lay down under a tree, when suddenly up came a man with a thick
comforter round his neck, who also sat down on a stone in the shade,
and began fanning himself as hard as he could, the perspiration all
the time running off him like a waterfall. Ch‘ên rose and said to him
with a smile, “If Sir, you were to remove that comforter, you would be
cool enough without the help of a fan.” “It would be easy enough,”
replied the stranger, “to take off my comforter; but the difficulty
would be in getting it on again.” He then went on to converse
generally upon other matters, in a manner which betokened considerable
refinement; and by-and-by he exclaimed, “What I should like now is
just a draught of iced wine to cool the twelve joints of my
œsophagus.”[235] “Come along, then,” cried Ch‘ên, “my house is close
by, and I shall be happy to give you what you want.” So off they went
together; and Ch‘ên set before them some capital wine, which he
produced from a cave, cold enough to numb their teeth. The stranger
was delighted, and remained there drinking until late in the evening,
when, all at once, it began to rain. Ch‘ên lighted a lamp; and he and
his guest, who now took off the comforter, sat talking together in
_dishabille_. Every now and again the former thought he saw a light
coming from the back of the stranger’s head; and when at length he had
gone off into a tipsy sleep, Ch‘ên took the light to examine more
closely. He found behind the ears a large cavity, partitioned by a
number of membranes, and looking like a lattice, with a thin skin
hanging down in front of each, the spaces being apparently empty. In
great astonishment Ch‘ên took a hair-pin, and inserted it into one of
these places, when pff! out flew something like a tiny cow, which
broke through the window,[236] and was gone. This frightened Ch‘ên,
and he determined to play no more tricks; just then, however, the
stranger waked up. “Alas!” cried he, “you have been at my head, and
have let out the Cattle Plague. What is to be done, now?” Ch‘ên asked
what he meant: upon which the stranger said, “There is no object in
further concealment. I will tell you all. I am the Angel of
Pestilence for the six kinds of domestic animals. That form which you
have let out attacks oxen, and I fear that, for miles round, few will
escape alive.” Now Ch‘ên himself was a cattle-farmer, and when he
heard this was dreadfully alarmed, and implored the stranger to tell
him what to do. “What to do!” replied he; “why, I shall not escape
punishment myself; how can I tell you what to do. However, you will
find powdered _K‘u-ts‘an_[237] an efficacious remedy, that is if you
don’t keep it a secret for your private use.”[238] The stranger then
departed, first of all piling up a quantity of earth in a niche in the
wall, a handful of which, he told Ch‘ên, given to each animal, might
prove of some avail. Before long the plague did break out; and Ch‘ên,
who was desirous of making a little money by it, told the remedy to no
one, with the exception of his younger brother. The latter tried it on
his own beasts with great success; while, on the other hand, those
belonging to Ch‘ên himself died off, to the number of fifty head,[239]
leaving him only four or five old cows, which shewed every sign of
soon sharing the same fate. In his distress, Ch‘ên suddenly bethought
himself of the earth in the niche; and, as a last resource, gave some
to the sick animals. By the next morning they were quite well, and
then he knew that his secrecy about the remedy had caused it to have
no effect. From that moment his stock went on increasing, and in a few
years he had as many as ever.
FOOTNOTES:
[235] Accurate anatomical descriptions must not be looked for in
Chinese literature. “Man has three hundred and sixty-five bones,
corresponding to the number of days it takes the heavens to revolve.”
From the _Hsi-yüan-lu_, or _Institutions to Coroners_, Book I., ch.
12. [See No. XIV., note 100.]
[236] See No. X., note 79.
[237] _Radix robiniæ amaræ._
[238] As the Chinese invariably do whenever they get hold of a useful
prescription or remedy. Master workmen also invariably try to withhold
something of their art from the apprentices they engage to teach.
[239] The text has “of two hundred hoofs.”
CXXV.
THE MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN GODDESS.
At Kuei-chi there is a shrine to the Plum Virgin, who was formerly a
young lady named Ma, and lived at Tung-wan. Her betrothed husband
dying before the wedding, she swore she would never marry, and at
thirty years of age she died. Her kinsfolk built a shrine to her
memory, and gave her the title of the Plum Virgin. Some years
afterwards, a Mr. Chin, on his way to the examination, happened to
pass by the shrine; and entering in, he walked up and down thinking
very much of the young lady in whose honour it had been erected. That
night he dreamt that a servant came to summon him into the presence of
the Goddess; and that, in obedience to her command, he went and found
her waiting for him just outside the shrine. “I am deeply grateful to
you, Sir,” said the Goddess, on his approach, “for giving me so large
a share of your thoughts; and I intend to repay you by becoming your
humble handmaid.” Mr. Chin bowed an assent; and then the Goddess
escorted him back, saying, “When your place is ready, I will come and
fetch you.” On waking in the morning, Mr. Chin was not over pleased
with his dream; however that very night every one of the villagers
dreamt that the Goddess appeared and said she was going to marry Mr.
