LEGENDS OF THE IMMORTALS
According to Chinese authors

by Louis LALOY (1874-1944)

Original Title:
LÉGENDES DES IMMORTELS
D’après les auteurs chinois

Society of Thirty, Albert Messein, publisher, Paris, 1922.

First English translation 2025

Published in Peach Blossom Grotto, Penglai

About the Author:

Louis Laloy was a brilliant musicologist and sinologist. He was fluent in eight languages. He lectured on Ancient China and on Classical Music at the Sorbonne and at the Paris Conservatory. He was Secretary General of the Paris Opera, wrote several opera librettos, and was a friend of Debussy. He was the author of many excellent books, most of which have not yet been translated into English.

A Note on the cover illustration:

The Eight Immortals crossing the sea, on their way to the Celestial Isle of Penglai.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface

I. — Lao-tze

II. — Emperor Hoang-ti

III. — King Muh and the Queen of the West

IV. — Tchang Tao-ling, first pope of the Taoist church

V. — Liu Tong-pin or the Eight Immortals

VI. — Li T’ieh-koai

VII. — Tchong-li Kiuen

VIII. — Tsao Kouo-kiou

IX. — Lan Tsai-houo

X. — Chang-kouo

XI. — Han Siang-tze

XII. — Ho Sien-kou the Immortal

XIII. — Toung-fang Chouoh

XIV. — Liu-tchen and Yuen-tchao

XV. — Fei Tchang-fang

XVI. — Tsouo-ts’eu

XVII. — Pei-hang

XVIII. — Ma-kou the Immortal

XIX. — Relativity

XX. — The Simple Man of the Mountain and the Sage of the River

XXI. — The Benefactors

XXII. — Death

XXIII. — The Old Fisherman

PREFACE

Belief in Immortals belongs to the Taoist religion. By etymology, the Chinese name for the Immortals, Sien, designates only the Men of the mountains, the hermits who have withdrawn into the wildest solitude to exercise their minds in meditation and prayer, their bodies in the rigors of discipline and macerations. Immortality is the reward of this kind of life; hence the meaning that the word took on very early, and which was then extended to men who obtained immortality by other means, and even to immortals who are not of human essence.

Taoism is the religion of the Way, in Chinese Tao. Virtue, which is conduct in accordance with the Way, is called Teh. The fundamental text of Taoism is the Sacred Book of the Way and Virtue, Tao teh king, attributed to Lao-tze, which begins thus:

“The way that can be traced is not the immutable way; the name that can be spoken is not the immutable name.

The Tao Teh Ching, which has been translated several times in the principal languages of Europe, is undoubtedly an apocryphal work, at least in the form that we know it. But other documents, in particular the writings of the philosopher Tchoang-tze, who lived at the end of the 4th century BC, and the testimony of the historian Sse-ma Ts’ien, who wrote his Annals in the last years of the 1st century BC, do not allow us to doubt that this collection of sentences expresses the thought of the founder of the doctrine, nor that this doctrine was formed around the time of Confucius, which is the second half of the 6th century BC.

Taoism opposes and combats Confucianism. But it relies like it on the dogma, familiar since the most ancient times to Chinese thought, of the opposition of the two principles, the yang and the yin, the masculine and the feminine, the positive and the negative. It is not without interest to note that modern physics returns to this opposition when it wants to explain the constitution of matter by the reciprocal action of electric atoms, some positive, others negative, which we call electrons.

Confucianism, concerned with practical results, does not attempt to resolve this opposition, only to regulate it. Taoism seeks a higher unity, and this is the Way. By a critique that anticipates and surpasses that of Kant, it brings into the categories of understanding, by denying them any intrinsic reality, the qualities capable of being affirmed or denied. The Way is the Unknowable that perpetually operates the synthesis of all contradictions, among which Taoism ranks that of the finite and the infinite, of existence and non-existence. This is why it knows only the notion of immortality, not that of eternity. Death is a change; immortality is the apparent absence of this change. Eternity is only a word. This is also why, taking the opposite view of the ontological argument that illustrated the name of Saint Anselm in Europe, the Taoists make existence not a perfection but an imperfection. They have the same judgment about non-existence, and absorption into nothingness, the nirvana of the Buddhists, is still in their eyes a particular action, therefore incomplete and illusory.

Here we come to the confines of human reason, where language loses its rights. Thus the Taoists willingly call their doctrine “the doctrine without words”, just as their morality, which prescribes no other obligation than to devote oneself to the Way, is a “morality without action”. But truths too sublime to admit of rigorous definition must be evoked by images and suggested by comparisons. No doctrine is richer than Taoism in parables, apologues, legends, and some of its philosophers, like Tchoang-tze and his contemporary Lieh-tze, are worthy, although they write in prose, of being compared to the great poets not only of China, but of humanity.

Taoism is a doctrine of initiates. It gave to China, through a natural development, its mystics, its occultists, its alchemists and its magicians. But its influence, comparable to that of the mysteries in ancient Greece, only stronger, has extended far beyond the retreats of the sages, which were later succeeded by temples and monasteries. The myths of Taoism have exercised until our days such a powerful attraction on all the poets and artists of China, that it is impossible to arrive at the understanding of their works without some knowledge of the legends which give this marvelous flight to their imagination.

The collection presented here to the French reader contains only the main ones of these legends, those to which allusion is constantly made throughout the poems as well as in the paintings, sculptures, compositions which decorate luxury vases and more familiar objects, screens, cabinet panels, snuff boxes, incense burners, series of plates, tea services. Who would not take pleasure in recognizing Lao-tze on his ox, King Muh on his chariot, the Eight Immortals equipped with the instruments of their miracles, or the magic peach tree which almost proved fatal to a disciple of Tchang Tao-ling?

The works consulted are two collections, hagiographic works entitled Liehsien tchouen, Lives of the Immortals, and Chen sien tchouen, Lives of the Divine Immortals, the works of Lieh-tze and Tchoang-tze; some details have been provided by the Annals of Sse-ma Tsien, the Life of the Emperor Muh, Mouh t’ien-tze tchouen, and the apocryphal book attributed to the Emperor Hoang-ti, Hoang-ti nei king.

Of all these works, only the Annals of Sse-ma Ts’ien have been translated into French by the late Édouard Chavannes. There are two English translations of Tchoang-tze, and one translation, into the same language, of excerpts from Lieh-tze. The other works have never been translated into any European language.

I

LAO-TZE

Lao-tze is the Prince of Supreme Greatness. In several eras he had already taken form, without these incarnations having left any traces, when under the Chang dynasty, in the year fourteen hundred and two before the Christian era, he realized his essence once more and descended into the womb of a woman. After eighty-one years, on the fifteenth day of the second month of the year thirteen hundred and twenty-one, he was born in a village in the kingdom of Chu. He came out of his mother’s left side, at the foot of a plum tree, and pointing to the tree, he pronounced:

— This one will give me my name.

Indeed, his family name was Li, which means plum tree. His nickname, Lao-tze, means the Old Man: from the moment of his birth, he had white hair and a yellow face. He first held public functions: he was keeper of the archives under King Wen, historiographer under King Wou, of the Zhou dynasty, in the 12th century BC. It was then that he undertook great journeys, visiting Persia, India, and other countries, under the name of Doctor Kou (the Elder). He instructed these nations, and in the time of King K’ang (1078-1052) returned to China where he resumed his duties as historiographer. He set out again during the reign of King Chao, in the year 129. His chariot was drawn by a blue ox. He thus reached the Han-kou pass, on the borders of the kingdom.

The governor of the pass was named Yin-hi. He was a good man who from his youth loved study and hid his virtue. A few years before, as he was observing the sky, he had seen from the east a violet vapor which was gaining towards the west; he recognized by this sign that a holy man was going to cross the border of the kingdom in the direction of the west, and it was then that he had asked for the employment of governor of the Han-kou pass, which was granted to him. As soon as he arrived, he warned the head of the detachment that if he saw a man of extraordinary appearance coming, he should not give him passage. In execution of this instruction, the chief came one day to tell the governor that an old man was there, on a white chariot pulled by a blue ox.

—On this day, cried Yin-hi, I will be given to see a holy man!

Having put on his court costume, he went out, and prostrating himself before the old man:

— I would like, he said to him, to retain your Divinity a little.

But the other answered:

—I am only a poor old man; I live to the east of the pass and my field is to the west. I am going to bring in my hay. For what reason should I have the honor of being detained here?

He was not convinced, and prostrating himself again, he said:

—I have known for a long time that a great saint is coming, heading west. After so many days of weariness, I wish to give your Divinity a little rest.

—This door opens the way to India, where a doctor named Kou lives. That’s why I set out and present myself to your pass. Why hold me back any longer?

—My eyes do not deceive me. I contemplate the extraordinary beauty of a great saint who must have an eminent rank in heaven, I cannot believe that he set out to see one of these barbarians who prowl near our borders.

Lao-tze, ceasing to deceive him, simply said:

— How did you recognize me?

— Last winter, in the month of December, the stars moved westward at the solstice. On the first day of this month a warm wind rose three times; from the direction of the east a vapor formed which had the appearance of a dragon or a serpent and was moving towards the west. These are certain signs.

Lao-tze smiled contentedly and said:

—That’s good. You know me, and I already know you too.

Hi then had a throne erected for him and food presented in his dwelling; he performed the rites of discipleship. Lao-tze remained for him before the pass for more than a hundred days. He communicated to him all the rules for internal and external exercise.

Lao-tze then had as his chariot driver a certain Siu-kia, who had entered his service at a young age, at the rate of one hundred sapèques a day. When they set out for the pass, he was owed seven million three hundred thousand sapèques. Siu-kia, seeing that his master was renouncing public functions and going abroad, hastened to claim his due.

