STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
TRANSLATED AND ANNOTATED
BY
HERBERT A. GILES,
_Of H.M.’s Consular Service_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
THOS. DE LA RUE & CO.
110, BUNHILL ROW.
1880.
PRINTED BY
THOMAS DE LA RUE AND CO., BUNHILL ROW,
LONDON.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION Vol. I., pp. xiii-xxxii.
STORIES.
VOL. I. VOL. II.
PAGE PAGE
Adulteration Punished -- 332
Alchemist, The -- 313
Boat-girl Bride, The -- 149
Boatmen of Lao-lung, The -- 348
Boon Companion, The 165 --
Bribery and Corruption -- 170
Buddhist Priest of Ch‘ang-ch‘ing, The 22 --
Buddhist Priests, Arrival of -- 231
Butterfly’s Revenge, The -- 289
Carrying a Corpse -- 181
Cattle Plague, The -- 253
Censor in Purgatory, The -- 238
Chang Pu-liang -- 177
Chang’s Transformation 237 --
Chou K‘o-ch‘ang and his Ghost -- 106
Clay Image, The -- 276
Cloth Merchant, The -- 127
Collecting Subscriptions -- 220
Considerate Husband, The 158 --
Country of the Cave Men, The 397 --
Courage Tested -- 116
Cruelty Avenged -- 267
Dead Priest, The -- 247
Death by Laughing 352 --
Disembodied Friend, The -- 119
Dishonesty Punished -- 279
Doctor, The -- 290
Donkey’s Revenge, The -- 64
Dr. Tsêng’s Dream 387 --
Dreaming Honours -- 327
Dutch Carpet, The -- 179
Dwarf, A 224 --
Earthquake, An -- 263
Elephants and the Lion, The -- 343
Engaged to a Nun 262 --
Examination for the Post of Guardian Angel 1 --
Faithful Dog, The -- 261
Faithful Gander, The -- 342
Faithless Widow, The -- 39
Feasting the Ruler of Purgatory -- 284
Fêng-shui -- 322
Fight with the Foxes, The 251 --
Fighting Cricket, The -- 17
Fighting Quails, The 66 --
Fisherman and his Friend, The -- 197
Flood, A 350 --
Flower-nymphs, The 285 --
Flying Cow, The -- 249
Foot-ball on the Tung-t‘ing Lake 408 --
Foreign Priests 343 --
Fortune-hunter Punished, The -- 272
Forty Strings of Cash, The -- 211
Friendship with Foxes -- 300
Gambler’s Talisman, The 419 --
Grateful Dog, The -- 308
Great Rat, The -- 303
Great Test, The -- 310
Hidden Treasure, The -- 345
His Father’s Ghost -- 142
Hsiang-ju’s Misfortunes 225 --
Husband Punished, The 422 --
Incorrupt Official, The -- 358
Infernal Regions, In the -- 95
Ingratitude Punished -- 138
Injustice of Heaven, The -- 111
Invisible Priest, The -- 235
Jen Hsiu, The Gambler 196 --
Joining the Immortals 53 --
Jonah, A Chinese -- 176
Judge Lu 92 --
Justice for Rebels -- 184
Killing a Serpent -- 190
King, The 257 --
Life Prolonged -- 273
Lingering Death, The -- 325
Little Chu 143 --
Lo-ch‘a Country and the Sea Market, The -- 1
Lost Brother, The 203 --
Mad Priest, The -- 282
Magic Mirror, The -- 114
Magic Path, The -- 36
Magic Sword, The 124 --
Magical Arts 47 --
Magnanimous Girl, The 160 --
Making Animals -- 265
Man who was changed into a Crow, The 278 --
Man who was thrown down a Well, The 365 --
Marriage Lottery, The 428 --
Marriage of the Fox’s Daughter, The 26 --
Marriage of the Virgin Goddess, The -- 257
Master-thief, The 347 --
Metempsychosis -- 207
“Mirror and Listen” Trick, The -- 251
Miss Chiao-no 33 --
Miss Lien-hsiang, The Fox-girl 168 --
Miss Quarta Hu 152 --
Miss Ying-ning; or, the Laughing Girl 106 --
Mr. Tung; or, Virtue Rewarded -- 244
Mr. Willow and the Locusts -- 242
Mysterious Head, The -- 135
Painted Skin, The 76 --
Painted Wall, The 9 --
Performing Mice, The 218 --
Perseverance Rewarded 186 --
Picture Horse, The -- 286
Pious Surgeon, The -- 351
Planchette -- 295
Planting a Pear-tree 14 --
Playing at Hanging 354 --
Priest’s Warning, The -- 205
Princess Lily, The -- 56
Princess of the Tung-t‘ing Lake -- 43
Quarrelsome Brothers, The 313 --
Raising the Dead -- 318
Rat Wife, The 355 --
Resuscitated Corpse, The -- 193
Rip van Winkle, A Chinese -- 85
Roc, The -- 340
Salt Smuggler, The -- 215
Saving Life -- 213
Sea-serpent, The -- 113
Self-punished Murderer, The 345 --
She-wolf and the Herd-boys, The -- 330
Shui-mang Plant, The 136 --
Singing Frogs, The 217 --
Singular case of Ophthalmia -- 102
Singular Verdict -- 307
Sisters, The 336 --
Smelling Essays -- 139
Snow in Summer -- 294
Solomon, A Chinese -- 335
Solomon, Another -- 355
Spirit of the Hills, The -- 137
Spirits of the Po-yang Lake, The -- 109
Spiritualistic Séances -- 131
Stolen Eyes, The -- 233
Strange Companion, A -- 130
Stream of Cash, The -- 110
Supernatural Wife, A -- 166
Taking Revenge -- 25
Talking Pupils, The 5 --
Ta-nan in Search of his Father 296 --
Taoist Devotee, A -- 183
Taoist Miracles -- 226
Taoist Priest, A 246 --
Taoist Priest of Lao-shan, The 17 --
Theft of the Peach -- 186
Three Genii, The 214 --
Three States of Existence, The -- 90
Thunder God, The 413 --
Tiger Guest, The 330 --