Chin, bidding them at once prepare an image of him. This the village
elders, out of respect for their Goddess, positively refused to do;
until at length they all began to fall ill, and then they made a clay
image of Mr. Chin, and placed it on the left of the Goddess. Mr. Chin
now told his wife that the Plum Virgin had come for him; and, putting
on his official cap and robes, he straightway died. Thereupon his wife
was very angry; and, going to the shrine, she first abused the
Goddess, and then, getting on the altar, slapped her face well. The
Goddess is now called Chin’s virgin wife.
CXXVI.
THE WINE INSECT.
A Mr. Lin of Ch‘ang-shan was extremely fat, and so fond of wine[240]
that he would often finish a pitcher by himself. However, he owned
about fifty acres of land, half of which was covered with millet, and
being well off, he did not consider that his drinking would bring him
into trouble. One day a foreign Buddhist priest saw him, and remarked
that he appeared to be suffering from some extraordinary complaint.
Mr. Lin said nothing was the matter with him; whereupon the priest
asked him if he often got drunk. Lin acknowledged that he did; and the
priest told him that he was afflicted by the wine insect. “Dear me!”
cried Lin, in great alarm, “do you think you could cure me?” The
priest declared there would be no difficulty in doing so; but when Lin
asked him what drugs he intended to use, the priest said he should not
use any at all. He then made Lin lie down in the sun; and tying his
hands and feet together, he placed a stoup of good wine about half a
foot from his head. By-and-by, Lin felt a deadly thirst coming on; and
the flavour of the wine passing through his nostrils, seemed to set
his vitals on fire. Just then he experienced a tickling sensation in
his throat, and something ran out of his mouth and jumped into the
wine. On being released from his bonds, he saw that it was an insect
about three inches in length, which wriggled about in the wine like a
tadpole, and had mouth and eyes all complete. Lin was overjoyed, and
offered money to the priest, who refused to take it, saying, all he
wanted was the insect, which he explained to Lin was the essence of
wine, and which, on being stirred up in water, would turn it into
wine. Lin tried this, and found it was so; and ever afterwards he
detested the sight of wine. He subsequently became very thin, and so
poor that he had hardly enough to eat and drink.[241]
FOOTNOTES:
[240] The ordinary “wine” of China is a spirit distilled from rice.
See No. XCIII., note 122.
[241] The commentator would have us believe that Mr. Lin’s fondness
for wine was to him an element of health and happiness rather than a
disease to be cured, and that the priest was wrong in meddling with
the natural bent of his constitution.
CXXVII.
THE FAITHFUL DOG.
A certain man of Lu-ngan, whose father had been cast into prison, and
was brought almost to death’s door,[242] scraped together one hundred
ounces of silver, and set out for the city to try and arrange for his
parent’s release. Jumping on a mule, he saw that a black dog,
belonging to the family, was following him. He tried in vain to make
the dog remain at home; and when, after travelling for some miles, he
got off his mule to rest awhile, he picked up a large stone and threw
it at the dog, which then ran off. However, he was no sooner on the
road again, than up came the dog, and tried to stop the mule by
holding on to its tail. His master beat it off with the whip;
whereupon the dog ran barking loudly in front of the mule, and seemed
to be using every means in its power to cause his master to stop. The
latter thought this a very inauspicious omen, and turning upon the
animal in a rage, drove it away out of sight. He now went on to the
city; but when, in the dusk of the evening, he arrived there, he found
that about half his money was gone. In a terrible state of mind he
tossed about all night; then, all of a sudden, it flashed across him
that the strange behaviour of the dog might possibly have some
meaning; so getting up very early, he left the city as soon as the
gates were open,[243] and though, from the number of passers-by, he
never expected to find his money again, he went on until he reached
the spot where he had got off his mule the day before. There he saw
his dog lying dead upon the ground, its hair having apparently been
wetted through with perspiration;[244] and, lifting up the body by one
of its ears, he found his lost silver. Full of gratitude, he bought a
coffin and buried the dead animal; and the people now call the place
the Grave of the Faithful Dog.
