RISE OF CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE
Douglas, R. K.
    
Part I: Early Teachings

B.C. 550 
Introduction 
	Confucius is the Latinized name of Kung Futusze, or "Master Kung," whose work 
in China did much to educate the people in social and civic virtues.  He began as a 
political reformer at a time when the empire was cut up into a number of petty and 
discordant principalities.  As a practical statesman and administrator, he urged the 
necessity of reform upon the princes whom one after another he served.  His advice 
was invariably disregarded, and as he said "no intelligent ruler arose in his time." His 
great maxims of submission to the emperor or supreme head of the state he based on 
the analogous duty of filial obedience in a household, and his very spirit of piety 
prevented him from taking independent measures for redressing the evils and 
oppressions of his distracted country.

	His moral teachings are not based on any specific religious foundation, but they 
have become the settled code of Chinese life, of which submissiveness to authority, 
industry, frugality, and fair dealing as prescribed by Confucian ethics are general 
characteristics.  The political doctrines of this great reformer were eventually adopted, 
and his teaching and example brought about a peaceful and gradual, but complete 
revolution, in the Chinese Empire, whose consolidation into a simple kingdom was the 
practical result of this sage's influence.

Rise Of Confucius, The Chinese Sage 

	At the time of which we write the Chinese were still clinging to the banks of the 
Yellow River, along which they had first entered the country, and formed, within the 
limits of China proper, a few states on either shore lying between the 33d and 38th 
parallels of latitude, and the 106th and 119th of longitude.  The royal state of Chow 
occupied part of the modern province of Honan.  To the north of this was the powerful 
state of Tsin, embracing the modern province of Shanse and part of Chili; to the south 
was the barbarous state of Ts'oo, which stretched as far as the Yang-tsze-kiang; to the 
east, reaching to the coast, were a number of smaller states, among which those of 
Ts'e, Loo, Wei, Sung, and Ching were the chief and to the west of the Yellow River 
was the state of Ts'in, which was destined eventually to gain the mastery over the 
contending principalities.

	On the establishment of the Chow dynasty, King Woo had apportioned these 
fiefships among members of his family, his adherents, and the descendants of some of 
the ancient virtuous kings.  Each prince was empowered to administer his government 
as he pleased so long as he followed the general lines indicated by history; and in the 
event of any act of aggression on the part of one state against another, the matter was 
to be reported to the king of the sovereign state, who was bound to punish the 
offender.  It is plain that in such a system the elements of disorder must lie near the 
surface; and no sooner was the authority of the central state lessened by the want of 
ability shown by the successors of kings Woo, Ching, and K'ang, than constant strife 
broke out between the several chiefs.  The hand of every man was against his 
neighbor, and the smaller states suffered the usual fate, under like circumstances, of 
being encroached upon and absorbed, notwithstanding their appeals for help to their 
common sovereign.  The House of Chow having been thus found wanting, the device 
was resorted to of appointing one of the most powerful princes as a presiding chief, 
who should exercise royal functions, leaving the king only the title and paraphernalia of 
sovereignity.  In fact, the China of this period was governed and administered very 
much as Japan was up till about twenty years ago.  For Mikado, Shogun, and ruling 
Daimios, read king, presiding chief, and princes, and the parallel is as nearly as 
possible complete.  The result of the system, however, in the two countries was 
different, for apart from the support received by the Mikado from the belief in his 
heavenly origin, the insular position of Japan prevented the possibility of the advent of 
elements of disorder from without, whereas the principalities of China were surrounded 
by semi-barbarous states, the chiefs of which were engaged in constant warfare with 
them.

	Confucius' deep spirit of loyalty to the House of Chow forbade his following in the 
Book of History the careers of the sovereigns who reigned between the death of Muh 
in B.C. 946 and the accession of P'ing in 770.  One after another these kings rose, 
reigned, and died, leaving each to his successor an ever-increasing heritage of woe.  
During the reign of Seuen (827-781) a gleam of light seems to have shot through the 
pervading darkness. Though falling far short of the excellencies of the founders of the 
dynasty, he yet strove to follow, though at a long interval, the examples they had set 
him; and according to the Chinese belief, as an acknowledgment from Heaven of his 
efforts in the direction of virtue, it was given him to sit upon the throne for nearly half a 
century.

	His successor, Yew, "the Dark," appears to even less advantage.  No redeeming 
acts relieve the general disorder of his reign, and at the instigation of a favorite 
concubine he is said to have committed acts which place him on a level with Kee and 
Show.  Earthquakes, storms, and astrological portents appeared as in the dark days at 
the close of the Hea and Shang dynasties.  His capital was surrounded by the 
barbarian allies of the Prince of Shin, the father of his wife, whom he had dismissed at 
the request of his favorite, and in an attempt to escape he fell a victim to their 
weapons.

	With this event the Western Chow dynasty was brought to a close.

	Here, also, the Book of History comes to an end, and the Spring and Autumn 
Annals by Confucius takes up the tale of iniquity and disorder which overspread the 
land.  No more dreadful record of a nation's struggles can be imagined than that 
contained in Confucius's history.  The country was torn by discord and desolated by 
wars.  Husbandry was neglected, the peace of households was destroyed, and 
plunder and rapine were the watchwords of the time.

	Such was the state of China at the time of the birth of Confucius (B.C. 551).  Of 
the parents of the Sage we know but little, except that his father, Shuh-leang Heih, 
was a military officer, eminent for his commanding stature, his great bravery, and 
immense strength, and that his mother's name was Yen Ching-tsai.  The marriage of 
this couple took place when Heih was seventy years old, and the prospect, therefore, 
of his having an heir having been but slight, unusual rejoicings commemorated the 
birth of the son, who was destined to achieve such everlasting fame.

	Report says that the child was born in a cave on Mount Ne, whither Ching-tsai 
went in obedience to a vision to be confined.  But this is but one of the many legends 
with which Chinese historians love to surround the birth of Confucius.  With the same 
desire to glorify the Sage, and in perfect good faith, they narrate how the event was 
heralded by strange portents and miraculous appearances, how genii announced to 
Ching-tsai the honor that was in store for her, and how fairies attended at his nativity.

	Of the early years of Confucius we have but scanty record.  It would seem that 
from his childhood he showed ritualistic tendencies, and we are told that as a boy he 
delighted to play at the arrangement of vessels and postures of ceremony.  As he 
advanced in years he became an earnest student of history, and looked back with love 
and reverence to the time when the great and good Yaou and Shun reigned in

     "A golden age, fruitful of golden deeds."

	At the age of fifteen "he bent his mind to learning," and when he was nineteen 
years old he married a lady from the state of Sung.  As has befallen many other great 
men, Confucius' married life was not a happy one, and he finally divorced his wife, not, 
however, before she had borne him a son.