Tiger of Chao-ch‘êng, The 219 --
Tipsy Turtle, The -- 28
Trader’s Son, The 85 --
Two Brides, The -- 158
Unjust Sentence, The -- 80
Virtuous Daughter-in-law, The 374 --
Wei-ch‘i Devil, The -- 268
Wine Insect, The -- 259
Wolf Dream, The -- 73
Wolves -- 305
Wonderful Stone, The 306 --
Young Gentleman who couldn’t spell, The 326 --
Young Lady of the Tung-t‘ing Lake, The 271 --
APPENDIX A -- 361
„ B -- 389
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
LXIII.
THE LO-CH‘A COUNTRY AND THE SEA-MARKET.[1]
Once upon a time there was a young man, named Ma Chün, who was also
known as Lung-mei. He was the son of a trader, and a youth of
surpassing beauty. His manners were courteous, and he loved nothing
better than singing and playing. He used to associate with actors, and
with an embroidered handkerchief round his head the effect was that of
a beautiful woman. Hence he acquired the sobriquet of the Beauty. At
fourteen years of age he graduated and began to make a name for
himself; but his father, who was growing old and wished to retire from
business, said to him, “My boy, book-learning will never fill your
belly or put a coat on your back; you had much better stick to the old
thing.” Accordingly, Ma from that time occupied himself with scales
and weights, with principle and interest, and such matters.
He made a voyage across the sea, and was carried away by a typhoon.
After being tossed about for many days and nights he arrived at a
country where the people were hideously ugly. When these people saw Ma
they thought he was a devil and all ran screeching away. Ma was
somewhat alarmed at this, but finding that it was they who were
frightened at him, he quickly turned their fear to his own advantage.
If he came across people eating and drinking he would rush upon them,
and when they fled away for fear, he would regale himself upon what
they had left. By-and-by he went to a village among the hills, and
there the people had at any rate some facial resemblance to ordinary
men. But they were all in rags and tatters like beggars. So Ma sat
down to rest under a tree, and the villagers, not daring to come near
him, contented themselves with looking at him from a distance. They
soon found, however, that he did not want to eat them, and by degrees
approached a little closer to him. Ma, smiling, began to talk; and
although their language was different, yet he was able to make himself
tolerably intelligible, and told them whence he had come. The
villagers were much pleased, and spread the news that the stranger was
not a man-eater. Nevertheless, the very ugliest of all would only take
a look and be off again; they would not come near him. Those who did
go up to him were not very much unlike his own countrymen, the
Chinese. They brought him plenty of food and wine. Ma asked them what
they were afraid of. They replied, “We had heard from our forefathers
that 26,000 _li_ to the west there is a country called China. We had
heard that the people of that land were the most extraordinary in
appearance you can possibly imagine. Hitherto it has been hearsay; we
can now believe it.” He then asked them how it was they were so poor.
They answered, “You see, in our country everything depends, not on
literary talent, but on beauty. The most beautiful are made ministers
of state; the next handsomest are made judges and magistrates; and the
third class in looks are employed in the palace of the king. Thus
these are enabled out of their pay to provide for their wives and
families. But we, from our very birth, are regarded by our parents as
inauspicious, and are left to perish, some of us being occasionally
preserved by more humane parents to prevent the extinction of the
family.” Ma asked the name of their country, and they told him it was
Lo-ch‘a. Also that the capital city was some 30 _li_ to the north. He
begged them to take him there, and next day at cock-crow he started
thitherwards in their company, arriving just about dawn. The walls of
the city were made of black stone, as black as ink, and the city
gate-houses were about 100 feet high. Red stones were used for tiles,
and picking up a broken piece Ma found that it marked his finger-nail
like vermilion. They arrived just when the Court was rising, and saw
all the equipages of the officials. The village people pointed out
one who they said was Prime Minister. His ears drooped forward in
flaps; he had three nostrils, and his eye-lashes were just like bamboo
screens hanging in front of his eyes. Then several came out on
horseback, and they said these were the privy councillors. So they
went on, telling him the rank of all the ugly uncouth fellows he saw.
