The Legend of the
white Serpent
retold from the Chinese by A. FULLARTON PRIOR
illustrated by KWAN SHAN-MEI
CHARLES E. TUTTLE COMPANY
Rutland, Vermont Tokyo, Japan
Published by the Charles E. Tuttle Company
of Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan
with editorial offices at
Osaki Shinagawa-ku, Tokyo 141-0032
© 1960 by Charles E. Tuttle Co.
Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 60-6656
ISBN: 978-1-4629-1314-5 (ebook)
First printing, 1960
Third printing, 1963
Book design and typography
by Florence Sakade
Manufactured in Japan
Introduction
The Legend of the White Serpent is a tale which, under various names and in slightly differing versions, the Chinese know as well as we know the old fairy tales so well retold by the Grimm brothers or Hans Christian Andersen. It has been made into popular Chinese operas and, more recently, into several films, the latest being the full-length color cartoon produced in Japan under the title "The White Snake Enchantress." It is a typically and wholly Chinese story, yet one that must find a home in the hearts of all who respond to the age-old and universal themes of magic, love, high adventure, and success over hardship.
Speaking as the most recent in a long line of storytellers who have retold this tale, I cannot pretend to any facility in the Chinese language. During my stay in Hongkong I was given this legend in the form of a rather oddly-worded, though literally accurate, translation. Even so, its feeling came through to me so vividly that I spent a long time on the writing of what is actually quite a short work. Neither can I claim erudite knowledge of the legend's history. It is old, perhaps even ancient; beyond that I do not know.
I have taken pains to relate the story in the plainest possible words and in a style that lends itself to reading aloud, since the tale will, I suppose, appeal to children most. Yet I have never used child-talk, partly because I think children neither need nor should be fed on it, and partly because there seems to me no reason why adult minds should not take as keen an interest in fable as in fiction. Fables, winnowed by the centuries, often have more truth and meaning. I also hope, as a by-product of this simplicity, that Chinese students will be able to enjoy here their own story in English without too much difficulty.
If readers miss that repetition of flowery phrases so often used in Chinese stories, I apologize; perhaps indeed I am mistaken. But I felt strongly that as a story this is fully good enough to stand on its own merits without literary beatings of mysterious temple gongs.
It stands as a story of heartbreak and splendor, mist and music, fantasy and true love, full of the things that tug at the heart and make you care. The legend has well deserved its long life in the East; I think we of the West will love it as much.
* * *
The book owes a tremendous debt to Kwan Sang-mei, the very talented and sensitive Hongkong artist who painted the illustrations. It was a pleasure to work with Miss Kwan; her understanding and patience were wonderful.
And to Dr. Chang Kuo-li, my friend and benevolent backer of this volume, I must acknowledge the greatest debt of all.
A. FULLARTON PRIOR
Surfer's Paradise, Australia
October, 1959
A young schoolboy bought the snake; he thought it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
This is a story of China, long ago and far away. If you had wanted to talk to all the people in China then, you would have had to know five hundred languages. The people worked hard and long, and so patient were they that it was not thought strange for a man to spend his whole life in carving a single piece of beautiful ivory. And there was little money even for so much toil, so that many had to do strange things indeed to earn their rice.
Now, in those days there once lived an old man who did the strangest work of all. He caught snakes for a living—big snakes, black snakes, tiny snakes, yellow, white, and green snakes. Many were beautiful, but some were so poisonous they could kill you with one bite of their yellow fangs.
The work was dangerous, but the old man was so poor that he had to do it or go hungry. He had many customers, for Chinese believe that snakes have magic powers when used as medicine.
One day the old man caught a tiny, white snake, thin as an ivory chopstick and the color of milk, with a pale-red mouth and eyes of sapphire blue.
A young schoolboy came and bought the snake from the old man, thinking it was the most beautiful snake he had ever seen. He carried the snake away in a round basket made of bamboo.
The boy's name was Soo-sen, but everybody called him Handsome because he was such a fine-looking boy. The Chinese often give each other such nicknames.
Soo-sen had bought the white snake because he was lonely and wanted to have something for his very own. He was an orphan, you see, and lived with his elder sister and her husband. He knew they would never allow him to keep the snake in their house, so he kept it in his desk at school, and fed it with his own food. Soon the snake grew to love him much.
But one day Soo-sen's old-teacher saw the snake. He was horrified. "Take it away—kill it—burn it!" he croaked, his thin hands trembling and flapping. "Ugh! The dirty thing must go."
But Soo-sen could never, never have killed his snake. So, with tears running down his cheeks, he took it out and set it free, in a green field by a little stream.
As Soo-sen hurried away, the snake raised its white head, swaying like a willow in the wind, and watched him. Then, with a long hiss that sounded like a lover's sigh, the white snake slipped away into the long grass.
He took the snake out and set it free, in a green field by a little stream.
2
The white snake was very afraid at first, with the grass above her head like a green forest and men's legs striding by like great pillars. Once she was lost and nearly died of thirst, and only the dew falling in the morning saved her life.
Slowly she learned the wild ways: how to lie on white rocks and so become invisible; how to stay still as death when men were close; and how to move like quicksilver to escape from the sharp-eyed eagles. But she never forgot Soo-sen and loved him always with her quiet, silent heart.
In this way sixteen years passed slowly by.
Then, late one afternoon, when the sun lay like an orange flower on the sky's edge, she saw a strange new plant in her path. She