Lien--a hasty-tempered man, who had quarrelled with a neighbour named
Yang. By-and-by Yang died: and some years afterwards when Lien was on
his death-bed, he cried out that Yang was bribing the devils in hell
to torture him. His body then swelled up and turned red, and in a few
moments he had breathed his last. His son wept bitterly, and refused
all food, saying, “Alas! my poor father is now being maltreated by
cruel devils; I must go down and help to redress his wrongs.”
Thereupon he ceased speaking, and sat for a long time like one dazed,
his soul having already quitted its tenement of clay. To himself he
appeared to be outside the house, not knowing in what direction to go,
so he inquired from one of the passers-by which was the way to the
district city.[72] Before long he found himself there, and, directing
his steps towards the prison, found his father lying outside[73] in a
very shocking state. When the latter beheld his son, he burst into
tears, and declared that the gaolers had been bribed to beat him,
which they did both day and night, until they had reduced him to his
present sorry plight. Then Fang-p‘ing turned round in a great rage,
and began to curse the gaolers. “Out upon you!” cried he; “if my
father is guilty he should be punished according to law, and not at
the will of a set of scoundrels like you.” Thereupon he hurried away,
and prepared a petition, which he took with him to present at the
morning session of the City God; but his enemy, Yang, had meanwhile
set to work, and bribed so effectually, that the City God dismissed
his petition for want of corroborative evidence.[74] Fang-p‘ing was
furious, but could do nothing; so he started at once for the
prefectural city, where he managed to get his plaint received, though
it was nearly a month before it came on for hearing, and then all he
got was a reference back to the district city, where he was severely
tortured, and escorted back to the door of his own home, for fear he
should give further trouble. However, he did not go in, but stole
away and proceeded to lay his complaint before one of the ten Judges
of Purgatory; whereupon the two mandarins who had previously ill-used
him, came forward and secretly offered him a thousand ounces of silver
if he would withdraw the charge. This he positively refused to do; and
some days subsequently the landlord of the inn, where he was staying,
told him he had been a fool for his pains, and that he would now get
neither money nor justice, the Judge himself having already been
tampered with. Fang-p‘ing thought this was mere gossip, and would not
believe it; but, when his case was called, the Judge utterly refused
to hear the charge, and ordered him twenty blows with the bamboo,
which were administered in spite of all his protestations. He then
cried out, “Ah! it’s all because I have no money to give you;” which
so incensed the Judge, that he told the lictors to throw Fang-p‘ing on
the fire-bed. This was a great iron couch, with a roaring fire
underneath, which made it red-hot; and upon that the devils cast
Fang-p‘ing, having first stripped off his clothes, pressing him down
on it, until the fire ate into his very bones, though in spite of that
he could not die. After a while the devils said he had had enough, and
made him get off the iron bed, and put his clothes on again. He was
just able to walk, and when he went back into court, the Judge asked
him if he wanted to make any further complaints. “Alas!” cried he, “my
wrongs are still unredressed, and I should only be lying were I to say
I would complain no more.” The Judge then inquired what he had to
complain of; to which Fang-p‘ing replied that it was of the injustice
of his recent punishment. This enraged the Judge so much that he
ordered his attendants to saw Fang-p‘ing in two. He was then led away
by devils, to a place where he was thrust in between a couple of
wooden boards, the ground on all sides being wet and sticky with
blood. Just at that moment he was summoned to return before the Judge,
who asked him if he was still of the same mind; and, on his replying
in the affirmative, he was taken back again, and bound between the two
boards. The saw was then applied, and as it went through his brain he
experienced the most cruel agonies, which, however, he managed to
endure without uttering a cry. “He’s a tough customer,” said one of
the devils, as the saw made its way gradually through his chest; to
which the other replied, “Truly, this is filial piety; and, as the
poor fellow has done nothing, let us turn the saw a little out of the
direct line, so as to avoid injuring his heart.” Fang-p‘ing then felt
the saw make a curve inside him, which caused him even more pain than
before; and, in a few moments, he was cut through right down to the
ground, and the two halves of his body fell apart, along with the
boards to which they were tied, one on either side. The devils went