The lower they got down in the official scale the less hideous the
officials were. By-and-by Ma went back, the people in the streets
marvelling very much to see him, and tumbling helter-skelter one over
another as if they had met a goblin. The villagers shouted out to
re-assure them, and then they stood at a distance to look at him. When
he got back, there was not a man, woman, or child in the whole nation
but knew that there was a strange man at the village; and the gentry
and officials became very desirous to see him. However, if he went to
any of their houses the porter always slammed the door in his face,
and the master, mistress, and family, in general, would only peep at,
and speak to him through the cracks. Not a single one dared receive
him face to face; but, finally, the village people, at a loss what to
do, bethought themselves of a man who had been sent by a former king
on official business among strange nations. “He,” said they, “having
seen many kinds of men, will not be afraid of you.” So they went to
his house, where they were received in a very friendly way. He seemed
to be about eighty or ninety years of age; his eye-balls protruded,
and his beard curled up like a hedge-hog. He said, “In my youth I was
sent by the king among many nations, but I never went to China. I am
now one hundred and twenty years of age, and that I should be
permitted to see a native of your country is a fact which it will be
my duty to report to the Throne. For ten years and more I have not
been to Court, but have remained here in seclusion; yet I will now
make an effort on your behalf.” Then followed a banquet, and when the
wine had already circulated pretty freely, some dozen singing girls
came in and sang and danced before them. The girls all wore white
embroidered turbans, and long scarlet robes which trailed on the
ground. The words they uttered were unintelligible, and the tunes they
played perfectly hideous. The host, however, seemed to enjoy it very
much, and said to Ma, “Have you music in China?” He replied that they
had, and the old man asked for a specimen. Ma hummed him a tune,
beating time on the table, with which he was very much pleased,
declaring that his guest had the voice of a phœnix and the notes of a
dragon, such as he had never heard before. The next day he presented a
memorial to the Throne, and the king at once commanded Ma to appear
before him. Several of the ministers, however, represented that his
appearance was so hideous it might frighten His Majesty, and the king
accordingly desisted from his intention. The old man returned and told
Ma, being quite upset about it. They remained together some time until
they had drunk themselves tipsy. Then Ma, seizing a sword, began to
attitudinize, smearing his face all over with coal-dust. He acted the
part of Chang Fei,[2] at which his host was so delighted that he
begged him to appear before the Prime Minister in the character of
Chang Fei. Ma replied, “I don’t mind a little amateur acting, but how
can I play the hypocrite[3] for my own personal advantage?” On being
pressed he consented, and the old man prepared a great feast, and
asked some of the high officials to be present, telling Ma to paint
himself as before. When the guests had arrived, Ma was brought out to
see them; whereupon they all exclaimed, “Ai-yah! how is it he was so
ugly before and is now so beautiful?” By-and-by, when they were all
taking wine together, Ma began to sing them a most bewitching song,
and they got so excited over it that next day they recommended him to
the king. The king sent a special summons for him to appear, and asked
him many questions about the government of China, to all of which Ma
replied in detail, eliciting sighs of admiration from His Majesty. He
was honoured with a banquet in the royal guest-pavilion, and when the
king had made himself tipsy he said to him, “I hear you are a very
skilful musician. Will you be good enough to let me hear you?” Ma then
got up and began to attitudinize, singing a plaintive air like the
girls with the turbans. The king was charmed, and at once made him a
privy councillor, giving him a private banquet, and bestowing other
marks of royal favour. As time went on his fellow-officials found out
the secret of his painted face,[4] and whenever he was among them they
were always whispering together, besides which they avoided being near
him as much as possible. Thus Ma was left to himself, and found his
position anything but pleasant in consequence. So he memorialized the
Throne, asking to be allowed to retire from office, but his request
was refused. He then said his health was bad, and got three months’
sick leave, during which he packed up his valuables and went back to
the village. The villagers on his arrival went down on their knees to
him, and he distributed gold and jewels amongst his old friends. They
were very glad to see him, and said, “Your kindness shall be repaid
when we go to the sea-market; we will bring you some pearls and
things.” Ma asked them where that was. They said it was at the bottom
of the sea, where the mermaids[5] kept their treasures, and that as
many as twelve nations were accustomed to go thither to trade. Also
that it was frequented by spirits, and that to get there it was
necessary to pass through red vapours and great waves. “Dear Sir,”
they said, “do not yourself risk this great danger, but let us take
your money and purchase these rare pearls for you. The season is now
at hand.” Ma asked them how they knew this. They said, “Whenever we
see red birds flying backwards and forwards over the sea, we know that
within seven days the market will open.” He asked when they were
going to start, that he might accompany them; but they begged him not
to think of doing so. He replied, “I am a sailor: how can I be afraid
of wind and waves?” Very soon after this people came with merchandise
to forward, and so Ma packed up and went on board the vessel that was
going.