	Soon after his marriage, at the instigation of poverty, Confucius accepted the 
office of keeper of the stores of grain, and in the following year he was promoted to be 
guardian of the public fields and lands.  It was while holding this latter office that his son 
was born, and so well known and highly esteemed had he already become that the 
reigning duke, on hearing of the event, sent him a present of a carp, from which 
circumstance the infant derived his name, Le ("a carp").  The name of this son seldom 
occurs in the life of his illustrious father, and the few references we have to him are 
enough to show that a small share of paternal affection fell to his lot. "Have you heard 
any lessons from your father different from what we have all heard?" asked an inquisitive 
disciple of him.  "No," replied Le, "he was standing alone once when I was passing 
through the court below with hasty steps, and said to me, 'Have you read the Odes?' On 
my replying, 'No yet,' he added, 'If you do not learn the Odes, you will not be fit to 
converse with.' Another day, in the same place and the same way, he said to me, 'Have 
you read the rules of Propriety?' On my replying, 'Not yet,' he added, 'If you do not learn 
the rules of Propriety, your character cannot be established.'" "I asked one thing," said 
the enthusiastic disciple, "and I have learned three things.  I have learned about the 
Odes; I have learned about the rules of Propriety; and I have learned that the superior 
man maintains a distant reserve toward his son."

	At the age of twenty-two we find Confucius released from the toils of office, and 
devoting his time to the more congenial task of imparting instruction to a band of 
admiring and earnest students.  With idle or stupid scholars he would have nothing to 
do.  "I do not open the truth," he said, "to one who is not eager after knowledge, nor do I 
help any one who is not anxious to explain himself.  When I have presented one corner 
of a subject, and the listener cannot from it learn the other three, I do not repeat my 
lesson."

	When twenty-eight years old Confucius studied archery, and in the following 
years took lessons in music from the celebrated master, Seang.  At thirty he tells us "he 
stood firm," and about this time his fame mightily increased, many noble youths enrolled 
themselves among his disciples; and on his expressing a desire to visit the imperial court 
of Chow to confer on the subject of ancient ceremonies with Laou Tan, the founder of 
the Taouist sect, the reigning duke placed a carriage and horses at his disposal for the 
journey.

	The extreme veneration which Confucius entertained for the founders of the 
Chow dynasty made the visit to Lo, the capital, one of intense interest to him.  With 
eager delight he wandered through the temple and audience-chambers, the place of 
sacrifices and the palace, and having completed his inspection of the position and shape 
of the various sacrificial and ceremonial vessels, he turned to his disciples and said, 
"Now I understand the wisdom of the duke of Chow, and how his house attained to 
imperial sway." But the principal object of his visit to Chow was to confer with Laou-tsze; 
and of the interview between these two very dissimilar men we have various accounts.  
The Confucian writers as a rule merely mention the fact of their having met, but the 
admirers of Laou-tsze affirm that Confucius was very roughly handled by his more 
ascetic contemporary, who looked down from his somewhat higher standpoint with 
contempt on the great apostle of antiquity.  It was only natural that Laou-tsze, who 
preached that stillness and self-emptiness were the highest attainable objects, should be 
ready to assail a man whose whole being was wrapt up in ceremonial observances and 
conscious well-doing.  The very measured tones and considered movements of 
Confucius, coupled with a certain admixture of that pride which apes humility, must have 
been very irritating to the metaphysically-minded treasurer.  And it was eminently 
characteristic of Confucius, that notwithstanding the great provocation given him on this 
occasion, he abstained from any rejoinder.  We nowhere read of his engaging in a 
dispute. When an opponent arose, it was in keeping with the doctrine of Confucius to 
retire before him.  "A sage," he said, "will not enter a tottering state nor dwell in a 
disorganized one.  When right principles of government prevail he shows himself, but 
when they are prostrated he remains concealed." And carrying out the same principle in 
private life, he invariably refused to wrangle.

	It was possibly in connection with this incident that Confucius drew the attention 
of his disciples to the metal statue of a man with a triple clasp upon his mouth, which 
stood in the ancestral temple at Lo.  On the back of the statue were inscribed these 
words: "The ancients were guarded in their speech, and like them we should avoid 
loquacity.  Many words invite many defeats. Avoid also engaging in many businesses, 
for many businesses create many difficulties."

	"Observe this, my children," said he, pointing to the inscription. "These words are 
true, and commend themselves to our reason."

	Having gained all the information he desired in Chow, he returned to Loo, where 
pupils flocked to him until, we are told, he was surrounded by an admiring company of 
three thousand disciples.  His stay in Loo was, however, of short duration, for the three 
principal clans of the state, those of Ke, Shuh, and Mang, after frequent contests 
between themselves, engaged in a war with the reigning duke, and overthrew his 
armies.  Upon this the duke took refuge in the state of T'se, whither Confucius followed 
him.  As he passed along the road he saw a woman weeping at a tomb, and having 
compassion on her, he sent his disciple Tsze-loo to ask her the cause of her grief.  "You 
weep as if you had experienced sorrow upon sorrow," said Tsze-loo.  "I have," said the 
woman, "my father-in-law was killed here by a tiger, and my husband also; and now my 
son has met the same fate." "Why, then, do you not remove from the place?" asked 
Confucius.  "Because here there is no oppressive government," replied the woman.  On 
hearing this answer, Confucius remarked to his disciples, "My children remember this, 
oppressive government is fiercer than a tiger."

	Possibly Confucius was attracted to T'se by a knowledge that the music of the 
emperor Shun was still preserved at the court.  At all events, we are told that having 
heard a strain of the much-desired music on his way to the capital, he hurried on, and 
was so ravished with the airs he heard that for three months he never tasted flesh.  "I did 
not think," said he, "that music could reach such a pitch of excellence."

	Hearing of the arrival of the Sage, the duke of T'se - King, by name - sent for him, 
and after some conversation, being minded to act the part of a patron to so distinguished 
a visitor, offered to make him a present of the city of Lin-k'ew with its revenues.  But this 
Confucius declined, remarking to his disciples, "A superior man will not receive rewards 
except for services done.  I have given advice to the duke King, but he has not followed 
it as yet, and now he would endow me with this place.  Very far is he from understanding 
me." He still, however, discussed politics with the duke, and taught him that "'There is 
good government when the prince is prince, and the minister is minister; when the father 
is father, and the son is son." "Good," said the duke; "if, indeed, the prince be not prince, 
the minister not minister, and the son not son, although I have my revenue, can I enjoy 
it?"

	Though Duke King was by no means a satisfactory pupil, many of his instincts 
were good, and he once again expressed a desire to pension Confucius, that he might 
keep him at hand; but Gan Ying, the Prime Minister, dissuaded him from his purpose.  
"These scholars," said the minister, "are impracticable, and cannot be imitated.  They 
are haughty and conceited of their own views, so that they will not rest satisfied in 
inferior positions. They set a high value on all funeral ceremonies, give way to their grief, 
and will waste their property on great funerals, so that they would only be injurious to the 
common manners.  This Kung Footsze has a thousand peculiarities.  It would take ages 
to exhaust all he knows about the ceremonies of going up and going down.  This is not 
the time to examine into his rules of propriety.  If you wish to employ him to change the 
customs of T'se, you will not be making the people your primary consideration." This 
reasoning had full weight with the duke, who the next time he was urged to follow the 
advice of Confucius, cut short the discussion by the remark, "I am too old to adopt his 
doctrines."