back to report progress, and were then ordered to join Fang-p‘ing
together again, and bring him in. This they accordingly did,--the cut
all down Fang-p‘ing’s body hurting him dreadfully, and feeling as if
it would re-open every minute. But, as Fang-p‘ing was unable to walk,
one of the devils took out a cord and tied it round his waist, as a
reward, he said, for his filial piety. The pain immediately ceased,
and Fang-p‘ing appeared once more before the Judge, this time
promising that he would make no more complaints. The Judge now gave
orders that he should be sent up to earth, and the devils, escorting
him out of the north gate of the city, shewed him his way home, and
went away. Fang-p‘ing now saw that there was even less chance of
securing justice in the Infernal Regions than upon the earth above;
and, having no means of getting at the Great King to plead his case,
he bethought himself of a certain upright and benevolent God, called
Erh Lang, who was a relative of the Great King’s, and him he
determined to seek. So he turned about and took his way southwards,
but was immediately seized by some devils, sent out by the Judge to
watch that he really went back to his home. These devils hurried him
again into the Judge’s presence, where he was received, contrary to
his expectation, with great affability; the Judge himself praising his
filial piety, but declaring that he need trouble no further in the
matter, as his father had already been born again in a wealthy and
illustrious family. “And upon you,” added the Judge, “I now bestow a
present of one thousand ounces of silver to take home with you, as
well as the old age of a centenarian, with which I hope you will be
satisfied.” He then shewed Fang-p‘ing the stamped record of this, and
sent him away in charge of the devils. The latter now began to abuse
him for giving them so much trouble, but Fang-p‘ing turned sharply
upon them, and threatened to take them back before the Judge. They
were then silent, and marched along for about half-a-day, until at
length they reached a village, where the devils invited Fang-p‘ing
into a house, the door of which was standing half-open. Fang-p‘ing was
just going in, when suddenly the devils gave him a shove from behind,
and ... there he was, born again on earth as a little girl. For three
days he pined and cried, without taking any food, and then he died.
But his spirit did not forget Erh Lang, and set out at once in search
of that God. He had not gone far when he fell in with the retinue of
some high personage, and one of the attendants seized him for getting
in the way, and hurried him before his master. He was taken to a
chariot, where he saw a handsome young man, sitting in great state;
and thinking that now was his chance, he told the young man, who he
imagined to be a high mandarin, all his sad story from beginning to
end. His bonds were then loosed, and he went along with the young man
until they reached a place where several officials came out to receive
them; and to one of these he confided Fang-p‘ing, who now learnt that
the young man was no other than God himself, the officials being the
nine princes of heaven, and the one to whose care he was entrusted no
other than Erh Lang. This last was very tall, and had a long white
beard, not at all like the popular representation of a God; and when
the other princes had gone, he took Fang-p‘ing into a court-room,
where he saw his father and their old enemy, Yang, besides all the
lictors and others who had been mixed up in the case. By-and-by, some
criminals were brought in in cages, and these turned out to be the
Judge, Prefect, and Magistrate. The trial was then commenced, the
three wicked officers trembling and shaking in their shoes; and when
he had heard the evidence, Erh Lang proceeded to pass sentence upon
the prisoners, each of whom he sentenced, after enlarging upon the
enormity of their several crimes, to be roasted, boiled, and otherwise
put to most excruciating tortures. As for Fang-p‘ing, he accorded him
three extra decades of life, as a reward for his filial piety, and a
copy of the sentence was put in his pocket. Father and son journeyed
along together, and at length reached their home; that is to say,
Fang-p‘ing was the first to recover consciousness, and then bade the
servants open his father’s coffin, which they immediately did, and the
old man at once came back to life. But when Fang-p‘ing looked for his
copy of the sentence, lo! it had disappeared. As for the Yang family,
poverty soon overtook them, and all their lands passed into
Fang-p‘ing’s hands; for as sure as any one else bought them, they
became sterile forthwith, and would produce nothing; but Fang-p‘ing
and his father lived on happily, both reaching the age of ninety and
odd years.[75]
FOOTNOTES:
[72] The Infernal Regions are supposed to be pretty much a counterpart
of the world above, except in the matter of light.