“We are going,” replied Lao-tze, “to visit the kingdoms of the western sea. On our return, I will pay you a fair price in fine gold.”

Siu-kia undertook, on the faith of this promise, not to leave him. When they stopped in front of the pass, he had unharnessed the ox to lead it to the pasture. Lao-tze then wanted to put him to the test: with favorable herbs he made a beautiful young girl who advanced to the side where the ox was grazing. She knew how to please Siu-kia, who to stay with her went to find the governor of the pass, before whom he filed a complaint against his master and demanded immediate payment.

—What! said Lao-tze. For two hundred years you have been attached to me; you would have died long ago, without the talisman I gave you. How did you not think of it before filing a complaint against me?

At the same moment, the talisman fell from Siu-kia’s mouth, leaving him before them nothing but a pile of bleached bones. But Hi interceded on his behalf, and Lao-tze, by the virtue of the talisman, brought him back to life.

When a hundred days had passed, Lao-tze said to Hi:

—This Doctor Kou I spoke to you about is myself, incarnate on the edge of the West. The time has come to bring my soul back to the regions of the Ineffable. I am going to leave this world.

Hi begged him to take him with him:

—I sail, replied Lao-tze, outside of heaven and earth, I find my joy among the darkness of mystery, I come and go to the ends of the universe, I ascend and descend to infinity. You who want to follow me, how would you achieve it?

—Leaping into the fire and hurling myself into the abyss, lowering myself to the earth and rising up to the sky, turning my body into ashes and annihilating life, I want to follow you, O great Immortal!

— It is certain that your physical matter is well ordered and that you live in accordance with the supreme Way. However, this agreement is not yet constant; it changes from day to day. This is why you could not yet travel through all the kingdoms of the universe in your transformations.

Then he gave him the book of the Way and Virtue, which contains five thousand words, and arranged to meet him, after a thousand days had passed, in the land of Chou, at the green sheep market. He had barely finished speaking when Hi saw him, sitting on the edge of a cloud, slowly rising into space, surrounded by a brilliant light. He had disappeared and his disciple was still looking for him, piercing with his gaze the mist and vapor of the sky. Then he bowed his head and wept bitterly.

Three years later, in the year one thousand twenty-four, Hi, who had resigned his charge, left his home and set out towards the west, to look for the green sheep market in the land of Chou. He inquired everywhere, and no one could give him any information, when one morning, near the market of a village, he saw a little servant who was taking a sheep, he stopped him:

—Whose sheep is this whose fleece is the color of green gold? And where are you taking it?

—My mistress has a little child who likes to play with this sheep. He had run away two days ago, and the child wouldn’t stop crying. I have just found him, and I am hurrying to bring him back.

Hi, all moved, said to him:

— I’ll follow you.

When they arrived in front of the house, the little servant entered and announced a visitor. Immediately the child was seen to arrange her little dress properly, and stand up, saying:

— Bring in Lord Hi.

As soon as Hi entered, the walls of the house parted, the roof rose, and a throne made of lotus flowers rose from the ground. The child had grown into a tall man, the color of white gold. He shone like the sun, and on the back of his neck rested a halo of light. He took possession of the lotus flower throne, while all the bystanders trembled, and pronounced:

— I am Lao-tze. The Great Mystery is my home. True Unity is my substance. This sheep you see near me, whose fleece is the color of green gold, is a celestial dragon to whom I gave this form. This man is my friend. Two friends meet again. Why should you be afraid?

Hi, at the height of happiness, bowed his head and managed to whisper:

—I never thought I’d see your heavenly brow again.

Lao-tze answered him:

—If I left you on earth last time, it is because you were still only at the beginning of sacred knowledge and could not fulfill your merit. But today, through exercise and trial, you have attained the true Mystery. Your heart is knotted in the purple network, your face has divine radiance, your name is inscribed in the dark garden, your image is suspended in the violet chamber.

He left with him, towards the deserts of shifting sands, where they converted the barbarian populations. Since then, Hi resides above the King of the fourteen heavens; he commands the eighty thousand Immortals and has the power to fly in space on a chariot drawn by dragons.

It was only during the reign of King Muh (1001-946) that Lao-tze returned to China where he continued to live, under different names. In the year 503 BC, he had a conversation with Confucius, then fifty years old, and famous throughout China for his teaching of morality. Lao-tze was called Lao-tan at that time; he had just resigned his functions as historiographer, because he foresaw the imminent end of the Zhou dynasty. Confucius, who on the contrary believed it to be lasting, wanted to deposit his works, for their preservation, in the library of the Zhou imperial palace. As he set out for the capital, Tze-lou, who was one of his dearest disciples, told him that he had heard of a certain Lao-tan, historiographer of the Zhou, who had just resigned, and asked him if he did not think it a good idea to have a conversation with this wise man. Confucius followed his advice and went to see Lao-tan, who at first refused to hear him. Confucius then began to verbally expound to him the doctrine contained in the twelve volumes of his complete works, but Lao-tan interrupted him:

— I would like to know the principles of all these developments.

—These are, replied Confucius, justice and humanity.

—Are justice and humanity in human nature?

—Certainly, for without humanity, the wise man would not attain perfection; without justice, he would not come into existence. Humanity and justice are the very nature of true man. Or else, how can it be defined?

— May I ask you what you mean by these names of humanity and justice?

—To rejoice in everything from the bottom of one’s heart, to love all beings with a selfless love, these are the sentiments of humanity and justice.

—I have difficulty understanding what you have just said. Is not universal love a perversion of natural feelings, and is it not still self-interestedness to be disinterested? If you do not want the empire to be deprived of its nourishment, see: heaven and earth always remain in the same place, the sun and the moon shed the same light, the stars and planets succeed one another in the same order, the animals are grouped in the same way, and the trees always stand above the ground. Likewise, conform to Virtue in your actions, to the Way in your walks, and you will have attained perfection. But to seek humanity and justice with great zeal is to follow the trail of a fugitive by beating a drum. The swan does not need to wash every day to be white, nor the crow to blacken itself to be black. Whiteness or blackness do not need to be defined. Fame does not need to be spread. When the spring is dried up and the fish are dry, what good does it do them to help themselves with the mist of their breath or the moisture of their saliva? What they need is carelessness in the depths of the river.

When Confucius returned from his visit to Lao-tan, he stayed three days without speaking. His disciples finally questioned him.

—Master, what did you say to Lao-tan? What kind of reprimand did you give him?

—I know, replied Confucius, the birds that fly in the air, the fish that swim, the quadrupeds that run. Animals that run can be caught with nets, those that swim with a line, those that fly are struck by the arrow. But the dragon that rises to the sky, carried by the winds and the clouds, I do not know how to seize it. I have just seen a dragon, and I was left speechless. Those were indeed remonstrances!

During the Ts’in Dynasty, towards the end of the 3rd century BC Christian, Lao-tze went down to the banks of the Tsieh River, and took the name Lord of the River, to teach the Way to Ngan Ki-cheng. Under Emperor Wen of the Han Dynasty (179-156 BCE), he took the name Koang-tch’eng. The emperor sent a messenger to question him. He replied:

—The Way is too venerable, Virtue too precious to be sought by proxy.

The emperor then had his chariot harnessed and went to find him in person. Koang-t’eng was waiting for him, impassive.

“Among the four earthly greatnesses,” said the emperor, “one must certainly count royalty. Although you possess the Way, you belong to my people. To be unable to bow before me, what is your pride? Do you not know that it is in my power to make a man rich or poor, honored or miserable?”

Koang-tch’eng, without answering, still seated, clapped his hands; immediately he detached himself from the ground and gently rose into the air like a cloud. Having reached a height of more than a hundred fathoms, he stopped in space and, inclining his head, finally replied:

—At the moment I speak, above me, I do not reach the sky; around me, I am not mixed with men; Beneath me, I do not touch the earth. How can you still talk to me about a people? And does Your Majesty really believe you can make me rich or poor?

The emperor, enlightened, got down from his chariot and paid homage to him.

There has never been a time when Lao-tze did not manifest himself. Before the creation of our universe, he existed. After its dissolution, he will remain. Mysterious and brilliant, always unfathomable, his transformations have no limit, his actions extend to celestial beings and to men. No words can account for it.

II

EMPEROR HOANG-TI

Emperor Hoang-ti lived around the 25th century BCE. Christian. From birth, he had supernatural power; from early childhood, he knew how to speak; from his adolescence, he had a sense of harmony; when he was older, he showed a solid and penetrating mind. At the end of his life, he was to ascend to heaven.

He had reigned for fifteen years, and was pleased to see the universe prostrate before him. He took care of his life, delighted his eyes and ears, rejoiced his sense of smell and taste. However, his skin was drying up, his mind was darkening, his sensations were becoming troubled.

He reigned for another fifteen years, saddened to see disorder invade the universe. He exhausted his mind and used all the forces of his knowledge to restore order among the people of the Hundred Families. However, his skin dried up, his mind continued to darken, his sensations to become troubled.

Then he sighed deeply and said:

— My mistake is serious. I only looked after myself and I am well punished for it.

He therefore renounced all maxims of government, left his palace, dismissed his servants, renounced bell-ringing and public proclamations, abolished his kitchens, and withdrew to the apartments intended for receiving guests. There he subjected his heart to abstinence and his body to obedience. For three months he abstained from interfering in any way with public affairs.

