school at a Buddhist temple.[91] There were a great many scholars
besides himself, and, among others, one named Ch‘u, who said he came
from Shantung. This Ch‘u was a very hard-working fellow; he never
seemed to be idle, and actually slept in the school-room, not going
home at all. Ch‘ên became much attached to him, and one day asked him
why he never went away. “Well, you see,” replied Ch‘u, “my people are
very poor, and can hardly afford to pay for my schooling; but, by dint
of working half the night, two of my days are equal to three of
anybody else’s.” Thereupon Ch‘ên said he would bring his own bed to
the school, and that they would sleep there together; to which Ch‘u
replied that the teaching they got wasn’t worth much, and that they
would do better by putting themselves under a certain old scholar
named Lü. This they were easily able to do, as the arrangement at the
temple was monthly, and at the end of each month anyone was free to go
or to come. So off they went to this Mr. Lü, a man of considerable
literary attainments, who had found himself in Shun-t‘ien Fu without a
cash in his pocket, and was accordingly obliged to take pupils. He was
delighted at getting two additions to his number and, Ch‘u showing
himself an apt scholar, the two soon became very great friends,
sleeping in the same room and eating at the same table. At the end of
the month Ch‘u asked for leave of absence, and, to the astonishment of
all, ten days elapsed without anything being heard of him. It then
chanced that Ch‘ên went to the T‘ien-ning temple, and there he saw
Ch‘u under one of the verandahs, occupied in cutting wood for
lucifer-matches.[92] The latter was much disconcerted by the arrival
of Ch‘ên, who asked him why he had given up his studies; so the latter
took him aside, and explained that he was so poor as to be obliged to
work half a month to scrape together funds enough for his next month’s
schooling. “You come along back with me,” cried Ch‘ên, on hearing
this, “I will arrange for the payment,” which Ch‘u immediately
consented to do on condition that Ch‘ên would keep the whole thing a
profound secret. Now Ch‘ên’s father was a wealthy tradesman, and from
his till Ch‘ên abstracted money wherewith to pay for Ch‘u; and
by-and-by, when his father found him out, he confessed why he had done
so. Thereupon Ch‘ên’s father called him a fool, and would not let him
resume his studies; at which Ch‘u was much hurt, and would have left
the school too, but that old Mr. Lü discovered what had taken place,
and gave him the money to return to Ch‘ên’s father, keeping him still
at the school, and treating him quite like his own son. So Ch‘ên
studied no more, but whenever he met Ch‘u he always asked him to join
in some refreshment at a restaurant, Ch‘u invariably refusing, but
yielding at length to his entreaties, being himself loth to break off
their old acquaintanceship.
Thus two years passed away, when Ch‘ên’s father died, and Ch‘ên went
back to his books under the guidance of old Mr. Lü, who was very glad
to see such determination. Of course Ch‘ên was now far behind Ch‘u;
and in about six months Lü’s son arrived, having begged his way in
search of his father, so Mr. Lü gave up his school and returned home
with a purse which his pupils had made up for him, Ch‘u adding nothing
thereto but his tears. At parting, Mr. Lü advised Ch‘ên to take Ch‘u
as his tutor, and this he did, establishing him comfortably in the
house with him. The examination was very shortly to commence, and
Ch‘ên felt convinced that he should not get through; but Ch‘u said he
thought he should be able to manage the matter for him. On the
appointed day he introduced Ch‘ên to a gentleman who he said was a
cousin of his, named Liu, and asked Ch‘ên to accompany this cousin,
which Ch‘ên was just proceeding to do when Ch‘u pulled him back from
behind,[93] and he would have fallen down but that the cousin pulled
him up again, and then, after having scrutinized his appearance,
carried him off to his own house. There being no ladies there, Ch‘ên
was put into the inner apartments; and a few days afterwards Liu said
to him, “A great many people will be at the gardens to-day; let us go
and amuse ourselves awhile, and afterwards I will send you home
again.” He then gave orders that a servant should proceed on ahead
with tea and wine, and by-and-by they themselves went, and were soon
in the thick of the fête. Crossing over a bridge, they saw beneath an
old willow tree a little painted skiff, and were soon on board,
engaged in freely passing round the wine. However, finding this a
little dull, Liu bade his servant go and see if Miss Li, the famous
singing-girl, was at home; and in a few minutes the servant returned
bringing Miss Li with him. Ch‘ên had met her before, and so they at
once exchanged greetings, while Liu begged her to be good enough to
favour them with a song. Miss Li, who seemed labouring under a fit of
melancholy, forthwith began a funeral dirge; at which Ch‘ên was not
much pleased, and observed that such a theme was hardly suitable to
the occasion. With a forced smile, Miss Li changed her key, and gave
them a love-song; whereupon Ch‘ên seized her hand, and said, “There’s
that song of the Huan-sha river,[94] which you sang once before; I
have read it over several times, but have quite forgotten the words.”