	Under these circumstances Confucius once more returned to Loo, only however 
to find that the condition of the state was still unchanged; disorder was rife; and the reins 
of government were in the hands of the head of the strongest party for the time being.  
This was no time for Confucius to take office, and he devoted the leisure thus forced 
upon him to the compilation of the "Book of Odes" and the "Book of History."

	But in process of time order was once more restored, and he then felt himself 
free to accept the post of magistrate of the town of Chung-too, which was offered him by 
the duke Ting.

	He now had an opportunity of putting his principles of government to the test, and 
the result partly justified his expectations.  He framed rules for the support of the living, 
and for the observation of rites for the dead; he arranged appropriate food for the old 
and the young; and he provided for the proper separation of men and women.  And the 
results were, we are told, that, as in the time of King Alfred, a thing dropped on the road 
was not picked up; there was no fraudulent carving of vessels; coffins were made of the 
ordained thickness; graves were unmarked by mounds raised over them; and no two 
prices were charged in the markets.  The duke, surprised at what he saw, asked the 
sage whether his rule of government could be applied to the whole state. "Certainly," 
replied Confucius, "and not only to the state of Loo, but to the whole empire." Forthwith, 
therefore, the duke made him Assistant-Superintendent of Works, and shortly afterwards 
appointed him Minister of Crime.  Here, again, his success was complete.  From the day 
of his appointment crime is said to have disappeared, and the penal laws remained a 
dead letter.

	Courage was recognized by Confucius as being one of the great virtues, and 
about this period we have related two instances in which he showed that he possessed 
both moral and physical courage to a high degree.  The chief of the Ke family, being 
virtual possessor of the state, when the body of the exiled Duke Chaou was brought 
from T'se for interment, directed that it should be buried apart from the graves of his 
ancestors.  On Confucius becoming aware of his decision, he ordered a trench to be dug 
round the burying-ground which should enclose the new tomb.  "Thus to censure a 
prince and signalize his faults is not according to etiquette," said he to Ke.  "I have 
caused the grave to be included in the cemetery, and I have done so to hide your 
disloyalty." And his action was allowed to pass unchallenged.

	The other instance referred to was on the occasion, a few years later, of an 
interview between the dukes of Loo and T'se, at which Confucius was present as master 
of ceremonies.  At his instigation an altar was raised at the place of meeting, which was 
mounted by three steps, and on this the dukes ascended, and having pledged one 
another proceeded to discuss a treaty of alliance.  But treachery was intended on the 
part of the duke of T'se, and at a given signal a band of savages advanced with beat of 
drum to carry off the duke of Loo. Some such stratagem had been considered probable 
by Confucius, and the instant the danger became imminent he rushed to the altar and 
led away the duke. After much disorder, in which Confucius took a firm and prominent 
part, a treaty was concluded, and even some land on the south of the river Wan, which 
had been taken by T'se, was by the exertions of the Sage restored to Loo.  On this 
recovered territory the people of Loo, in memory of the circumstance, built a city and 
called it, "The City of Confession."

	But to return to Confucius as the Minister of Crime.  Though eminently 
successful, the results obtained under his system were not quite such as his followers 
have represented them to have been.  No doubt crime diminished under his rule, but it 
was by no means abolished.  In fact, his biographers mention a case which must have 
been peculiarly shocking to him.  A father brought an accusation against his son, in the 
expectation, probably, of gaining his suit with ease before a judge who laid such stress 
on the virtues of filial piety. But to his surprise, and that of the on-lookers, Confucius cast 
both father and son into prison, and to the remonstrances of the head of the Ke clan 
answered, "Am I to punish for a breach of filial piety one who has never been taught to 
be filially minded?  Is not he who neglects to teach his son his duties, equally guilty with 
the son who fails in them?  Crime is not inherent in human nature, and therefore the 
father in the family, and the government in the state, are responsible for the crimes 
committed against filial piety and the public laws.  If a king is careless about publishing 
laws, and then peremptorily punishes in accordance with the strict letter of them, he acts 
the part of a swindler; if he collect the taxes arbitrarily without giving warning, he is guilty 
of oppression; and if he puts the people to death without having instructed them, he 
commits a cruelty."

	On all these points Confucius frequently insisted, and strove both by precept and 
example to impart the spirit they reflected on all around him. In the presence of his 
prince we are told that his manner, though self-possessed, displayed respectful 
uneasiness.  When he entered the palace, or when he passed the vacant throne, his 
countenance changed, his legs bent under him, and he spoke as though he had scarcely 
breath to utter a word. When it fell to his lot to carry the royal sceptre, he stooped his 
body as though he were not able to bear its weight.  If the prince came to visit him when 
he was ill, he had himself placed with his head to the east, and lay dressed in his court 
clothes with his girdle across them.  When the prince sent him a present of cooked meat, 
he carefully adjusted his mat and just tasted the dishes; if the meat were uncooked, he 
offered it to the spirits of his ancestors, and any animal which was thus sent him he kept 
alive.

	At the village festivals he never preceded, but always followed after the elders.  
To all about him he assumed an appearance of simplicity and sincerity.  To the court 
officials of the lower grade he spoke freely, and to superior officers his manner was 
bland but precise.  Even at the wild gatherings which accompanied the annual ceremony 
of driving away pestilential influences, he paid honor to the original meaning of the rite, 
by standing in court robes on the eastern steps of his house, and received the riotous 
exorcists as though they were favored guests.  When sent for by the prince to assist in 
receiving a royal visitor, his countenance appeared to change.  He inclined himself to the 
officers among whom he stood, and when sent to meet the visitor at the gate, "he 
hastened forward with his arms spread out like the wings of a bird." Recognizing in the 
wind and the storm the voice of Heaven, he changed countenance at the sound of a 
sudden clap of thunder or a violent gust of wind.

	The principles which underlie all these details relieve them from the sense of 
affected formality which they would otherwise suggest.  Like the sages of old, Confucius 
had an overweening faith in the effect of example. "What do you say," asked the chief of 
the Ke clan on one occasion, "to killing the unprincipled for the good of the principled?" 
"Sir," replied Confucius, "in carrying on your government why should you employ capital 
punishment at all?  Let your evinced desires be for what is good and the people will be 
good." And then quoting the words of King Ching, he added, "The relation between 
superiors and inferiors is like that between the wind and the grass. The grass must bend 
when the wind blows across it.' Thus in every act of his life, whether at home or abroad, 
whether at table or in bed, whether at study or in moments of relaxation, he did all with 
the avowed object of being seen of men and of influencing them by his conduct.  And to 
a certain extent he gained his end.  He succeeded in demolishing a number of fortified 
cities which had formed the hotbeds of sedition and tumult; and thus added greatly to the 
power of the reigning duke.  He inspired the men with a spirit of loyalty and good faith, 
and taught the women to be chaste and docile.  On the report of the tranquillity 
prevailing in Loo, strangers flocked into the state, and thus was fulfilled the old criterion 
of good government which was afterward repeated by Confucius, "the people were 
happy, and strangers were attracted from afar."

