the Wu-t‘ai hill, while the other hung up his staff[211] at T‘ai-shan.
Their clothes, complexions, language, and features, were very
different from those of our country. They further said they had
crossed the Fiery Mountains, from the peaks of which smoke was always
issuing as from the chimney of a furnace; that they could only travel
after rain, and that excessive caution was necessary to avoid
displacing any stone and thus giving a vent to the flames. They also
stated that they had passed through the River of Sand, in the middle
of which was a crystal hill with perpendicular sides and perfectly
transparent; and that there was a defile just broad enough to admit a
single cart, its entrance guarded by two dragons with crossed horns.
Those who wished to pass prostrated themselves before these dragons,
and on receiving permission to enter, the horns opened and let them
through. The dragons were of a white colour, and their scales and
bristles seemed to be of crystal. Eighteen winters and summers these
priests had been on the road; and of twelve who started from the west
together, only two reached China.[212] These two said that in their
country four of our mountains are held in great esteem, namely, T‘ai,
Hua, Wu-t‘ai, and Lo-chia. The people there also think that China[213]
is paved with yellow gold, that Kuan-yin and Wên-shu[214] are still
alive, and that they have only come here to be sure of their
Buddhahood and of immortal life. Hearing these words it struck me that
this was precisely what our own people say and think about the West;
and that if travellers from each country could only meet half way and
tell each other the true state of affairs, there would be some hearty
laughter on both sides, and a saving of much unnecessary trouble.
FOOTNOTES:
[210] That is, missionaries from India.
[211] See No. LVI., note 320.
[212] Much of the above recalls Fa Hsien’s narrative of his celebrated
journey from China to India in the early years of the fifth century of
our era, with which our author was evidently well acquainted. That
courageous traveller complained that of those who had set out with him
some had stopped on the way and others had died, leaving him only his
own shadow as a companion.
[213] This may almost be said to have been the belief of the Arabs at
the date of the composition of “The Arabian Nights.”
[214] For Kuan-yin, see No. XXXIII., note 208. Wên-shu, or Manjusiri,
is the God of Wisdom, and is generally represented as riding on a
lion, in attendance, together with P‘u-hsien, the God of Action, who
rides an elephant, upon Shâkyamuni Buddha.
CXVI.
THE STOLEN EYES.
When His Excellency Mr. T‘ang, of our village, was quite a child, a
relative of his took him to a temple to see the usual theatrical
performances.[215] He was a clever little fellow, afraid of nothing
and nobody; and when he saw one of the clay images in the vestibule
staring at him with its great glass[216] eyes, the temptation was
irresistible; and, secretly gouging them out with his finger, he
carried them off with him. When they reached home, his relative was
taken suddenly ill and remained for a long time speechless; at length,
jumping up he cried out several times in a voice of thunder, “Why did
you gouge out my eyes?” His family did not know what to make of this,
until little T‘ang told them what he had done; they then immediately
began to pray to the possessed man, saying, “A mere child,
unconscious of the wickedness of his act, took away in his fun thy
sacred eyes. They shall be reverently replaced.” Thereupon the voice
exclaimed, “In that case, I shall go away;” and he had hardly spoken
before T‘ang’s relative fell flat upon the ground and lay there in a
state of insensibility for some time. When he recovered, they asked
him concerning what he had said; but he remembered nothing of it. The
eyes were then forthwith restored to their original sockets.
FOOTNOTES:
[215] See No. XLVIII., note 277.
[216] The term here used stands for a vitreous composition that has
long been prepared by the Chinese. Glass, properly so called, is said
to have been introduced into China from the west, by a eunuch, during
the Ming dynasty.
CXVII.
THE INVISIBLE PRIEST.
Mr. Han was a gentleman of good family, on very intimate terms with a
skilful Taoist priest and magician named Tan, who, when sitting
amongst other guests, would suddenly become invisible. Mr. Han was
extremely anxious to learn this art, but Tan refused all his
entreaties, “Not,” as he said, “because I want to keep the secret for
myself, but simply as a matter of principle. To teach the superior
man[217] would be well enough; others, however, would avail themselves
of such knowledge to plunder their neighbours. There is no fear that
you would do this, though even you might be tempted in certain ways.”