This vessel held some tens of people, was flat-bottomed with a railing
all round, and, rowed by ten men, it cut through the water like an
arrow. After a voyage of three days they saw afar off faint outlines
of towers and minarets, and crowds of trading vessels. They soon
arrived at the city, the walls of which were made of bricks as long as
a man’s body, the tops of its buildings being lost in the Milky
Way.[6] Having made fast their boat they went in, and saw laid out in
the market rare pearls and wondrous precious stones of dazzling
beauty, such as are quite unknown amongst men. Then they saw a young
man come forth riding upon a beautiful steed. The people of the market
stood back to let him pass, saying he was the third son of the king;
but when the Prince saw Ma, he exclaimed, “This is no foreigner,” and
immediately an attendant drew near and asked his name and country. Ma
made a bow, and standing at one side told his name and family. The
prince smiled, and said, “For you to have honoured our country thus is
no small piece of good luck.” He then gave him a horse and begged him
to follow. They went out of the city gate and down to the sea-shore,
whereupon their horses plunged into the water. Ma was terribly
frightened and screamed out; but the sea opened dry before them and
formed a wall of water on either side. In a little time they reached
the king’s palace, the beams of which were made of tortoise-shell and
the tiles of fishes’ scales. The four walls were of crystal, and
dazzled the eye like mirrors. They got down off their horses and went
in, and Ma was introduced to the king. The young prince said, “Sire, I
have been to the market, and have got a gentleman from China.”
Whereupon Ma made obeisance before the king, who addressed him as
follows:--“Sir, from a talented scholar like yourself I venture to ask
for a few stanzas upon our sea-market. Pray do not refuse.” Ma
thereupon made a _kot‘ow_ and undertook the king’s command. Using an
ink-slab of crystal, a brush of dragon’s beard, paper as white as
snow, and ink scented like the larkspur,[7] Ma immediately threw off
some thousand odd verses, which he laid at the feet of the king. When
His Majesty saw them, he said, “Sir, your genius does honour to these
marine nations of ours.” Then, summoning the members of the royal
family, the king gave a great feast in the Coloured Cloud pavilion;
and, when the wine had circulated freely, seizing a great goblet in
his hand, the king rose and said before all the guests, “It is a
thousand pities, Sir, that you are not married. What say you to
entering the bonds of wedlock?” Ma rose blushing, and stammered out
his thanks; upon which the king looking round spoke a few words to the
attendants, and in a few moments in came a bevy of court ladies
supporting the king’s daughter, whose ornaments went tinkle, tinkle,
as she walked along. Immediately the nuptial drums and trumpets began
to sound forth, and bride and bridegroom worshipped Heaven and Earth
together.[8] Stealing a glance Ma saw that the princess was endowed
with a fairy-like loveliness. When the ceremony was over she retired,
and by-and-by the wine-party broke up. Then came several
beautifully-dressed waiting-maids, who with painted candles escorted
Ma within. The bridal couch was made of coral adorned with eight kinds
of precious stones, and the curtains were thickly hung with pearls as
big as acorns. Next day at dawn a crowd of young slave-girls trooped
into the room to offer their services; whereupon Ma got up and went
off to Court to pay his respects to the king. He was then duly
received as royal son-in-law and made an officer of state. The fame of
his poetical talents spread far and wide, and the kings of the various
seas sent officers to congratulate him, vying with each other in their
invitations to him. Ma dressed himself in gorgeous clothes, and went
forth riding on a superb steed, with a mounted body-guard all
splendidly armed. There were musicians on horseback and musicians in
chariots, and in three days he had visited every one of the marine
kingdoms, making his name known in all directions. In the palace there
was a jade tree, about as big round as a man could clasp. Its roots
were as clear as glass, and up the middle ran, as it were, a stick of
pale yellow. The branches were the size of one’s arm; the leaves like
white jade, as thick as a copper cash. The foliage was dense, and
beneath its shade the ladies of the palace were wont to sit and sing.