	But even Confucius found it impossible to carry all his theories into practice, and 
his experience as Minister of Crime taught him that something more than mere example 
was necessary to lead the people into the paths of virtue.  Before he had been many 
months in office, he signed the death-warrant of a well-known citizen named Shaou for 
disturbing the public peace.  This departure from the principle he had so lately laid down 
astonished his followers, and Tsze-kung - the Simon Peter as he has been called among 
his disciples - took him to task for executing so notable a man. But Confucius held to it 
that the step was necessary.  "There are five great evils in the world," said he: "a man 
with a rebellious heart who becomes dangerous; a man who joins to vicious deeds a 
fierce temper; a man whose words are knowingly false; a man who treasures in his 
memory noxious deeds and disseminates them; a man who follows evil and fertilizes it.  
All these evil qualities were combined in Shaou.  His house was a rendezvous for the 
disaffected; his words were specious enough to dazzle any one; and his opposition was 
violent enough to overthrow any independent man."

	But notwithstanding such departures from the lines he had laid down for himself, 
the people gloried in his rule and sang at their work songs in which he was described as 
their savior from oppression and wrong.

	Confucius was an enthusiast, and his want of success in his attempt completely 
to reform the age in which he lived never seemed to suggest a doubt to his mind of the 
complete wisdom of his creed.  According to his theory, his official administration should 
have effected the reform not only of his sovereign and the people, but of those of the 
neighboring states.  But what was the practical result?  The contentment which reigned 
among the people of Loo, instead of instigating the duke of T'se to institute a similar 
system, only served to rouse his jealousy.  "With Confucius at the head of its 
government," said he, "Loo will become supreme among the states, and T'se, which is 
nearest to it, will be swallowed up.  Let us propitiate it by a surrender of territory." But a 
more provident statesman suggested that they should first try to bring about the disgrace 
of the Sage.

	With this object he sent eighty beautiful girls, well skilled in the arts of music and 
dancing, and a hundred and twenty of the finest horses which could be procured, as a 
present to the duke Ting.  The result fully realized the anticipation of the minister.  The 
girls were taken into the duke's harem, the horses were removed to the ducal stables, 
and Confucius was left to meditate on the folly of men who preferred listening to the 
songs of the maidens of T'se to the wisdom of Yaou and Shun.  Day after day passed 
and the duke showed no signs of returning to his proper mind.  The affairs of state were 
neglected, and for three days the duke refused to receive his ministers in audience.

	"Master," said Tsze-loo, "it is time you went." But Confucius, who had more at 
stake than his disciple, was disinclined to give up the experiment on which his heart was 
set.  Besides, the time was approaching when the great sacrifice to Heaven at the 
solstice, about which he had had so many conversations with the duke, should be 
offered up, and he hoped that the recollection of his weighty words would recall the duke 
to a sense of his duties.  But his gay rivals in the affections of the duke still held their 
sway, and the recurrence of the great festival failed to awaken his conscience even for 
the moment.  Reluctantly therefore Confucius resigned his post and left the capital.

	But though thus disappointed of the hopes he entertained of the duke of Loo, 
Confucius was by no means disposed to resign his role as the reformer of the age.  "If 
any one among the princes would employ me," said he, "I would effect something 
considerable in the course of twelve months, and in three years the government would 
be perfected." But the tendencies of the times were unfavorable to the Sage.  The 
struggle for supremacy which had been going on for centuries between the princes of 
the various states was then at its height, and though there might be a question whether it 
would finally result in the victory of Tsin, or of Ts'oo, or of Ts'in, there could be no doubt 
that the sceptre had already passed from the hands of the ruler of Chow.  To men 
therefore who were fighting over the possessions of a state which had ceased to live, the 
idea of employing a minister whose principal object would have been to breathe life into 
the dead bones of Chow, was ridiculous.  This soon became apparent to his disciples, 
who being even more concerned than their master at his loss of office, and not taking so 
exalted a view as he did of what he considered to be a heaven-sent mission, were 
inclined to urge him to make concessions in harmony with the times.  "Your principles," 
said Tsze-kung to him, "are excellent, but they are unacceptable in the empire, would it 
not be well therefore to bate them a little?" "A good husbandman," replied the Sage, 
"can sow, but he cannot secure a harvest. An artisan may excel in handicraft, but he 
cannot provide a market for his goods.  And in the same way a superior man can 
cultivate his principles, but he cannot make them acceptable."

	But Confucius was at least determined that no efforts on his part should be 
wanting to discover the opening for which he longed, and on leaving Loo he betook 
himself to the state of Wei.  On arriving at the capital, the reigning duke received him 
with distinction, but showed no desire to employ him. Probably expecting, however, to 
gain some advantage from the counsels of the Sage in the art of governing, he 
determined to attach him to his court by the grant of an annual stipend of sixty thousand 
measures of grain - that having been the value of the post he had just resigned in Loo.  
Had the experiences of his public life come up to the sanguine hopes he had entertained 
at its beginning, Confucius would probably have declined this offer as he did that of the 
Duke of T'se some years before, but poverty unconsciously impelled him to act up to the 
advice of Tsze-kung and to bate his principles of conduct somewhat.  His stay, however, 
in Wei was of short duration.  The officials at the court, jealous probably of the influence 
they feared he might gain over the duke, intrigued against him, and Confucius thought it 
best to bow before the coming storm.  After living on the duke's hospitality for ten 
months, he left the capital, intending to visit the state of Ch'in.

	It chanced, however, that the way thither led him through the town of Kwang, 
which had suffered much from the filibustering expeditions of a notorious disturber of the 
public peace, named Yang-Hoo.  To this man of ill-fame Confucius bore a striking 
resemblance, so much so that the townspeople, fancying that they now had their old 
enemy in their power, surrounded the house in which he lodged for five days, intending 
to attack him.  The situation was certainly disquieting, and the disciples were much 
alarmed.  But Confucius's belief in the heaven-sent nature of his mission raised him 
above fear.  "After the death of King Wan," said he, "was not the cause of truth lodged in 
me?  If Heaven had wished to let this sacred cause perish, I should not have been put 
into such a relation to it.  Heaven will not let the cause of truth perish, and what therefore 
can the people of Kwang do to me?" Saying which he turned his lyre, and sang probably 
some of those songs from his recently compiled Book of Odes which breathed the 
wisdom of the ancient emperors.

	From some unexplained cause, but more probably from the people of Kwang 
discovering their mistake than from any effect produced by Confucius' ditties, the 
attacking force suddenly withdrew, leaving the Sage free to go wherever he listed.  This 
misadventure was sufficient to deter him from wandering farther a-field, and, after a 
short stay at Poo, he returned to Wei.  Again the duke welcomed him to the capital, 
though it does not appear that he renewed his stipend, and even his consort Nan-tsze 
forgot for a while her intrigues and debaucheries at the news of his arrival.  With a 
complimentary message she begged an interview with the Sage, which he at first 
refused; but on her urging her request, he was fain obliged to yield the point.  On being 
introduced into her presence, he found her concealed behind a screen, in strict 
accordance with the prescribed etiquette, and after the usual formalities they entered 
freely into conversation.

