A CHAPTER ON SOME OF THE MORE SHADY PROFESSIONS IN CHINESE LIFE
The geomancer--Description of--Instances of his
profession--Fung-Shuy--Laws of geomancy--The quack--His
methods--Instances given--Disreputable character of the
story-teller--Examples of his stories--Kung-Ming--The story of the
prince and concubine--The interpreter of the gods--Mode of
selection--Depraved character.
There are certain trades and professions in this Empire that are looked
upon by the Chinese with respect, because they all represent an honourable
attempt of men to earn their living in a straightforward and honest way.
As in England, some of these are looked upon with more respect than
others, and men pride themselves, just as in the countries of the West, on
the higher local standing that their trade or profession gives them in the
eyes of the community. Outside of the Government officials, there are
practically only two respectable classes of professions, viz. the
school-master and the doctor. There are of course others, such as the
geomancer, the pettifogging lawyer, the priests, and members of the
theatrical professions, and those who get their living in connection with
the idols, but these are all looked upon with a suspicion that their
morality is not of the highest, and consequently society refuses to accord
to them the respect and honour that they spontaneously give either to the
scholar or to the _bona fide_ medical man.
This chapter will be devoted to an account of some of the more well-known
professions that belong to this doubtful category of professional men, and
the first that I shall take is the geomancer. This man is a product of the
beliefs that the Chinese have regarding the dead, and also with regard
to the malign and evil spirits that are supposed to people the air and to
be always on the lookout to bring sorrow and calamities wherever the
unwary have not taken measures to frustrate their evil designs. In spite
of their high-sounding beliefs that life and death are all arranged and
settled by Heaven, the Chinese universally hold that the ground in which a
man is buried has much to do with his happiness in the Land of Shadows,
and also with his ability to benefit the members of his family that still
remain in the land of the living.
[Illustration: A TEA HOUSE.]
The study of this subject has become an exact science with the Chinese,
and there are men that spend their lives in mastering its principles, and
they become so familiar with them that they are constantly employed in
pointing out the precise spots where the dead may be buried so as to
secure the highest benefit both to them and to the living.
The poorest and the commonest amongst the people have not the means of
engaging these professors of the geomantic art, neither have they the
funds to buy expensive plots of ground where the "Fung-Shuy," as it is
popularly called, works with a strong and imperial will to summon to
itself the forces in nature that will secure wealth and fortune and
worldly honours to all that are connected with it. Their homes are narrow
and will barely suffice to accommodate the living, and so the dead have to
be hurried away and laid in any piece of ground on the side of a hill that
some benevolent individual may make them a present of.
Persons with any means and with a spare room where the dead may be laid
for a few days, would never dream of burying any of their relatives
without engaging a geomancer to examine all the available vacant plots of
ground that may be in the market for sale, and in giving his professional
opinion as to which of them would be likely to satisfy the feelings of
the dead and bring the greatest prosperity to the home they had left
behind them.
It would seem that according to the laws of geomancy, a low position where
the soil is damp, and where the rains would be allowed to settle, is one
of the very worst that could possibly be selected for the burial of the
dead. It would mean that in the South, at least, before very long, white
ants, captivated and allured by the scent of wood, would come in their
myriads and attack the coffin. As they can do no work without moisture,
the damp and sodden soil would supply them with an abundance of that, and
the working members of the great army would continue their labours with a
perseverance and an industry that would soon riddle the abode of the dead
so that only the merest and flimsiest shell of the coffin would survive
after the attacks made on it.
This it is believed the dead resent with a fierce and bitter feeling that
seems to set them in the wildest hostility to the friends who are
responsible for this state of things, and in the Land of Shadows they plan
how they shall be revenged upon those who have shown so little feeling for
them, as to bury them in such a position.
The professors of "Fung-Shuy" are careful to prohibit all permanently damp
localities, or where the drainage is so imperfect that during the rainy
season, when for weeks the annual rains pour down in more or less
continuous torrents from the heavens, the grave must be thoroughly sodden
with the wet. They know that then, unless the grave is dug in a situation
where the water will easily drain off, the most disastrous results will
happen to the coffin, such as would bring lasting mischief both to the
living and the dead.
There are several things that according to geomantic laws are essential to
the making up of a good grave or Fung-Shuy. The first of these is, it must
be dry. Next, it must have a wide and if possible a charming outlook, for
there is nothing that the dead dislike so much as to be confined in their
view by high walls, or by mounds, or elevations that would limit them in
looking at the landscape that stretches out before them in the distance.
