagle mother answered and said, “I have lost three children. Have you seen any—lost in the wilderness? I could not sleep all last night, for a great trouble has come to me.”

The eagle cousin said, “I saw three eagle children pass here. They went to the Fah-Nim tree and ate of its fruit. They were playing there, and seemed to be happy.”

The eagle mother went to the Fah-Nim tree and saw three little eagles; and she said, “Children, how did you come here?”

The little eagles answered her, “We are not your children. Why do you call us? We have had no mother since we were born. The rice bird left us when we were small. She said we were not her children. Then an eagle came along and gave us food until we could fly.”

The eagle mother said, “You look like my older children, and I believe you are mine. Would you like to go with me and see our home?”

Then the little eagles talked together and said, “She is very kind to us. Of course we do not know her, but we might go and see her home.” [154]

So they went, and in that eagle mother’s house, they soon knew her for their mother and she knew her own children.

And Jeung-Po lost the money, for it was proved that he could not change nature. Each bird went back to its own kind. The eagle is always an eagle, and the rice bird is always a rice bird.

Ee-Sze (Meaning): The good can not stay with the evil; light can not be changed into darkness, nor darkness into light. White is always white and black is always black. The rice bird is always a rice bird and the eagle is always an eagle. Each is according to his own nature and kind. Man need not try to change those things which the Creator made changeless. [155]

Woo-Hsing lived near the market place and all the children thought him a very wonderful man. He trained fine dogs to do almost everything but talk. If one wanted a dog educated, Woo-Hsing was the man to take him to. Whether for hunting, for performing [156]tricks in public places or from door to door—anything, all things, Woo-Hsing could teach his dogs. This is why the children thought him a wonderful man.

It came time for Woo-Hsing’s little boy to learn how to teach dogs. So one day he brought his son a very young one from the market place. Then he told him how the dog should be taught. It would take three years to teach him all: to play soldier with a gun, to dance, to bow his head, to kneel, to play churn the rice,1 to swim in water with a boy on his back, or to take a basket and go from door to door and beg rice and money for his master. Even then his training was not complete until he could hunt the fox, the gibbon, the mouse-deer, and other animals.

Woo-Hsing’s little boy had been named Yiong-Yueng, which in Chinese means “Forever.” The reason for the name was this: Woo-Hsing had been given many sons, but they had all died young, so when the last one came he named him Forever, for he said, “He will then live a long time and I shall not be childless.”

Yiong-Yueng called his dog Hsi-Long, which means “for fun.” He was a very wise dog and learned so [157]many tricks in a short time, that he was known and admired by all the boys in the country around.

One day a crowd of children coming home from school met Hsi-Long in the road. They all shouted, “Here is Yiong-Yueng’s dog. Now we will have some fun and make him do all his tricks for us.”

So one boy said, “Here, Hsi-Long! Come here,” but the dog would not even notice him. Then another boy pulled his tail because he would not obey; and Hsi-Long bit the boy’s finger and growled, and the boy ran home crying.

Another boy said, “Now see me. I will make him take me on his back for a swim in the water as he takes Yiong-Yueng;” and he caught Hsi-Long roughly and tried to pull him in the water. But the dog pulled his clothes and growled so fiercely that the boys scattered and ran home.

One of the boys, Ah-Gum, told his mother what had happened, and how angry they all were at the dog, who needed a beating, as they thought. “When Yiong-Yueng has visitors, Hsi-Long kneels and bows and does all his tricks for him; why would he not do them for us, Ah-Ma? How can we make him do the tricks for us?”

“Well, my son,” said his mother, “you wanted the dog to do many things for you. Have you ever done [158]anything for the dog? You are a stranger to him. Did you ever give him anything to eat or drink?

“Try this,” continued the mother. “To-morrow, take a bowl of rice, put a little meat and gravy with it, and give it to the dog. Speak kindly to him and pet him. Do this two or three times and he will surely like and trust you. Then he will do for you all he knows how to do.

“You will find people in the world are just the same, my son. Do not expect people to do things for you when you do nothing for them, for that is not right. You must give, if you expect to receive, and it is better to give first.” [159]

The Kwung-Lun Mountain is very high—ten thousand feet or more. Most of the time his head is covered with the clouds and, since he was born, no man has ever found the way to climb where he might look in the face [160]of the great Kwung-Lun. And the eagles and the San-Chi1 birds live always with him.

One day Kwung-Lun spoke to the Tai-San Mountain who lived near, and said, “I am the highest mountain in the world. I am the steepest and most honorable of all the mountains here. The farmers come to me; from the morning until the evening sun they come and cut the great rocks from my base. And from the earliest light, until the darkness gathers about my head, the birds sing for me. I have the San-Chi birds. They wear the most beautiful feather in the world. It shines in the sun and has a different glory for the moon. Man gives more gold for this than for any other feather that is on the earth. The San-Chi is mine. I feed him and he lives always with me.

“Yesterday, a teacher and his scholars came here and I heard him tell them this story about Confucius:—

“ ‘One day, Confucius was talking to the young King Loa-Bai, and he asked the king, “Have you ever been to the Kwung-Lun Mountain?” And the [161]king answered, “No.” Then Confucius showed him a beautiful fan made of feathers from the San-Chi birds. “Did you ever see feathers like these?” he asked.

“ ‘ “I am a king and I have seen many things,” said the young king, “but never have I beheld colors of such wondrous beauty. I will give you one thousand pieces of silver if you will bring me a fan like this one.”