Then Miss Li began--
“Eyes overflowing with tears, she sits gazing into her glass,
Lifting the bamboo screen, one of her comrades approaches;
She bends her head and seems intent on her bow-like slippers,
And forces her eyebrows to arch themselves into a smile.
With her scarlet sleeve she wipes the tears from her perfumed cheek,
In fear and trembling lest they should guess the thoughts that
o’erwhelm her.”[95]
Ch‘ên repeated this over several times, until at length the skiff
stopped, and they passed through a long verandah, where a great many
verses had been inscribed on the walls,[96] to which Ch‘ên at once
proceeded to add a stanza of his own. Evening was now coming on, and
Liu remarked that the candidates would be just about leaving the
examination-hall;[97] so he escorted him back to his own home, and
there left him. The room was dark, and there was no one with him; but
by-and-by the servants ushered in some one whom at first he took to be
Ch‘u. However, he soon saw that it was not Ch‘u, and in another moment
the stranger had fallen against him and knocked him down. “Master’s
fainted!” cried the servants, as they ran to pick him up; and then
Ch‘ên discovered that the one who had fallen down was really no other
than himself.[98] On getting up, he saw Ch‘u standing by his side; and
when they had sent away the servants the latter said, “Don’t be
alarmed: I am nothing more than a disembodied spirit. My time for
re-appearing on earth[99] is long overdue, but I could not forget your
great kindness to me, and accordingly I have remained under this form
in order to assist in the accomplishment of your wishes. The three
bouts[100] are over, and your ambition will be gratified.” Ch‘ên then
inquired if Ch‘u could assist him in like manner for his doctor’s
degree; to which the latter replied, “Alas! the luck descending to you
from your ancestors is not equal to that.[101] They were a niggardly
lot, and unfit for the posthumous honours you would thus confer on
them.” Ch‘ên next asked him whither he was going; and Ch‘u replied
that he hoped, through the agency of his cousin, who was a clerk in
Purgatory, to be born again in old Mr. Lü’s family. They then bade
each other adieu; and, when morning came, Ch‘ên set off to call on
Miss Li, the singing-girl; but on reaching her house he found that she
had been dead some days.[102] He walked on to the gardens, and there
he saw traces of verses that had been written on the walls, and
evidently rubbed out, so as to be hardly decipherable. In a moment it
flashed across him that the verses and their composers belonged to the
other world. Towards evening Ch‘u re-appeared in high spirits, saying
that he had succeeded in his design, and had come to wish Ch‘ên a long
farewell. Holding out his open palms, he requested Ch‘ên to write the
word _Ch‘u_ on each; and then, after refusing to take a parting cup,
he went away, telling Ch‘ên that the examination-list would soon be
out, and that they would meet again before long. Ch‘ên brushed away
his tears and escorted him to the door, where a man, who had been
waiting for him, laid his hand on Ch‘u’s head and pressed it downwards
until Ch‘u was perfectly flat. The man then put him in a sack and
carried him off on his back. A few days afterwards the list came out,
and, to his great joy, Ch‘ên found his name among the successful
candidates; whereupon he immediately started off to visit his old
tutor, Mr. Lü.[103] Now Mr. Lü’s wife had had no children for ten
years, being about fifty years of age, when suddenly she gave birth to
a son, who was born with both fists doubled up so that no one could
open them. On his arrival Ch‘ên begged to see the child, and declared
that inside its hands would be found written the word Ch‘u. Old Mr. Lü
laughed at this; but no sooner had the child set eyes on Ch‘ên than
both its fists opened spontaneously, and there was the word as Ch‘ên
had said. The story was soon told, and Ch‘ên went home, after making a
handsome present to the family; and later on, when Mr. Lü went up for
his doctor’s degree[104] and stayed at Ch‘ên’s house, his son was
thirteen years old, and had already matriculated as a candidate for
literary honours.
FOOTNOTES:
[91] Buddhist priests not unusually increase the revenue of their
monastery by taking pupils; and it is only fair to them to add that
the curriculum is strictly secular, the boys learning precisely what
they would at an ordinary school and nothing else.