He then had a dream in broad daylight and felt transported to the kingdom of Hoa-siu. This kingdom is located to the west of the province of Ho, to the north of the province of Tai, one does not know how many millions of leagues from the Kingdom of Ts’i, where Hoang-ti reigned. There is no chariot, no ship, no marching force that leads there; only the soul can reach it. This kingdom has neither chiefs nor masters: everything happens by itself. Men there experience neither tastes nor desires: everything comes to them by itself. They know nothing of the joy of living and the regret of dying; that is why they are not subject to premature death. They know nothing of personal concern and indifference for others: that is why they are not subject to love or hatred. They know nothing of obedience and revolt; that is why they are not subject to profit or loss. They never feel love or friendship, never fear or resentment. Water cannot drown them, nor fire burn them, nor blows hurt them, nor stings itch them. They walk on space as on solid ground, and emptiness is the bed where they lie down to sleep. Clouds and mist do not obscure their sight, the crash of thunder does not deafen them, neither ugliness nor beauty troubles their hearts, neither mountain nor valley hinders their progress. They have divine power.

When the emperor awoke and regained his senses, he sent for his three ministers, the Old Man of Heaven, the Shepherd of Strength and the Worshipper of the Sacred Mountain; he said to them:

—For three months I have lived in seclusion, submitting my heart to abstinence and my body to obedience. I sought in my thoughts the way to take care of my life and govern men: I did not find it. Exhausted with fatigue, I fell asleep and had this dream. I know today that it is not by means of the senses that one must seek the Way. I know the Way, I possess it, but I cannot speak it.

For the next twenty-eight years, the universe was in a order almost as perfect as the kingdom of Hoa-siu. When the emperor ascended to heaven, the people of the Hundred Families invoked his holy name without ceasing for more than two hundred years.

III

KING MOUH AND THE QUEEN OF THE WEST

King Muh, of the Zhou dynasty, reigned from the year 1001 to the year 946 before the Christian era. He distinguished himself through his conquests and built magnificent palaces.

Towards the end of his reign, a magician from the Far West came to the court. He was able to throw himself into water and fire, to pass through metal and rocks, to turn over mountains, reverse the course of rivers, move cities, straddle the void without falling, and collide with solid bodies without injury. The changes and transformations he could accomplish were limitless; not content with imposing a different appearance on things, he could also seize the hearts of men and give them other thoughts.

King Muh treated him like a prince and revered him like a god.

He designated a group of buildings to house him, offered the best meats to feed him, and chose from among his musicians those who were to keep him company. But the magician found the king’s palace too dilapidated to live in, his cuisine too nauseating to feed on, his women too dirty and too ugly to accept their society. So King Muh had a new pavilion built for him of wood and brick, variegated with white and scarlet, where no kind of work was spared. When it was finished, the five treasuries of the kingdom, which are the treasury of tributes, the treasury of gems, the inner treasury, the outer treasury and the treasury of harvests, were empty. It was six thousand feet high, and dominated Mount Tchoung-nan. It was called Touche-au-ciel. The king then chose, in the provinces of Cheng and Wei, famous for the beauty of women, young girls of charming grace, perfumed with exquisite scents, and adorned with precious pins and earrings which highlighted the delicacy of their features. They had dresses of fine gauze, trains of white silk, their faces were powdered, their eyebrows lengthened, their belts adorned with jade rings, and the aroma of rare flowers wafted as they passed. They played the most beautiful tunes from the music of Emperor Hoang-ti, Emperor K’ou, Emperor Choen, and Emperor T’ang. Every day the magician was offered precious clothes, and every morning he was presented with exquisite dishes.

The magician could not refuse to enter this pavilion, but it was not for long. Soon he invited the king to take a walk with him. The king held him by the sleeve, and the two of them rose into space, ever closer to the sky. Suddenly, they stopped: they had arrived at the magician’s palace.

The magician’s palace was framed with gold and silver, paneled with pearls and jade. It rose above the region of clouds and rain, and no one knew how deep its foundations were hidden. It appeared to the eyes like a mass of clouds. All that sight and hearing could perceive, all that taste and smell could smell, resembled nothing that exists on earth, and the king believed himself transported to the pure and mysterious abode of bliss, the residence of the Emperor of Heaven. Lowering his gaze, he saw his palace which seemed to him nothing but a pile of mud and a heap of wood.

The king intended to stay there for many years, no more to think of his kingdom, but the magician begged him to set out again. In the land where they arrived, one could no longer see the sun or moon above, nor the ocean or rivers below. The light that floated there dazzled the king’s eyes, and he ceased to see; the resonance that reached them deafened his ears, and he ceased to hear. The bones and organs of his body lost their balance and moved out of place, his mind grew dark, his soul escaped him. He only had time to address the magician, begging him to return. The magician gave him a light blow, and the king felt himself hurled into space.

When he came to, he found himself sitting in the same place, surrounded by the same officers as when he first left. Before him the wine in the cup had not settled its dregs, the stew on the plate had not dried out.

“Where was I?” he asked.

The officers replied:

— Your Majesty has not moved from here.

King Muh was so struck by this answer that he remained lost in reverie for three months. Finally he dared to question the magician, who replied:

—It’s that we both traveled in spirit; our bodies remained motionless. Yet is there a difference between the place where we were and this palace, between the space we crossed and these gardens? Returning to your usual life, you doubt the reality of what happened. But how can we set a limit to changes? How can we distinguish between speed and slowness? We lack the terms of comparison.

The king was delighted with this revelation. From then on he took no notice of the affairs of the kingdom, nor any pleasure in his palace, for he never ceased to think of distant journeys. One day finally he had eight enchanted horses, presents from a barbarian prince, harnessed to two chariots and set off in a westerly direction, accompanied only by two drivers and two servants. He first reached the country of the Red Giants, who offered him white swan’s blood to drink, and mare’s milk to wash his feet. He set off again and in the evening reached the shores of the Red Lake, in front of Mount Koen-liun. The next day, an auspicious day which was the fifty-eighth of the sexagesimal cycle (1), he climbed this mountain where he wanted to visit the palace built long ago by the Emperor Hoang-ti; he founded a cult there for the edification of posterity. He remained there fifty-five days, then resumed his march, and in nine days arrived at the kingdom of the Queen of the West.

(1) The sexagesimal or sixty-term cycle was adopted in antiquity by the Chinese calendar where it serves, much like our week, to designate the days, and also, like the Olympiad of the Greeks, to count the years.

The Queen of the West shares with the King of the East the direction of the two principles, the positive or male principle and the negative or feminine, she determines with him the harmony of heaven and earth and the formation of all beings. In heaven as on earth all women who have attained immortality obey her. She lives, in the gardens of Mount Koen-liun, the dark terrace of the jade pavilion, which has nine floors, touches the turquoise pond on the left, and is surrounded on the right by azure waters.

The next day, an auspicious day which is the first of the cycle, King Muh was received by the Queen of the West. The following day, he gave her a feast on the shores of the turquoise pond. The Queen sang these verses for him:

In the sky the clouds are turning white,
On the mountains the forests bristle;
The road goes away for a long time,
Cut by mountains and rivers.
May death be spared you:
So you can come back!

The king answered her, in the same tone, with melancholy words.

Then he set off. Faster than ever, his horses covered a thousand leagues in a day. He thus reached the edge of the abyss where the sun disappears. Then he stopped and said with a sigh:

— Alas! Why, I here, have received my share of joy without having accomplished my virtue? Future centuries, looking back on my life, will not fail to take stock of my faults, for King Muh did not attain divinity. I can exhaust all the pleasures of which this body is capable. Even if I took a hundred years, I would still have to die, and the people would believe that I had ascended to heaven!

IV

TCHANG TAO-LING,
FIRST POPE OF THE TAOIST CHURCH

Chang Tao-ling was the eighth generation of Chang Tze-Fan, minister of Kao-tsou, founder of the Han dynasty. He was born under Emperor Koang-wou of the same dynasty, in the year thirty-four of the Christian era. His mother had dreamed that a giant descended from the constellation of the Great Bear and gave her fragrant flowers. She awoke: the room was impregnated with a strange perfume which persisted for a month without dissipating. Moved, she found herself pregnant. On the day of the birth, a yellow cloud enveloped the room, a purple vapor filled the house. In the middle of the room, a brilliant light appeared.

At seven years old, the child read the book of the Way and Virtue, and understood the most hidden meaning. He lived first in the world, but already he belonged at heart to the high doctrine. One day when he went to the country of Shuh, which is the modern province of Sse-tchoen, he was won over by the charm of these picturesque sites and these luxuriant solitudes. He retired to the mountain of the Song of the Crane, which bears at its summit a stone crane. A disciple named Wang-tch’ang came to join him there and they studied together the celestial writings, discussed the teachings of Lao-tze and Hoang-ti, prepared the elixir of long life. They had acquired it in three years. Tchang was then sixty years old; he swallowed the elixir and became like a man of thirty.

Then sinking into a deeper retreat, he surrendered with his disciple in the mountains of the Northern Peaks. A heavenly messenger came to find him there and said:

— On the middle peak, in a cave, are hidden the esoteric writings of the ancient Sovereigns and the book of the elixir of the great Purity. He who has mastered it will gain heaven.

After preparing himself by fasting for seven days, Chiang discovered the cave and entered it. As his footsteps echoed on the ground, he dug it out and discovered the hiding place where the sacred books were buried. He then became capable of dividing his body and dispersing his appearance. He would sometimes sail in a boat on a pond, read a book in his room, receive guests at his table, and walk around singing, all at the same time, without anyone being able to understand anything. His complete knowledge earned him the title of True Man.

One day while he was meditating in the mountains, he had a vision. He heard first a ringing of bells and the unknown sounds of celestial music. Having turned his head towards the east, he saw appearing, in the midst of the violet clouds, a white chariot, and on the chariot a divine man whose face like ice or jade shone with a dazzling brilliance. A servant preceded the chariot. Addressing Tchang, he said to him:

— Don’t be afraid: it’s Lao-tze who is coming to you.