	Tsze-loo was much disturbed at this want of discretion, as he considered it, on 
the part of Confucius, and the vehemence of his master's answer showed that there was 
a doubt in his own mind whether he had not overstepped the limits of sage-like propriety.  
"Wherein I have done improperly," said he, "may Heaven reject me! may Heaven reject 
me!" This incident did not, however, prevent him from maintaining friendly relations with 
the court, and it was not until the duke by a public act showed his inability to understand 
the dignity of the role which Confucius desired to assume, that he lost all hope of finding 
employment in the state of his former patron.  On this occasion the duke drove through 
the streets of his capital seated in a carriage with Nan-tsze, and desired Confucius to 
follow in a carriage behind. As the procession passed through the market-place, the 
people perceiving more clearly than the duke the incongruity of the proceeding, laughed 
and jeered at the idea of making virtue follow in the wake of lust.  This completed the 
shame which Confucius felt at being in so false a position.

	"I have not seen one," said he, "who loves virtue as he loves beauty." To stay 
any longer under the protection of a court which could inflict such an indignity upon him 
was more than he could do, and he therefore once again struck southward toward 
Ch'in.



RISE OF CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE
Douglas, R. K.
    
Part II: After Retirement

	After his retirement from office it is probable that Confucius devoted himself 
afresh to imparting to his followers those doctrines and opinions which we shall 
consider later on.  Even on the road to Ch'in we are told that he practised ceremonies 
with his disciples beneath the shadow of a tree by the wayside in Sung.  In the spirit of 
Laou-tsze, Hwuy T'uy, an officer in the neighborhood, was angered at his reported 
"proud air and many desires, his insinuating habit and wild will," and attempted to 
prevent him entering the state.  In this endeavor, however, he was unsuccessful, as 
were some more determined opponents, who two years later attacked him at Poo, 
when he was on his way to Wei.  On this occasion he was seized, and though it is said 
that his followers struggled manfully with his captors, their efforts did not save him from 
having to give an oath that he would not continue his journey to Wei. But in spite of his 
oath, and in spite of the public slight which had previously been put upon him by the 
duke of Wei, an irresistible attraction drew him toward that state, and he had no sooner 
escaped from the clutches of his captors than he continued his journey.

	This deliberate forfeiture of his word in one who had commanded them to "hold 
faithfulness and sincerity as first principles," surprised his disciples; and Tsze-kung, 
who was generally the spokesman on such occasions, asked him whether it was right 
to violate the oath he had taken.  But Confucius, who had learned expediency in 
adversity, replied, "It was an oath extracted by force.  The spirits do not hear such."

	But to return to Confucius flying from his enemies in Sung.  Finding his way 
barred by the action of Hwan T'uy, he proceeded westward and arrived at Ch'ing, the 
capital of the state of the same name.  Thither it would appear his disciples had 
preceded him, and he arrived unattended at the eastern gate of the city.  But his 
appearance was so striking that his followers were soon made aware of his presence.  
"There is a man," said a townsman to Tsze-kung, "standing at the east gate with a 
forehead like Yaou, a neck like Kaou Yaou, his shoulders on a level with those of 
Tsze-ch'an, but wanting below the waist three inches of the height of Yu, and 
altogether having the forsaken appearance of a stray dog." Recognizing his master in 
this description, Tsze-kung hastened to meet him, and repeated to him the words of 
his informant.  Confucius was much amused, and said: "The personal appearance is a 
small matter; but to say I was like a stray dog - capital! capital!"

	The ruling powers in Ch'ing, however, showed no disposition to employ even a 
man possessing such marked characteristics, and before long he removed to Ch'in, 
where he remained a year.  From Ch'in he once more turned his face toward Wei, and 
it was while he was on this journey that he was detained at Poo, as mentioned above.  
Between Confucius and the duke of Wei there evidently existed a personal liking, if not 
friendship.  The duke was always glad to see him and ready to converse with him; but 
Confucius's unbounded admiration for those whose bones, as Laou-tsze said, were 
mouldered to dust, and especially for the founders of the Chow dynasty, made it 
impossible for the duke to place him in any position of importance.  At the same time 
Confucius seems always to have hoped that he would be able to gain the duke over to 
his views; and thus it came about that the Sage was constantly attracted to the court of 
Duke Ling, and as often compelled to exile himself from it.

	On this particular occasion, as at all other times, the duke received him gladly, 
but their conversations, which had principally turned on the act of peaceful 
government, were now directed to warlike affairs.  The duke was contemplating an 
attack on Poo, the inhabitants of which, under the leadership of Hwan T'uy, who had 
arrested Confucius, had rebelled against him.  At first Confucius was quite disposed to 
support the duke in his intended hostilities; but a representation from the duke that the 
probable support of other states would make the expedition one of considerable 
danger, converted Confucius to the opinion evidently entertained by the duke, that it 
would be best to leave Hwan T'uy in possession of his ill-gotten territory. Confucius's 
latest advice was then to this effect, and the duke acted upon it.

	The duke was now becoming an old man, and with advancing age came a 
disposition to leave the task of governing to others, and to weary of Confucius' high-
flown lectures.  He ceased "to use" Confucius, as the Chinese historians say, and the 
Sage was therefore indignant, and ready to accept any offer which might come from 
any quarter.  While in this humor he received an invitation from Pih Hih, an officer of 
the state of Tsin who was holding the town of Chung-mow against his chief, to visit 
him, and he was inclined to go. It is impossible to study this portion of Confucius' 
career without feeling that a great change had come over his conduct.  There was no 
longer that lofty love of truth and of virtue which had distinguished the commencement 
of his official life.  Adversity, instead of stiffening his back, had made him pliable.  He 
who had formerly refused to receive money he had not earned, was now willing to take 
pay in return for no other services than the presentation of courtier-like advice on 
occasions when Duke Ling desired to have his opinion in support of his own; and in 
defiance of his oft-repeated denunciation of rebels, he was now ready to go over to the 
court of a rebel chief, in the hope possibly of being able through his means "to 
establish," as he said on another occasion, "an Eastern Chow."

	Again Tsze-loo interfered, and expostulated with him on his inconsistency.  
"Master," said he, "I have heard you say that when a man is guilty of personal wrong-
doing, a superior man will not associate with him. If you accept the invitation of this Pih 
Hih, who is in open rebellion against his chief, what will people say?" But Confucius, 
with a dexterity which had now become common with him, replied: "It is true I have 
said so. But is it not also true that if a thing be really hard, it may be ground without 
being made thin; and if it be really white, it may be steeped in a black fluid without 
becoming black?  Am I a bitter gourd?  Am I to be hung up out of the way of being 
eaten?" But nevertheless Tsze-loo's remonstrances prevailed, and he did not go.

	His relations with the duke did not improve, and so dissatisfied was he with his 
patron that he retired from the court.  As at this time Confucius was not in the receipt of 
any official income, it is probable that he again provided for his wants by imparting to 
his disciples some of the treasures out of the rich stores of learning which he had 
collected by means of diligent study and of a wide experience.  Every word and action 
of Confucius were full of such meaning to his admiring followers that they have 
enabled us to trace him into the retirement of private life.  In his dress, we are told, he 
was careful to wear only the "correct" colors, viz., azure, yellow, carnation, white and 
black, and he scrupulously avoided red as being the color usually affected by women 
and girls.  At the table he was moderate in his appetite but particular as to the nature 
of his food and the manner in which it was set before him.  Nothing would induce him 
to touch any meat that was "high" or rice that was musty, nor would he eat anything 
that was not properly cut up or accompanied with the proper sauce.  He allowed 
himself only a certain quantity of meat and rice, and though no such limit was fixed to 
the amount of wine with which he accompanied his frugal fare, we are assured that he 
never allowed himself to be confused by it.  When out driving, he never turned his 
head quite round, and in his actions as well as in his words he avoided all appearance 
of haste.