[92] These consist simply of thin slips of wood dipped in brimstone,
and resemble those used in England as late as the first quarter of the
present century. They are said to have been invented by the people of
Hang-chou, the capital of Chekiang; but it is quite possible that the
hint may have first reached China from the west. They were called _yin
kuang_ “bring light,” (_cf._ _lucifer_), _fa chu_ “give forth
illumination,” and other names. Lucifer matches are now generally
spoken of as _tzŭ lai huo_ “self-come fire,” and are almost
universally employed, except in remote parts where the flint and steel
still hold sway.
[93] The whole point of the story hinges on this.
[94] Beside which lived Hsi Shih, the famous beauty of the fifth
century after Christ.
[95] I fear that the translation of this “Singing-girl’s Lament” falls
so considerably below the pathetic original as to give but a poor idea
of the real merit of the latter as a lyric gem.
[96] The Chinese have precisely the same mania as our Browns, Joneses,
and Robinsons, for scribbling and carving their names and compositions
all over the available parts of any place of public resort. The
literature of inn walls alone would fill many ponderous tomes.
[97] The examination, which lasts nine days, has been going on all
this time.
[98] That is, his own body, into which Ch‘u’s spirit had temporarily
passed, his own occupying, meanwhile, the body of his friend.
[99] That is, for being born again, the sole hope and ambition of a
disembodied shade.
[100] See No. LXXI., note 48.
[101] See No. LXI., note 346.
[102] His own spirit in Ch‘u’s body had met her in a disembodied
state.
[103] Such is the invariable custom. Large presents are usually made
by those who can afford the outlay, and the tutor’s name has ever
afterwards an honourable place in the family records.
[104] See No. XLVIII., note 274.
LXXXVI.
THE CLOTH MERCHANT.
A certain cloth merchant went to Ch‘ing-chou, where he happened to
stroll into an old temple, all tumble-down and in ruins. He was
lamenting over this sad state of things, when a priest who stood by
observed that a devout believer like himself could hardly do better
than put the place into repair, and thus obtain favour in the eyes of
Buddha. This the merchant consented to do; whereupon the priest
invited him to walk into the private quarters of the temple, and
treated him with much courtesy; but he went on to propose that our
friend the merchant should also undertake the general ornamentation of
the place both inside and out.[105] The latter declared he could not
afford the expense, and the priest began to get very angry, and urged
him so strongly that at last the merchant, in terror, promised to give
all the money he had. After this he was preparing to go away, but the
priest detained him, saying, “You haven’t given the money of your own
free will, and consequently you’ll be owing me a grudge: I can’t do
better than make an end of you at once.” Thereupon he seized a knife,
and refused to listen to all the cloth merchant’s entreaties, until at
length the latter asked to be allowed to hang himself, to which the
priest consented; and, showing him into a dark room, told him to make
haste about it.
At this juncture, a Tartar-General[106] happened to pass by the
temple; and from a distance, through a breach in the old wall, he saw
a damsel in a red dress pass into the priest’s quarters. This roused
his suspicions,[107] and dismounting from his horse, he entered the
temple and searched high and low, but without discovering anything.
The dark room above-mentioned was locked and double-barred, and the
priest refused to open it, saying the place was haunted. The General
in a rage burst open the door, and there beheld the cloth merchant
hanging from a beam. He cut him down at once, and in a short time he
was brought round and told the General the whole story. They then
searched for the damsel, but she was nowhere to be found, having been
nothing more than a divine manifestation. The General cut off the
priest’s head and restored the cloth merchant’s property to him, after
which the latter put the temple in thorough repair and kept it well
supplied with lights and incense ever afterwards.
Mr. Chao, M.A., told me this story with all its details.[108]
FOOTNOTES:
[105] The elaborate gilding and wood-work of an ordinary Chinese
temple form a very serious item in the expense of restoration. Public
subscriptions are usually the means employed for raising sufficient
funds, the names of subscribers and amount given by each being
published in some conspicuous position. Occasionally devout
priests--black swans, indeed, in China--shut themselves up in boxes
studded with nails, one of which they pull out every time a certain
donation is given, and there they remain until every nail is
withdrawn. But after all it is difficult to say whether they endure
these trials so much for the faith’s sake as for the funds from which
they derive more of the luxuries of life, and the temporary notoriety
gained by thus coming before the public. A Chinese proverb says, “The
image-maker doesn’t worship Buddha. He knows too much about the idol;”
and the application of this saying may safely be extended to the
majority of Buddhist priests in China.