The True One then bowed down and heard these words:

—There are currently in the land of Chouh six kings of hell persecuting men. It is a great pity. Go in my place and bring them to reason and restore happiness to living beings. For this fight, I bring you the secret and formidable talisman of Perfect Unity, the book of the Three Pure Ones, two magic swords, one male and one female, and the Seal of Universal Merits. I await you in a thousand days at the Enchanted Gardens.

After spending several days reading the book that came from him being recovered, the True One set out to fight the kings of hell. On the mountain of the Blue City he erected a crystal throne, placed his talismans on the right and left, and closed the circle of magic mats. He struck the bells and the sounding stones, to call the evil spirits. An army of demons rushed up; brandishing their knives, throwing with arrows and stones, they attacked the True One. But the True One raised one of his fingers, which changed into a lotus flower, and the demons were driven back. They returned with flaming torches. The True One raised a second finger, and the demons themselves were burned.

The next day, the six kings of hell came in person, at the head of a new army. The True One took a cinnabar brush and drew a sign. The demons and the kings fell to the ground. However, the kings still lived and asked for mercy. The True One drew a line with his brush on the mountain, which split open, preventing the kings from crossing. They began to beg him, weeping. Then the True One told his disciple Wang-ch’ang to throw a stone across the abyss to make a bridge, and with his brush he drew another sign. The kings rose again, and the demons were resurrected. The True One ordered them to cross the bridge and withdraw to the deserts of the north and west. As they hesitated, he uttered a magic formula that flew up to the upper heavens, unleashing thunder, hurricane, tempest, and lightning: the horde of demons was annihilated.

After a thousand days had passed, Lao-tze appeared again to Chiang; but it was to tell him:

—Thanks to your accumulated merits, you were about to become an Immortal of the supreme rank. But when I sent you to the land of Chouh, it was to drive out demons, not to massacre them, nor to dispose of thunder, hurricanes, tempests, and lightning at your will. That is why your earthly trial is not over.

Accompanied by Wang-ch’ang, the True One returned to Crane Mountain. As they approached, twelve fairies came to meet them, smiling, and said to them:

—There is a pond near here where a poisonous dragon lives; could you not get it out?

The True One traced a sign in the air and immediately, changed into a bird with golden wings, went to hover above the pond: the dragon became afraid and fled. As soon as the True One had resumed his human form, the twelve fairies approached him, each holding a jade ring which they offered to him, as a sign of gratitude, and they said:

— We want to be your wives.

The True One took their rings, twisted them in his hand, and with the twelve made one, which he threw into the pond.

“I will take only one wife,” he said, “whichever of you takes off the ring.”

The fairies undressed in haste and threw themselves into the pond where they were fighting over the ring. The True One imprisoned them there with a magic word. The water in this pond is salty. As there was nothing more to fear from either the dragon or the fairies, the locals came there to practice salt extraction, which has continued uninterrupted to this day.

The True One was recognized as the master of the doctrine. One day he had gone to the mountain of the Terrace of the Clouds; a hundred disciples accompanied him. The summit of this mountain is cut off on one side, and plunges by a vertical wall into the abyss. A little below, clinging by its roots to a cleft in the rock, a peach tree had grown obliquely, so that the tips of its branches reached five or six fathoms from the summit of the mountain. This peach tree was then laden with fruit. The True One said to his disciples:

—If one of you picks these fruits, I will teach him the secrets of the Way.

But all of them, sweating with anguish, did not dare even to glance at the precipice. Only one young man, whose name was Tchao-cheng, cried out:

—When the good of our soul is at stake, what does the danger matter?

He threw himself into the void, and fell right on the top of the tree. He immediately began to pick the peaches with which he filled his lap.

1 This is the origin of the Sse-tchouen salt mines, still exploited today, as well as the nearby oil sources.

But how to get back up? The rock was steep and smooth above his head, without any support. So, so that at least his life would not have been sacrificed in vain, he began to throw the peaches he had picked into the air. The True One caught them as they came. There were one hundred and two. The True One distributed one hundred to the disciples, kept one for himself, one for Tchao-cheng. He stretched out his arm; his arm lengthened, and thus, holding out his hand to the young disciple, he brought him back up the mountain.

In the year one hundred and fifty-second of the Christian era, the first month, on the fifth day, the True One received notice from Lao-tze that his time was up. He gave his eldest son his books, his talismans, the two swords, the tablets, and the jade seal, and since then the supreme pontiff of the Taoist church, who is called the Celestial Master, has always been chosen from his family. In the ninth month of the same year, on the ninth day, he went to the Mount of the Crane. At noon, the procession of the Immortals came to meet him, to the sounds of celestial music; he rose to heaven with them, and it was then that at the summit of the mountain the stone crane sang.

V

LIU TONG-PIN OR THE EIGHT IMMORTALS (1)

Liu Tong-pin was born in the district of Yong-lo, in the year seven hundred Fifty-five of the Christian era. Despite his intelligence and virtue, he did not pass the examinations, did not marry. From his youth, he sought solitude; having found a cave in the mountain, he withdrew there, and from there came his nickname of Tong-pin which means Guest of the cave. One day while he was walking in the mountain, he met a Sage who taught him the secret of a magic sword. Another day, having gone to the city of Tch’ang-ngan, he passed by the wine market, when he noticed a hermit, recognizable by his blue cap and white tunic, who was writing sentences on a wall. He read this:

Sitting or lying down, I never leave my cup of wine. Without the aid of my eyes I know the cities of the stars, Without giving it a name I know the grandeur of the universe, Among the innumerable multitude, I am only a man.

Liu, surprised, approached the hermit, greeted him and introduced himself.

“I am,” replied the other, “Doctor Yun-fang, and I live on Mount Chung-nan-hoh. Will you come with me?”

And without giving her time to reply, he invited her to rest while he cooked some millet for both of them before setting off.

(1) The eight characters whose legends will follow form the group known as the Eight Immortals, constantly represented by artists, with the following attributes: the sword, for Liu Tong-pin, the gourd and the iron crutch, for Li T’ieh-koai, the fan of Tchong-li Ts’iuen, the castanets of Ts’ao Kouo-kiou, the basket of flowers carried by Lan Tsai-houo, the box in which Tchang-kouo locks up his paper donkey, the flute of Han Siang- tze, the lotus flower picked by Ho Sien-kou.

Liu had just been awarded his first degree; he was appointed secretary, then censor of the academy, finally secret advisor. All his wishes, barely formed, were fulfilled. He married twice, in of wealthy families, had children. Forty years passed in uninterrupted happiness, he became a minister, his power was great, his influence spread ever further, when suddenly, he knew not for what fault, he fell into disgrace, his property was confiscated, his family dispersed, he wandered in the mountain passes, alone, abandoned by all, his horse struggling against the snowstorm. He heaved a sigh and awoke: he was lying in the middle of the market, his head propped up, and Yun-fang who was preparing the meal said to him with a suppressed laugh:

—It didn’t take you long to make your fortune: the millet isn’t cooked yet.

— What, replied Liu, terrified, so you know my dream?

— Your dream is life itself with its vicissitudes, and like your dream, life has its awakening.

Then Liu Tong-pin understood that he had before him a great Sage and asked him the means to save his soul:

—Your constitution is not complete, replied the hermit.

And he disappeared.

Some time later, Liu Tong-pin, returning home father saw all his family die in a few days. He did not complain about fate, and the dead came back to life all at once. A little later, having gone to the market to sell some fruit, a buyer, after having accepted his price, wanted to give him only half: he was satisfied with that. On the first day of the year, a beggar near his door was asking for alms; Liu Tong-pin gave him all he had on him, and received, in thanks, only insults; he smiled without getting angry. Having taken his sheep to graze in the mountains, he met a hungry tiger which threw itself on the flock; Liu advanced, alone and unarmed, to fight it, and the tiger fled. One evening, while he was studying his books in his reed hut, he saw a young woman of marvelous grace and radiant beauty coming along a mountain path.

“On my way to visit my parents,” she said to him, “I lost my way. Can I rest here for a while?”

At the same time she lavished caresses and teasings on him. He showed no emotion. One day while he was cultivating the land, the plowshare of his plow struck some gold ingots: he covered them up without turning a single one away. Having bought some copper utensils, he noticed, upon returning home, that they were made of gold; he sought out the merchant and returned them to him. A slightly mad religious man was selling simples, claiming that whoever swallowed them would die instantly, but to be reborn in another life where he would obtain the Way. Liu Tong-pin bought them from him.

“You still have time,” the monk told him, “to come back to the mistake you have just made.”

But Liu, undaunted, swallowed the drugs and had no trouble. Finally, a horde of demons invaded his room, gnashing their teeth and brandishing their cutlasses. Liu Tong-pin felt no fear, did not move, and suddenly he heard a cry of appeal in space. The demons disappeared. He felt his hand being taken: Yun-fang was near him; he laughed:

“I have tested you ten times,” he said to Liu Tong-pin, “and you have resisted. You have obtained the Way without question. I will give you the talismans to rescue the world and to help beings. When the three thousand merits are fulfilled, the eight hundred deeds accomplished, I will come to save you.”

Liu replied:

—And when will this happen?

— In three thousand years you will be reincarnated.

—In three thousand years, replied Liu, I would be very surprised if I wanted to be a man.

— Since your thought goes so far, said the hermit, the three thousand merits are fulfilled, the eight hundred acts accomplished. I will teach you the means to complete your merits and assert your virtue. Soon you will be able to leave this world like me.

Liu Tong-pin bowed deeply and replied:

—My will differs from yours, doctor. As long as there are still beings in the universe to save, I do not want to ascend to heaven.

Liu Tong-pin remained on earth for another four centuries, appearing and disappearing one after the other. There was no demon or dragon that could resist his magic sword. His last manifestation took place under Emperor Cheng-kuo, of the Song dynasty, who reigned at the beginning of the 12th century : he exterminated a monster that stole treasures and abducted women from the palace. A commemorative inscription attests to this miracle.