	Such details are interesting in the case of a man like Confucius, who has 
exercised so powerful an influence over so large a proportion of the world's 
inhabitants, and whose instructions, far from being confined to the courts of kings, 
found their loudest utterances in intimate communings with his disciples, and in the 
example he set by the exact performance of his daily duties.

	The only accomplishment which Confucius possessed was a love of music, and 
this he studied less as an accomplishment than as a necessary part of education.  "It is 
by the odes that the mind is aroused," said he.  "It is by the rules of propriety that the 
character is established.  And it is music which completes the edifice."

	But having tasted the sweets of official life, Confucius was not inclined to resign 
all hope of future employment, and the duke of Wei still remaining deaf to his advice, 
he determined to visit the state of Tsin, in the hope of finding in Chaou Keentsze, one 
of the three chieftains who virtually governed that state, a more hopeful pupil.  With 
this intention he started westward, but had go no farther than the Yellow River when 
the news reached him of the execution of Tuh Ming and Tuh Shun-hwa, two men of 
note in Tsin.  The disorder which this indicated put a stop to his journey; for had not he 
himself said "that a superior man will not enter a tottering state." His disappointment 
and grief were great, and looking at the yellow waters as they flowed at his feet, he 
sighed and muttered to himself: "Oh how beautiful were they; this river is not more 
majestic than they were! and I was not there to avert their fate!"

	So saying he returned to Wei, only to find the duke as little inclined to listen to his 
lectures, as he was deeply engaged in warlike preparations. When Confucius 
presented himself at court, the duke refused to talk on any other subject but military 
tactics, and forgetting, possibly on purpose, that Confucius was essentially a man of 
peace, pressed him for information on the art of manoeuvreing an army.  "If you should 
wish to know how to arrange sacrificial vessels," said the Sage, "I will answer you, but 
about warfare I know nothing."

	Confucius was now sixty years old, and the condition of the states composing the 
empire was even more unfavorable for the reception of his doctrines than ever.  But 
though depressed by fortune, he never lost that steady confidence in himself and his 
mission, which was a leading characteristic of his career, and when he found the duke 
of Wei deaf to his advice, he removed to Ch'in, in the hope of there finding a ruler who 
would appreciate his wisdom.

	In the following year he left Ch'in with his disciples for Ts'ae, a small dependency 
of the state of Ts'oo.  In those days the empire was subjected to constant changes.  
One day a new state carved out of an old one would appear, and again it would 
disappear, or increase in size, as the fortunes of war might determine.  Thus while 
Confucius was in Ts'ae, a part of Ts'oo declared itself independent, under the name of 
Ye, and the ruler usurped the title of duke.  In earlier days such rebellion would have 
called forth a rebuke from Confucius; but it was otherwise now, and, instead of 
denouncing the usurper as a rebel, he sought him as a patron.  The duke did not know 
how to receive his visitor, and asked Tsze-loo about him.  But Tsze-loo, possibly 
because he considered the duke to be no better than Pih Hih, returned him no answer.  
For this reticence Confucius found fault with him, and said, "Why did you not say to 
him, 'He is simply a man who, in his eager pursuit of knowledge, forgets his food; who, 
in the joy of its attainments, forgets his sorrows; and who does not perceive that old 
age is coming on?'"

	But whatever may have been the opinion of Tsze-loo, Confucius was quite ready 
to be on friendly terms with the duke, who seems to have had no keener relish for 
Confucius' ethics than the other rulers to whom he had offered his services.  We are 
only told of one conversation which took place between the duke and the Sage, and on 
that occasion the duke questioned him on the subject of government.  Confucius' reply 
was eminently characteristic of the man. Most of his definitions of good government 
would have sounded unpleasantly in the ears of a man who had just thrown off his 
master's yoke and headed a successful rebellion, so he cast about for one which might 
offer some excuse for the new duke by attributing the fact of his disloyalty to the bad 
government of his late ruler.  Quoting the words of an earlier sage, he replied, "Good 
government obtains when those who are near are made happy, and those who are far 
off are attracted."

	Returning from Ye to Ts'ae, he came to a river which, being unbridged, left him 
no resource but to ford it.  Seeing two men whom he recognized as political recluses 
ploughing in a neighboring field, he sent the ever-present Tsze-loo to inquire of them 
where best he could effect a crossing.  "Who is that holding the reins in the carriage 
yonder?" asked the first addressed, in answer to Tsze-loo's inquiry.  "Kung Kew," 
replied the disciple.  "Kung Kew, of Loo?" asked the ploughman.  "Yes," was the reply.  
"He knows the ford," was the enigmatic answer of the man as he turned to his work; 
but whether this reply was suggested by the general belief that Confucius was 
omniscient, or by way of a parable to signify that Confucius possessed the knowledge 
by which the river of disorder, which was barring the progress of liberty and freedom, 
might be crossed, we are only left to conjecture.  Nor from the second recluse could 
Tsze-loo gain any practical information.  "Who are you, sir?" was the somewhat 
peremptory question which his inquiry met with.  Upon his answering that he was a 
disciple of Confucius, the man, who might have gathered his estimate of Confucius 
from the mouth of Laou-tsze, replied: "Disorder, like a swelling flood, spreads over the 
whole empire, and who is he who will change it for you?  Rather than follow one who 
merely withdraws from this court to that court, had you not better follow those who (like 
ourselves) withdraw from the world altogether?" These words Tsze-loo, as was his 
wont, repeated to Confucius, who thus justified his career: "It is impossible to associate 
with birds and beasts as if they were the same as ourselves.  If I associate not with 
people, with mankind, with whom shall I associate?  If right principles prevailed 
throughout the empire, there would be no necessity for me to change its state."

	Altogether Confucius remained three years in Ts'ae, - three years of strife and 
war, during which his counsels were completely neglected.  Toward their close, the 
state of Woo made an attack on Ch'in, which found support from the powerful state of 
Ts'oo on the south.  While thus helping his ally, the Duke of Ts'oo heard that Confucius 
was in Ts'ae, and determined to invite him to his court.  With this object he sent 
messengers bearing presents to the Sage, and charged them with a message begging 
him to come to Ts'oo. Confucius readily accepted the invitation, and prepared to start.  
But the news of the transaction alarmed the ministers of Ts'ae and Ch'in.  "Ts'oo," said 
they, "is already a powerful state, and Confucius is a man of wisdom. Experience has 
proved that those who have despised him have invariably suffered for it, and, should 
be succeed in guiding the affairs of Ts'oo, we should certainly be ruined.  At all 
hazards we must stop his going." When, therefore, Confucius had started on his 
journey, these men despatched a force which hemmed him in in a wild bit of desert 
country.  Here, we are told, they kept him a prisoner for seven days, during which time 
he suffered severe privations, and, as was always the case in moments of difficulty, 
the disciples loudly bewailed their lot and that of their master.

