Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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dollars.”
“My suicide would cost you that also, I suppose.”
“Dear sir,” answered the gracious agent, taking Kin-Fo’s hand, which he gently patted, “allow me to tell you that many of our patrons insure against suicide, but they never commit suicide. But we are not prevented from watching over them,—but with the greatest discretion.”
“Ah!” said Kin-Fo.
“I will add this, which I have often said, that, of all those insured by the Centenary, they are the ones who pay premiums the longest. But, between ourselves, pray tell me, why should the wealthy Mr. Kin-Fo commit suicide?”
“And why should the wealthy Mr. Kin-Fo get insured?”
“Oh!” answered William J. Bidulph, “to obtain the certainty of living to be very old as a patron of the Centenary.”
There was no use in discussing any longer with the principal agent of the celebrated company, he was so positive in what he said.
“And now,” he added, “to whose profit is this insurance of two hundred thousand dollars? Who will be the beneficiary of the contract?”
“There will be two beneficiaries,” answered Kin-Fo.
“In equal shares?”
“No, in unequal shares. One for fifty thousand dollars, the other for one hundred and fifty thousand.”
“For the fifty thousand, we say Mr.——?”
“Wang.”
“The philosopher Wang?”
“The same.”
“And for the hundred and fifty thousand?”
“Madame Le-ou of Pekin.”
“Pekin,” added Mr. Bidulph, finishing his entry of the names of the beneficiaries. Then he resumed:—
“What is Madame Le-ou’s age?”
“Twenty-one,” answered Kin-Fo.
“Oh!” said the agent, “a young lady who will be quite old when she receives the amount of the policy.”
“Why so, please?”
“Because you will live to be more than a hundred, my dear sir. And how old is the philosopher Wang?”
“Fifty-five.”
“Well, this worthy man is sure of never receiving any thing.”
“That remains to be seen, sir.”
“Sir,” answered Mr. Bidulph, “if at fifty-five I were the heir of a man of thirty-one, who was to die a centenarian, I would not be so simple as to count on inheriting from him.”
“Your servant, sir,” said Kin-Fo, moving to the office-door.
“And yours,” answered the Honorable Mr. Bidulph, bowing to the new insuree of the Centenary.
The next day the physician of the company made Kin-Fo the regular visit.
“Body of iron, muscles of steel, lungs like organ-bellows,” read the report. There was nothing to prevent the company from dealing with a man so soundly built. The policy was then signed under this date by Kin-Fo, on his part, for the benefit of the young widow and the philosopher Wang; and, on the other, by William J. Bidulph, the representative of the company.
Neither Le-ou nor Wang, unless through improbable circumstances, would ever know what Kin-Fo had just done for them, until the day when the Centenary should be called upon to pay them the policy, the last generous act of the ex-millionnaire.
CHAPTER VII.
Which Would Be Very Sad If It Did Not Treat Of Ways And Customs Peculiar To The Celestial Empire.
Whatever the Honorable William J. Bidulph might think and say, the funds of the Centenary were very seriously threatened. Indeed, Kin-Fo’s plan was not of that kind, which, on reflection, one postpones executing indefinitely. Being utterly ruined, Wang’s pupil had thoroughly resolved to end an existence which even in the time of his prosperity brought him only sadness and ennui.
The letter which was not delivered for a week by Soun came from San Francisco, and gave notice of the suspension of payment of the Central Bank of California. Now, Kin-Fo’s fortune consisted almost entirely, as we know, of stock in this celebrated bank, which had previously been so sound. But the situation was not to be doubted. Improbable as the news might seem, it was unhappily only too true. The suspension of the Central Bank had just been confirmed by journals received at Shanghai. The failure had been declared, and Kin-Fo was wholly ruined.
Indeed, what remained to him outside of the stocks in this bank? Nothing, or almost nothing.
The sale of his house at Shang-hai, which it would be almost impossible to bring about, would give him a sum insufficient for an income. The eight thousand dollars premium paid into the Centenary, a small amount of stock in the Boat Company of Tien-sing, which, if sold that day, would furnish him with hardly enough to carry on things in extremis, now comprised his sole fortune.
A Western man, Frenchman or Englishman, would have taken this new state of things philosophically perhaps, and would have begun life over again, seeking to repair his fortunes by assiduous labor; but a Celestial would think and act quite differently. It was voluntary death that Kin-Fo, as a true Chinaman, without compunctions of conscience, and with that typical indifference which characterizes the yellow race, was meditating as a means of getting out of his troubles.
The Chinaman has only a passive courage, but this courage he possesses in the highest degree. His indifference to death is truly extraordinary. When he is ill, he sees it approach, and does not falter. When condemned, and already in the hands of an officer, he manifests no fear. The frequent public executions, the sight of the horrible torments which are part of the penal laws, in the Celestial Empire, have early familiarized the Sons of Heaven with the idea of renouncing the things of this world without regret.
Therefore one will not be astonished to find that in every family this thought of death is the order of the day, and the subject of many conversations, and has an influence over the most ordinary acts of life. The worship of ancestors is also observed by the poorest people. There is not a wealthy home where a sort of domestic sanctuary has not been set apart, and no hut so wretched but some corner has been kept for the relics of ancestors, in whose honor a day is celebrated in the second month. That is why one finds in the same store where are sold babies’ cribs and wedding-gifts, a varied assortment of coffins, which form a staple article in Chinese trade.
The purchase of a coffin is, indeed, one of the constant occupations of the Celestials. The furniture of a house would be incomplete if a coffin were wanting; and the son makes it a duty to offer one to his father in the latter’s lifetime, which is a touching proof of tenderness. This coffin is placed in a special room. It is ornamented and taken care of, and generally, when it has received mortal remains, is kept with pious care for years. In short, respect for the dead is the foundation of Chinese religion, and tends to bind family ties more closely.
Kin-Fo, owing to his temperament, was considering, with more perfect tranquillity than another would have had, the thought of ending his days. He had insured the fate of the two beings to whom his affections turned. Therefore what had he now to regret? Nothing. Suicide could not even cause him remorse. What is a crime in civilized countries of the West is only a lawful act, we might say, with this strange people of Eastern Asia.
Kin-Fo’s decision was then made; and no influence could turn him from carrying out his project, not even that of the philosopher Wang.
But the latter was absolutely ignorant of his pupil’s designs. Soun was no better acquainted with them, and had observed but one thing,