VI

THE T’IEH-KOAI

Li T’ieh-koai had studied the doctrine from his youth, withdrawn into the caves of Mount Yen, where Lao-tze himself did not disdain to go down to talk with him. He was handsome and well made. One day Lao-tze arranged to meet him far away, in the Hoa Mountains. He called one of his disciples and said to him:

—My body will remain here. If my oversoul is not back in seven days, it will have to be buried.

On the sixth day, the disciple learned that his mother was ill: he buried the body and left to go to her. The next day, the soul returned; no longer finding her body, it had to borrow, to lodge there, the corpse of a man who had just died of hunger. This man was lame. That is why since then Li has supported himself to walk on an iron crutch, which gave him his nickname of T’ieh-koai.

VII

TCHONG-LI K’IUEN

Tchong-li k’iuen received the nickname of Doctor Yun-fang, and it was he who manifests itself at Liu Tong-pin.

After his birth, he remained silent for six days and six nights.

On the seventh day, he suddenly stood up and cried out:

—My body walks through the purple chambers, my name is written in the jade city.

He took up arms, became a general, and was placed by an emperor of the Han Dynasty at the head of an expedition against Tibet. He was defeated and forced to flee alone, over hill and dale. Having lost his way, he wandered into a deep forest and there met a Mongolian monk, whose bushy hair swept across his forehead and his grass clothes hung down his body. This monk guided him to a village where they arrived at nightfall and said to him:

—This is the residence of Doctor Tong-hoa, who has reached the Way. You may rest here.

With that he left. Tchong did not dare to wake the inhabitants of the sleeping village when he heard a noise, then voices saying:

— The blue-eyed monk has talked too much again.

A door opened, an old man dressed in white deer furs, leaning on a green staff, appeared and in a resounding voice cried:

—Hey there, stranger! Why didn’t you stay with the mountain monk?

Tchong-li k’iuen had just escaped from the caves of the lions and tigers; seeing these strange men, in this wild country, he thought that perhaps the phoenixes of the Immortals were not far away. His conversion was accomplished, he had no thought but for the Way, and begged the old man to reveal to him the means of saving his soul. The old man then imparted to him the secrets of the elixir of long life and the magic sword. Chong-li set off again; he turned his head: the village had disappeared.

VIII

TS’AO KOUO-KIOU

Ts’ao Kouo-kiou was the younger brother of Empress Ts’ao-heou, of the Song Dynasty, which reigned in the 11th century of the Christian era. As their elder brother behaved with ferocity, and condemned men to death contrary to the laws, Ts’ao Kuo-kiou conceived such profound shame that he withdrew into the solitude of the mountains, in peasant clothes. He studied the doctrine, purified his thoughts and practiced fasting to the point of being able to remain ten days without any food. One day he met the two Immortals Tchong-li and Liu Tong-pin, who questioned him thus:

— We have learned that you take great care over a discipline. What is its purpose?

He replied:

— It is the Way.

— Where is the Way?

He pointed to the sky.

— Where is the sky?

He showed his heart. The Immortals smiled:

— You have realized the principles for yourself.

They then gave him the secret of returning to the truth and introduced him into the group of the Eight Immortals.

IX

LAN TS’AI HUO

Lan T’sai-houo was always dressed in a tattered blue tunic, supported by an ebony belt with six pendants; one of his feet was booted, the other bare. In summer he put cotton wool under his tunic; in winter he slept on the snow, which he warmed with his burning breath. He begged in the markets, striking clappers with one hand, holding a basket of flowers in the other. When he had drunk, he danced while singing; people formed a circle around him. But his madness was only apparent, and the poems he thus improvised contained divine thoughts that men did not grasp. When he received sapeques, he put them on a string and dragged them after him; or he scattered them absentmindedly on the ground, or gave them to the poor, or spent them in the tavern. He wandered through the world, and some who had known him since childhood had become old men without his appearance having changed in the least. One day while he was drinking on a terrace, the sounds of the organ and the syrinx were heard, and suddenly, mounted on a crane, throwing to the ground his boot, his tunic, his belt, his basket of flowers and his rattles, he rose into the air and disappeared.

X

TCHANG-KOUO

Chang-kuo lived in seclusion in the mountains. He came and went, mounted on a white donkey that traveled hundreds of leagues in a day. When he stopped, he flattened it to the thickness of a sheet of paper and rolled it up in his handkerchief box. When it was time to leave, he took it out, moistened it with saliva, and made a donkey out of it. Emperors T’ai-tsung and Kao-tsung of the T’ang dynasty, in the 8th century, summoned him to court, but he did not come. Empress Wu-heou was more successful. He set out, but died halfway there. As it was very hot, his body soon began to rot. However, he was not dead: he was seen again soon after in his mountains.

XI

HAN SIANG-TZE

The famous minister Han-yu, who lived at the end of the 8th century and was a fiery opponent of the Buddhist religion, he had an adopted son named Han Siang-tze. He was an original, independent-minded and indomitable. He became attached to Liu Tong-pin and became his disciple. But less fortunate than Tchao-cheng, while trying to pick peaches on the summit of the Terrace of Clouds mountain, he fell and was killed in his fall.

His soul separated from his body went to visit Han-yu who, like custom advised him to work seriously.

—Your studies and mine, replied Siang-tze, are not the same. These verses will make you understand what I mean:

On the blue mountains, the solitude of waters and clouds,
This is my earthly residence.
At midnight I drink the liqueur of gems,
In the morning I breathe the purple vapor,
On the lute I play the tune of the blue jade,
In the oven I grill the fine pearls,
In the precious vase I enclose the golden tiger.
I feed the white crows sesame,
In a calabash I hold the world,
My magic sword exterminates demons,
And I know how to prepare unalterable wine,
I make flowers bloom in an instant.
Whoever wishes to become my disciple,
With me you will be able to contemplate the beauty of the Immortals.

Han-yu was a determined supporter of Confucian morality. He was indignant, and looking his adopted son in the face, asked him:

—How would it be possible for you to usurp creative power?

At the same moment, the cup he was holding was found to be full of wine, a branch of blue flowers sprang from a vase. From it fell a ribbon on which were written, in gold letters, these two verses:

Clouds block the peaks of Ts’in. Where is my home? Snow invades the Kien Pass. My horse no longer advances.

As the minister read these words, trying to understand them, Han Siang-tze had disappeared. He then understood that he had seen a ghost.

Some time later, Han-yu, for having strongly opposed the acquisition of a relic of Buddha, was banished to Koang-tung. On the way to exile he found snow, and suddenly a man appeared who was walking against the storm: it was Siang-tze. As he passed by he said to Han-yu:

— Do you remember the sentence written in the flowers?

It then occurred to Han-yu that the pass he was crossing was called Kien. He understood that Siang-tze, having become immortal, had the gift of prophecy, and questioned him about the future. Siang-tze predicted that he would be reinstated in his duties, which indeed happened.

XII

HO SIEN-KOU THE IMMORTAL

Ho Sien-kou, at birth, had six long hairs on the top of her head. At fourteen, she saw in a dream a Spirit who revealed to her that by eating pearl dust she would lighten her body and escape death. She followed this advice, and swore not to marry. She went back and forth constantly over the mountains and valleys, her gait was winged. She left in the morning and returned in the evening, laden with wild fruits which she gave to her mother. Little by little she managed to do without any food. Empress Wu summoned her to the court, Ho Sien-kou obeyed, but halfway there she disappeared and was only seen on earth at rare intervals.

XIII

TOUNG-FANG CHOUOH

Toung-fang Chouoh, still a child, remained absent from home a whole year. His older brother said to him:

— You’ve given me a lot of worry.

—How? he replied. I had gone for a walk by the sea, whose mud is purple, and as the water from that sea had stained my dress, I went up to the Yu stream to wash it. I went out in the morning and returned at noon. What a great thing!

When he grew up, he sent a letter to the emperor, who was then Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty, which read as follows:

“At a young age, I lost my father and mother; from my youth, I helped my brothers and sisters. I am twenty-two years old, handsome and strong, second to none in courage, activity, temperance, and fidelity. I request a position at court, and ready to face death, I beg Your Majesty to grant me an audience.

This extraordinary petition did not displease the emperor: he gave the young man a small job in his stables.

The emperor was a devout follower of the Way; he offered sacrifices to mountains and lakes to obtain immortality. His piety was rewarded: a messenger mounted on a white stag came one day to announce that the Queen of the West herself was going to visit him. The emperor, very moved, made great preparations in the Hall of the Nine Beauties to receive her. On the seventh day of the seventh month, at nightfall, as soon as the seventh hour had struck, the queen arrived on a chariot of violet clouds. She sat down with her face turned towards the east; she wore a diadem of azure vapors, coiled seven times and piled up like clouds. Three blue birds, beside her, awaited her orders to transmit them to her maids. By the light of nine lanterns, the emperor took his place opposite the queen. Then she asked her maids for seven peaches, who brought them to her immediately, in a jade cup. She kept three for herself and gave four to the emperor. These peaches were round, the size of a duck’s egg, blue in color. She noticed that the emperor kept the pits:

“This kind of fruit,” she said to him, smiling, “only ripens every three thousand years, and the soil of your empire is too light for them to germinate.”

At this moment she saw Toung-fang looking out of a window with the other servants, and pointing at him she cried:

—That little rascal! He’s already stolen my peaches three times!

Toung-fang Chouoh was not a model of conduct. Having received a gift from the emperor, he took advantage of it to buy himself a little wife, whom he abandoned after a year. The emperor having given him another gift, he did not keep it for himself: young beauties took advantage of it. As people laughed, he said gravely:

— It’s just that Chouoh is one of those men who flee the world in the middle of the palace.