Any proximity of large trees is considered to be specially obnoxious to
the occupants of graves. It seems that the waving of the branches during a
storm, and the sighing of the winds through them, produce such doleful
sensations that the spirits are apt to get irritated, and by and by to
vent their wrath by hurling calamities on the living.
The gentlemen that get their living by catering for the dead have all
these things to keep in mind when they are in search of a place where the
dead are finally to be laid. Proceeding to the hills with their large
compass in hand, which is inscribed with cabalistic characters and lines
and divisions that mark off the cardinal points with a precision that
would be needed to guide an ironclad across the ocean, they cast their
eyes across the landscape, and with the look of experts they take in at a
glance the general features that combine to make any particular spot a
Fung-Shuy, where the dead will have all the consolations that external
circumstances can afford them. It would seem, indeed, as though these
demanded very much what the living would like to have if they had the
choice. A wide and extensive scenery with mountains in the distance, and
hills standing as sentinels to the right and the left; also grassy mounds
sloping down towards a stream that fills the air with its music as it
travels on in graceful curves and loses itself amongst the ravines in the
distance. These are the ideal elements that go to form a Fung-Shuy where a
king might be laid with the certainty of finding complete rest.
Whether it is their training that has developed the artistic element in
these geomancers or not it is impossible to declare definitely. There is
one thing, however, that one may be quite sure of, and that is, they have
the keenest instinct in at once pitching upon the most romantic and the
most exquisite spots in a landscape as the places where they declare the
dead may alone with safety be buried. As a result of this, one continually
is struck with the way in which the graves have been constructed on points
of a hill or a mountain, where the widest outlook may be observed from
them. They may be looking over a wide expanse of fertile plains, or
peering along some mighty ravines, or catching a vision of a
far-stretching sea, but in each case they are there not by any accident,
but in obedience to the decision of the geomancers, who selected them with
a special view to the beauties of the location where the dead were to be
buried.
There is one point on which all geomancers are agreed, and that is that
wherever any natural object has the shape or appearance, say, of a man or
of some of the more intelligent or powerful of the brute creation, you
have there a collection of the strongest forces of nature which will all
work for the welfare of everything that lies within their influence. Such
objects as these make the finest Fung-Shuy, for there is nothing in the
whole range of natural scenery that can in any way be compared to them.
On one occasion there was a civil war being carried on between two
powerful clans. Scores on each side armed with guns and pitchforks, and
any deadly weapon that could be got hold of, made fierce forays against
each other, and inflamed with passion risked their lives in their mad
desire to kill their enemies. In one of the houses that lay on the
borderland of the fight a man had recently died, and fearful lest the
attacking party should set fire to the building and so burn the coffin
with the corpse inside, a number of the relatives made a rush with it from
the house, and in a cleft of the rock that went by the name of the
"Crow's Beak," they placed the coffin in the narrow opening. It was so
called because in the distance it exactly resembled the mouth of a crow as
it looks when it is perched motionless on a branch. Hastily thrusting it
into the very mouth of the bird, they flew down the narrow path that led
to the village, and taking up their arms they again joined in the battle
that was going on.
After hostilities had ceased and peace was proclaimed between the two
parties, a geomancer was called to find a lucky spot in which they might
bury the man who for the time being had been thrust with so little
ceremony into the "Crow's Beak." He belonged to a well-to-do family, and
they could afford to engage the services of such a man. On their way to a
specified locality where a suitable place was likely to be obtained they
passed along the foot of the hill which contained the "Crow's Beak."
Casting his eyes up towards it, this gentleman caught sight of the coffin,
and in the greatest excitement exclaimed, "There is no need of our
proceeding any further, for you have already laid the dead in the finest
Fung-Shuy that could be obtained in all this district. The coffin is in
the very place of power, and if you value the comfort of your deceased
relative and the honour and prosperity of your family you will not remove
it from the place it now occupies."
This advice was attended to with the greatest possible care, and the
strange spectacle was seen of a coffin perched up in this rift in the rock
instead of being laid away in mother earth, where it would have been
sheltered from the storms of wind and rain that now and again battered
around it. Very singular to say, from the very day that the dead man was
placed in the "Crow's Beak," prosperity seemed to come to the house he had
left, and for many years wealth and honours flowed in without cessation
upon his friends and relatives. As the sons grew up they became
distinguished scholars and took high positions in the service of the
Government. That in itself was enough to ensure that the family should be
enriched, for the posts they held were so lucrative that fortunes must
come to those in possession of them. The family finally became of such
importance, and held so much landed property in the neighbourhood, that
its influence became supreme in the whole of that region. All this was
ascribed to the coffin in the "Crow's Beak," and the members of the clan
guarded that with the most scrupulous care, lest any outsider should
interfere with it or surreptitiously displace it by the body of a person
belonging to another clan, when the good fortune would pass away from the
family and flow into that of another.