[73] The visitor to Canton cannot fail to observe batches of prisoners
with chains on them sitting in the street outside the prisons, many of
them engaged in plying their particular trades.
[74] The judge in a Chinese court is necessarily very much dependent
on his secretaries; and, except in special cases, he takes his cue
almost entirely from them. They take theirs from whichever party to
the case knows best how to “cross the palm.”
[75] The whole story is of course simply a satire upon the venality
and injustice of the ruling classes in China.
LXXVII.
SINGULAR CASE OF OPHTHALMIA.
A Mr. Ku, of Chiang-nan, was stopping in an inn at Chi-hsia, when he
was attacked by a very severe inflammation of the eyes. Day and night
he lay on his bed groaning, no medicines being of any avail; and when
he did get a little better, his recovery was accompanied by a singular
phenomenon. Every time he closed his eyes, he beheld in front of him a
number of large buildings, with all their doors wide open, and people
passing and repassing in the background, none of whom he recognised by
sight. One day he had just sat down to have a good look, when, all of
a sudden, he felt himself passing through the open doors. He went on
through three court-yards without meeting any one; but, on looking
into some rooms on either side, he saw a great number of young girls
sitting, lying, and kneeling about on a red carpet, which was spread
on the ground. Just then a man came out from behind the building, and,
seeing Ku, said to him, “Ah, the Prince said there was a stranger at
the door; I suppose you are the person he meant.” He then asked Ku to
walk in, which the latter was at first unwilling to do; however, he
yielded to the man’s instances, and accompanied him in, asking whose
palace it was. His guide told him it belonged to the son of the Ninth
Prince, and that he had arrived at the nick of time, for a number of
friends and relatives had chosen this very day to come and
congratulate the young gentleman on his recent recovery from a severe
illness. Meanwhile another person had come out to hurry them on, and
they soon reached a spot where there was a pavilion facing the north,
with an ornamental terrace and red balustrades, supported by nine
pillars. Ascending the steps, they found the place full of visitors,
and then espied a young man seated with his face to the north,[76]
whom they at once knew to be the Prince’s son, and thereupon they
prostrated themselves before him, the whole company rising as they did
so. The young Prince made Ku sit down to the east of him, and caused
wine to be served; after which some singing-girls came in and
performed the Hua-fêng-chu.[77] They had got to about the third scene,
when, all of a sudden, Ku heard the landlord of the inn and his
servant shouting out to him that dinner was ready, and was dreadfully
afraid that the young Prince, too, had heard. No one, however, seemed
to have noticed anything, so Ku begged to be excused a moment, as he
wished to change his clothes, and immediately ran out. He then looked
up, and saw the sun low in the west, and his servant standing by his
bedside, whereupon he knew that he had never left the inn. He was much
chagrined at this, and wished to go back as fast as he could; he,
therefore, dismissed his servant, and on shutting his eyes once more,
he found everything just as he had left it, except that where, on the
first occasion, he had observed the young girls, there were none now
to be seen, but only some dishevelled hump-backed creatures, who cried
out at him, and asked him what he meant by spying about there. Ku
didn’t dare reply, but hurried past them as quickly as he could, and
on to the pavilion of the young Prince. There he found him still
sitting, but with a black beard over a foot in length; and the Prince
was anxious to know where he had been, saying that seven scenes of the
play were already over. He then seized a big goblet of wine, and made
Ku drink it as a penalty, by which time the play was finished, and the
list was handed up for a further selection. The “Marriage of P‘êng
Tsu” was selected, and then the singing-girls began to hand round the
wine in cocoa-nuts big enough to hold about five quarts, which Ku
declined, on the ground that he was suffering from weak eyes, and was
consequently afraid to drink too much. “If your eyes are bad,” cried
the young Prince, “the Court physician is at hand, and can attend to
you.” Thereupon, one of the guests sitting to the east came forward,
and opening Ku’s eyes with his fingers, touched them with some white
ointment, which he applied from the end of a jade pin. He then bade Ku
close his eyes, and take a short nap; so the Prince had him conducted
into a sleeping-room, where he found the bed so soft, and surrounded
by such delicious perfume, that he soon fell into a deep slumber.