One day, when he was drunk, clinging to the ground, he sang:

—The earth is flooded with vices. In palaces, too, one can escape the world and protect one’s conscience. What’s the point of locking oneself away in dark mountain caves?

About to die, he said to his comrades:

—No one in the world knows who I am. The only one who knows me is Ma Ta-wou.

This remark was reported to the emperor. A certain Ma Ta-wou was indeed found. But he had never heard of Chouoh. The emperor, continuing to question him, learned that he was involved in astronomy.

— Didn’t you notice anything in the sky?

—Nothing, except that the star Soei, which I hadn’t seen for forty years, has just reappeared.

Toung-fang Chouoh died at the age of forty.

XIV

LIOU-TCH’EN AND YUEN-TCHAO

During the reign of Emperor Ming of the Han Dynasty, Liu-Ch’en, along with Yuen-chao, had ventured into the T’ien-t’ai massif to look for simples. They got lost in the mountains and their supplies ran out. For thirteen days they had already been prey to hunger and thirst. Having climbed a peak to try to find their way, they saw below them the foliage of a peach tree laden with fruit, which had grown along a steep wall, in a crevice in the rock. With the help of climbing plants, they managed to climb down to the tree and come back up with some peaches that satisfied their hunger.

They took another path to come down from the summit, without the want, and suddenly found themselves in front of a torrent. They quenched their thirst there. In a swirl of water, they saw a bowl emerge which they drew towards them: it contained sesame seeds. They cried out:

— We’re approaching an inhabited area. We’re saved!

They followed the course of the torrent which led them, on the other side of the mountain, to a pleasant valley where a beautiful river flowed. On the bank two very pretty young girls seemed to be waiting for them. From the distance they saw them:

— Mr. Liu, Mr. Yuen, will you bring us our bowl?

And without giving them time to be surprised:

— How long you’ve kept us waiting! Are you coming?

Liu and Yuen followed them without realizing what was happening to them. The girls’ house was large and well built. In the room where the travelers were shown, the walls were hung with silk crimson, and the windows had gauze curtains through which one could see the garden trees and flowerbeds. The young girls, meanwhile, urged an old servant:

— These gentlemen have had some ruby fruits, which they have managed to pick, but it is not enough, hurry up and serve them, because they must have a great appetite.

Slices of venison with sesame seeds were served, exquisitely flavored. After the meal, a group of musicians entered; they played unfamiliar tunes on the lute, the flute, and the small organ, while the travelers chatted with the young girls over mulled wine. They knew every detail of their lives and their kinship, but they did not dare to question them in turn.

At midnight, two beds were made for the travelers. Liu was already lying down and was about to fall asleep, when, casting a last glance at the other bed, he noticed that his friend was not alone: one of the young girls was beside him. He was about to call out to them, when the other young girl appeared in front of his bed and, with her finger to her lips, smiling, signaled him to be quiet. She gently came and lay down beside him. Her delicate body had the radiance and softness of jade. A strange and delicious perfume surrounded her.

When the day came, the two friends asked for directions to leave.

“Stay another day!” said the girls.

They had tears in their eyes. They let themselves be held back, and so it was for many days. However, the memory of their native land did not leave their hearts. One day they thought they noticed that the sky was less pure and that the flowers were fading. “Winter is coming,” they said to each other; “we must go home.” They shared their resolution with the young girls, and it was their turn to cry. The young girls, seeing their despair, made a sign of understanding to each other.

“It is,” they said, “that you are not yet completely freed from original sin. That is why you are sorry. We will not detain you any longer.”

They said goodbye to them without showing sadness, and showed them the way to follow.

As they approached their village, neither Liou nor Yuen recognized it anymore. The houses had changed their appearance, and in the street one saw only new faces. They named themselves: it was well remembered that two men of these names, who had gone to look for simples in the T’ien-t’ai massif, had never returned. Since then, seven generations had passed.

Liou and Yuen set off again, but they found neither the magic fish, nor the torrent, nor the valley, nor the house of the two young girls. They wandered thus in the mountain until their death.

XV

FEI TCH’ANG-FANG

Fei Tch’ang-fang was an inspector of the market of Jou-nan. He had noticed that an old herbalist hung a jug above his stall every morning and never put it up for sale. He went up to a nearby terrace to get a better idea and saw the old man, after the market, get into his jug and disappear. He went the next day to ask him for an explanation.

— Come with me! said the old man.

They entered the jug where they discovered a large and beautiful room; a tasty meal was served there.

“I am,” said the old man, “an Immortal in exile, for a fault I committed. But I have completed my time and I am going to leave. Will you accompany me?”

Fei Ch’ang-fang still hesitated, thinking of his family’s grief. The old man guessed his thoughts: he cut a bamboo stick and went to hang it on Fei’s window. Soon the whole house was in tears: Fei’s corpse had just been found, hanging from his window. Meanwhile, the real Fei, invisible to all, was with them, saw their affliction and attended his own funeral.

He then followed the old man into the mountain forests. One day his companion left him alone in the middle of a band of tigers: he was not afraid. Another day, the old man made him sleep in an upper room, a block of stone that weighed ten thousand pounds above him, suspended from the ceiling by a rotten rope that snakes were gnawing at. Fei did not flinch. The satisfied old man flattered him by saying:

— We can make something of you.

Then he offered him a piece of dung to eat, and in this dung Fei saw three disgusting worms. He shuddered with disgust.

“That’s a pity,” said the old man, “you had almost reached the Way. We must separate.”

He gave him a stick. Mounted on this stick, Fei arrived in an instant at his house, where they were very frightened to see him return. Their grave was opened and found only a bamboo stick. Fei Ch’ang-fang retained all his life the power to cure illnesses and drive out demons.

XVI

TSOUO-TS’EU

Tsouo-ts’eu lived at the time of the military leader Ts’ao-ts’ao, who usurped the empire in the early years of the 3rd century of the Christian era. Having retired to the mountains, Tsouo-ts’eu had studied the doctrine at length. He knew how to read the future, he changed form at will, and all spirits were at his service. Ts’ao-ts’ao was frightened by his power and summoned him to the court, where he began by throwing him into prison. He kept him there for a year, without any food: Ts’ouo-ts’eu came out of there in perfect health, and without his good appearance having changed in the least. Then Ts’ao-ts’ao admitted him to the number of his familiars. One day while he was treating guests, he said:

— What we need are perch from the Sapins River.

— Never mind, replied Tsouo-ts’eu.

He had water poured into a copper basin and asked for a fishing line. He had barely thrown it into the basin when he pulled out a fine perch. Several others followed.

— Do you know what we need now? said Ts’ao-ts’ao. Ginger from Tcheng-tou.

“That’s very easy,” replied Tsuo-ts’eu.

But Ts’ao-ts’ao feared a deception.

—I just sent an officer to this town to buy some satin. At the same time, tell him to bring me back twenty more pieces.

“That’s understood,” said Tsuo-ts’eu without being disturbed.

He took a cup and threw it into the air where it was seen to change into a stork and fly out of the window with its wings fluttering. A few moments later, Tsouo-ts’eu pulled a good pound of ginger from his sleeve. A month later the officer returned with the requested satin pieces: he had unexpectedly met Tsouo-ts’eu in the market at Tch’eng-tou, who had given him the commission.

Meanwhile, Ts’ao-ts’ao made plans to spend the day in a pleasure house, a few leagues from the capital.

— I’ll take care of the food, said Tsuo-ts’eu.

He took with him a pint of wine and a pound of dried meat. As soon as he arrived, Ts’ao-ts’ao showed the house from cellar to attic: it contained no provisions of any kind. At mealtime, Tsouo-ts’eu distributed his pint of wine and his pound of meat to Ts’ao-ts’ao’s entourage, who numbered about a hundred: there was plenty for everyone.

On his return, Ts’ao-ts’ao had Tsouo-ts’eu thrown into prison without delay. He wanted to put him to death this time, because he did not like miracles. But in the morning the dungeon was empty. Guessing his thoughts, the magician had escaped during the night by passing through the wall. Ts’ao-ts’ao sent all his police after him. It was in vain. One day, however, he appeared, right in the middle of the market square. But as they were about to arrest him, all the men in the crowd that pressed into the square took on his likeness and became so many Tsouo-ts’eu. A few were arrested at random: none turned out to be the one they were looking for.

Then Ts’ao-ts’ao had it published throughout the empire that Tsouo-ts’eu could return without fear and that having tested his power he was ready to make peace with him. Tsuo-ts’eu gave no sign of life. One day finally, a detachment of soldiers on patrol near the borders saw him: deep in a wild valley, he was guarding a flock of sheep. The soldiers ran after him. Then an old ram stood up on its hind legs, crying: “Let’s hurry!” In an instant he had become a man, exactly like Tsuo-ts’eu. The soldiers, however, were approaching. But already all the animals of the herd had risen up on their hind legs, cried, “Hurry up!” and had become like Tsuo-ts’eu. There were several hundred of them. The soldiers, disconcerted by their numbers, let them go.

Since then, nothing has been heard of Tsuo-ts’eu.

XVII

PEI-HANG

P’ei-hang was a young scholar from a good family. His uncle, Ts’oei Sin-ming was a minister under Emperor Tai-tsung of the Tang Dynasty in the 7th century. Having gone to visit his uncle, who had retired to the countryside, he had taken passage back to the capital on a large ship loaded for Siang-han. He noticed a large amount of luggage on deck and screens erected.

—It is, he was told, Princess Fan, famous for her beauty throughout the empire.

P’ei-hang immediately became inflamed. Unable to see the princess, he entered into conversation with her maid, named Niao-yen, and gave her a poem for her mistress, worded as follows:

Barbarian as I am, my heart already had its secret. But what torment today, that only a screen separates me from the celestial Immortal! On returning from my trip to the precious city, I want to chase the phoenix across the azure.