Whilst the geomantic art is a recognized one and is believed in by the
whole of the nation, the professors of it are not held in the highest
esteem by the community at large. There is so much room for lying and
deception in their statements about the plots of land that they may
recommend that it is felt by the public generally that their honour and
their veracity are not of the highest character, and that when an
opportunity is presented them of making money, they will seize upon it
without any regard to the fact that they may be violating the principle of
truth and equity.
The next person that I shall attempt to describe is the "quack" or
strolling doctor.
If ever there was a people in the world that believed in doctors it is the
Chinese, in fact they seem in themselves to be a nation where every one
has more or less a knowledge of medicine. Learned and unlearned alike
profess to be able to understand almost every disease that the Chinese
race are subject to, and to have nostrums of their own that will cure
those that are afflicted. It is this fatal facility for diagnosing disease
and for suggesting remedies that crowds the medical profession with so
many incompetent practitioners in this land.
The State takes no cognizance of the men who profess to keep society in
good health, and then it is so easy to put on a long gown, look profound,
and ape the airs of a literary man, and be transformed in the twinkling of
an eye into a regular doctor, who is prepared to treat any disease under
the sun, with the confidence of a President of the College of Surgeons in
England. No study is required to be a doctor. There are certain traditions
floating amongst society as to how a number of diseases should be treated.
These are stored up in the mind. Then there are well-recognized books that
have been written in former days by famous physicians with prescriptions
for an unlimited number of diseases, and there are also secrets how to
treat special ailments that have been transmitted through several
generations in some particular family, and are never allowed to leak out
to the general public.
All these are sources to which the man who aspires to be a doctor can
apply, and by a careful study of which he may get such a knowledge of the
Chinese herbarium that he will be able to deal with simple and elementary
cases with some degree of success. He must also have unbounded cheek, a
fluent tongue, and a natural eloquence that will win its way to men's
hearts and fill them with a confidence in his skill that they will never
think of questioning his ability to deal with their particular ailments,
no matter how difficult or complicated they may be. Of these three
elements nearly every Chinaman has an abundant supply, so as a doctor he
starts business with a stock-in-trade that are most valuable assets in
dealing with the troubles of his countrymen.
But my business now is not with the regular practitioner, but with that
medical species that is popularly known as the strolling doctor. And now
let me give a description of a typical specimen of this Bohemian
representative of the medical faculty in this land. In nine cases out of
ten he is a degenerated member of the literary class. He is a man of good
ability and well versed in the classical writings of China. He has always
been wanting, however, in character, and consequently managers of schools
became chary of engaging him as a teacher in any of them. His roving and
unsteady habits really disqualified him for the long hours demanded of him
in Chinese school life. He would teach a few days and gain the approbation
of the parents by the scholarly way in which he would read and explain the
profound statements of Confucius and Mencius, and then, to the great
delight of the lads, he would wander away, impelled by the vagrant
instinct that was in his very blood, and not appear in the school-room
again for perhaps several weeks.
To add to his disqualifications he became an opium smoker. He was not
induced to do this by a purely evil spirit, but rather because life was
dreary and unsatisfactory, and he hoped in the solace and blandishments of
that dangerous drug the monotony of life would be broken by an occasional
glimpse into the realms of Elysium. The parents became still more opposed
to the idea of sending their boys to a school that had him as their
teacher, and so he found himself without employment and without any means
of satisfying the craving that came upon him morning and evening, and
which refused to be banished until the fumes of the opium had filled his
brain with visions and dreams of such bewildering beauty that the pains
and sorrows of earth seemed to have vanished, and he was in a realm where
mortal feet had never trodden and sighing and tears were utterly unknown.
As he had no resources of his own to fall back upon and the doors of every
school-house were shut upon him, the only means of making a livelihood
now was to turn travelling doctor. This was a very simple proceeding, as
it required but very little capital, for his whole stock-in-trade could be
laid in for a few shillings. Besides a scanty supply of herbs, second-hand
teeth, etc., he had to provide himself with a banner on which was
inscribed the diseases he was able to cure, and the wide renown he had
achieved wherever he went for the marvellous cases of recovery from
dangerous sicknesses that had been affected by his patent medicines and by
his skill in treating disease.
And now behold the man as he starts upon his travels, that will take him
wherever the fortune of the day may lead him. His face is a sharp and a
shrewd-looking one. His eyes are bright and piercing, but they are
restless, and speak of a mind that is ill at ease and is continually
discussing the question how the needs of life are to be met. One looking
at him would not say that he was a bad man, but the opium pallor that
rests upon his features would not incline one to put him down as a saint.