The flowers which covered the tree resembled grapes, and if a single
petal fell to the earth it made a ringing sound. Taking one up, it
would be found to be exactly like carved cornelian, very bright and
pretty to look at. From time to time a wonderful bird came and sang
there. Its feathers were of a golden hue, and its tail as long as its
body. Its notes were like the tinkling of jade, very plaintive and
touching to listen to. When Ma heard this bird sing, it called up in
him recollections of his old home, and accordingly he said to the
princess, “I have now been away from my own country for three years,
separated from my father and mother. Thinking of them my tears flow
and the perspiration runs down my back. Can you return with me?” His
wife replied, “The way of immortals is not that of men. I am unable to
do what you ask, but I cannot allow the feelings of husband and wife
to break the tie of parent and child. Let us devise some plan.” When
Ma heard this he wept bitterly, and the princess sighed and said, “We
cannot both stay or both go.” The next day the king said to him, “I
hear that you are pining after your old home. Will to-morrow suit you
for taking leave?” Ma thanked the king for his great kindness, which
he declared he could never forget, and promised to return very
shortly. That evening the princess and Ma talked over their wine of
their approaching separation. Ma said they would soon meet again; but
his wife averred that their married life was at an end. Then he wept
afresh, but the princess said, “Like a filial son you are going home
to your parents. In the meetings and separations of this life, a
hundred years seem but a single day; why, then, should we give way to
tears like children? I will be true to you; do you be faithful to me;
and then, though separated, we shall be united in spirit, a happy
pair. Is it necessary to live side by side in order to grow old
together? If you break our contract your next marriage will not be a
propitious one; but if loneliness[9] overtakes you then choose a
concubine. There is one point more of which I would speak, with
reference to our married life. I am about to become a mother, and I
pray you give me a name for your child.” To this Ma replied, “If a
girl I would have her called Lung-kung; if a boy, then name him
Fu-hai.”[10] The princess asked for some token of remembrance, and Ma
gave her a pair of jade lilies that he had got during his stay in the
marine kingdom. She added, “On the 8th of the 4th moon, three years
hence, when you once more steer your course for this country, I will
give you up your child.” She next packed a leather bag full of jewels
and handed it to Ma, saying, “Take care of this; it will be a
provision for many generations.” When the day began to break a
splendid farewell feast was given him by the king, and Ma bade them
all adieu. The princess, in a car drawn by snow-white sheep, escorted
him to the boundary of the marine kingdom, where he dismounted and
stepped ashore. “Farewell!” cried the princess, as her returning car
bore her rapidly away, and the sea, closing over her, snatched her
from her husband’s sight. Ma returned to his home across the ocean.
Some had thought him long since dead and gone; all marvelled at his
story. Happily his father and mother were yet alive, though his former
wife had married another man; and so he understood why the princess
had pledged him to constancy, for she already knew that this had taken
place. His father wished him to take another wife, but he would not.
He only took a concubine. Then, after the three years had passed away,
he started across the sea on his return journey, when lo! he beheld,
riding on the wave-crests and splashing about the water in playing,
two young children. On going near, one of them seized hold of him and
sprung into his arms; upon which the elder cried until he, too, was
taken up. They were a boy and girl, both very lovely, and wearing
embroidered caps adorned with jade lilies. On the back of one of them
was a worked case, in which Ma found the following letter:--
“I presume my father and mother-in-law are well. Three years have
passed away and destiny still keeps us apart. Across the great ocean,
the letter-bird would find no path.[11] I have been with you in my
dreams until I am quite worn out. Does the blue sky look down upon any
grief like mine? Yet Ch‘ang-ngo[12] lives solitary in the moon, and
Chih Nü[13] laments that she cannot cross the Silver River. Who am I
that I should expect happiness to be mine? Truly this thought turns my
tears into joy. Two months after your departure I had twins, who can
already prattle away in the language of childhood, at one moment
snatching a date, at another a pear. Had they no mother they would
still live. These I now send to you, with the jade lilies you gave me
in their hats, in token of the sender. When you take them upon your
knee, think that I am standing by your side. I know that you have kept
your promise to me, and I am happy. I shall take no second husband,
even unto death. All thoughts of dress and finery are gone from me; my
looking-glass sees no new fashions; my face has long been unpowdered,
my eyebrows unblacked. You are my Ulysses, I am your Penelope;[14]
though not actually leading a married life, how can it be said that
we are not husband and wife. Your father and mother will take their
grandchildren upon their knees, though they have never set eyes upon
the bride. Alas! there is something wrong in this. Next year your
mother will enter upon the long night. I shall be there by the side of
the grave as is becoming in her daughter-in-law. From this time forth
our daughter will be well; later on she will be able to grasp her
mother’s hand. Our boy, when he grows up, may possibly be able to come
to and fro. Adieu, dear husband, adieu, though I am leaving much
unsaid.” Ma read the letter over and over again, his tears flowing all
the time. His two children clung round his neck, and begged him to
take them home. “Ah, my children,” said he, “where is your home?” Then
they all wept bitterly, and Ma, looking at the great ocean stretching
away to meet the sky, lovely and pathless, embraced his children, and
proceeded sorrowfully to return. Knowing, too, that his mother could
not last long, he prepared everything necessary for the ceremony of
interment, and planted a hundred young pine-trees at her grave.[15]
The following year the old lady did die, and her coffin was borne to
its last resting-place, when lo! there was the princess standing by
the side of the grave. The lookers-on were much alarmed, but in a
moment there was a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder
and a squall of rain, and she was gone. It was then noticed that many
of the young pine-trees which had died were one and all brought to
life. Subsequently, Fu-hai went in search of the mother for whom he
pined so much, and after some days’ absence returned. Lung-kung, being
a girl, could not accompany him, but she mourned much in secret. One
dark day her mother entered and bid her dry her eyes, saying, “My
child, you must get married. Why these tears?” She then gave her a
tree of coral eight feet in height, some Baroos camphor,[16] one
hundred valuable pearls, and two boxes inlaid with gold and precious
stones, as her dowry. Ma having found out she was there, rushed in and
seizing her hand began to weep for joy, when suddenly a violent peal
of thunder rent the building, and the princess had vanished.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The term “sea-market” is generally understood in the sense of
_mirage_, or some similar phenomenon.