	"Has the superior man," said Tsze-loo, "indeed, to endure in this way?" "The 
superior man may indeed have to suffer want," replied Confucius, "but it is only the 
mean man who, when he is in straits, gives way to unbridled license." In this 
emergency he had recourse to a solace which had soothed him on many occasions 
when fortune frowned: he played on his lute and sang.

	At length he succeeded in sending word to the duke of Ts'oo of the position he 
was in.  At once the duke sent ambassadors to liberate him, and he himself went out of 
his capital to meet him.  But though he welcomed him cordially, and seems to have 
availed himself of his advice on occasions, he did not appoint him to any office, and 
the intention he at one time entertained of granting him a slice of territory was thwarted 
by his ministers, from motives of expediency.  "Has your majesty," said this officer, 
"any servant who could discharge the duties of ambassador like Tsze-kung? or any so 
well qualified for a premier as Yen Hwuy? or any one to compare as a general with 
Tsze-loo?  Did not kings Wan and Woo, from their small states of Fung and Kaou, rise 
to the sovereignty of the empire?  And if Kung Kew once acquired territory, with such 
disciples to be his ministers, it will not be to the prosperity of Ts'oo."

	This remonstrance not only had the immediate effect which was intended, but 
appears to have influenced the manner of the duke toward the Sage, for in the interval 
between this and the duke's death, in the autumn of the same year, we hear of no 
counsel being either asked or given. In the successor to the throne Confucius evidently 
despaired of finding a patron, and he once again returned to Wei.

	Confucius was now sixty-three, and on arriving at Wei he found a grandson of his 
former friend, the duke Ling, holding the throne against his own father, who had been 
driven into exile for attempting the life of his mother, the notorious Nantsze.  This chief, 
who called himself the duke Chuh, being conscious how much his cause would be 
strengthened by the support of Confucius, sent Tsze-loo to him, saying, "The Prince of 
Wei has been waiting to secure your services in the administration of the state, and 
wishes to know what you consider is the first thing to be done." "It is first of all 
necessary," replied Confucius, "to rectify names." "Indeed," said Tzse-loo, "you are 
wide of the mark.  Why need there be such rectification?" "How uncultivated you are, 
Yew," answered Confucius; "a superior man shows a cautious reserve in regard to 
what he does not know.  If names be not correct, language is not in accordance with 
the truth of things.  If language be not in accordance with the truth of things, affairs 
cannot be carried on successfully.  When affairs cannot be carried on successfully, 
proprieties and music will not flourish.  When proprieties and music do not flourish, 
punishments will not properly be awarded.  When punishments are not properly 
awarded, the people do not know how to move hand or foot.  Therefore the superior 
man considers it necessary that names should be used appropriately, and that his 
directions should be carried out appropriately.  A superior man requires that his words 
should be correct."

	The position of things in Wei was naturally such as Confucius could not sanction, 
and, as the duke showed no disposition to amend his ways, the Sage left his court, 
and lived the remainder of the five or six years, during which he sojourned in the state, 
in close retirement.

	He had now been absent from his native state of Loo for fourteen years, and the 
time had come when he was to return to it.  But, by the irony of fate, the 
accomplishment of his long-felt desire was due, not to his reputation for political or 
ethical wisdom, but to his knowledge of military tactics, which he heartily despised.  It 
happened that at this time Yen Yew, a disciple of the Sage, being in the service of Ke 
K'ang, conducted a campaign against T'se with much success.  On his triumphal 
return, Ke K'ang asked him how he had acquired his military skill.  "From Confucius," 
replied the general.  "And what kind of man is he?" asked Ke K'ang.  "Were you to 
employ him," answered Yen Yew, "your fame would spread abroad; your people might 
face demons and gods, and would have nothing to fear or to ask of them. And if you 
accepted his principles, were you to collect a thousand altars of the spirits of the land it 
would profit you nothing." Attracted by such a prospect, Ke K'ang proposed to invite 
the Sage to his court.  "If you do," said Yen Yew, "mind you do not allow mean men to 
come between you and him."

	But before Ke K'ang's invitation reached Confucius an incident occurred which 
made the arrival of the messengers from Loo still more welcome to him. K'ung Wan, 
an officer of Wei, came to consult him as to the best means of attacking the force of 
another officer with whom he was engaged in a feud. Confucius, disgusted at being 
consulted on such a subject, professed ignorance, and prepared to leave the state, 
saying as he went away: "The bird chooses its tree; the tree does not choose the bird." 
At this juncture Ke K'ang's envoys arrived, and without hesitation he accepted the 
invitation they brought.  On arriving at Loo, he presented himself at court, and in reply 
to a question of the duke Gae on the subject of government, threw out a strong hint 
that the duke might do well to offer him an appointment. "Government," he said, 
"consists in the right choice of ministers." To the same question put by Ke K'ang he 
replied, "Employ the upright and put aside the crooked, and thus will the crooked be 
made upright."

	At this time Ke K'ang was perplexed how to deal with the prevailing brigandage.  
"If you, sir, were not avaricious, though you might offer rewards to induce people to 
steal, they would not." This answer sufficiently indicates the estimate formed by 
Confucius of Ke K'ang and therefore of the duke Gae, for so entirely were the two of 
one mind that the acts of Ke K'ang appear to have been invariably indorsed by the 
duke.  It was plainly impossible that Confucius could serve under such a regime, and 
instead, therefore, of seeking employment, he retired to his study and devoted himself 
to the completion of his literary undertaking.

	He was now sixty-nine years of age, and if a man is to be considered successful 
only when he succeeds in realizing the dream of his life, he must be deemed to have 
been unfortunate.  Endowed by nature with a large share of reverence, a cold rather 
than a fervid disposition, and a studious mind, and reared in the traditions of the 
ancient kings, whose virtuous achievements obtained an undue prominence by the 
obliteration of all their faults and failures, he believed himself capable of effecting far 
more than it was possible for him or any other man to accomplish.  In the earlier part of 
his career, he had in Loo an opportunity given him for carrying his theories of 
government into practice, and we have seen how they failed to do more than produce 
a temporary improvement in the condition of the people under his immediate rule.  But 
he had a lofty and steady confidence in himself and in the principles which he 
professed, which prevented his accepting the only legitimate inference which could be 
drawn from his want of success.  The lessons of his own experience were entirely lost 
upon him, and he went down to his grave at the age of seventy-two firmly convinced 
as of yore that if he were placed in a position of authority "in three years the 
government would be perfected."

	Finding it impossible to associate himself with the rulers of Loo, he appears to 
have resigned himself to exclusion from office.  His wanderings were over:

     "And as a hare, when hounds and horns pursue,
     Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,"

	he had lately been possessed with an absorbing desire to return once more to 
Loo.  This had at last been brought about, and he made up his mind to spend the 
remainder of his days in his native state.  He had now leisure to finish editing the Shoo 
King, or Book of History, to which he wrote a preface; he also "carefully digested the 
rites and ceremonies determined by the wisdom of the more ancient sages and kings; 
collected and arranged the ancient poetry; and undertook the reform of music." He made 
a diligent study of the Book of Changes, and added a commentary to it, which is 
sufficient to show that the original meaning of the work was as much a mystery to him as 
it has been to others.  His idea of what would probably be the value of the kernel 
encased in this unusually hard shell, if it were once rightly understood, is illustrated by 
his remark, "that if some years could be added to his life, he would give fifty of them to 
the study of the Book of Changes and that then he expected to be without great faults."

