26
Tzŭ-lu was gathering firewood with Wu-ma Ch`i at the foot of
Mt. Yün. Among the rich men of Ch`ên there was one named
Ch`u-shih with a hundred decorated chariots, who gave himself up
to feasting on [Mt.] Yün.
[1]
Tzŭ-lu said to Wu-ma Ch`i, "If, without forgetting what you
[now] know, but also without advancing any in what you [now]
are capable of, you attained to such wealth as this, provided you
would never get to go back and see the Master again, would you
do it?"
Wu-ma Ch`i, looking toward Heaven with a deep sigh, stopped[2]
and threw his sickle to the ground saying, "I have heard from
the Master that a brave gentleman never forgets that he may lose
his head, while the determined gentleman or the man endowed
with jên never forgets [that his end may be] in a ditch or a stream.[3]
Is it that you do not know me? Or are you trying me? Or is it
perhaps your own intention?"
Tzŭ-lu was mortally ashamed and,[4]
shouldering his firewood,
went home first.
Confucius said, "Well, Yu,[5]
why do you come back first when
you went out in company?"
Tzŭ-lu said, "A while ago I was gathering firewood with Wu-ma
Ch`i at the foot of Mt. Yün. Among the rich men of Ch`ên
there is one named Ch`u-shih with a hundred decorated chariots,
who has given himself up to feasting on Mt. Yün. I said to Wu-ma
Ch`i, `If, without forgetting what you [now] know, but also without
advancing any in what you [now] are capable of, you attained
to such wealth as this, provided you would never get to go back
and see the Master again, would you do it?' And Wu-ma Ch`i,
looking toward Heaven with a deep sigh, stopped and threw his
sickle to the ground, saying, `I have heard from the Master that
a brave gentleman never forgets that he may lose his head, while
the determined gentleman or the man endowed with
jên never
forgets [that his end may be] in a ditch or a stream. Is it that
you do not know me? Or are you trying me? Or is it perhaps
your own intention?' I was mortally ashamed, and so it was
that I shouldered my firewood and came back first."
Confucius took up his lute and played on it, singing the Ode,[6]
Su-su go the feathers of the wild geese,
As they settle on the bushy oaks.
The king's affairs must not be slackly discharged,
And [so] we cannot plant our millets;
What will our parents have to rely on?
O thou distant and azure[7]
Heaven!
When shall we be in our places again?
Shall my way not be practiced? If you are willing. . . ."
[8]
