A mandarin once lived in Kiang-ho who was so exceedingly cross and disagreeable
that everyone hated him. He snarled and stormed at every person he met and was
never known to laugh or be merry under any circumstances. Especially he hated
boys and girls; for the boys jeered at him, which aroused his wrath, and the
girls made fun of him, which hurt his pride.
When he had become so unpopular that no one would speak to him, the emperor
heard about it and commanded him to emigrate to America. This suited the
mandarin very well; but before he left China he stole the Great Book of Magic
that belonged to the wise magician Haot-sai. Then, gathering up his little
store of money, he took ship for America.
He settled in a city of the middle west and of course started a laundry, since
that seems to be the natural vocation of every Chinaman, be he coolie or
mandarin.
He made no acquaintances with the other Chinamen of the town, who, when they
met him and saw the red button in his hat, knew him for a real mandarin and
bowed low before him. He put up a red and white sign and people brought their
laundry to him and got paper checks, with Chinese characters upon them, in
exchange, this being the only sort of character the mandarin had left.
One day as the ugly one was ironing in his shop in the basement of 263 1/2 Main
street, he looked up and saw a crowd of childish faces pressed against the
window. Most Chinamen make friends with children; this one hated them and tried
to drive them away. But as soon as he returned to his work they were back at
the window again, mischievously smiling down upon him.
The naughty mandarin uttered horrid words in the Manchu language and made
fierce gestures; but this did no good at all. The children stayed as long as
they pleased, and they came again the very next day as soon as school was over,
and likewise the next day, and the next. For they saw their presence at the
window bothered the Chinaman and were delighted accordingly.
The following day being Sunday the children did not appear, but as the
mandarin, being a heathen, worked in his little shop a big butterfly flew in at
the open door and fluttered about the room.
The mandarin closed the door and chased the butterfly until he caught it, when
he pinned it against the wall by sticking two pins through its beautiful wings.
This did not hurt the butterfly, there being no feeling in its wings; but it
made him a safe prisoner.
This butterfly was of large size and its wings were exquisitely marked by
gorgeous colors laid out in regular designs like the stained glass windows of a
cathedral.
The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great Book of Magic
he had stolen from Haot-sai. Turning the pages slowly he came to a passage
describing “How to understand the language of butterflies.” This he
read carefully and then mixed a magic formula in a tin cup and drank it down
with a wry face. Immediately thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own
language, saying:
“Why did you enter this room?”
“I smelled bees-wax,” answered the butterfly; “therefore I
thought I might find honey here.”
“But you are my prisoner,” said the mandarin. “If I please I
can kill you, or leave you on the wall to starve to death.”
“I expect that,” replied the butterfly, with a sigh. “But my
race is shortlived, anyway; it doesn’t matter whether death comes sooner
or later.”
“Yet you like to live, do you not?” asked the mandarin.
“Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful. I do not seek
death.”
“Then,” said the mandarin, “I will give you life—a long
and pleasant life—if you will promise to obey me for a time and carry out
my instructions.”
“How can a butterfly serve a man?” asked the creature, in surprise.
“Usually they cannot,” was the reply. “But I have a book of
magic which teaches me strange things. Do you promise?”
“Oh, yes; I promise,” answered the butterfly; “for even as
your slave I will get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill
me—that is the end of everything!”
“Truly,” said the mandarin, “butterflies have no souls, and
therefore cannot live again.”
“But I have enjoyed three lives already,” returned the butterfly,
with some pride. “I have been a caterpillar and a chrysalis before I
became a butterfly. You were never anything but a Chinaman, although I admit
your life is longer than mine.”
“I will extend your life for many days, if you will obey me,”
declared the Chinaman. “I can easily do so by means of my magic.”
“Of course I will obey you,” said the butterfly, carelessly.
“Then, listen! You know children, do you not?—boys and
girls?”
“Yes, I know them. They chase me, and try to catch me, as you have
done,” replied the butterfly.
“And they mock me, and jeer at me through the window,” continued
the mandarin, bitterly. “Therefore, they are your enemies and mine! But
with your aid and the help of the magic book we shall have a fine revenge for
their insults.”
“I don’t care much for revenge,” said the butterfly.
“They are but children, and ’tis natural they should wish to catch
such a beautiful creature as I am.”
“Nevertheless, I care! and you must obey me,” retorted the
mandarin, harshly. “I, at least, will have my revenge.”
Then he stuck a drop of molasses upon the wall beside the butterfly’s
head and said:
“Eat that, while I read my book and prepare my magic formula.”
So the butterfly feasted upon the molasses and the mandarin studied his book,
after which he began to mix a magic compound in the tin cup.
When the mixture was ready he released the butterfly from the wall and said to
it:
“I command you to dip your two front feet into this magic compound and
then fly away until you meet a child. Fly close, whether it be a boy or a girl,
and touch the child upon its forehead with your feet. Whosoever is thus
touched, the book declares, will at once become a pig, and will remain such
forever after. Then return to me and dip your legs afresh in the contents of
this cup. So shall all my enemies, the children, become miserable swine, while
no one will think of accusing me of the sorcery.”
“Very well; since such is your command, I obey,” said the
butterfly. Then it dipped its front legs, which were the shortest of the six,
into the contents of the tin cup, and flew out of the door and away over the
houses to the edge of the town. There it alighted in a flower garden and soon
forgot all about its mission to turn children into swine.
In going from flower to flower it soon brushed the magic compound from its
legs, so that when the sun began to set and the butterfly finally remembered
its master, the mandarin, it could not have injured a child had it tried.