By-and-by he was awaked by what appeared to be the clashing of
cymbals, and fancied that the play was still going on; but on opening
his eyes, he saw that it was only the inn-dog, which was licking an
oilman’s gong.[78] His ophthalmia, however, was quite cured; and when
he shut his eyes again he could see nothing.
FOOTNOTES:
[76] In Book V. of Mencius’ works we read that Shun, the perfect man,
stood with his face to the south, while the Emperor Yao (see No.
VIII., note 63) and his nobles faced the north. This arrangement is
said to have been adopted in deference to Shun’s virtue; for in modern
times the Emperor always sits facing the south.
[77] Name of a celebrated play.
[78] These are about as big as a cheese-plate and attached to a short
stick, from which hangs suspended a small button of metal in such a
manner as to clash against the face of the gong at every turn of the
hand. The names and descriptions of various instruments employed by
costermongers in China would fill a good-sized volume.
LXXVIII.
CHOU K‘O-CH‘ANG AND HIS GHOST.
At Huai-shang there lived a graduate named Chou T‘ien-i, who, though
fifty years of age, had but one son, called K‘o-ch‘ang, whom he loved
very dearly. This boy, when about thirteen or fourteen, was a
handsome, well-favoured fellow, strangely averse to study, and often
playing truant from school, sometimes for the whole day, without any
remonstrance on the part of his father. One day he went away and did
not come back in the evening; neither, after a diligent search, could
any traces of him be discovered. His father and mother were in
despair, and hardly cared to live; but after a year and more had
passed away, lo and behold! K‘o-ch‘ang returned, saying that he had
been beguiled away by a Taoist priest, who, however, had not done him
any harm, and that he had seized a moment while the priest was absent
to escape and find his way home again. His father was delighted, and
asked him no more questions, but set to work to give him an education;
and K‘o-ch‘ang was so much cleverer and more intelligent than he had
been before, that by the following year he had taken his bachelor’s
degree and had made quite a name for himself. Immediately all the good
families of the neighbourhood wanted to secure him as a son-in-law.
Among others proposed there was an extremely nice girl, the daughter
of a gentleman named Chao, who had taken his doctor’s degree, and
K‘o-ch‘ang’s father was very anxious that he should marry the young
lady. The youth himself would not hear of it, but stuck to his books
and took his master’s degree, quite refusing to entertain any thought
of marriage; and this so exasperated his mother that one day the good
lady began to rate him soundly. K‘o-ch‘ang got up in a great rage and
cried out, “I have long been wanting to get away, and have only
remained for your sakes. I shall now say farewell, and leave Miss Chao
for any one that likes to marry her.” At this his mother tried to
detain him, but in a moment he had fallen forwards on the ground, and
there was nothing left of him but his hat and clothes. They were all
dreadfully frightened, thinking that it must have been K‘o-ch‘ang’s
ghost who had been with them, and gave themselves up to weeping and
lamentation; however, the very next day K‘o-ch‘ang arrived,
accompanied by a retinue of horses and servants, his story being that
he had formerly been kidnapped[79] and sold to a wealthy trader, who,
being then childless, had adopted him, but who, when he subsequently
had a son born to him by his own wife, sent K‘o-ch‘ang back to his old
home. And as soon as his father began to question him as to his
studies, his utter dulness and want of knowledge soon made it clear
that he was the real K‘o-ch‘ang of old; but he was already known as a
man who had got his master’s degree, (that is, the ghost of him had
got it,) so it was determined in the family to keep the whole affair
secret. This K‘o-ch‘ang was only too ready to espouse Miss Chao; and
before a year had passed over their heads his wife had presented the
old people with the much longed-for grandson.