Mr. Han, finding all his efforts unavailing, flew into a great
passion, and secretly arranged with his servants that they should give
the magician a sound beating; and, in order to prevent his escape
through the power of making himself invisible, he had his
threshing-floor[218] covered with a fine ash-dust, so that at any rate
his footsteps would be seen and the servants could strike just above
them.[219] He then inveigled Tan to the appointed spot, which he had
no sooner reached than Han’s servants began to belabour him on all
sides with leathern thongs. Tan immediately became invisible, but his
footprints were clearly seen as he moved about hither and thither to
avoid the blows, and the servants went on striking above them until
finally he succeeded in getting away. Mr. Han then went home, and
subsequently Tan reappeared and told the servants that he could stay
there no longer, adding that before he went he intended to give them
all a feast in return for many things they had done for him. And
diving into his sleeve he brought forth a quantity of delicious meats
and wines which he spread out upon the table, begging them to sit down
and enjoy themselves. The servants did so, and one and all of them got
drunk and insensible; upon which Tan picked each of them up and stowed
them away in his sleeve. When Mr. Han heard of this, he begged Tan to
perform some other trick; so Tan drew upon the wall a city, and
knocking at the gate with his hand it was instantly thrown open. He
then put inside it his wallet and clothes, and stepping through the
gateway himself, waved his hand and bade Mr. Han farewell. The city
gates were now closed, and Tan vanished from their sight. It was said
that he appeared again in Ch‘ing-chou, where he taught little boys to
paint a circle on their hands, and, by dabbing this on to another
person’s face or clothes, to imprint the circle on the place thus
struck without a trace of it being left behind upon the hand.
FOOTNOTES:
[217] The perfect man, according to the Confucian standard.
[218] A large, smooth, area of concrete, to be seen outside all
country houses of any size, and used for preparing the various kinds
of grain.
[219] Compare--“The not uncommon practice of strewing ashes to show
the footprints of ghosts or demons takes for granted that they are
substantial bodies.”--Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p. 455.
CXVIII.
THE CENSOR IN PURGATORY.
Just beyond Fêng-tu[220] there is a fathomless cave which is reputed
to be the entrance to Purgatory. All the implements of torture
employed therein are of human manufacture; old, worn-out gyves and
fetters being occasionally found at the mouth of the cave, and as
regularly replaced by new ones, which disappear the same night, and
for which the magistrate of the district makes a formal charge[221] in
his accounts.
Under the Ming dynasty, there was a certain Censor,[222] named Hua,
whose duties brought him to this place; and hearing the story of the
cave, he said he did not believe it, but would penetrate into it and
see for himself. People tried to dissuade him from such an enterprise;
however, he paid no heed to their remonstrances, and entered the cave
with a lighted candle in his hand, followed by two attendants. They
had proceeded about half a mile, when suddenly the candle was
violently extinguished, and Mr. Hua saw before him a broad flight of
steps leading up to the Ten Courts, or Judgment-halls, in each of
which a judge was sitting with his robes and tablets all complete. On
the eastern side there was one vacant place; and when the judges saw
Mr. Hua, they hastened down the steps to meet him, and each one cried
out, “So you have come at last, have you? I hope you have been quite
well since last we met.” Mr. Hua asked what the place was; to which
they replied that it was the Court of Purgatory, and then Mr. Hua in a
great fright was about to take his leave, when the judges stopped him,
saying, “No, no, Sir! that is your seat there; how can you imagine you
are to go back again?” Thereupon Mr. Hua was overwhelmed with fear,
and begged and implored the judges to forgive him; but the latter
declared they could not interfere with the decrees of fate, and taking
down the register of Life and Death they showed him that it had been
ordained that on such a day of such a month his living body would pass
into the realms of darkness. When Mr. Hua read these words he shivered
and shook as if iced water was being poured down his back, and
thinking of his old mother and his young children, his tears began to
flow. At that juncture an angel in golden armour appeared, holding in
his hand a document written on yellow silk,[223] before which the