In spite of his bad luck and his low fortunes, it is evident that a sense
of humour is strong within him, and that the comical side of life still
appeals to him; for when he smiles it is not an artificial lighting up of
the countenance, but a veritable flash from a heart that still knows how
to laugh in spite of the misfortunes he has brought upon himself.
The travelling doctor does not care much for the cities. There are too
many of the regular practitioners there who are called in regularly by
their patients; still one does occasionally see one of them now and again
passing along the crowded thoroughfares, casting wistful glances at the
open doors and the people that are lounging about them, in the hopes of
picking up a case that may give him the means of providing himself with a
meal and the money to pay his lodging-house bill during the night.
The places where they appear most in their element are in the country
fairs, where great crowds of country bumpkins and farmers and
unsophisticated people gather either for business or for pleasure. Here he
has no rival and no competitor, for the regular doctor would as much
disdain to set up his stand in any such places as a first-class doctor in
London would wheel a barrow to some of the slums or great thoroughfares in
it, and display his medicines to induce the public to patronize him.
Fortunately for the quack, the country abounds in just such gatherings.
The very large villages have one every second or fifth day. The farmers in
the district know this, and they come with their produce and their cattle
to sell to those who are in need of such. Young fellows, too, wishing for
some change from the monotony of country life, come to get some enjoyment,
for all kinds of entertainments are prepared by itinerant caterers for the
amusement of the public, and for a few hours they forget the _ennui_ and
mouldiness of their daily experience, and, having laughed at the funny
things they have seen, they return with lightened hearts to their homes.
Every day in the year, in a large district, there are scores of fairs that
the people in the neighbourhood can attend, and it is to these that the
gamblers, and puppet shows, and Punch and Judys, and conjurors resort, in
the certainty that there will always be a crowd ready to be entertained,
and with none of the highly critical notions that the townspeople are
accustomed to indulge in. The strolling doctor selects a suitable place
where he can best display the various articles that he hopes will attract
those who may be in need of his services. Perhaps it is under the great
boughs of a banyan-tree that cast their leafy shade between the people and
the great red-hot sun, or it may be on the steps of a temple, where the
grim and solemn-looking idol looks out complacently on the crowd that
gathers to listen to the eloquence of the doctor.
Gathered closely around him are his medicines that he is going to
prescribe for his coming patients. These consist of dried roots, and
withered-looking stalks cut from bushes on the hillside, and various kinds
of grasses, that seem fit only to be swept into the gutter as useless
rubbish. There is one little mound that he builds up with deft and careful
fingers, as though he relied much upon its component parts for his success
to-day. It is a gruesome sight, for on looking at it carefully, one finds
it to consist of a considerable number of teeth in a pretty good state of
preservation that have been extracted from patients in days gone by, and
that have still sufficient vitality in them to enable them to do service
in other people's mouths for some years to come.
Slowly the crowd gathers in the front of the doctor, who soon shows how
profound is his knowledge of human nature by the way in which he
captivates the attention of the rustics, who gaze at him with open mouths,
and wonder what great scholar is this that has come with such a flow of
eloquence, and such an amazing knowledge of medicine, to deliver men from
diseases that the local doctors have not been able to cure.
Whilst he is talking, a man rushes up with face flushed and eyes
congested, with both hands holding one side of his face. He is evidently
in the greatest anguish, for, oblivious of what the crowd may think, he
fills the air with his groans and breaks out into agonized cries that show
the extreme pain from which he is suffering. With a piteous look up into
the face of the quack, he slowly opens his mouth, and, pointing to the
interior with mute but eloquent language that every one understands, he
asks if he can do anything for him.
The doctor, with a complacent smile that shows that he perfectly
understands the case and will instantly relieve him, whips up an old rusty
pair of forceps that lies conveniently at hand, and before the man can
realize what he is about to do, he has taken a grip of the offending molar
and is dragging the patient about, howling and screaming because of the
agony he is enduring, and at the same time holding on to the doctor's hand
to try and get him to unloose his hold upon the tooth.
At last, after one tremendous pull, the man staggers back, and the quack,
holding the forceps in the air with the tooth enclosed within its fangs,
excites the admiration of the whole crowd, who with open mouths and wonder
on their faces, express themselves delighted with the skill of the doctor.
This open-air dentistry has an immediate effect in instilling confidence
in those who have witnessed it, for several people at once apply for the
herbs that he has for sale, and a few others consult him upon the various
complaints from which they are suffering.