FOOTNOTE:
[79] See No. XXIII., note 154.
LXXIX.
THE SPIRITS OF THE PO-YANG LAKE.
An official, named Chai, was appointed to a post at Jao-chou, and on
his way thither crossed the Po-yang lake. Happening to visit the
shrine of the local spirits, he noticed a carved image of the
patriotic Ting P‘u-lang,[80] and another of a namesake of his own, the
latter occupying a very inferior position. “Come! come!” said Chai,
“my patron saint shan’t be put in the background like that;” so he
moved the image into a more honourable place, and then went back on
board his boat again. Soon after, a great wind struck the vessel, and
carried away the mast and sails; at which the sailors, in great alarm,
set to work to howl and cry. However, in a few moments they saw a
small skiff come cutting through the waves, and before long they were
all safely on board. The man who rowed it was strangely like the image
in the shrine, the position of which Chai had changed; but they were
hardly out of danger when the squall had passed over, and skiff and
man had both vanished.
FOOTNOTE:
[80] A famous official who lived in the reign of Hung Wu, first
Emperor of the Ming dynasty (A.D. 1368-1399). I have not been able to
discover what was the particular act for which he has been celebrated
as “loyal to the death.”
LXXX.
THE STREAM OF CASH.
A certain gentleman’s servant was one day in his master’s garden, when
he beheld a stream of cash[81] flowing by, two or three feet in
breadth and of about the same depth. He immediately seized two large
handfuls, and then threw himself down on the top of the stream in
order to try and secure the rest. However, when he got up he found
that it had all flowed away from under him, none being left except
what he had got in his two hands.
[“Ah!” says the commentator, “money is properly a circulating medium,
and is not intended for a man to lie upon and keep all to
himself.”][82]
FOOTNOTES:
[81] See No. II., note 42.
[82] The Chinese, fond as they are of introducing water, under the
form of miniature lakes, into their gardens and pleasure-grounds, do
not approve of a running stream near the dwelling-house. I myself knew
a case of a man, provided with a pretty little house, rent free,
alongside of which ran a mountain-rill, who left the place and paid
for lodgings out of his own pocket rather than live so close to a
stream which he averred _carried all his good luck away_. Yet this man
was a fair scholar and a graduate to boot.
LXXXI.
THE INJUSTICE OF HEAVEN.
Mr. Hsü was a magistrate at Shantung. A certain upper chamber of his
house was used as a store-room; but some creature managed so
frequently to get in and make havoc among the stores, for which the
servants were always being scolded, that at length some of the latter
determined to keep watch. By-and-by they saw a huge spider as big as a
peck measure, and hurried off to tell their master, who thought it so
strange that he gave orders to the servants to feed the insect with
cakes. It thus became very tame, and would always come forth when
hungry, returning as soon as it had taken enough to eat.[83] Years
passed away, and one day Mr. Hsü was consulting his archives, when
suddenly the spider appeared and ran under the table. Thinking it was
hungry, he bade his servants give it a cake; but the next moment he
noticed two snakes, of about the thickness of a chop-stick, lying one
on each side. The spider drew in its legs as if in mortal fear, and
the snakes began to swell out until they were as big round as an egg;
at which Mr. Hsü was greatly alarmed, and would have hurried away,
when crash! went a peal of thunder, killing every person in the house.
Mr. Hsü himself recovered consciousness after a little while, but only
to see his wife and servants, seven persons in all, lying dead; and
after a month’s illness he, too, departed this life. Now Mr. Hsü was
an upright, honourable man, who really had the interests of the people
at heart. A subscription was accordingly raised to pay his funeral
expenses, and on the day of his burial the air was rent for miles
round with cries of weeping and lamentation.