judges all performed a respectful obeisance. They then unfolded and
read the document, which was nothing more or less than a general
pardon from the Almighty for the suffering sinners in Purgatory, by
virtue of which Mr. Hua’s fate would be set aside, and he would be
enabled to return once more to the light of day. Thereupon the judges
congratulated him upon his release, and started him on his way home;
but he had not got more than a few steps of the way before he found
himself plunged in total darkness. He was just beginning to despair,
when forth from the gloom came a God with a red face and a long beard,
rays of light shooting out from his body and illuminating the darkness
around. Mr. Hua made up to him at once, and begged to know how he
could get out of the cave; to which the God curtly replied, “Repeat
the _sûtras_ of Buddha!” and vanished instantly from his sight. Now
Mr. Hua had forgotten almost all the _sûtras_ he had ever known;
however, he remembered a little of the diamond _sûtra_, and, clasping
his hands in an attitude of prayer, he began to repeat it aloud. No
sooner had he done this than a faint streak of light glimmered through
the darkness, and revealed to him the direction of the path; but the
next moment he was at a loss how to go on and the light forthwith
disappeared. He then set himself to think hard what the next verse
was, and as fast as he recollected and could go on repeating, so fast
did the light reappear to guide him on his way, until at length he
emerged once more from the mouth of the cave. As to the fate of the
two servants who accompanied him it is needless to inquire.
FOOTNOTES:
[220] Fêng-tu is a district city in the province of Szechuen, and near
it are said to be fire-wells (see Williams’ _Syllabic Dictionary_,
s.v.), otherwise known as the entrance to Purgatory, the capital city
of which is also called Fêng-tu.
[221] To the Imperial Treasury. From what I know of the barefacedness
of similar official impostures, I should say that this statement is
quite within the bounds of truth. For instance, at Amoy one per cent.
is collected by the local mandarins on all imports, ostensibly for the
purpose of providing the Imperial table with a delicious kind of
bird’s-nest said to be found in the neighbourhood! Seven-tenths of the
sum thus collected is pocketed by the various officials of the place,
and with the remaining three-tenths a certain quantity of the ordinary
article of commerce is imported from the Straits and forwarded to
Peking.
[222] See No. XXXII., note 197.
[223] An Imperial mandate is always written on yellow silk, and the
ceremony of opening and perusing it is accompanied by prostrations and
other acts of reverential submission.
CXIX.
MR. WILLOW AND THE LOCUSTS.
During the Ming dynasty a plague of locusts[224] visited Ch‘ing-yen,
and was advancing rapidly towards the I district, when the magistrate
of that place, in great tribulation at the pending disaster, retired
one day to sleep behind the screen in his office. There he dreamt that
a young graduate, named Willow, wearing a tall hat and a green robe,
and of very commanding stature, came to see him, and declared that he
could tell the magistrate how to get rid of the locusts. “To-morrow,”
said he, “on the south-west road, you will see a woman riding[225] on
a large jennet: she is the Spirit of the Locusts; ask her, and she
will help you.” The magistrate thought this strange advice; however,
he got everything ready, and waited, as he had been told, at the
roadside. By-and-by, along came a woman with her hair tied up in a
knot, and a serge cape over her shoulders, riding slowly northwards on
an old mule; whereupon the magistrate burned some sticks of incense,
and, seizing the mule’s bridle, humbly presented a goblet of wine. The
woman asked him what he wanted; to which he replied, “Lady, I implore
you to save my small magistracy from the dreadful ravages of your
locusts.” “Oho!” said the woman, “that scoundrel, Willow, has been
letting the cat out of the bag, has he? He shall suffer for it: I
won’t touch your crops.” She then drank three cups of wine, and
vanished out of sight. Subsequently, when the locusts did come, they
flew high in the air, and did not settle on the crops; but they
stripped the leaves off every willow-tree far and wide; and then the
magistrate awaked to the fact that the graduate of his dream was the
Spirit of the Willows. Some said that this happy result was owing to
the magistrate’s care for the welfare of his people.
FOOTNOTES:
[224] Innumerable pamphlets have been published in China on the best
methods of getting rid of these destructive insects, but none to my
knowledge contain much sound or practical advice.