	In the year B.C. 482 his son Le died, and in the following year he lost by death 
his faithful disciple Yen Hwuy.  When the news of this last misfortune reached him, he 
exclaimed, "Alas! Heaven is destroying me!" A year later a servant of Ke K'ang caught a 
strange one-horned animal while on a hunting excursion, and as no one present could 
tell what animal it was, Confucius was sent for.  At once he declared it to be a K'e-lin, 
and legend says that its identity with the one which appeared before his birth was proved 
by its having the piece of ribbon on its horn which Ching-tsae tied to the weird animal 
which presented itself to her in a dream on Mount Ne.  This second apparition could only 
have one meaning, and Confucius was profoundly affected at the portent.  "For whom 
have you come?" he cried, "for whom have you come?" and then, bursting into tears, he 
added, "The course of my doctrine is run, and I am unknown."

	"How do you mean that you are unknown?" asked Tsze-kung.  "I don't complain 
of Providence," answered the Sage, "nor find fault with men that learning is neglected 
and success is worshipped.  Heaven knows me.  Never does a superior man pass away 
without leaving a name behind him.  But my principles make no progress, and I, how 
shall I be viewed in future ages?"

	At this time, notwithstanding his declining strength and his many employments, 
he wrote the Ch'un ts'ew, or Spring and Autumn Annals, in which he followed the history 
of his native state of Loo, from the time of the duke Yin to the fourteenth year of the duke 
Gae, that is, to the time when the appearance of the K'e-lin warned him to consider his 
life at an end.

	This is the only work of which Confucius was the author, and of this every word is 
his own.  His biographers say that "what was written, he wrote, and what was erased, 
was erased by him." Not an expression was either inserted or altered by any one but 
himself.  When he had completed the work, he handed the manuscript to his disciples, 
saying, "By the Spring and Autumn Annals I shall be known, and by the Spring and 
Autumn Annals I shall be condemned." This only furnishes another of the many 
instances in which authors have entirely misjudged the value of their own works.

	In the estimation of his countrymen even, whose reverence for his every word 
would incline them to accept his opinion on this as on every subject, the Spring and 
Autumn Annals holds a very secondary place, his utterances recorded in the Lun yu, or 
Confucian Analects, being esteemed of far higher value, as they undoubtedly are.  And 
indeed the two works he compiled, the Shoo king and the She king, hold a very much 
higher place in the public regard than the book on which he so prided himself.  To 
foreigners, whose judgments are unhampered by his recorded opinion, his character as 
an original historian sinks into insignificance, and he is known only as a philosopher and 
statesman.

	Once again only do we hear of Confucius presenting himself at the court of the 
duke after this.  And this was on the occasion of the murder of the duke of T'se by one of 
his officers.  We must suppose that the crime was one of a gross nature, for it raised 
Confucius' feircest anger, and he who never wearied of singing the praises of those 
virtuous men who overthrew the thrones of licentious and tyrannous kings, would have 
had no room for blame if the murdered duke had been like unto Kee or Show.  But the 
outrage was one which Confucius felt should be avenged, and he therefore bathed and 
presented himself at court.

	"Sir," said he, addressing the duke, "Ch'in Hang has slain his sovereign; I beg 
that you will undertake to punish him." But the duke was indisposed to move in the 
matter, and pleaded the comparative strength of T'se.  Confucius, however, was not to 
be so silenced.  "One half of the people of T'se," said he, "are not consenting to the 
deed.  If you add to the people of Loo one-half of the people of T'se, you will be sure to 
overcome." This numerical argument no more affected the duke than the statement of 
the fact, and wearying with Confucius' importunity, he told him to lay the matter before 
the chiefs of the three principal families of the state.  Before this court of appeal, whither 
he went with reluctance, his cause fared no better, and the murder remained 
unavenged.

	At a period when every prince held his throne by the strength of his right arm, 
revolutions lost half their crime, and must have been looked upon rather as trials of 
strength than as disloyal villanies.  The frequency of their occurrence, also, made them 
less the subjects of surprise and horror. At the time of which we write, the states in the 
neighborhood of Loo appear to have been in a very disturbed condition.  Immediately 
following on the murder of the duke of T'se, news was brought to Confucius that a 
revolution had broken out in Wei.  This was an occurrence which particularly interested 
him, for when he returned from Wei to Loo he left Tsze-loo and Tsze-kaou, two of his 
disciples, engaged in the official service of the state.  "Tsze-kaou will return," was 
Confucius' remark, when he was told of the outbreak, "but Tsze-loo will die." The 
prediction was verified.  For when Tsze-kaou saw that matters were desperate he made 
his escape; but Tsze-loo remained to defend his chief, and fell fighting in the cause of 
his master.  Though Confucius had looked forward to the event as probable, he was 
none the less grieved when he heard that it had come about, and he mourned for his 
friend, whom he was so soon to follow to the grave.

	One morning, in the spring of the year B.C. 478, he walked in front of his door, 
mumbling as he went:

     "The great mountain must crumble;
     The strong beam must break;
     And the wise man withers away like a plant."

	These words came as a presage of evil to the faithful Tsze-kung.  "If the great 
mountain crumble," said he, "to what shall I look up?  If the strong beam break, and the 
wise man wither away, on whom shall I lean?  The master, I fear, is going to be ill." So 
saying, he hastened after Confucius into the house.  "What makes you so late?" said 
Confucius, when the disciple presented himself before him; and then he added, 
"According to the statutes of Hea, the corpse was dressed and coffined at the top of the 
eastern steps, treating the dead as if he were still the host.  Under the Yin, the ceremony 
was performed between the two pillars, as if the dead were both host and guest.  The 
rule of Chow is to perform it at the top of the western steps, treating the dead as if he 
were a guest.  I am a man of Yin, and last night I dreamed that I was sitting, with 
offerings before me, between the two pillars.  No intelligent monarch arises; there is not 
one in the empire who will make me his master. My time is come to die." It is eminently 
characteristic of Confucius that in his last recorded speech and dream, his thoughts 
should so have dwelt on the ceremonies of bygone ages.  But the dream had its 
fulfilment.  That same day he took to his bed, and after a week's illness he expired.

	On the banks of the river Sze, to the north of the capital city of Loo, his disciples 
buried him, and for three years they mourned at his grave. Even such marked respect as 
this fell short of the homage which Tsze-kung, his most faithful disciple, felt was due to 
him, and for three additional years that loving follower testified by his grief his reverence 
for his master.  "I have all my life had the heaven above my head," said he, "but I do not 
know its height; and the earth under my feet, but I know not its thickness.  In serving 
Confucius, I am like a thirsty man, who goes with his pitcher to the river and there drinks 
his fill, without knowing the river's depth."