[Hereon the commentator, I Shih-shih, makes the following
remark:--“That dragons play with pearls[84] I have always regarded as
an old woman’s tale. Is it possible, then, that the story is a fact? I
have heard, too, that the thunder strikes only the guilty man;[85]
and, if so, how could a virtuous official be visited with this dire
calamity?”]
FOOTNOTES:
[83] That Chinaman thinks his a hard lot who cannot “eat till he is
full.” It may be noticed here that the Chinese seem not so much to
enjoy the process of eating as the subsequent state of repletion. As a
rule, they bolt their food, and get their enjoyment out of it
afterwards.
[84] The full explanation and origin of this saying I have failed to
elucidate. Dragons are often represented with pearls before their
mouths; and these they are supposed to spit out or swallow as fancy
may take them. The pearl, too, is said to be the essence of the
dragon’s nature, without which it would be powerless; but this is all
I know about the subject.
[85] Such is the common belief in China at the present day. There is a
God of Thunder who punishes wicked people; the lightning is merely a
mirror, by the aid of which he singles out his victims.
LXXXII.
THE SEA-SERPENT.
A trader named Chia was voyaging on the south seas, when one night it
suddenly became as light as day on board his ship. Jumping up to see
what was the matter, he beheld a huge creature with its body half out
of the water, towering up like a hill. Its eyes resembled two suns,
and threw a light far and wide; and when the trader asked the boatmen
what it was, there was not one who could say. They all crouched down
and watched it; and by-and-by the monster gradually disappeared in the
water again, leaving everything in darkness as before. And when they
reached port, they found all the people talking about a strange
phenomenon of a great light that had appeared in the night, the time
of which coincided exactly with the strange scene they themselves had
witnessed.[86]
FOOTNOTE:
[86] The “sea-serpent” in this case was probably nothing more or less
than some meteoric phenomenon.
LXXXIII.
THE MAGIC MIRROR.[87]
“... But if you would really like to have something that has belonged
to me,” said she, “you shall.” Whereupon she took out a mirror and
gave it to him, saying, “Whenever you want to see me, you must look
for me in your books; otherwise I shall not be visible;”--and in a
moment she had vanished. Liu went home very melancholy at heart; but
when he looked in the mirror, there was Fêng-hsien, standing with her
back to him, gazing, as it were, at some one who was going away, and
about a hundred paces from her. He then bethought himself of her
injunctions, and settled down to his studies, refusing to receive any
visitors; and a few days subsequently, when he happened to look in the
mirror, there was Fêng-hsien, with her face turned towards him, and
smiling in every feature. After this, he was always taking out the
mirror to look at her; however, in about a month his good resolutions
began to disappear, and he once more went out to enjoy himself and
waste his time as before. When he returned home and looked in the
mirror, Fêng-hsien seemed to be crying bitterly; and the day after,
when he looked at her again, she had her back turned towards him as on
the day he received the mirror. He now knew that it was because he had
neglected his studies, and forthwith set to work again with all
diligence, until in a month’s time she had turned round once again.
Henceforward, whenever anything interrupted his progress, Fêng-hsien’s
countenance became sad; but whenever he was getting on well, her
sadness was changed to smiles. Night and morning Liu would look at the
mirror, regarding it quite in the light of a revered preceptor; and in
three years’ time he took his degree in triumph. “Now,” cried he, “I
shall be able to look Fêng-hsien in the face.” And there, sure enough,
she was, with her delicately-pencilled arched eye-brows, and her teeth
just showing between her lips, as happy-looking as she could be, when,
all of a sudden, she seemed to speak, and Liu heard her say, “A pretty
pair we make, I must allow”--and the next moment Fêng-hsien stood by
his side.
FOOTNOTE:
[87] The following is merely a single episode taken from a long and
otherwise uninteresting story. Miss Fêng-hsien was a fox; hence her
power to bestow such a singular present as the mirror here described,
the object of which was to incite her lover to success--the condition
of their future union.
LXXXIV.
COURAGE TESTED.