There was no answer and already the young man was no longer thinking about it,

When the day of arrival Niao-yen called him and gave him a note from the princess. P’ei-hang unfolded it with emotion and read these four verses:

A sip of the precious elixir will give you a thousand thoughts. If you crush the dark crystals, you will see the Flower-of-clouds. At the Indigo Bridge lies the Spirits’ Retreat. What is the need to go through the mountains to the city?

P’ei-hang was well caught, because he could not understand what that the princess had wanted to say. But already they were arriving, the princess was the first to disembark, followed by Niao-yen, who was carrying her toiletries, and had reached the palanquin that was waiting for her. P’ei-hang took a horse to continue his journey, which, from this point on, separated from the river and crossed a mountain range. At the first relay, located near a bridge, he felt very tired, and as he saw some cottages, he decided to stop for a while. An old woman was spinning hemp in front of his door. He greeted her very politely and asked her for some rice water to refresh himself. Turning towards the house, the old woman called:

— Cloud Flower, give us a cup of rice water for this gentleman.

P’ei-hang remembered that this name of Cloud-Flower was found in the princess’s enigmatic poem.

“What is the name of the bridge in front of us?” he asked the old woman.

— The Indigo Bridge.

At the same moment, a blind was lifted slightly, revealing two slender hands holding out a cup. P’ei-hang took it, drained it in one gulp, and found the beverage exquisite. As he handed it back, he quickly raised the blind and saw a young girl of dazzling beauty. Forgetting the princess, whom he had never seen before, he fell in love with her at that very moment and said to the old woman:

— My horse is exhausted; could I not stop for a while at your house?

— At your ease.

But this was not enough, and soon P’ei-hang delivered all his thoughts.

—I have just seen a young lady of adorable beauty and marvelous grace. It is for her sake that I cannot decide to leave. But I am an honest man and I have the honor, Madam, to ask you to marry her.

The old woman didn’t seem too surprised by this unexpected request.

“That,” she replied, “is that I have only this child, my granddaughter. However, I will not ask you for money or a trousseau to part with her. It so happens that yesterday a divine Immortal gave me some simples and the recipe to make the elixir of long life. But these drugs must be ground for a hundred days in a mortar and with a jade pestle. Get me the mortar and the jade pestle, and you will have my daughter.”

P’ei-hang did not hesitate.

“I promise,” he said, “but for your part, wait for me a hundred days, and until then, don’t give your word to anyone.”

The old woman having promised, P’ei-hang immediately mounted his horse and continued his journey, at full speed, to the capital. He searched the stores of precious objects and finally found an old merchant who said to him:

— I have your case, but I cannot ask you for less than two hundred gold pieces.

P’ei-hang emptied his purse, which his uncle had fortunately filled. But that wasn’t enough; he also had to sell his horse.

On foot, clutching his precious acquisition in his hands, P’ei-hang ran straight to the Indigo Bridge. The old woman burst out laughing at the sight of him:

— There are still honest people in the world!

She called her daughter. But the girl said, with an imperceptible smile:

— Let us not forget that the drugs must still be ground in this mortar for a hundred days: such is the condition of marriage.

— I’ll grind them myself, said P’ei-hang, who no longer wanted to leave her. The old woman took the drugs from her apron and gave them to the young man who immediately began his work. He pounded all day, while the grandmother and the young girl attended to the household chores, stopping only at nightfall to rest a little. One night when he was not sleeping, he heard a noise in the kitchen. Having risen very quietly, he saw, in the moonlight, a jade hare, standing on its hind legs, in front of the mortar, busily handling the pestle.

When the hundred days were up, the old woman took the drug prepared, examined it and said:

—We’ll try it soon. Now I need to look for my relatives. Wait for us here.

She took her little girl with her, much to the regret of the young man, who followed them with his eyes for a long time along the mountain paths. But he didn’t have to wait long. At nightfall, descending from the clouds of the setting sun, a procession of chariots was approaching him. A mounted escort preceded it. The escort dismounted, and bowing before P’ei-hang, invited him to take a seat on one of the chariots, and they set off again. Beyond the clouds, they reached a large palace with red doors, brighter than the day. The grandmother and the young girl were there, surrounded by their relatives; the fiancé was presented to these people, all of whom were divine Immortals. A young Immortal woman, dressed in a rainbow-colored dress, stopped him as he passed:

— Do you remember, Mr. P’ei-hang, the boat that took us together to Siang-han?

As P’ei-hang stammered a little confused, she continued:

—I am your fiancée’s elder sister, and the Immortal Liu-kang is my husband.

The marriage accomplished, the young people were led to a cave in the Jade Mountain. They had a pearl apartment in the Ruby Tower. The old woman gave P’ei-hang the elixir he had himself prepared, his body was purified by degrees, his hair turned blue, his soul was sublimated without further trial and he was raised to the highest rank of the Immortals. He sometimes appears to men, around the Indigo Bridge.

XVIII

MA-KOU THE IMMORTAL

Ma-kou is the younger sister of Wang Fang-p’ing, who commands fifteen thousand Immortals of Heaven. She is immortal like him.

Under Emperor Hoang of Han, Wang visited Ts’ai-king, devoted for many years studying the doctrine, and said to him:

—You can be saved; that is why I have come to warn you that you still have too little soul and too much flesh. This is what makes your efforts futile. Separate yourself from your body; then I will come back to see you.

He showed him the formulas and disappeared. Ts’ai-king practiced for ten more years. Suddenly he felt a burning fire devouring him. In three days his flesh had melted away, leaving only the bones. He went into his room to cover himself with a cloak. As he threw it over himself, he noticed that all that remained of his substance had disappeared; there was nothing left under the cloak but an empty envelope like the skin of a snake. Then he warned his people that Wang Fang-p’ing was coming and that they must prepare the house to receive him.

The following night, which was the seventh night of the seventh month, they saw a chariot drawn by five dragons arrived. An escort preceded it, another escort followed it, with standards, as is customary for an army general. Wang Fang-p’ing got out of the chariot, wearing a traveling cap, and immediately his escort disappeared. As Ts’ai-king, his father and his elder brother saluted him respectfully, Ma-kou appeared in turn. She could have been eighteen years old, wore a chignon on the top of her head, and the rest of her hair, loose, reached her waist. She wore a brocade tunic, an embroidered dress, and her brilliance dazzled the eyes. They sat down to table, and with great grace she herself served slices of unicorn in gold and jade cups.

Ts’ai-king’s wife then had a newborn child.

Out of curiosity, she entered the room holding her child in her arms. Ma-kou gave a little cry and said to the others:

— Don’t come forward!

She took a few grains of rice and threw them on the ground, where they immediately turned into cinnabar. The child reached out his hands towards the beautiful red grains.

— Ma-kou, said Wang, smiling, you play like a child.

The girl looked sulky.

— Sir, my brother, although I am your humble servant, three times already I have seen the bottom of the Yellow Sea cultivated and covered with mulberry trees, three times I have seen the water lower around the P’oung-lai Islands. Am I then a child?

However, Ts’ai-king, who had retained some of the feelings of a man, if he no longer had the body, was fascinated by the nails of the Immortal: they were sharp and pointed like claws. An indecent thought from which he could not defend himself crossed his mind. Wang looked at him: he had guessed it, and striking him lightly with the handle of his whip on the shoulder, as if to wake him, he said to him, raising his voice:

— Ma-kou is an Immortal. Do you think her nails are made to scratch your back if it itches?

With that, the brother and sister took their leave and disappeared.

XIX

RELATIVITY

Emperor T’ang of the ancient Yn Dynasty once questioned his minister Hia-koh.

—In the beginning, said the emperor, did things exist?

“If they had not existed in the beginning,” replied the minister, “why should they exist today? Will not men of future centuries be able to believe just as well that nothing existed in our time?”

—So, the emperor continued, there is neither past nor future for things?

—It is rather that there is no limit to the beginning or the end of things. The beginning can be considered an end, the end as a beginning. It is impossible to draw a separation. Under these conditions, what may be outside of things or prior to events escapes our knowledge.

—So in every direction of space we encounter a limit and an end?

— I don’t know.

The emperor, dissatisfied with this answer, repeated his question. Hia-koh continued:

—That which is absolutely unlimited, that which is absolutely infinite, escapes our knowledge. Beside the unlimited, there is only room for that which is not unlimited; within the infinite, there is only room for that which is not infinite. Thus, the unlimited is the condition of that which is not unlimited; the infinite is the condition of that which is not infinite. This is why I can only conceive of space as infinite and unlimited, not as finite and limited.

—What is there outside the Four Seas?

—Exactly the same as in the kingdom of Ts’i where we are. Having gone to the east, I met men like those here, who told me about their eastern neighbors who were like themselves. From the west, I had the same information. It is thus to the ends of the universe, which is itself enclosed in another universe, for greatness and smallness continue one another, to infinity. The sky and the earth which form the envelope of our universe are only material objects; they are therefore imperfect. This is why in ancient times the divine Niu-koa, who had the body of a serpent and the head of a man, melted stones of five colors to fill the interstice between the sky and the earth, and cut off the legs of the giant tortoise to support the sky. But later, one of Niu-koa’s successors, Emperor Tchoan-hiu, had to fight the rebel Kung-kung who was disputing the throne with him. In the heat of the struggle, Kung-kung struck one of the pillars of the sky, the northwest one, which broke as it detached itself from the earth. Since then, the sky has been leaning towards the northwest, so that the sun, the moon and the stars fall on that side, while the earth leaves a void on the southeast side into which the rivers rush . (1)

(1) This text dates from the fourth century BC. Chinese geographers of this period, like those of Greece, knew only a part of the terrestrial globe. This is why they too made mistakes; but they were not the same ones. If we are willing to consider only the ideas here, we will notice a prefiguration of the most modern hypotheses of physics on the curvature of space.