The fees for these, however, are so small that he begins to feel that his
receipts are so insignificant, that he is apprehensive whether he will
have enough to pay even for his lodgings during the night, without
considering the good round sum he will require for the purchase of the
opium, without which he would have to spend the night sleepless and in the
greatest possible agonies. In order to bring in the cash to meet these
demands he determines upon a ruse. Amongst the crowd is a well-dressed
farmer who is evidently absorbed in admiration at the eloquence of the
doctor, and keeps his eyes fixed upon him as he discourses upon the
virtues of his medicines. That he is well to do is manifest from the whole
look of the man. Fixing his eyes upon him steadily for a few seconds, the
doctor says, "My friend, I hope you will excuse the liberty I am taking
with you, and not be offended at anything I may say to you. My knowledge
of diseases and their symptoms enables me to see that you are on the verge
of a very serious illness, and that unless you take speedy measures to
avert it, your life will be in the greatest danger."
Every eye was now turned upon the countryman, and looks of sympathy begin
to flash over their faces as each one fancies he can detect symptoms of
the threatened disease. The man himself is paralyzed with terror, for the
Chinese are an exceedingly superstitious people, and are easily influenced
by vague fears into a belief of what may be absolutely unreasonable and
absurd. He trembles in every limb, and the perspiration breaks out in
beads on his forehead. The people nudge each other, and point to these
symptoms as evidence of the clearsightedness and ability of the doctor.
The latter, who feels that he is master of the situation, says to the
trembling farmer, "Put out your tongue." The mere sight of the red healthy
organ that is shot out in an agony of fear is quite enough to prove to any
one who has half an eye for such things, that he is in the most robust
health, but there is not one amongst these country bumpkins that knows
anything about tongues as indicators of disease. "You see, my friends,"
says the quack, taking the crowd as it were into his confidence, "how true
it was when I declared that this poor fellow was on the point of having a
very serious illness. Look at his tongue," and here every one gazes at it
intently, as though he sees blue death in that exceedingly healthy organ,
"and just mark how the symptoms of the coming disaster are plainly
outlined upon it. He should see a doctor at once about his case, who, if
he knows his profession only tolerably well, will be able to take such
measures that the disease may be stopped. It will be rather expensive to
have this done, for the particular medicine required in this case is a
very rare one, and consequently a high price will have to be paid for it."
By this time the feelings of the farmer are wound up to the highest
pitch. He already feels himself getting ill, and he can feel the grip of
the disease fastening upon him by slow degrees. He has become so
hysterical that he is ready to believe anything that this scamp says.
"Doctor," he cries out, "I quite believe what you say about my going to be
ill, for I feel the disease you have spoken of has already begun to work
upon me. Have you the medicine you just now spoke of as essential in my
case? If you have, I need not apply to any one else. Why delay? Let me
have it at once, so that I may take it and be relieved from the terrible
feeling that oppresses me now."
The quack's eyes gleam with delight as he realizes that his little
financial scheme has succeeded so well. "I certainly have the medicine,"
he said, "and I can give you a dose at once that will give you instant
relief," and, taking up a folded paper that contained some white powder,
he pours a few grains upon the man's extended tongue, and tells him to
swallow it. Pausing for a short time after it had disappeared with a gulp
down the man's throat, he asks him how he feels. "Very much better," he
replies; "in fact I feel cured, for the distressing sensation that I had
has almost entirely disappeared." A fee is paid by the farmer that makes
the quack's heart leap for joy, whilst the farmer, with elastic steps and
a radiant face, starts off for his home, to tell how he has been saved
just in time from a calamity that might have imperilled his life.
The strolling doctor's profession, which is the last resort of the
dissipated Bohemian literary man, is in some respects a picturesque and
amusing method of getting a living. A book could be well written on this
one subject alone, and if it were composed by one who could enter heartily
into the spirit of the thing, it would be a most entertaining and amusing
one. There is no doubt but that one would get from it a most realistic
picture of the common life of the Chinese such as has never yet been
written. The humorous and the grotesque would abound in it, and tragedy
and comedy would follow each other in rapid succession as the experiences
of these flotsam and jetsam of human society were recorded in it. Men
write ponderous tomes upon China that generally are insufferably dry, and
that give the West an idea that the Chinaman is an absurd, bizarre kind of
individual, and that the main features about him are a pigtail and a pair
of chopsticks. The fact of the matter is, he is brimful of wit and humour,
and is just packed with as much human nature as one would meet with in any
other part of the world. If the Chinese could only jump to the idea of
having a Punch of their own it would be so filled with jokes and
witticisms, though Oriental ones, that not even the famous English weekly
would be able to surpass it for true wit and humour.