[2] A famous General who played a leading part in the wars of the
Three Kingdoms. See No. XCIII., note 127.
[3] A hit at the hypocrisy of the age.
[4] Shewing that hypocrisy is bad policy in the long run.
[5] The tears of Chinese mermaids are said to be pearls.
[6] See No. XIX., note 135.
[7] Good ink of the kind miscalled “Indian,” is usually very highly
scented; and from a habit the Chinese have of sucking their
writing-brushes to a fine point, the phrase “to eat ink” has become a
synonym of “to study.”
[8] This all-important point in a Chinese marriage ceremony is the
equivalent of our own “signing in the vestry.”
[9] Literally, “if you have no one to cook your food.”
[10] “Dragon Palace” and “Happy Sea,” respectively.
[11] Alluding to an old legend of a letter conveyed by a bird.
[12] See No. V., note 49.
[13] The “Spinning Damsel,” or name of a star in Lyra, connected with
which there is a celebrated legend of its annual transit across the
Milky Way.
[14] These are of course only the equivalents of the Chinese names in
the text.
[15] To keep off the much-dreaded wind, which disturbs the rest of the
departed.
[16] For which a very high price is obtained in China.
LXIV.
THE FIGHTING CRICKET.
During the reign of Hsüan Tê,[17] cricket fighting was very much in
vogue at court, levies of crickets being exacted from the people as a
tax. On one occasion the magistrate of Hua-yin, wishing to make
friends with the Governor, presented him with a cricket which, on
being set to fight, displayed very remarkable powers; so much so that
the Governor commanded the magistrate to supply him regularly with
these insects. The latter, in his turn, ordered the beadles of his
district to provide him with crickets; and then it became a practice
for people who had nothing else to do to catch and rear them for this
purpose. Thus the price of crickets rose very high; and when the
beadle’s[18] runners came to exact even a single one, it was enough
to ruin several families.
Now in the village of which we are speaking there lived a man named
Ch‘êng, a student who had often failed for his bachelor’s degree; and,
being a stupid sort of fellow, his name was sent in for the post of
beadle. He did all he could to get out of it, but without success; and
by the end of the year his small patrimony was gone. Just then came a
call for crickets, and Ch‘êng, not daring to make a like call upon his
neighbours, was at his wits’ end, and in his distress determined to
commit suicide. “What’s the use of that?” cried his wife. “You’d do
better to go out and try to find some.” So off went Ch‘êng in the
early morning, with a bamboo tube and a silk net, not returning till
late at night; and he searched about in tumble-down walls, in bushes,
under stones, and in holes, but without catching more than two or
three, do what he would. Even those he did catch were weak creatures,
and of no use at all, which made the magistrate fix a limit of time,
the result of which was that in a few days Ch‘êng got one hundred
blows with the bamboo. This made him so sore that he was quite unable
to go after the crickets any more, and, as he lay tossing and turning
on the bed, he determined once again to put an end to his life.
About that time a hump-backed fortune-teller of great skill arrived at
the village, and Ch‘êng’s wife, putting together a trifle of money,
went off to seek his assistance. The door was literally blocked
up--fair young girls and white-headed dames crowding in from all
quarters. A room was darkened, and a bamboo screen hung at the door,
an altar being arranged outside at which the fortune-seekers burnt
incense in a brazier, and prostrated themselves twice, while the
soothsayer stood by the side, and, looking up into vacancy, prayed for
a response. His lips opened and shut, but nobody heard what he said,
all standing there in awe waiting for the answer. In a few moments a
piece of paper was thrown from behind the screen, and the soothsayer
said that the petitioner’s desire would be accomplished in the way he
wished. Ch‘êng’s wife now advanced, and, placing some money on the
altar, burnt her incense and prostrated herself in a similar manner.
In a few moments the screen began to move, and a piece of paper was
thrown down, on which there were no words, but only a picture. In the
middle was a building like a temple, and behind this a small hill, at
the foot of which were a number of curious stones, with the long,
spiky feelers of innumerable crickets appearing from behind. Hard by
was a frog, which seemed to be engaged in putting itself into various
kinds of attitudes. The good woman had no idea what it all meant; but
she noticed the crickets, and accordingly went off home to tell her
husband. “Ah,” said he, “this is to shew me where to hunt for
crickets;” and, on looking closely at the picture, he saw that the
building very much resembled a temple to the east of their village. So
he forced himself to get up, and, leaning on a stick, went out to seek
crickets behind the temple. Rounding an old grave, he came upon a
place where stones were lying scattered about as in the picture, and
then he set himself to watch attentively. He might as well have been
looking for a needle or a grain of mustard-seed; and by degrees he
became quite exhausted, without finding anything, when suddenly an old
frog jumped out. Ch‘êng was a little startled, but immediately pursued
the frog, which retreated into the bushes. He then saw one of the
insects he wanted sitting at the root of a bramble; but on making a
grab at it, the cricket ran into a hole, from which he was unable to
move it until he poured in some water, when out the little creature
came. It was a magnificent specimen, strong and handsome, with a fine
tail, green neck, and golden wings; and, putting it in his basket, he
returned home in high glee to receive the congratulations of his
family. He would not have taken anything for this cricket, and
proceeded to feed it up carefully in a bowl. Its belly was the colour
of a crab’s, its back that of a sweet chestnut; and Ch‘êng tended it
most lovingly, waiting for the time when the magistrate should call
upon him for a cricket.