[106] This is the title generally applied to the Manchu commanders of
Manchu garrisons, who are stationed at certain of the most important
points of the Chinese Empire, and whose presence is intended as a
check upon the action of the civil authorities.
[107] See No. VI., note 52.
[108] The moral being, of course, that Buddha protects those who look
after his interests on earth.
LXXXVII.
A STRANGE COMPANION.
Han Kung-fu, of Yü-ch‘êng, told me that he was one day travelling
along a road with a man of his village, named P‘êng, when all of a
sudden the latter disappeared, leaving his mule to jog along with an
empty saddle. At the same moment, Mr. Han heard his voice calling for
assistance, and apparently proceeding from inside one of the panniers
strapped across the mule’s back; and on looking closely, there indeed
he was in one of the panniers, which, however, did not seem to be at
all displaced by his weight. On trying to get him out the mouth of the
pannier closed itself tightly; and it was only when he cut it open
with a knife that he saw P‘êng curled up in it like a dog. He then
helped him out, and asked him how he managed to get in; but this he
was unable to say. It further appeared that his family was under fox
influence, many strange things of this kind having happened before.
LXXXVIII.
SPIRITUALISTIC SÉANCES.
It is customary in Shantung, when any one is sick, for the womenfolk
to engage an old sorceress or medium, who strums on a tambourine and
performs certain mysterious antics. This custom obtains even more in
the capital, where young ladies of the best families frequently
organize such _séances_ among themselves. On a table in the hall they
spread out a profusion of wine and meat, and burn huge candles which
make the place as light as day. Then the sorceress, shortening her
skirts, stands on one leg and performs the _shang-yang_,[109] while
two of the others support her, one on each side. All this time she is
chattering unintelligible sentences,[110] something between a song
and a prayer, the words being confused but uttered in a sort of tune;
while the hall resounds with the thunder of drums, enough to stun a
person, with which her vaticinations are mixed up and lost. By-and-by
her head begins to droop, and her eyes to look aslant; and but for her
two supporters she would inevitably fall to the ground. Suddenly she
stretches forth her neck and bounds several feet into the air, upon
which the other women regard her in terror, saying, “The spirits have
come to eat;” and immediately all the candles are blown out and
everything is in total darkness. Thus they remain for about a quarter
of an hour, afraid to speak a word, which in any case would not be
heard through the din, until at length the sorceress calls out the
personal name of the head of the family[111] and some others;
whereupon they immediately relight the candles and hurry up to ask if
the reply of the spirits is favourable or otherwise. They then see
that every scrap of the food and every drop of the wine has
disappeared. Meanwhile, they watch the old woman’s expression, whereby
they can tell if the spirits are well disposed; and each one asks her
some question, to which she as promptly replies. Should there be any
unbelievers among the party, the spirits are at once aware of their
presence; and the old sorceress, pointing her finger at such a one,
cries out, “Disrespectful mocker! where are your trousers?” upon which
the mocker alluded to looks down, and lo! her trousers are gone--gone
to the top of a tree in the court-yard, where they will subsequently
be found.[112]
Manchu women and girls, especially, are firm believers in
spiritualism. On the slightest provocation they consult their medium,
who comes into the room gorgeously dressed, and riding on an imitation
horse or tiger.[113] In her hand she holds a long spear, with which
she mounts the couch[114] and postures in an extraordinary manner, the
animal she rides snorting or roaring fiercely all the time. Some call
her Kuan Ti,[115] others Chang Fei, and others again Chou Kung, from
her terribly martial aspect, which strikes fear into all beholders.
And should any daring fellow try to peep in while the _séance_ is
going on, out of the window darts the spear, transfixes his hat, and
draws it off his head into the room, while women and girls, young and
old, hop round one after the other like geese, on one leg, without
seeming to get the least fatigued.
FOOTNOTES:
[109] It is related in the _Family Sayings_, an apocryphal work which
professes to give conversations of Confucius, that a number of
one-legged birds having suddenly appeared in Ch‘i, the Duke of Ch‘i
sent off to ask the Sage what was the meaning of this strange
phenomenon. Confucius replied, “The bird is the _shang-yang_, and
portends beneficial rain.” And formerly the boys and girls in Shantung
would hop about on one leg, crying, “The _shang-yang_ has come;” after
which rain would be sure to follow.