The next professional that I shall try to depict is the public
story-teller. This man, as in the case of the strolling doctor, is almost
always a man with a certain amount of talent, and with a literary cast of
mind that has inclined him to study the ancient writings of China, but
more particularly those that deal with fiction and romance. The literature
of China is particularly rich in works of this latter description, and
those who are fond of exciting adventures and hairbreadth escapes, and
dark and mysterious plots, will find a large field in the countless models
that have come down from the past for their satisfaction and
entertainment.
A man sometimes becomes so saturated with the stories he has read that he
feels himself competent to entertain a crowd, whilst he describes in a
graphic and realistic manner the men and women that are depicted in some
famous novel. Few men do this, however, unless they are driven by hard
necessity; for a story-teller, though popular with the masses, is not held
in high respect, but is looked upon as a man who has failed in the more
respectable walks of life, and has taken to this simply because it is the
only way left him by which he can lead a lazy, indolent life, and earn
just enough to supply him with opium and the small amount of daily food
that his opium-drenched system will allow him to take.
The story-teller, or, as he is popularly called by the Chinese, "The
Narrator of Ancient Things," is really the historian of the common people.
Without him, the history of the past, and the story of the great men that
lived in ancient times, and the deeds of heroism, and the revolutions of
dynasties, would all be lost in oblivion. The great mass of the Chinese
are absolutely illiterate, and cannot read the books that contain the
stories of the past. The story-teller comes in to supply the lack of
learning, and he recounts the tales of great battles that were fought in
the dawn of Chinese history, and he tells of the struggles that the Empire
has had with the warlike tribes that lay along the northern frontiers of
China, and in vivid word-painting he describes the heroes and sages that
have played so mighty a part in the building up of the Middle Kingdom. It
is entirely due to him that the past lives in the thought and imagination
of the men of to-day, and that men's blood is fired and their passions
moved at the thought of the great deeds that their fathers in days gone by
were able to accomplish.
These men are accustomed to come out every afternoon when the weather
permits and take their positions in some well-known public resort, and
recount their stories to the groups of people that very soon gather round
to listen to them. Their favourite place is in front of some popular
temple towards which the roads converge, and where incessant streams of
people pass and repass without ever ceasing their flow. Some of these are
always sure to stop awhile and listen to the stirring tales that never
seem to lose their attraction for the Chinaman.
Some of the most popular of these are taken from a standard work, half
fiction and half history, called _The Three Kingdoms_. This book contains
a description of the times when three great rivals, occupying three
different sections of the country, were contending for the mastery with
each other (A.D. 221). It is written in a very delightful style, and is
crammed full of adventures of the most exciting and romantic description
from the first page to the very end.
The hero that shines most conspicuously in this historical novel is
Kung-Ming, the beau ideal general and warrior, and the audience is never
weary of listening to the exciting stories of his adventures, whilst he
was striving to uphold the falling fortunes of his royal master. One of
these is exceedingly popular, as it deserves to be, since it illustrates
the fertility of Kung-Ming's mind in his ingenious devices in carrying on
the war with the two rival leaders with whom he was contending.
On one occasion he had sent on a large army that he had collected to fight
with a rival general who was nearly as able as himself, whilst he followed
behind, hoping to reach it before the enemy came into contact with it. He
was proceeding leisurely along, when he was suddenly disturbed by a rush
of defeated soldiers who were flying in the utmost disorder as though
pursued by a successful foe. He found to his dismay that these were his
own men, who had been routed and dispersed by the opposing army; and so
thoroughly had they been demoralized by their defeat that all the
influence and prestige that he possessed had no power to stay their
flight, or to induce them to gather round his standard and once more
follow him to meet the enemy.
The panic indeed was so universal and the fear of the pursuing enemy so
great, that he was deserted by every one excepting two of the most devoted
of his followers, and with these he retreated to the city of Han-chung
that lay some miles away in the rear. Entering into this, he ordered the
city gates to be thrown wide open, whilst he and his two friends took up
their position on the city wall with guitars in their hands, and there, as
though they were celebrating a great victory, they sang songs and played
the most lively airs on their instruments.
Before long the first ranks of the advancing foe appeared in the distance,
and ere long the whole army, with banners flying and trumpets braying and
with every sign of exultation, rapidly advanced in the direction of the
city with the certainty of capturing it without a blow. As the troops drew
near, what was their astonishment to find that the gates were flung wide
open, whilst Kung-Ming, the redoubtable general, was seen playing the
guitar on the walls of the town in full view of the whole army.