Meanwhile, a son of Ch‘êng’s, aged nine, one day took the opportunity
of his father being out to open the bowl. Instantaneously the cricket
made a spring forward and was gone; and all efforts to catch it again
were unavailing. At length the boy made a grab at it with his hand,
but only succeeded in seizing one of its legs, which thereupon broke,
and the little creature soon afterwards died. Ch‘êng’s wife turned
deadly pale when her son, with tears in his eyes, told her what had
happened. “Oh! won’t you catch it when your father comes home,” said
she; at which the boy ran away, crying bitterly. Soon after Ch‘êng
arrived, and when he heard his wife’s story he felt as if he had been
turned to ice, and went in search of his son, who, however, was
nowhere to be found, until at length they discovered his body lying at
the bottom of a well. Their anger was thus turned to grief, and death
seemed as though it would be a pleasant relief to them as they sat
facing each other in silence in their thatched and smokeless[19] hut.
At evening they prepared to bury the boy; but, on touching the body,
lo! he was still breathing. Overjoyed, they placed him upon the bed,
and towards the middle of the night he came round; but a drop of
bitterness was mingled in his parents’ cup when they found that his
reason had fled. His father, however, caught sight of the empty bowl
in which he had kept the cricket, and ceased to think any more about
his son, never once closing his eyes all night; and as day gradually
broke, there he lay stiff and stark, until suddenly he heard the
chirping of a cricket outside the house door. Jumping up in a great
hurry to see, there was his lost insect; but, on trying to catch it,
away it hopped directly. At last he got it under his hand, though,
when he came to close his fingers on it, there was nothing in them. So
he went on, chasing it up and down, until finally it hopped into a
corner of the wall; and then, looking carefully about, he espied it
once more, no longer the same in appearance, but small, and of a dark
red colour. Ch‘êng stood looking at it, without trying to catch such a
worthless specimen, when all of a sudden the little creature hopped
into his sleeve; and, on examining it more nearly, he saw that it
really was a handsome insect, with well-formed head and neck, and
forthwith took it indoors. He was now anxious to try its prowess; and
it so happened that a young fellow of the village, who had a fine
cricket which used to win every bout it fought, and was so valuable to
him that he wanted a high price for it, called on Ch‘êng that very
day. He laughed heartily at Ch‘êng’s champion, and, producing his own,
placed it side by side, to the great disadvantage of the former.
Ch‘êng’s countenance fell, and he no longer wished to back his
cricket; however, the young fellow urged him, and he thought that
there was no use in rearing a feeble insect, and that he had better
sacrifice it for a laugh; so they put them together in a bowl. The
little cricket lay quite still like a piece of wood, at which the
young fellow roared again, and louder than ever when it did not move
even though tickled with a pig’s bristle. By dint of tickling it was
roused at last, and then it fell upon its adversary with such fury,
that in a moment the young fellow’s cricket would have been killed
outright had not its master interfered and stopped the fight. The
little cricket then stood up and chirped to Ch‘êng as a sign of
victory; and Ch‘êng, overjoyed, was just talking over the battle with
the young fellow, when a cock caught sight of the insect, and ran up
to eat it. Ch‘êng was in a great state of alarm; but the cock luckily
missed its aim, and the cricket hopped away, its enemy pursuing at
full speed. In another moment it would have been snapped up, when, lo!
to his great astonishment, Ch‘êng saw his cricket seated on the cock’s
head, holding firmly on to its comb. He then put it into a cage, and
by-and-by sent it to the magistrate, who, seeing what a small one he
had provided, was very angry indeed. Ch‘êng told the story of the
cock, which the magistrate refused to believe, and set it to fight
with other crickets, all of which it vanquished without exception. He
then tried it with a cock, and as all turned out as Ch‘êng had said,
he gave him a present, and sent the cricket in to the Governor. The
Governor put it into a golden cage, and forwarded it to the palace,
accompanied by some remarks on its performances; and when there, it
was found that of all the splendid collection of His Imperial Majesty,
not one was worthy to be placed alongside of this one. It would dance
in time to music, and thus became a great favourite, the Emperor in
return bestowing magnificent gifts of horses and silks upon the
Governor. The Governor did not forget whence he had obtained the
cricket, and the magistrate also well rewarded Ch‘êng by excusing him
from the duties of beadle, and by instructing the Literary Chancellor
to pass him for the first degree. A few months afterwards Ch‘êng’s son
recovered his intellect, and said that he had been a cricket, and had
proved himself a very skilful fighter.[20] The Governor, too, rewarded
Ch‘êng handsomely, and in a few years he was a rich man, with flocks,
and herds, and houses, and acres, quite one of the wealthiest of
mankind.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Of the Ming dynasty; reigned A.D. 1426-1436.