FOOTNOTES:
[242] In an entry on torture (see No. LXXIII., note 62), which occurs
in my _Glossary of Reference_, I made the following statement:--“The
real tortures of a Chinese prison are the filthy dens in which the
unfortunate victims are confined, the stench in which they have to
draw breath, the fetters and manacles by which they are secured, the
absolute insufficiency even of the disgusting rations doled out to
them, and above all the mental agony which must ensue in a country
with no _Habeas corpus_ to protect the lives and fortunes of its
citizens.”
[243] For a small bribe, the soldiers at the gates of a Chinese city
will usually pass people in and out by means of a ladder placed
against the wall at some convenient spot.
[244] I believe it is with us only a recently determined fact that
dogs perspire through the skin.
CXXVIII.
AN EARTHQUAKE.
In 1668 there was a very severe earthquake.[245] I myself was staying
at Chi-hsia, and happened to be that night sitting over a kettle of
wine with my cousin Li Tu. All of a sudden we heard a noise like
thunder, travelling from the south-east in a north-westerly direction.
We were much astonished at this, and quite unable to account for the
noise; in another moment the table began to rock, and the wine-cups
were upset; the beams and supports of the house snapped here and there
with a crash, and we looked at each other in fear and trembling.
By-and-by we knew that it was an earthquake; and, rushing out, we saw
houses and other buildings, as it were, fall down and get up again;
and, amidst the sounds of crushing walls, we heard the shrieks of
women and children, the whole mass being like a great seething
cauldron. Men were giddy and could not stand, but rolled about on the
ground; the river overflowed its banks; cocks crowed, and dogs barked
from one end of the city to the other. In a little while the quaking
began to subside; and then might be seen men and women running half
naked about the streets, all anxious to tell their own experiences,
and forgetting that they had on little or no clothing. I subsequently
heard that a well was closed up and rendered useless by this
earthquake; that a house was turned completely round, so as to face
the opposite direction; that the Chi-hsia hill was riven open, and
that the waters of the I river flowed in and made a lake of an acre
and more. Truly such an earthquake as this is of rare occurrence.
FOOTNOTE:
[245] The exact date is given,--the 17th of the 6th moon, which would
probably fall towards the end of June.
CXXIX.
MAKING ANIMALS.
The tricks for bewitching people are many. Sometimes drugs are put in
their food, and when they eat they become dazed, and follow the person
who has bewitched them. This is commonly called _ta hsü pa_; in
Kiang-nan it is known as _ch‘ê hsü_. Little children are most
frequently bewitched in this way. There is also what is called “making
animals,” which is better known on the south side of the River.[246]
One day a man arrived at an inn in Yang-chow, leading with him five
donkeys. Tying them up near the stable, he told the landlord he would
be back in a few minutes, and bade him give his donkeys no water. He
had not been gone long before the donkeys, which were standing out in
the glare of the sun, began to kick about, and make a noise; whereupon
the landlord untied them, and was going to put them in the shade, when
suddenly they espied water, and made a rush to get at it. So the
landlord let them drink; and no sooner had the water touched their
lips than they rolled on the ground, and changed into women. In great
astonishment, the landlord asked them whence they came; but their
tongues were tied, and they could not answer, so he hid them in his
private apartments, and at that moment their owner returned, bringing
with him five sheep. The latter immediately asked the landlord where
his donkeys were; to which the landlord replied by offering him some
wine, saying, the donkeys would be brought to him directly. He then
went out and gave the sheep some water, on drinking which they were
all changed into boys. Accordingly, he communicated with the
authorities, and the stranger was arrested and forthwith beheaded.
FOOTNOTE:
[246] See No. XCVIII., note 159.
CXXX.
CRUELTY AVENGED.
A certain magistrate caused a petty oil-vendor, who was brought before
him for some trifling misdemeanour, and whose statements were very
confused, to be bambooed to death. The former subsequently rose to
high rank; and having amassed considerable wealth, set about building
himself a fine house. On the day when the great beam was to be fixed
in its place,[247] among the friends and relatives who arrived to
offer their congratulations, he was horrified to see the oilman walk
in. At the same instant one of the servants came rushing up to
announce to him the birth of a son; whereupon, he mournfully remarked,
“The house not yet finished, and its destroyer already here.” The
bystanders thought he was joking, for they had not seen what he had
seen.[248] However, when that boy grew up, by his frivolity and
extravagance he quite ruined his father. He was finally obliged
himself to go into service; and spent all his earnings in oil, which
he swallowed in large quantities.