The general immediately ordered a halt of all the troops under his
command, and rode forward with his staff to examine into this remarkable
state of things. The city gates truly were thrown wide open, but not a
soldier could be seen either there or upon the ramparts, neither was there
any sign of defence whatsoever. All that could be seen was Kung-Ming
sitting with a gay and festive air on one of the towers, twanging his
guitar and singing one of the national songs of the time. As the general
gazed in the utmost perplexity the notes of the music vibrated through the
air, and the loud tones of Kung-Ming, heard above the highest strains,
reached the listening soldiers as they stood to their arms.
There was something mysterious about these open gates, and the musical
entertainment that could only have been prepared for the enemy. Kung-Ming
had always been noted for the fertility of his resources, and now he had
evidently thought out a deep-laid scheme to involve his enemies in utter
ruin.
The general was a man of consummate ability, but he recognized that in
military tactics he was no match for the man that was singing so blithely
on the walls above him. Fearful lest his army should be involved in some
terrible disaster by the wily foe with whom he had to contend, he gave
orders to retreat, and every man under his command felt that he was not
safe until some miles had been placed between him and the famous general
who had been entertaining them in so strange and unlooked-for a manner.
Thus by this famous ruse Kung-Ming saved his town for his master, and at
the same time gave him an opportunity of gathering together his forces for
a new campaign with his enemies. The story has come down the ages, and
to-day is perpetuated in the language in the well-known proverb,
"Kung-Ming offered the empty city to his enemy," which is often applied to
clinch an argument about something that is happening in daily life.
Another story is told that is always listened to with wrapt attention, and
it is that of a Prince that ruled in the far-off distant times who was
often in collision with the Barbarians that lived just outside the
frontiers of the Empire. He was a valiant man and greatly beloved by his
feudal barons and earls that owed him military service, and who were bound
to call together their retainers and follow him to the field whenever they
were summoned by him to active service.
After a time he came completely under the fascination of a beautiful
concubine whom he had in his harem. Through her influence he neglected the
duties of the State, and the greatest disorders prevailed throughout it.
The wild and warlike tribes across the border who used to be restrained
by the firm hand of the Prince, now made incessant raids into his
dominions and ravaged the lands of the people, and murdered or carried off
into slavery many of the inhabitants, without any action being taken to
punish the marauders or to protect the people against their inroads.
Several years went by and frequent appeals were made to their ruler to
take up arms and drive back the robbers into the wilds and steppes of
their native land, but the fatal influence of the court beauty had made
him careless whether his people were protected or not. At length the
predatory excursions of the Mongols and the Kins and the Huns, the roving
migratory tribes that found China such a fruitful field for plunder and
robbery, became so incessant and so destructive to his dominions that he
was compelled to organize an expedition to drive them across the border.
Lighting the beacon fires throughout the State, which was the usual signal
for the assembling of the feudal chiefs to repair to the capital with
their various quotas of men and arms, there was soon assembled a
formidable force prepared to follow their Prince wherever he desired to
lead them against the enemies of their country. On the morning of the day
on which the army was to start to punish the robbers who were desolating
the northern districts of his dominions, a select body of the chiefs had
an interview with their ruler, and they declared that not a soldier would
obey the orders to march until he had consented to grant them one request,
and that was that he should order the instant execution of the concubine
who had wrought such injury to the State, and that her head should be
handed over to them, so that they might be sure that she had really been
put to death.
The Prince, who was desperately in love with the unfortunate woman, at
first resolutely refused to do what they asked. As the very existence of
the State, as they believed, depended upon its being granted, they were
firm in their determination not to march against the enemy until the
bloody deed had been carried out. After holding out for several days, and
finding that the leaders were inexorable, the executioner was sent into
the palace, and soon the head of the famous beauty was delivered to the
barons, and the army took its march to avenge the wrongs that the wild and
lawless tribes had so long inflicted upon the country.
The story-teller has an inexhaustible store of adventures, and romances,
and love scenes, and great episodes in history upon which to draw. He has
also the free use of his pictorial powers in drawing the scenes and
pictures with which he would stir the imagination and the enthusiasm of
his audiences. Many of these men are real artists in their profession, and
they can hold their hearers spellbound whilst they give a realistic
picture of some stirring event that happened ages ago, or of some great
catastrophe in which a dynasty disappeared amidst scenes of carnage and
bloodshed, and the new one came in to the sound of music and amidst the
rejoicings of a nation. They are, however, a vulgar, dissipated set of
men, and though they do occasionally get inspired with their subjects and
rise to high flights of eloquence, there is not a single noble feature
about them. It is not love for their art that makes them reproduce the
comedies and tragedies of the past, but an irrepressible longing for the
opium, which has put its leaden hues on their faces, and its fierce and
unholy craving into their hearts.