XX

THE SIMPLE MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN AND THE WISE MAN OF THE RIVER

The T’ai-hing and Wang-wouh mountains were at that time in north of the river; each of these mountains covered an area of seventy leagues and rose to a height of five thousand fathoms. The Simple of the mountain lived on the banks of the river; he was ninety years old. Grieving in his heart at the long detour that these enormous masses imposed on travelers coming from the north, he gathered his people together and said to them:

—We will work together, with all our strength, to level this obstacle and make a passage that will lead from north to south. What do you think?

Everyone approved of this project, except for the old man’s wife, who expressed some doubts about its success:

—You are not strong enough to remove a pile of sand, and you are going to attack these mountains? And where will you put the earth and stones from the excavation?

—On this promontory, replied the others, and without listening to him further they set to work. There were three of them, the old man, his son and his grandson, striking the rock, digging the earth, carrying the filled baskets to the promontory. A widow in the neighborhood had a son who had just lost his baby teeth: the boy came to their aid, and this was their only help. They toiled without ceasing, and only returned home at the change of seasons, to get new clothes.

The Sage of the River came to see their work and burst out laughing.

“Unhappy man!” he said to the Simpleton, “do you not see that with the little strength that age has left you, you will hardly be able to lower the mountain by a hair’s breadth!”

The Simple One gave a long sigh and replied:

—It’s you I pity for the dullness of your narrow-mindedness. The widow’s little child who came to help me saw further than you. I may die, it’s true, but I have a son who himself already has a son. My grandson will have a son who himself will have a son, and then a grandson, and so my line will not die out. The mountain will not grow during that time, as far as I know. So why, by dint of work, should we not succeed in leveling it?

The Sage found nothing to answer.

One of the geniuses of the mountain, of those who brandish in their hands of the serpents, had listened to this conversation. Frightened by a constancy that seemed to have no end, he reported what he had heard to his emperor. The faith of the Simple One touched the emperor. On his order, the two giant sons of Kao-ngo went to the riverbank. Each took one of the two mountains on his back and carried it away, one to the east, the other to the west, far away. Since that day the road has been clear to the south along the river.

XXI

THE BENEFACTORS

The Emperor of the South Sea was named Houh, the Emperor of the North Sea was Chouh, the emperor of the Middle region was called Houen-touen or Chaos. Houh and Chouh met from time to time on the lands of Houen-touen who never failed to treat them very well. They wanted to show their gratitude for these good deeds and said to each other: “All men have seven orifices for the organs of sight, hearing, taste and smell. Houen-touen alone does not have any. We must try to open some for him.” Each day, they opened an orifice for him, and on the seventh day Houen-touen was dead.

XXII

DEATH

As Chuang Tze was going to the country of Chu, he saw a bleached skull, still intact, by the side of the road. He struck it with the end of his riding crop and questioned it in these terms:

—Was it unbridled ambition that made you what I see? Did you lead your kingdom to ruin and end your days on the scaffold? Or did your unworthy actions shame your parents, your wife, and your sons? Was it the torment of hunger and cold that reduced you to this fate? Or have you found here the natural end of your existence?

Having spoken thus, he picked up the skull and made it a pillow for himself for the night. At midnight, the skull appeared to him in a dream and said to him:

—The words you addressed to me are like all the speeches of scholars and philosophers; they are the words of living men. The dead care nothing for them. Do you want to know how the dead speak?

Tchoang-tze having agreed, the skull continued:

—Among the dead there are neither princes nor subjects, nor labors of the seasons. Without effort they measure their age by that of heaven and earth, and the bliss of a king in his throne room cannot exceed their happiness.

But Tchoang-tze remained incredulous:

— If I were to obtain from fate the right to give you back your life, with the form of your body, your bones and your flesh, if you could thus find your parents, your wife, your sons and your home, I know well that you would not ask for anything better!

But the skull frowned and lowered the nose bone angrily:

— What! I would leave the bliss of a king in his throne room to return to the pains of life?

XXIII

THE OLD FISHERMAN

Confucius had gone for a walk in the Forest of Black Veils. He sat down not far from the river on a mound shaded by apricot trees. His disciples had taken books, and the master sang, accompanying himself on the zither. He had not yet reached the middle of his song when an old fisherman, approaching his boat from the shore, got out. He had white eyebrows and beard, flowing hair, and rolled-up sleeves. Having climbed the bank and reached dry land, he stopped. With his left hand resting on his knee and his right supporting his chin, he listened to the song to the end. Two disciples, named Tze-koung and Tze-lou, had approached him.

Pointing to Confucius, he asked:

- Who is it ?

Tze-lou replied:

— He is a wise man from the country of Lo.

—And his name?

— Confucius.

— What is Confucius’s profession?

Tze-lou remaining silent, Tze-koung spoke:

— In his soul he obeys righteousness and sincerity, in his person he practices humanity and justice, watches over the good order of rites and music, defines the duties of each condition; he loyally serves the masters of the world and reforms the morals of the people, in order to make himself useful here below: such is the profession of Confucius.

The old fisherman asked:

— Is he a prince then?

— No, not.

— Minister ?

— No more.

Then the old man began to laugh and went away, murmuring:

—Humanity! That’s good to say, but I’m afraid he’ll achieve nothing but exhaust himself with effort and worry, only to compromise the accuracy of his singing in the end. Ah! How far he is from the Way!

Tze-kung returned to Confucius and reported these words to him. Confucius, leaving his zither there, immediately stood up and cried out:

— He’s a holy man!

He rushed after him and joined him at the edge of the river, just as he was taking his stick to draw the boat. The old fisherman turned around, and grateful Confucius remained motionless, while Confucius stepped back a little and twice bowed to him on the ground, before advancing again.

—What do you want? asked the old fisherman.

—You had just begun to speak when you left. In my unworthiness, I did not understand what you meant, and I come humbly to beg you to be so kind as to let me hear the sound of your voice, in order to come to my aid.

—Good, replied the old fisherman, I see that you like to learn.

Confucius bowed down twice more, and said as he stood up:

—I have studied from my youth, without ceasing, and I am now in my sixty-ninth year. However, I have not obtained what I sought. If the perfect doctrine is revealed to me, it is not with a light heart that I will receive it.

The old fisherman then began to instruct him in these terms:

—Like objects attract, like sounds respond to each other. It is the law of nature. I will explain my knowledge to you in order to regulate your action. The object of your action is human affairs. When the emperor, the princes, the ministers, and the people stand in their respective places, order reigns; if they leave them, disorder soon reaches its peak. When officials discharge their duties and men attend to their affairs, everyone receives their due. Fields in poor condition, dilapidated roofs, insufficient food and clothing, poor distribution of taxes, discord among women, and confusion between elders and younger brothers—these are the concerns of ordinary men. The disproportion of abilities to function, disorder in the administration, conduct where not everything is clear, the ill will of subordinates, poorly rewarded merit, mediocre salaries—these are the concerns of officials. A disloyal court, a poorly regulated state, the clumsiness of workers, poor tax collection, delayed audiences, and the emperor’s discontent—these are the worries of princes. The disagreement between the two principles, the disorder of the seasons that harms earthly goods, the violence of princes and their wars of conquest that impoverish the people, the discrediting of rites and music, the distress of the public treasury, the mixing of ranks, and the corruption of morals—these are the worries of the emperor in his office. You do not have the office of an emperor or a prince, nor the responsibility of a minister, and you take it upon yourselves to regulate rites and music, to prescribe the duties of each condition, in order to make men better. Is this not too much?

Confucius heaved a deep sigh, bowed again, and said:

—I have been banished, proscribed, deprived of my possessions, imprisoned, in the various kingdoms I have traveled. What have I done to deserve these infamous punishments?

The old fisherman, changing his face, then cried out in annoyance:

—You have trouble understanding! There was a man who was afraid of his shadow and had come to hate the trace of his footsteps. He ran away to leave them behind him. But the more he moved his legs, the more his traces multiplied, and no matter how much he ran, his shadow would not leave him. He thought he was still not going fast enough and redoubled his efforts without respite, he ended up dying of it. He did not know that it was enough for him to shelter from the sun to make his shadow disappear, and to remain still to stop the trace of his footsteps. He was a great fool. You scrutinize the degrees of humanity and justice, examine the limits of difference and similarity, consider the variations of movement and rest, evaluate the proportions of what is given or received, regulate the feelings of affection and hatred, prescribe a measure for satisfaction and discontent. But what good does that do you? So think of yourself and watch over your truth, give back to people what belongs to them, and you will never again be in trouble. Instead, you neglect yourself to take care of others. Is this not a deviation from the goal?

—But, replied Confucius sadly, what do you call the truth?

—Truth is the perfection of purity and sincerity. Without purity, without sincerity, it is impossible to influence men. He who laments by order may show sadness, but he is not in mourning; he who becomes irritated by order may show severity, but he is not respected; he who shows affection by order may smile, but he does not obtain harmony. True affliction mourns without noise; true anger is feared without demonstration; true affection obtains harmony without a smile. When truth is in the heart, the movement of the soul is felt outside, and this is why we esteem the truth.

Then Confucius begged the old fisherman to show him his residence so that he could serve him, accepting in advance the office that would be indicated to him, and receive his teaching. But the old man refused.

“We cannot travel together,” he said.

And pushing his boat away from the shore, he set off and little by little disappeared among the reeds.

The disciple Yen-yuen brought back the chariot, and Tze-lou handed the reins to Confucius. But Confucius did not see him: he watched the ripples in the water disappear, and it was only when the sound of the oars had died away that he decided to climb into his chariot.

END 