FOOTNOTES:
[247] This corresponds to our ceremony of laying the foundation stone,
except that one commemorates the beginning, the other the completion,
of a new building.
[248] That is, the disembodied spirit of the oilman.
CXXXI.
THE WEI-CH‘I DEVIL.
A certain general, who had resigned his command, and had retired to
his own home, was very fond of roaming about and amusing himself with
wine and _wei-ch‘i_.[249] One day--it was the 9th of the 9th moon,
when everybody goes up high[250]--as he was playing with some friends,
a stranger walked up, and watched the game intently for some time
without going away. He was a miserable-looking creature, with a very
ragged coat, but nevertheless possessed of a refined and courteous
air. The general begged him to be seated, an offer which he accepted,
being all the time extremely deferential in his manner. “I suppose you
are pretty good at this,” said the general, pointing to the board;
“try a bout with one of my friends here.” The stranger made a great
many apologies in reply, but finally accepted, and played a game in
which, apparently to his great disappointment, he was beaten. He
played another with the same result; and now, refusing all offers of
wine, he seemed to think of nothing but how to get some one to play
with him. Thus he went on until the afternoon was well advanced; when
suddenly, just as he was in the middle of a most exciting game, which
depended on a single place, he rushed forward, and throwing himself at
the feet of the general, loudly implored his protection. The general
did not know what to make of this; however, he raised him up, and
said, “It’s only a game: why get so excited?” To this the stranger
replied by begging the general not to let his gardener seize him; and
when the general asked what gardener he meant, he said the man’s name
was Ma-ch‘êng. Now this Ma-ch‘êng was often employed as a lictor by
the Ruler of Purgatory, and would sometimes remain away as much as ten
days, serving the warrants of death; accordingly, the general sent off
to inquire about him, and found that he had been in a trance for two
days.[251] His master cried out that he had better not behave rudely
to his guest, but at that very moment the stranger sunk down to the
ground, and was gone. The general was lost in astonishment; however,
he now knew that the man was a disembodied spirit, and on the next
day, when Ma-ch‘êng came round, he asked him for full particulars.
“The gentleman was a native of Hu-hsiang,” replied the gardener, “who
was passionately addicted to _wei-ch‘i_, and had lost a great deal of
money by it. His father, being much grieved at his behaviour, confined
him to the house; but he was always getting out, and indulging the
fatal passion, and at last his father died of a broken heart. In
consequence of this, the Ruler of Purgatory curtailed his term of
life, and condemned him to become a hungry devil,[252] in which state
he has already passed seven years. And now that the Phœnix Tower[253]
is completed, an order has been issued for the literati to present
themselves, and compose an inscription to be cut on stone, as a
memorial thereof, by which means they would secure their own salvation
as a reward. Many of the shades failing to arrive at the appointed
time, God was very angry with the Ruler of Purgatory, and the latter
sent off me, and others who are employed in the same way, to hunt up
the defaulters. But as you, Sir, bade me treat the gentleman with
respect, I did not venture to bind him.” The general inquired what
had become of the stranger; to which the gardener replied, “He is now
a mere menial in Purgatory, and can never be born again.” “Alas!”
cried his master, “thus it is that men are ruined by any inordinate
passion.”[254]
FOOTNOTES:
[249] A most abstruse and complicated game of skill, for which the
Chinese claim an antiquity of four thousand years, and which I was the
first to introduce to a European public through an article in _Temple
Bar Magazine_ for January, 1877. _Apropos_ of which, an accomplished
American lady, Miss A. M. Fielde, of Swatow, wrote as follows:--“The
game seems to me the peer of chess.... It is a game for the slow,
persistent, astute, multitudinous Chinese; while chess, by the
picturesque appearance of the board, the variety and prominent
individuality of the men, and the erratic combination of the
attack,--is for the Anglo-Saxon.”
[250] On this day, annually dedicated to kite-flying, picnics, and
good cheer, everybody tries to get up to as great an elevation as
possible, in the hope, as some say, of thereby prolonging life. It was
this day--4th October, 1878--which was fixed for the total
extermination of foreigners in Foochow.
[251] See No. XXVI., note 180.
[252] One of the _prêtas_, or the fourth of the six paths (gâti) of
existence; the other five being (1) angels, (2) men, (3) demons, (5)
brute beasts, and (6) sinners in hell. The term is often used
colloquially for a self-invited guest.