There is another profession that ought to stand the very highest amongst
all the honourable occupations that give men employment in this land, and
that is the one that might in a rough and general way be called that of
"interpreter of the gods." This individual occupies the position he does
not by any human choice, but by the special selection of the idol for whom
he is to act. A vacancy, say, occurs in a particular temple, and a man
must be appointed who can report to the worshippers the answers that the
god has to give them to the particular petitions they have made to it.
Without such a man the idol is dumb. It has a mouth, but it cannot speak;
it has eyes, but they look out of wooden sockets, and no tears of sympathy
have ever been known to fall from them; and it has a face with human
features, but no story, the most pathetic that was ever told in the
hearing of man, has ever been known to cause it to be suffused with
emotion or to touch the cold and passionless features with a touch of
pity.
The man that aspires to occupy this high position must go through a
certain ordeal before he can be accepted by the temple authorities as the
one whom the idol is willing to employ to be the medium by which it shall
communicate its purposes to the people. A certain weird ceremony is
performed in front of the god during some dark night, when only a candle
or two show the idol surrounded by the mystery of darkness. Incantations
are slowly chanted, and invocations made to the wooden image to inspire
the man that stands motionless in front of it. The tap of a drum now and
again sounds as a kind of bass note to the higher notes of the reciter of
the vague and mystic language that is supposed to move the idol to a
manifestation of its will.
After an hour or so of this monotonous dirge and occasional tapping of the
drum, which is evidently meant to quicken the decision of the god, the man
who has been as silent and as motionless as a statue begins to slightly
sway from side to side. The taps on the drum now become more rapid and
more vigorous, and ere long the wretched man becomes convulsed and falls
on the ground as though he were in a fit.
The scene is ended, and the god, it is believed, has entered and taken
possession of the man, and now whenever he speaks officially he does so as
its inspired oracle, and his utterances are accepted as though they had
been spoken by the idol itself.
One would naturally imagine that candidates for this exalted position
would come from among men of culture and refinement, and that the highest
in the land would eagerly desire a position where they would be so
thoroughly in communication with the supernatural and be recognized by
their countrymen as worthy of the highest places in the religion of the
masses. But this is not the case. No scholar would ever dream of demeaning
himself and of rendering himself contemptible in the eyes of the literary
classes by consenting to become an interpreter of the gods. No respectable
citizen would agree either for himself or for any member of his family to
degrade himself by accepting such a position.
The men that actually are employed are opium-smokers who have lost their
property in their indulgence of the popular vice, and as a last resort
have come to the point of bearing the stigma and the disgrace connected
with the office in order to get the gains that come to them when they are
doing duty in the temple. If by some accident they should not have
acquired the habit of opium-smoking, then it may be taken for granted that
they are persons of no moral standing in the community--gamblers, loafers,
or hangers-on to the outskirts of society, and such like.
Such are the men that assume the sacred office of being so inspired by the
gods that they shall be qualified to carry messages from the invisible
world to those who are in sorrow and distress, and who can find comfort
only in the thought that the unseen powers are working on their behalf.
That their new position does not affect in the slightest degree their
moral character is seen by the lives they lead after they have undergone
the process of being specially inspired by the idols to qualify for the
delicate office of interpreting their very thoughts to their worshippers.
They are lazy and idle and profligate. Their leisure time, which is
extensive, is spent in gambling and in occupations entirely unsuited to
their sacred character. They have been known to make excursions during the
darkness of the night when honest men are in their beds and dig up
people's potatoes, or, if no obstacles occur, to despoil a farmer's
henroost of all the birds in it. There certainly is a Nemesis that attends
the irregular lives of these regular clergy of the idols, for they have
not only an evil reputation, but according to popular report death invades
their families until one after another is taken away and the home becomes
extinct. That this happens often enough to warrant the tradition is quite
evident to those who have studied the question. It is also a remarkable
fact, that whilst these men who are the ministers of the idols are looked
down upon with contempt, the gods who select and employ them are never
censured by the public or considered to be involved in the evils of their
servants.
It is a strange system that allows men of a low and depraved character to
be the chief actors in the spiritual movements of a nation, but it is on a
par with the fact that in the worship of the idols, goodness or
reformation in heart or life is never required from a single worshipper.
The bad man brings his offering without any promise that there will be a
change in his life, and it is apparently accepted just as freely as that
of another whose reputation stands high amongst all classes of the
community. This latter fact is a sufficient explanation of how it is
possible for such men as now act as interpreters of the gods to be
tolerated in the service of the temples at all.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL VILLAGE.]