[225] See No. LII., note 286. The mules of the north of China are
marvels of beauty and strength; and the price of a fine animal often
goes as high as £100.
CXX.
MR. TUNG; OR, VIRTUE REWARDED.
At Ch‘ing-chow there lived a Mr. Tung, President of one of the Six
Boards, whose domestic regulations were so strict that the men and
women servants were not allowed to speak to each other.[226] One day
he caught a slave-girl laughing and talking with one of his
attendants, and gave them both a sound rating. That night he retired
to sleep, accompanied by his _valet-de-chambre_, in his library, the
door of which, as it was very hot weather, was left wide open. When
the night was far advanced, the valet was awaked by a noise at his
master’s bed: and, opening his eyes, he saw, by the light of the moon,
the attendant above-mentioned pass out of the door with something in
his hand. Recognizing the man as one of the family, he thought nothing
of the occurrence, but turned round and went to sleep again. Soon
after, however, he was again aroused by the noise of footsteps
tramping heavily across the room, and, looking up, he beheld a huge
being with a red face and a long beard, very like the God of
War,[227] carrying a man’s head. Horribly frightened, he crawled under
the bed, and then he heard sounds above him as of clothes being shaken
out, and as if some one was being shampooed.[228] In a few moments,
the boots tramped once more across the room and went away; and then he
gradually put out his head, and, seeing the dawn beginning to peep
through the window, he stretched out his hand to reach his clothes.
These he found to be soaked through and through, and, on applying his
hand to his nose, he smelt the smell of blood. He now called out
loudly to his master, who jumped up at once; and, by the light of a
candle, they saw that the bed clothes and pillows were alike steeped
in blood. Just then some constables knocked at the door, and when Mr.
Tung went out to see who it was, the constables were all astonishment;
“for,” said they, “a few minutes ago a man rushed wildly up to our
yamên, and said he had killed his master; and, as he himself was
covered with blood, he was arrested, and turned out to be a servant of
yours. He also declared that he had buried your head alongside the
temple of the God of War; and when we went to look, there, indeed, was
a freshly-dug hole, but the head was gone.” Mr. Tung was amazed at all
this story, and, on proceeding to the magistrate’s yamên, he
discovered that the man in charge was the attendant whom he had
scolded the day before. Thereupon, the criminal was severely bambooed
and released; and then Mr. Tung, who was unwilling to make an enemy of
a man of this stamp, gave him the girl to wife. However, a few nights
afterwards the people who lived next door to the newly-married couple
heard a terrific crash in their house, and, rushing in to see what was
the matter, found that husband and wife, and the bedstead as well, had
been cut clean in two as if by a sword. The ways of the God are many,
indeed, but few more extraordinary than this.[229]
FOOTNOTES:
[226] See No. XL., note 233, and No. XCIV., note 134.
[227] See No. I., note 39.
[228] See No. LXIX., note 38.
[229] It was the God of War who replaced Mr. Tung’s head after it had
actually been cut off and buried.
CXXI.
THE DEAD PRIEST.
A certain Taoist priest, overtaken in his wanderings by the shades of
evening, sought refuge in a small Buddhist monastery. The monk’s
apartment was, however, locked; so he threw his mat down in the
vestibule of the shrine, and seated himself upon it. In the middle of
the night, when all was still, he heard a sound of some one opening
the door behind him; and looking round, he saw a Buddhist priest,
covered with blood from head to foot, who did not seem to notice that
anybody else was present. Accordingly, he himself pretended not to be
aware of what was going on; and then he saw the other priest enter the
shrine, mount the altar, and remain there some time embracing Buddha’s
head, and laughing by turns. When morning came, he found the monk’s
room still locked; and, suspecting something was wrong, he walked to a
neighbouring village, where he told the people what he had seen.
Thereupon the villagers went back with him, and broke open the door,
and there before them lay the priest weltering in his blood, having
evidently been killed by robbers, who had stripped the place bare.