[18] These beadles are chosen by the officials from among the
respectable and substantial of the people to preside over a small area
and be responsible for the general good behaviour of its inhabitants.
The post is one of honour and occasional emolument, since all
petitions presented to the authorities, all mortgages, transfers of
land, &c., should bear the beadle’s seal or signature in evidence of
their _bonâ fide_ character. On the other hand, the beadle is punished
by fine, and sometimes bambooed, if robberies are too frequent within
his jurisdiction, or if he fails to secure the person of any
malefactor particularly wanted by his superior officers. And other
causes may combine to make the post a dangerous one; but no one is
allowed to refuse acceptance of it point-blank.
[19] A favourite Chinese expression, signifying the absence of food.
[20] That is to say, his spirit had entered, during his period of
temporary insanity, into the cricket which had allowed itself to be
caught by his father, and had animated it to fight with such
extraordinary vigour in order to make good the loss occasioned by his
carelessness in letting the other escape.
LXV.
TAKING REVENGE.
Hsiang Kao, otherwise called Ch‘u-tan, was a T‘ai-yüan man, and deeply
attached to his half-brother Shêng. Shêng himself was desperately
enamoured of a young lady named Po-ssŭ,[21] who was also very fond of
him: but the mother wanted too much money for her daughter. Now a rich
young fellow named Chuang thought he should like to get Po-ssŭ for
himself, and proposed to buy her as a concubine. “No, no,” said Po-ssŭ
to her mother, “I prefer being Shêng’s wife to becoming Chuang’s
concubine.” So her mother consented, and informed Shêng, who had only
recently buried his first wife; at which he was delighted and made
preparations to take her over to his own house. When Chuang heard this
he was infuriated against Shêng for thus depriving him of Po-ssŭ; and
chancing to meet him out one day, set to and abused him roundly.
Shêng answered him back, and then Chuang ordered his attendants to
fall upon Shêng and beat him well, which they did, leaving him
lifeless on the ground. When Hsiang heard what had taken place he ran
out and found his brother lying dead upon the ground. Overcome with
grief, he proceeded to the magistrate’s, and accused Chuang of murder;
but the latter bribed so heavily that nothing came of the accusation.
This worked Hsiang to frenzy, and he determined to assassinate Chuang
on the high road; with which intent he daily concealed himself, with a
sharp knife about him, among the bushes on the hill-side, waiting for
Chuang to pass. By degrees, this plan of his became known far and
wide, and accordingly Chuang never went out except with a strong
body-guard, besides which he engaged at a high price the services of a
very skilful archer, named Chiao T‘ung, so that Hsiang had no means of
carrying out his intention. However, he continued to lie in wait day
after day, and on one occasion it began to rain heavily, and in a
short time Hsiang was wet through to the skin. Then the wind got up,
and a hailstorm followed, and by-and-by Hsiang was quite numbed with
the cold. On the top of the hill there was a small temple wherein
lived a Taoist priest, whom Hsiang knew from the latter having
occasionally begged alms in the village, and to whom he had often
given a meal. This priest, seeing how wet he was, gave him some other
clothes, and told him to put them on; but no sooner had he done so
than he crouched down like a dog, and found that he had been changed
into a tiger, and that the priest had vanished. It now occurred to him
to seize this opportunity of revenging himself upon his enemy; and
away he went to his old ambush, where lo and behold! he found his own
body lying stiff and stark. Fearing lest it should become food for
birds of prey, he guarded it carefully, until at length one day Chuang
passed by. Out rushed the tiger and sprung upon Chuang, biting his
head off, and swallowing it upon the spot; at which Chiao T‘ung, the
archer, turned round and shot the animal through the heart. Just at
that moment Hsiang awaked as though from a dream, but it was some time
before he could crawl home, where he arrived to the great delight of
his family, who didn’t know what had become of him. Hsiang said not a
word, lying quietly on the bed until some of his people came in to
congratulate him on the death of his great enemy Chuang. Hsiang then
cried out, “I was that tiger,” and proceeded to relate the whole
story, which thus got about until it reached the ears of Chuang’s son,
who immediately set to work to bring his father’s murderer to justice.
The magistrate, however, did not consider this wild story as
sufficient evidence against him, and thereupon dismissed the case.
FOOTNOTE:
[21] This is the term used by the Chinese for “Persia,” often put by
metonymy for things which come from that country, _sc._ “valuables.”
Thus, “to be poor in Persia” is to have but few jewels, gold and
silver ornaments, and even clothes.
LXVI.
THE TIPSY TURTLE.