But it did not intend to try.
“That horrid old Chinaman,” it thought, “hates children and
wishes to destroy them. But I rather like children myself and shall not harm
them. Of course I must return to my master, for he is a magician, and would
seek me out and kill me; but I can deceive him about this matter easily
enough.”
When the butterfly flew in at the door of the mandarin’s laundry he
asked, eagerly:
“Well, did you meet a child?”
“I did,” replied the butterfly, calmly. “It was a pretty,
golden-haired girl—but now ’tis a grunting pig!”
“Good! Good! Good!” cried the mandarin, dancing joyfully about the
room. “You shall have molasses for your supper, and to-morrow you must
change two children into pigs.”
The butterfly did not reply, but ate the molasses in silence. Having no soul it
had no conscience, and having no conscience it was able to lie to the mandarin
with great readiness and a certain amount of enjoyment.
Next morning, by the mandarin’s command, the butterfly dipped its legs in
the mixture and flew away in search of children.
When it came to the edge of the town it noticed a pig in a sty, and alighting
upon the rail of the sty it looked down at the creature and thought.
“If I could change a child into a pig by touching it with the magic
compound, what could I change a pig into, I wonder?”
Being curious to determine this fine point in sorcery the butterfly fluttered
down and touched its front feet to the pig’s nose. Instantly the animal
disappeared, and in its place was a shock-headed, dirty looking boy, which
sprang from the sty and ran down the road uttering load whoops.
“That’s funny,” said the butterfly to itself. “The
mandarin would be very angry with me if he knew of this, for I have liberated
one more of the creatures that bother him.”
It fluttered along after the boy, who had paused to throw stones at a cat. But
pussy escaped by running up a tree, where thick branches protected her from the
stones. Then the boy discovered a newly-planted garden, and trampled upon the
beds until the seeds were scattered far and wide, and the garden was ruined.
Next he caught up a switch and struck with it a young calf that stood quietly
grazing in a field. The poor creature ran away with piteous bleats, and the boy
laughed and followed after it, striking the frightened animal again and again.
“Really,” thought the butterfly, “I do not wonder the
mandarin hates children, if they are all so cruel and wicked as this
one.”
The calf having escaped him the boy came back to the road, where he met two
little girls on their way to school. One of them had a red apple in her hand,
and the boy snatched it away and began eating it. The little girl commenced to
cry, but her companion, more brave and sturdy, cried out:
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you nasty boy!”
At this the boy reached out and slapped her pretty face, whereupon she also
began to sob.
Although possessed of neither soul nor conscience, the butterfly had a very
tender heart, and now decided it could endure this boy no longer.
“If I permitted him to exist,” it reflected, “I should never
forgive myself, for the monster would do nothing but evil from morning
’til night.”
So it flew directly into his face and touched his forehead with its sticky
front feet.
The next instant the boy had disappeared, but a grunting pig ran swiftly up the
road in the direction of its sty.
The butterfly gave a sigh of relief.
“This time I have indeed used the mandarin’s magic upon a
child,” it whispered, as it floated lazily upon the light breeze;
“but since the child was originally a pig I do not think I have any cause
to reproach myself. The little girls were sweet and gentle, and I would not
injure them to save my life, but were all boys like this transformed pig, I
should not hesitate to carry out the mandarin’s orders.”
Then it flew into a rose bush, where it remained comfortably until evening. At
sundown it returned to its master.
“Have you changed two of them into pigs?” he asked, at once.
“I have,” replied the butterfly. “One was a pretty,
black-eyed baby, and the other a freckle-faced, red-haired, barefooted
newboy.”
“Good! Good! Good!” screamed the mandarin, in an ecstasy of
delight. “Those are the ones who torment me the most! Change every newboy
you meet into a pig!”
“Very well,” answered the butterfly, quietly, and ate its supper of
molasses.
Several days were passed by the butterfly in the same manner. It fluttered
aimlessly about the flower gardens while the sun shone, and returned at night
to the mandarin with false tales of turning children into swine. Sometimes it
would be one child which was transformed, sometimes two, and occasionally
three; but the mandarin always greeted the butterfly’s report with
intense delight and gave him molasses for supper.
One evening, however, the butterfly thought it might be well to vary the
report, so that the mandarin might not grow suspicious; and when its master
asked what child had been had been changed into a pig that day the lying
creature answered:
“It was a Chinese boy, and when I touched him he became a black
pig.”
This angered the mandarin, who was in an especially cross mood. He spitefully
snapped the butterfly with his finger, and nearly broke its beautiful wing; for
he forgot that Chinese boys had once mocked him and only remembered his hatred
for American boys.
The butterfly became very indignant at this abuse from the mandarin. It refused
to eat its molasses and sulked all the evening, for it had grown to hate the
mandarin almost as much as the mandarin hated children.
When morning came it was still trembling with indignation; but the mandarin
cried out:
“Make haste, miserable slave; for to-day you must change four children
into pigs, to make up for yesterday.”
The butterfly did not reply. His little black eyes were sparkling wickedly, and
no sooner had he dipped his feet into the magic compound than he flew full in
the mandarin’s face, and touched him upon his ugly, flat forehead.
Soon after a gentleman came into the room for his laundry. The mandarin was not
there, but running around the place was a repulsive, scrawny pig, which
squealed most miserably.
The butterfly flew away to a brook and washed from its feet all traces of the
magic compound. When night came it slept in a rose bush.