[110] Speaking in the unknown tongue, like the Irvingites and others.
[111] This is a clever hit. The “personal” name of a man may not be
uttered except by his father or mother, grandfather, grandmother,
uncles, etc. Thus, the mere use of the personal name of the _head of a
family_ proves conclusively that the spirit of someone of his
ancestors must be present.
[112] I consider the whole of the above a curious story to be found in
a Chinese work exactly 200 years old, but no part of it more so than
the forcible removal of some part of the clothing, which has been so
prominent a feature in the _séances_ of our own day. It may be added
that in many a court-yard in Peking will be found one or more trees,
which cause the view from the city wall to be very pleasing to the
eye, in spite of the filth and ruins which a closer inspection
reveals.
[113] The arrangement being that of the hobby-horse of by-gone days.
[114] The couches of the north of China are brick beds, heated by a
stove underneath, and covered with a mat. Upon one of these is
generally a dwarf table and a couple of pillows; and here it is that
the Chinaman loves to recline, his wine-kettle, opium-pipe, or teapot
within reach, and a friend at his side, with whom he may converse far
into the night.
[115] See No. LXXIII., note 63. Chang Fei was the bosom-friend of the
last, and was his associate-commander in the wars of the Three
Kingdoms. Chou Kung was the first Emperor of the Chou dynasty, and a
pattern of wisdom and virtue. He is said by the Chinese to have
invented the mariner’s compass; but the legend will not bear
investigation.
LXXXIX.
THE MYSTERIOUS HEAD.
Several traders who were lodging at an inn in Peking, occupied a room
which was divided from the adjoining apartment by a partition of
boards from which a piece was missing, leaving an aperture about as
big as a basin. Suddenly a girl’s head appeared through the opening,
with very pretty features and nicely dressed hair; and the next moment
an arm, as white as polished jade. The traders were much alarmed, and,
thinking it was the work of devils, tried to seize the head, which,
however, was quickly drawn in again out of their reach. This happened
a second time, and then, as they could see no body belonging to the
head, one of them took a knife in his hand and crept up against the
partition underneath the hole. In a little while the head re-appeared,
when he made a chop at it and cut it off, the blood spurting out all
over the floor and wall. The traders hurried off to tell the landlord,
who immediately reported the matter to the authorities, taking the
head with him, and the traders were forthwith arrested and examined;
but the magistrate could make nothing of the case, and, as no one
appeared for the prosecution, the accused, after about six months’
incarceration, were accordingly released, and orders were given for
the girl’s head to be buried.
XC.
THE SPIRIT OF THE HILLS.
A man named Li, of I-tu, was once crossing the hills when he came upon
a number of persons sitting on the ground engaged in drinking. As soon
as they saw Li they begged him to join them, and vied with each other
in filling his cup. Meanwhile, he looked about him and noticed that
the various trays and dishes contained all kinds of costly food; the
wine only seemed to him a little rough on the palate. In the middle of
their fun up came a stranger with a face about three feet long and a
very tall hat; whereupon the others were very much alarmed, and cried
out, “The hill spirit! the hill spirit!” running away in all
directions as fast as they could go. Li hid himself in a hole in the
ground; and when by-and-by he peeped out to see what had happened, the
wine and food had disappeared, and there was nothing there but a few
dirty potsherds and some pieces of broken tiles with efts and lizards
crawling over them.[116]
FOOTNOTE:
[116] Mr. Li had, doubtless, taken a “drop too much” before he started
on his mountain walk.
XCI.
INGRATITUDE PUNISHED.
K‘u Ta-yu was a native of the Yang district, and managed to get a
military appointment under the command of Tsu Shu-shun.[117] The
latter treated him most kindly, and finally sent him as Major-General
of some troops by which he was then trying to establish the dynasty of
the usurping Chows. K‘u soon perceived that the game was lost, and
immediately turned his forces upon Tsu Shu-shun, whom he succeeded in
capturing, after Tsu had been wounded in the hand, and whom he at once
forwarded as a prisoner to headquarters. That night he dreamed that
the Judge of Purgatory appeared to him, and, reproaching him with his
base ingratitude, bade the devil-lictors seize him and scald his feet
in a cauldron of boiling oil. K‘u then woke up with a start, and found
that his feet were very sore and painful; and in a short time they
swelled up, and his toes dropped off. Fever set in, and in his agony
he shrieked out, “Ungrateful wretch that I was indeed,” and fell back
and expired.
FOOTNOTE: