Читать книгу Amusements in Mathematics - Henry Ernest Dudeney - Страница 20
Оглавление160.—THE TWO HORSESHOES.
Why horseshoes should be considered "lucky" is one of those things which no man can understand. It is a very old superstition, and John Aubrey (1626–1700) says, "Most houses at the West End of London have a horseshoe on the threshold." In Monmouth Street there were seventeen in 1813 and seven so late as 1855. Even Lord Nelson had one nailed to the mast of the ship Victory. To-day we find it more conducive to "good luck" to see that they are securely nailed on the feet of the horse we are about to drive.
Nevertheless, so far as the horseshoe, like the Swastika and other emblems that I have had occasion at times to deal with, has served to symbolize health, prosperity, and goodwill towards men, we may well treat it with a certain amount of respectful interest. May there not, moreover, be some esoteric or lost mathematical mystery concealed in the form of a horseshoe? I have been looking into this matter, and I wish to draw my readers' attention to the very remarkable fact that the pair of horseshoes shown in my illustration are related in a striking and beautiful manner to the circle, which is the symbol of eternity. I present this fact in the form of a simple problem, so that it may be seen how subtly this relation has been concealed for ages and ages. My readers will, I know, be pleased when they find the key to the mystery.
Cut out the two horseshoes carefully round the outline and then cut them into four pieces, all different in shape, that will fit together and form a perfect circle. Each shoe must be cut into two pieces and all the part of the horse's hoof contained within the outline is to be used and regarded as part of the area.
161.—THE BETSY ROSS PUZZLE.
A correspondent asked me to supply him with the solution to an old puzzle that is attributed to a certain Betsy Ross, of Philadelphia, who showed it to George Washington. It consists in so folding a piece of paper that with one clip of the scissors a five-pointed star of Freedom may be produced. Whether the story of the puzzle's origin is a true one or not I cannot say, but I have a print of the old house in Philadelphia where the lady is said to have lived, and I believe it still stands there. But my readers will doubtless be interested in the little poser.
Take a circular piece of paper and so fold it that with one cut of the scissors you can produce a perfect five-pointed star.
162.—THE CARDBOARD CHAIN.
Can you cut this chain out of a piece of cardboard without any join whatever? Every link is solid; without its having been split and afterwards joined at any place. It is an interesting old puzzle that I learnt as a child, but I have no knowledge as to its inventor.
It may be interesting to introduce here, though it is not strictly a puzzle, an ingenious method for making a paper box.
Take a square of stout paper and by successive foldings make all the creases indicated by the dotted lines in the illustration. Then cut away the eight little triangular pieces that are shaded, and cut through the paper along the dark lines. The second illustration shows the box half folded up, and the reader will have no difficulty in effecting its completion. Before folding up, the reader might cut out the circular piece indicated in the diagram, for a purpose I will now explain.
This box will be found to serve excellently for the production of vortex rings. These rings, which were discussed by Von Helmholtz in 1858, are most interesting, and the box (with the hole cut out) will produce them to perfection. Fill the box with tobacco smoke by blowing it gently through the hole. Now, if you hold it horizontally, and softly tap the side that is opposite to the hole, an immense number of perfect rings can be produced from one mouthful of smoke. It is best that there should be no currents of air in the room. People often do not realise that these rings are formed in the air when no smoke is used. The smoke only makes them visible. Now, one of these rings, if properly directed on its course, will travel across the room and put out the flame of a candle, and this feat is much more striking if you can manage to do it without the smoke. Of course, with a little practice, the rings may be blown from the mouth, but the box produces them in much greater perfection, and no skill whatever is required. Lord Kelvin propounded the theory that matter may consist of vortex rings in a fluid that fills all space, and by a development of the hypothesis he was able to explain chemical combination.
164.—THE POTATO PUZZLE.
Take a circular slice of potato, place it on the table, and see into how large a number of pieces you can divide it with six cuts of a knife. Of course you must not readjust the pieces or pile them after a cut. What is the greatest number of pieces you can make?
The illustration shows how to make sixteen pieces. This can, of course, be easily beaten.
165.—THE SEVEN PIGS.
Here is a little puzzle that was put to one of the sons of Erin the other day and perplexed him unduly, for it is really quite easy. It will be seen from the illustration that he was shown a sketch of a square pen containing seven pigs. He was asked how he would intersect the pen with three straight fences so as to enclose every pig in a separate sty. In other words, all you have to do is to take your pencil and, with three straight strokes across the square, enclose each pig separately. Nothing could be simpler.
The Irishman complained that the pigs would not keep still while he was putting up the fences. He said that they would all flock together, or one obstinate beast would go into a corner and flock all by himself. It was pointed out to him that for the purposes of the puzzle the pigs were stationary. He answered that Irish pigs are not stationery—they are pork. Being persuaded to make the attempt, he drew three lines, one of which cut through a pig. When it was explained that this is not allowed, he protested that a pig was no use until you cut its throat. "Begorra, if it's bacon ye want without cutting your pig, it will be all gammon." We will not do the Irishman the injustice of suggesting that the miserable pun was intentional. However, he failed to solve the puzzle. Can you do it?
166.—THE LANDOWNER'S FENCES.
The landowner in the illustration is consulting with his bailiff over a rather puzzling little question. He has a large plan of one of his fields, in which there are eleven trees. Now, he wants to divide the field into just eleven enclosures by means of straight fences, so that every enclosure shall contain one tree as a shelter for his cattle. How is he to do it with as few fences as possible? Take your pencil and draw straight lines across the field until you have marked off the eleven enclosures (and no more), and then see how many fences you require. Of course the fences may cross one another.
167.—THE WIZARD'S CATS.
A wizard placed ten cats inside a magic circle as shown in our illustration, and hypnotized them so that they should remain stationary during his pleasure. He then proposed to draw three circles inside the large one, so that no cat could approach another cat without crossing a magic circle. Try to draw the three circles so that every cat has its own enclosure and cannot reach another cat without crossing a line.
168.—THE CHRISTMAS PUDDING.
"Speaking of Christmas puddings," said the host, as he glanced at the imposing delicacy at the other end of the table. "I am reminded of the fact that a friend gave me a new puzzle the other day respecting one. Here it is," he added, diving into his breast pocket.
"'Problem: To find the contents,' I suppose," said the Eton boy.
"No; the proof of that is in the eating. I will read you the conditions."
"'Cut the pudding into two parts, each of exactly the same size and shape, without touching any of the plums. The pudding is to be regarded as a flat disc, not as a sphere.'"
"Why should you regard a Christmas pudding as a disc? And why should any reasonable person ever wish to make such an accurate division?" asked the cynic.
"It is just a puzzle—a problem in dissection." All in turn had a look at the puzzle, but nobody succeeded in solving it. It is a little difficult unless you are acquainted with the principle involved in the making of such puddings, but easy enough when you know how it is done.
169.—A TANGRAM PARADOX.
Many pastimes of great antiquity, such as chess, have so developed and changed down the centuries that their original inventors would scarcely recognize them. This is not the case with Tangrams, a recreation that appears to be at least four thousand years old, that has apparently never been dormant, and that has not been altered or "improved upon" since the legendary Chinaman Tan first cut out the seven pieces shown in Diagram I. If you mark the point B, midway between A and C, on one side of a square of any size, and D, midway between C and E, on an adjoining side, the direction of the cuts is too obvious to need further explanation. Every design in this article is built up from the seven pieces of blackened cardboard. It will at once be understood that the possible combinations are infinite.
The late Mr. Sam Loyd, of New York, who published a small book of very ingenious designs, possessed the manuscripts of the late Mr. Challenor, who made a long and close study of Tangrams. This gentleman, it is said, records that there were originally seven books of Tangrams, compiled in China two thousand years before the Christian era. These books are so rare that, after forty years' residence in the country, he only succeeded in seeing perfect copies of the first and seventh volumes with fragments of the second. Portions of one of the books, printed in gold leaf upon parchment, were found in Peking by an English soldier and sold for three hundred pounds.
A few years ago a little book came into my possession, from the library of the late Lewis Carroll, entitled The Fashionable Chinese Puzzle. It contains three hundred and twenty-three Tangram designs, mostly nondescript geometrical figures, to be constructed from the seven pieces. It was "Published by J. and E. Wallis, 42 Skinner Street, and J. Wallis, Jun., Marine Library, Sidmouth" (South Devon). There is no date, but the following note fixes the time of publication pretty closely: "This ingenious contrivance has for some time past been the favourite amusement of the ex-Emperor Napoleon, who, being now in a debilitated state and living very retired, passes many hours a day in thus exercising his patience and ingenuity." The reader will find, as did the great exile, that much amusement, not wholly uninstructive, may be derived from forming the designs of others. He will find many of the illustrations to this article quite easy to build up, and some rather difficult. Every picture may thus be regarded as a puzzle.
But it is another pastime altogether to create new and original designs of a pictorial character, and it is surprising what extraordinary scope the Tangrams afford for producing pictures of real life—angular and often grotesque, it is true, but full of character. I give an example of a recumbent figure (2) that is particularly graceful, and only needs some slight reduction of its angularities to produce an entirely satisfactory outline.
As I have referred to the author of Alice in Wonderland, I give also my designs of the March Hare (3) and the Hatter (4). I also give an attempt at Napoleon (5), and a very excellent Red Indian with his Squaw by Mr. Loyd (6 and 7). A large number of other designs will be found in an article by me in The Strand Magazine for November, 1908.
On the appearance of this magazine article, the late Sir James Murray, the eminent philologist, tried, with that amazing industry that characterized all his work, to trace the word "tangram" to its source. At length he wrote as follows:—"One of my sons is a professor in the Anglo-Chinese college at Tientsin. Through him, his colleagues, and his students, I was able to make inquiries as to the alleged Tan among Chinese scholars. Our Chinese professor here (Oxford) also took an interest in the matter and obtained information from the secretary of the Chinese Legation in London, who is a very eminent representative of the Chinese literati."
"The result has been to show that the man Tan, the god Tan, and the 'Book of Tan' are entirely unknown to Chinese literature, history, or tradition. By most of the learned men the name, or allegation of the existence, of these had never been heard of. The puzzle is, of course, well known. It is called in Chinese ch'i ch'iao t'u; literally, 'seven-ingenious-plan' or 'ingenious-puzzle figure of seven pieces.' No name approaching 'tangram,' or even 'tan,' occurs in Chinese, and the only suggestions for the latter were the Chinese t'an, 'to extend'; or t'ang, Cantonese dialect for 'Chinese.' It was suggested that probably some American or Englishman who knew a little Chinese or Cantonese, wanting a name for the puzzle, might concoct one out of one of these words and the European ending 'gram.' I should say the name 'tangram' was probably invented by an American some little time before 1864 and after 1847, but I cannot find it in print before the 1864 edition of Webster. I have therefore had to deal very shortly with the word in the dictionary, telling what it is applied to and what conjectures or guesses have been made at the name, and giving a few quotations, one from your own article, which has enabled me to make more of the subject than I could otherwise have done."
Several correspondents have informed me that they possess, or had possessed, specimens of the old Chinese books. An American gentleman writes to me as follows:—"I have in my possession a book made of tissue paper, printed in black (with a Chinese inscription on the front page), containing over three hundred designs, which belongs to the box of 'tangrams,' which I also own. The blocks are seven in number, made of mother-of-pearl, highly polished and finely engraved on either side. These are contained in a rosewood box 21/8 in. square. My great uncle——, was one of the first missionaries to visit China. This box and book, along with quite a collection of other relics, were sent to my grandfather and descended to myself."
My correspondent kindly supplied me with rubbings of the Tangrams, from which it is clear that they are cut in the exact proportions that I have indicated. I reproduce the Chinese inscription (8) for this reason. The owner of the book informs me that he has submitted it to a number of Chinamen in the United States and offered as much as a dollar for a translation. But they all steadfastly refused to read the words, offering the lame excuse that the inscription is Japanese. Natives of Japan, however, insist that it is Chinese. Is there something occult and esoteric about Tangrams, that it is so difficult to lift the veil? Perhaps this page will come under the eye of some reader acquainted with the Chinese language, who will supply the required translation, which may, or may not, throw a little light on this curious question.
By using several sets of Tangrams at the same time we may construct more ambitious pictures. I was advised by a friend not to send my picture, "A Game of Billiards" (9), to the Academy. He assured me that it would not be accepted because the "judges are so hide-bound by convention." Perhaps he was right, and it will be more appreciated by Post-impressionists and Cubists. The players are considering a very delicate stroke at the top of the table. Of course, the two men, the table, and the clock are formed from four sets of Tangrams. My second picture is named "The Orchestra" (10), and it was designed for the decoration of a large hall of music. Here we have the conductor, the pianist, the fat little cornet-player, the left-handed player of the double-bass, whose attitude is life-like, though he does stand at an unusual distance from his instrument, and the drummer-boy, with his imposing music-stand. The dog at the back of the pianoforte is not howling: he is an appreciative listener.
One remarkable thing about these Tangram pictures is that they suggest to the imagination such a lot that is not really there. Who, for example, can look for a few minutes at Lady Belinda (11) and the Dutch girl (12) without soon feeling the haughty expression in the one case and the arch look in the other? Then look again at the stork (13), and see how it is suggested to the mind that the leg is actually much more slender than any one of the pieces employed. It is really an optical illusion. Again, notice in the case of the yacht (14) how, by leaving that little angular point at the top, a complete mast is suggested. If you place your Tangrams together on white paper so that they do not quite touch one another, in some cases the effect is improved by the white lines; in other cases it is almost destroyed.
Finally, I give an example from the many curious paradoxes that one happens upon in manipulating Tangrams. I show designs of two dignified individuals (15 and 16) who appear to be exactly alike, except for the fact that one has a foot and the other has not. Now, both of these figures are made from the same seven Tangrams. Where does the second man get his foot from?