Mr. Tung was a Hsü-chou man, very fond of playing broad-sword, and a
light-hearted, devil-may-care fellow, who was often involving himself
in trouble. One day he fell in with a traveller who was riding on a
mule and going the same way as himself; whereupon they entered into
conversation, and began to talk to each other about feats of strength
and so on. The traveller said his name was T‘ung,[88] and that he
belonged to Liao-yang; that he had been twenty years away from home,
and had just returned from beyond the sea. “And I venture to say,”
cried Tung, “that in your wanderings on the Four Seas[89] you have
seen a great many people; but have you seen any supernaturally clever
ones?” T‘ung asked him to what he alluded; and then Tung explained
what his own particular hobby was, adding how much he would like to
learn from them any tricks in the art of broad-sword. “Supernatural,”
replied the traveller, “are to be found everywhere. It needs but that
a man should be a loyal subject and a filial son for him to know all
that the supernaturals know.” “Right you are, indeed!” cried Tung, as
he drew a short sword from his belt, and, tapping the blade with his
fingers, began to accompany it with a song. He then cut down a tree
that was by the wayside, to shew T‘ung how sharp it was; at which
T‘ung smoothed his beard and smiled, begging to be allowed to have a
look at the weapon. Tung handed it to him, and, when he had turned it
over two or three times, he said, “This is a very inferior piece of
steel; now, though I know nothing about broad-sword myself, I have a
weapon which is really of some use.” He then drew from beneath his
coat a sword of a foot or so in length, and with it he began to pare
pieces off Tung’s sword, which seemed as soft as a melon, and which he
cut quite away like a horse’s hoof. Tung was greatly astonished, and
borrowed the other’s sword to examine it, returning it after carefully
wiping the blade. He then invited T‘ung to his house, and made him
stay the night; and, after begging him to explain the mystery of his
sword, began to nurse his leg and sit listening respectfully without
saying a word. It was already pretty late, when suddenly there was a
sound of scuffling next door, where Tung’s father lived; and, on
putting his ear to the wall, he heard an angry voice saying, “Tell
your son to come here at once, and then I will spare you.” This was
followed by other sounds of beating and a continued groaning, in a
voice which Tung knew to be his father’s. He therefore seized a spear,
and was about to rush forth, but T‘ung held him back, saying, “You’ll
be killed for a certainty if you go. Let us think of some other plan.”
Tung asked what plan he could suggest; to which the other replied,
“The robbers are killing your father: there is no help for you; but as
you have no brothers, just go and tell your wife and children what
your last wishes are, while I try and rouse the servants.” Tung agreed
to this, and ran in to tell his wife, who clung to him and implored
him not to go, until at length all his courage had ebbed away, and he
went upstairs with her to get his bow and arrows ready to resist the
robbers’ attack. At that juncture he heard the voice of his friend
T‘ung, outside on the eaves of the house, saying, with a laugh, “All
right; the robbers have gone;” but on lighting a candle, he could see
nothing of him. He then stole out to the front door, where he met his
father with a lantern in his hand, coming in from a party at a
neighbour’s house; and the whole court-yard was covered with the ashes
of burnt grass, whereby he knew that T‘ung the traveller was himself a
supernatural.[90]
FOOTNOTES:
[88] Besides the all-important aspirate, this name is pronounced in a
different _tone_ from the first-mentioned “Tung;” and is moreover
expressed in writing by a totally different character. To a Chinese
ear, the two words are as unlikely to be confounded as Brown and
Jones.
[89] The Four Seas are supposed by the Chinese to bound the habitable
portions of the earth, which, by the way, they further believe to be
square. In the centre of all is China, extending far and wide in every
direction, the eye of the universe, the Middle Kingdom. Away at a
distance from her shores lie a number of small islands, wherein dwell
such barbarous nations as the English, French, Dutch, etc.
[90] The commentator, I Shih-shih, adds a note to this story which
might be summed up in our own--
“The [wo]man that deliberates is lost.”
LXXXV.
THE DISEMBODIED FRIEND.