[253] An imaginary building in the Infernal Regions.
[254] Mencius reckoned “to play _wei-ch‘i_ for money” among the five
unfilial acts.
CXXXII.
THE FORTUNE-HUNTER PUNISHED.
A certain man’s uncle had no children, and the nephew, with an eye to
his uncle’s property, volunteered to become his adopted son.[255] When
the uncle died all the property passed accordingly to his nephew, who
thereupon broke faith as to his part of the contract.[256] He did the
same with another uncle, and thus united three properties in his own
person, whereby he became the richest man of the neighbourhood.
Suddenly he fell ill, and seemed to go out of his mind; for he cried
out, “So you wish to live in wealth, do you?” and immediately seizing
a sharp knife, he began hacking away at his own body until he had
strewed the floor with pieces of flesh. He then exclaimed, “You cut
off other people’s posterity and expect to have posterity yourself, do
you?” and forthwith he ripped himself open and died. Shortly
afterwards his son, too, died, and the property fell into the hands of
strangers. Is not this a retribution to be dreaded?
FOOTNOTES:
[255] See No. LV., note 310; and No. XCIV., note 137.
[256] That is, in carrying out the obligations he had entered into,
such as conducting the ceremonies of ancestral worship, repairing the
family tombs, &c.
CXXXIII.
LIFE PROLONGED.
A certain cloth merchant of Ch‘ang-ch‘ing was stopping at T‘ai-ngan,
when he heard of a magician who was said to be very skilled in casting
nativities. So he went off at once to consult him; but the magician
would not undertake the task, saying, “Your destiny is bad: you had
better hurry home.” At this the merchant was dreadfully frightened,
and, packing up his wares, set off towards Ch‘ang-ch‘ing. On the way
he fell in with a man in short clothes,[257] like a constable; and the
two soon struck up a friendly intimacy, taking their meals together.
By-and-by the merchant asked the stranger what his business was; and
the latter told him he was going to Ch‘ang-ch‘ing to serve summonses,
producing at the same time a document and showing it to the merchant,
who, on looking closely, saw a list of names, at the head of which
was his own. In great astonishment he inquired what he had done that
he should be arrested thus; to which his companion replied, “I am not
a living being: I am a lictor in the employ of the infernal
authorities, and I presume your term of life has expired.” The
merchant burst into tears and implored the lictor to spare him, which
the latter declared was impossible; “But,” added he, “there are a
great many names down, and it will take me some time to get through
them: you go off home and settle up your affairs, and, as a slight
return for your friendship, I’ll call for you last.” A few minutes
afterwards they reached a stream where the bridge was in ruins, and
people could only cross with great difficulty; at which the lictor
remarked, “You are now on the road to death, and not a single cash can
you carry away with you. Repair this bridge and benefit the public;
and thus from a great outlay you may possibly yourself derive some
small advantage.” The merchant said he would do so; and when he got
home, he bade his wife and children prepare for his coming
dissolution, and at the same time set men to work and made the bridge
sound and strong again. Some time elapsed, but no lictor arrived; and
his suspicions began to be aroused, when one day the latter walked in
and said, “I reported that affair of the bridge to the Municipal
God,[258] who communicated it to the Ruler of Purgatory; and for that
good act your span of life has been lengthened, and your name struck
out of the list. I have now come to announce this to you.” The
merchant was profuse in his thanks; and the next time he went to
T‘ai-ngan, he burnt a quantity of paper ingots,[259] and made
offerings and libations to the lictor, out of gratitude for what he
had done. Suddenly the lictor himself appeared, and cried out, “Do you
wish to ruin me? Happily my new master has only just taken up his
post, and he has not noticed this, or where should I be?”[260] The
lictor then escorted the merchant some distance; and, at parting, bade
him never return by that road, but, if he had any business at
T‘ai-ngan, to go thither by a roundabout way.
FOOTNOTES:
[257] The long flowing robe is a sign of respectability which all but
the very poorest classes love to affect in public. At the port of
Haiphong, _shoes_ are the criterion of social standing; but, as a
rule, the well-to-do native merchants prefer to go barefoot rather
than give the authorities a chance of exacting heavier squeezes, on
the strength of such a palpable acknowledgment of wealth.
[258] See No. I., note 36.
[259] See No. LVI., note 317; and No. XCVII., note 150.
[260] The lictor had no right to divulge his errand when he first met
the cloth merchant, or to remove the latter’s name from the top to the
bottom of the list.
CXXXIV.
THE CLAY IMAGE.