Anxious now to find out what had made the disembodied spirit of the
priest laugh in the way it had been seen to do, they proceeded to
inspect the head of the Buddha on the altar; and, at the back of it,
they noticed a small mark, scraping through which they discovered a
sum of over thirty ounces of silver. This sum was forthwith used for
defraying the funeral expenses of the murdered man.
CXXII.
THE FLYING COW.
A certain man, who had bought a fine cow, dreamt the same night that
wings grew out of the animal’s back, and that it had flown away.
Regarding this as an omen of some pending misfortune, he led the cow
off to market again, and sold it at a ruinous loss. Wrapping up in a
cloth the silver he received, he slung it over his back, and was half
way home, when he saw a falcon eating part of a hare.[230] Approaching
the bird, he found it was quite tame, and accordingly tied it by the
leg to one of the corners of the cloth, in which his money was. The
falcon fluttered about a good deal, trying to escape; and, by-and-by,
the man’s hold being for a moment relaxed, away went the bird, cloth,
money, and all. “It was destiny,” said the man every time he told the
story; ignorant as he was, first, that no faith should be put in
dreams;[231] and, secondly, that people shouldn’t take things they see
by the wayside.[232] Quadrupeds don’t usually fly.
FOOTNOTES:
[230] See No. VI., note 51.
[231] The highly educated Confucianist rises above the superstition
that darkens the lives of his less fortunate fellow countrymen. Had
such a dream as the above received an inauspicious interpretation at
the hands of some local soothsayer, the owner of the animal would in
nine cases out of ten have taken an early opportunity of getting rid
of it.
[232] The Chinese love to refer to the “good old time” of their
forefathers, when a man who dropped anything on the highway would have
no cause to hurry back for fear of its being carried off by a
stranger.
CXXIII.
THE “MIRROR AND LISTEN” TRICK.
At I-tu there lived a family of the name of Chêng. The two sons were
both distinguished scholars, but the elder was early known to fame,
and, consequently, the favourite with his parents, who also extended
their preference to his wife. The younger brother was a trifle wild,
which displeased his father and mother very much, and made them regard
his wife, too, with anything but a friendly eye. The latter reproached
her husband for being the cause of this, and asked him why he, being a
man like his brother, could not vindicate the slights that were put
upon her. This piqued him; and, setting to work in good earnest, he
soon gained a fair reputation, though still not equal to his
brother’s. That year the two went up for the highest degree; and, on
New Year’s Eve, the wife of the younger, very anxious for the success
of her husband, secretly tried the “mirror and listen” trick.[233] She
saw two men pushing each other in jest, and heard them say, “You go
and get cool,” which remark she was quite unable to interpret for good
or for bad, so she thought no more about the matter. After the
examination, the two brothers returned home; and one day, when the
weather was extremely hot, and their two wives were hard at work in
the cook-house, preparing food for their field-labourers, a messenger
rode up in hot haste[234] to announce that the elder brother had
passed. Thereupon his mother went into the cook-house, and, calling to
her daughter-in-law, said, “Your husband has passed; _you go and get
cool_.” Rage and grief now filled the breast of the second son’s wife,
who, with tears in her eyes, continued her task of cooking, when
suddenly another messenger rushed in to say, that the second son had
passed, too. At this, his wife flung down her frying-pan, and cried
out, “Now I’ll _go and get cool_;” and as in the heat of her
excitement she uttered these words, the recollection of her trial of
the “mirror and listen” trick flashed upon her, and she knew that the
words of that evening had been fulfilled.
FOOTNOTES:
[233] One method is to wrap an old mirror (formerly a polished metal
disc) in a handkerchief, and then, no one being present, to bow seven
times towards the Spirit of the Hearth: after which the first words
heard spoken by any one will give a clue to the issue under
investigation. Another method is to close the eyes and take seven
paces, opening them at the seventh and getting some hint from the
objects first seen in a mirror held in the hand, coupled with the
words first spoken within the experimenter’s hearing.
[234] In former days, these messengers of good tidings to candidates
whose homes were in distant parts used to earn handsome sums if first
to announce the news; but now, at any rate along the coast, steamers
and the telegraph have taken their occupation from them.
CXXIV.
THE CATTLE PLAGUE.