“ ‘And Confucius answered, “If I can persuade you to do one thing that I desire greatly I will give you the fan, for I should not like to sell it. I could not well take silver in exchange for it, as it was given to my honored ancestor, my great-great-grandfather. But as I have said, if you will take my advice concerning a certain matter, you shall have the fan.”

“ ‘ “I will be advised by you,” said the young king. “What do you wish me to do?”

“ ‘ “You are a king2 of great strength,” said Confucius. “You have more soldiers than any other king. But if you were a lion, you would not kill all the other animals in the wilderness to show your great strength. Or, if you were the greatest fish in the waters, you would not swallow all the weaker fish.” [162]

“ ‘The young king answered, “No, I would not! If I were a lion, I would let all the weaker creatures dance before me in happiness and safety.”

“ ‘ “You are a strong, great king,” said Confucius. “Other kingdoms are weaker than your own. Their kings do not wish to fight, unless they must. If you will take my advice and will not force them to war for six years, you shall have many gifts from these kingdoms. You shall have this wonderful fan made of the feathers from one hundred and twenty San-Chi birds, and gold and ivory, with beautiful carving; and you shall have gems of many colors and battle-horses and bears’ feet.3 If you will be advised by me, the other nations will give you these things.”

“ ‘ “How soon shall I have these things?” the young king asked.

“ ‘ “In one year,” Confucius replied, “you shall have them. I must have time to go again to the rulers of these kingdoms.”

“ ‘So the king agreed to do as Confucius desired; and Confucius said, “I now give you my fan, and if in one year it is as I say, the fan is yours. But if you begin warring with any other nation in that time, you must return the gift to me.”

“ ‘Then Confucius went to see the rulers of the [163]weaker kingdoms, and four gave promises of peace and sent gifts to the young king. But one of the kings would not give tribute, neither would he say when he would begin war.

“ ‘When a year had almost passed, the young king reported to Confucius, “Four kings only have sent me gifts. Does the other nation wish war, or will its king send me a gift as the others have done?”

“ ‘ “Will you not take my fan as a gift from me, and let the small weak nation go?” said Confucius.

“ ‘Then the king became very angry. He tore his long robe and said, “I will swallow up the nation that is my enemy. We will have war now.”

“ ‘ “The year of your promise is not yet gone,” said Confucius. “If you do that, you must return the priceless fan.” And the young king gave Confucius his fan and went away.

“ ‘The king gave his general the order to make ready for war. But in a few hours he repented of what he had done, for he prized the fan of Confucius above all gold or jewels, and he ordered his general to cease preparing for battle. And he further ordered that a Jeh-Shung—good talker—be sent with this message to Confucius.

“ ‘ “I, the king, am sick at heart. I wish you to come to me and bring with you the fan which I prize [164]above all gems. I will not battle with the weaker kingdom.”

“ ‘ “I have important work and can not come to-day,” answered Confucius, “but in one more day I will see the king.”

“ ‘Then the king was very happy again, for his heart was set on possessing the fan.

“ ‘When the next day came, the king sent the most honorable chair (carried by eight men), and went himself to meet Confucius, who held in his hand the priceless fan, for well he knew the heart of the young king.

“ ‘And when he drew near, the king could not see Confucius. He saw only the sparkling colors of the fan he so desired. And Confucius said, “I thought you were going to destroy the weaker nation. Why do you wish me to come here?”

“ ‘Then the king bowed to Confucius and said, “I am in the wrong. I have thought deeply about this, and I will take your advice and keep peace. Now, will you give me the fan?”

“ ‘ “No, you are not to have the fan on the agreement which you broke, for when you sent me away you prepared to make war on the weaker nation,” said Confucius.

“ ‘And the young King fell with his face to the ground and his attendants came to care for him. [165]

“ ‘ “If you will make a new agreement,” said Confucius, “and promise that you will never be the first to go to war, I will give you this fan that you so desire.”

“ ‘The young king made the agreement. And the fan was given him by Confucius. And the king said to himself, “This fan is more than many kingdoms to me. In all the world of man, there is nothing else so beautiful. My heart has desired above all things this wonderful fan of the San-Chi feathers and the rare carving.” ’ ”

When the Kwung-Lun Mountain had told this story to the Tai-San Mountain, he said, “Although I have the San-Chi birds, the most beautiful of all creation, yet it is to me a strange thing that a thousand and a thousand people bow their heads and worship you, while I stand here and am hardly noticed.

“You give no great thing to the people. You have no beauty. You are not tall and grand. Your head is not higher than the clouds. You can not see the dark and secret caves of the thunder, and the hidden places of the beginning of the storm. You never gave feathers, more beautiful even than flowers, to a king. Why do the people worship you instead of me? The hunter [166]comes to me and the farmer takes my stones, but they forget me, the giver. Now, tell me truly, why do people love and worship you instead of me?”

And the Tai-San Mountain answered, “I will tell you why. You are very haughty. You are stiff and stony and proud, from your base to your summit. Your nature is not kind. The children can not play in your lap. In the summer time when the people come for the fruit and grain harvest, you give them nothing; and they can not come to you to choose the San-Da. It hurts their feet to walk among your rocks and stones. No one can visit you. You do not welcome them. How can they worship you?

“I am lower and of a gentler nature. The birds come to me to make their nests, and people always gather about me in the summer time. My heart is open and every one knows me well and loves me.”

Ee-Sze (Meaning): The proud and the gentle live in the world together. But the gentle and loving have happiness that the proud can not understand. [167]